Rodney Dangerfield Sociology

by F. X. Turk

Ok, Ok.  Don't get too excited people.  Seriously.

Watch this for about 90 seconds, because it this is where we are today as a society:



The video above is loaded to start at about 1:45, which is after Dangerfield has done his "blue" routine about his relationship with his wife.  The remainder of the bit is his self-deprecating "no respect" routine in which his doctor, his bartender, his wife, kids and parents all treat him with, as we can probably guess, with "no respect."  While he probably didn't invent this trope, at least today he is the one best known for it because of his rapid-fire delivery, his amazing physical presence, and the undeniable dog-faced charm which he never drops.  He is the character needed for the jokes to work from start to finish, even in the walk-off.

So why break my hiatus -- which I am loving, by the way, and I am sorry that you miss me (follow me on twitter if you miss me that much) -- to show you 90 seconds of Rodney Dangerfield on a once-famous blog which was well know for both high-quality theology and red-hot biblically-based commentary?

I have invented a parable this week, and I wanted to run it by you.  In order to sort of get the full effect for that parable, I wanted you to first listen to Dangerfield to set up what I am trying to say here.

So   let's imagine for a minute that you work with a guy that looks and acts like Rodney Dangerfield -- let's call him Andy.  When he comes to work, he wears a decent suit, nice shirt and tie, clean shaven every day.  On the surface, he's just like you -- a person in the image of God, and maybe because he's a little less Brad Pitt and a little more, well, Rodney Dangerfield, Andy knows that he can't come to work looking like he's about to go to a picnic after work.  He has to come to work, as is proverbially said, dressed for the job he really wants.

But as he does his job, week in and week out, Andy is in a routine where he is actually using the classic Dangerfield trope of "getting no respect" whenever something at work happens.  Project is due? Of course it's late - I went to IT to get them to solve the problems with my Outlook, and they told me they didn't have any confidence in me, either.  Customer is unhappy? Of course he's unhappy -- he told me he wanted me to take him to lunch because his doctor said he had to lose weight, and I was so ugly he'd lose his appetite.  Quality is bad? I asked Production if there were any quality issues I should know about, and they told me I was fat and a liar and that I smelled bad, too.  It seemed funny at first, but Andy does it every day: everything that goes wrong around him is not only not his fault, it is draped in this complaint that everyone around him will not give him any respect.

It gets so bad that you decide to take him to lunch to see what it is he thinks he is doing, and if you can help.  And this is where it gets really interesting because even as you invite him to lunch, he says to you, "I know what you're trying to do, but it's no use: this is all your fault."


"My fault?" you say. "How can it be my fault?"

"It happened before you got here, but nobody here shows me any respect. I'm convinced that there's a company policy at this point, a policy of systematic no-respect.  Everybody shows me no respect, all the time.  No respect.  Everybody - even you."

Now, this is absolutely not what you expected.  You actually came to him because you could see that what was in fact happening was that this guy was making the whole company lose confidence in his performance, and as he made more of these unfunny excuses it became harder and harder to judge him according to the content of his character because his character, frankly, was not good.  It also made it hard to give him the benefit of the doubt when circumstances actually were stacked against him -- because whether the issue was impossible to resolve or he just never tried, he always blamed everyone else and their lack of respect for him.  You thought he was kidding at first or looking to buy time, but here it turns out that, unbelievably, he is convinced that the reason he's constantly failing is that nobody actually gives him any respect. And that lack of respect is somehow baked into the company's way of doing business.

"OK, hang on a second Andy," you say.  "What about Randy?  You know Randy, right?"

TO PROTECT THE INNOCENT, FACES OMITTED

Randy, it turns out, looks like Andy -- I mean, like brothers.  Like there before the grace of time and natural selection (not that we are evolutionists), you could mistake Andy for Randy from behind for sure, and maybe out of the corner of your eye.

"That guy?" Andy says. "He's the worst of all.  He's like my Uncle Thomas.  I told Thomas I was joining Gamblers Anonymous, he gave me 3 to 1 odds I wouldn't make it."

"What?  What's that supposed to mean?"  It's a funny joke, but you have no idea where he is going with it.

"I'm saying that while everyone is down on me, he's actually getting ahead by using me and pushing me aside."

"That's not true," you tell him.  "You came here from Detroit, he came here from Nigeria.  You have worked in the US all your life, he has only been here a few years -- maybe since just before college.  You started here before he did, and yet somehow even though he has some disadvantages you don't have -- he had to learn the language, he had to become a citizen to keep his job, he has to live far from his family -- he's about to get promoted to the department head, and you are still in this same job because you blame other people for your condition, and he is, frankly, trying to make his own condition."

When you say that, Andy gets really upset.  He starts to shout at you, as if you were the one saying that there was no way for him to succeed on his own. "I can't believe you!  You and your work privileges!  You and Randy and everyone else around here think that it's easy to get by, but you don't know what it's like for everyone to be against you!  Nobody appreciates what I do no matter what I do. And things will never get better around here unless ... " and suddenly a light goes on behind Andy's eyes.  You can see the dawning of revelation as the gears turn in his head and suddenly a new idea is born in him.  You watch him a a minute, and you think he has suddenly realized what you came to tell him.

"Unless you stop blaming other people and get yourself on the team, right?"

His lit-up visage suddenly reverts to an angry glower.  "Are you kidding me?! Are you serious?!  That will never work," he yells.  "But what will obviously work is if they fire the Boss and they put me in charge!  That's what would make things change around here!  In fact, I am going right now to HR to tell them that they better make me the guy running the show around here to make up for all the years of people disrespecting me, or else I'm going to sue them into the ground!"

Andy marches off to the HR office, and you head out to lunch.  You're pretty sure they are going to fire him when he goes up there, but you don't want to be here to see it.

As with all parables, it ruins it to explain it.  But: for those who have ears, let him listen.  

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A presuppositionalist parable: you'll be floored

by Dan Phillips

I've been listening most recently to some of Sye ten Bruggencate's apologetic debates and conversations. My goal is always to become a more effective apologist, myself. I'll confess that I spend a lot of time admiring him and his partners and thinking how poorly I'd have done in that situation. But I keep at it, because it's both a Christian's calling and part of the task of being a pastor, whether it comes easily to one or not.

Presuppositionalist apologists like Sye and others argue insistently (and to their opponents' dismay) that anti-Christians' every argument denying God's existence, in fact, proves God's existence. The point is a very good one, but I'm not sure everyone gets it.

Me, I'm simple; so I always chew things over to the point of my own understanding... and by that time, I've got something just about anyone can understand. Usually a good analogy helps me. Here, I think I have one, so I offer it to you, with the disclaimer that every analogy breaks down at some point.

For starters, presups point out that God is not a conclusion, He's the starting-place. Unbelievers hear this as saying we've no proof of God, though it isn't what we're saying nor meaning. I've wondered whether it might not be more effective to say that the truth of God is too big and fundamental to be the conclusion of a syllogism or chain of reasoning. Only truths of a certain size can fit at the end of a chain of reasoning, and the truth of God is too big to come at the end. That truth is so big and fundamental that it only fits at the start; any other location whittles that truth down to unrecognizability.

So here's the analogy. Envision two philosophical combatants. One school, the Floorists, asserts the existence of the floor as that on which everything else necessarily rests. The other (Afloorists) denies that assertion.

The Floorists say, "If there were no floor, we wouldn't even be here. We'd be nowhere. There'd be no connecting-point and no common-ground — literally. And you Afloorists confirm that fact with every word."

The Afloorists scoff. "Prove there's a floor, without standing on one!"

Floorists: "Can't do that."

Afloorists: "Aha! You see? You have no proof!"

Floorists: "No, we can't do that because we can't even have this discussion without resting on a floor. We can't even talk to you without all of us resting on the floor. The only reason we're talking right now is that both of us are resting on a common floor."

Afloorists: "Nonsense! For instance, look here, I'll show you..." (stepping off the couch onto the floor).

Floorist: "Stop. You just proved the floor. Even before you moved, you proved the floor  You were sitting on something resting on the floor."

Afloorist: "What? I never did! I'm just showing you, here and..." (taking a second step).

Floorist: "Stop! If there's no floor, you couldn't take a first step, let alone a second. All the time your mouth is running, denying the floor, you're standing on the very floor you deny. Every step you take, denying the floor, depends on the floor. You know that, or you'd not have stepped off so confident that something would support you. Every step you take affirms the floor. If there were no floor, you couldn't walk around denying the floor. Every step proves what your mouth denies."

Afloorist: "Bosh. You just can't prove the floor without assuming the floor. You have no evidence. Here, let me show you another place where there's no floor."

Floorist: "Only if you can do it without resting or walking on the floor."

Afloorist: "We can do that! We all know we can do that! Science has proved we can do that! Your problem is that you can't prove there is a floor!"

Floorist: "You can't even say that without resting on the floor. You're denying the floor that you know exists, and meanwhile you're depending on the floor, to deny the floor."

Afloorist (triumphantly): "Aha! You see? You have no proof! You refuse to prove the floor! We ask for evidence, you give none! You don't prove it here (takes step), or here (takes step), or here (jumps up and down). There is no floor! There. Now I'm going to go have sex, thanks to this exhilarating freedom that Afloorism has brought me."

Floorist: "...on something resting on the floor. Brilliant." (Facepalm.)

There y'go.

---

A Parable about Drunk Driving

by Frank Turk

I am travelling this week for work, and I am composing ahead so that you don't go without in spite of my sad and sorry state of out-of-townedness.

I'm thinking about a police force which, because they cannot catch all drunk drivers, they refuse to enforce any of the statutes regarding drunk driving.

Is that an ethically-sufficient way to reason about drunk driving?

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Rich provisions and two sons: a parable

by Dan Phillips

A father once made a feast for his two sons. He was a wealthy and wise man, and he loved his sons dearly. He introduced the meal with a little speech. In it, he assured them of his love. He also declared with a smile that everything they could possibly need had been laid out, with them in mind, in lavish portions.

One son restlessly looked about at the edges of the table. He went on and on about how the father might still be about to make more food than what was laid before them. Besides, he kept repeating, Father hadn't exactly and precisely said he'd not make more... so he might, right? There might be more? Any moment?

This son distractedly picked at what was on his plate from time to time, but his eyes were on the doors to the kitchen. Soon his eyes were on other doors, as well. This son looked by the table and around the table, and even under the table.

Every time any other guest extolled the sufficiency of what was on the table, the first son impatiently and emphatically insisted on talking about what wasn't on the table. If they persisted in praising the extravagance and sufficiency of the table, he would upbraid them, point to the motionless doors, sigh dramatically, and say "Ohhh for the days when men expected more to come through those doors! What we need are men who look to the doors! For more!"

The other son thanked his father with all his heart, and dug in.

As he ate, this son praised his father's wise and loving provision. He helped himself to every last item on the table, taking the time to savor each piece deeply, and to relish in its unique flavor. Between helpings, he would burst out with his admiration for his father's lavish generosity.

Question: Which son honored his father?

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"Compassion"? A parable

by Dan Phillips

A Visitor's Center one day was manned by twin brothers Nick and Knack. A car pulled into the parking lot, disgorging a breathlessly eager visitor.

"May we help you?" offered Nick genially.

"Yes, thank you!" bubbled the newcomer. "All my life I've been longing to travel Route 49! Can you show me the most direct way?"

Nick paled.

"Oh, I'm very sorry, but you don't want to go Route 49."

"But I do!" insisted the visitor.

"Let me rephrase myself," amended Nick. "You may want to, but you really mustn't.  The road goes along nicely at first, but then you'll see a bunch of roadblocks and obstacles laid across it, slowing you down and warning you off. These impediments aren't really a problem; they're actually a good thing...."

"How can they be a good thing," the visitor cuts in angrily. "This is my dream! I want to zoom, not be slowed down."

"I was going to say," continued Nick, "they're a good thing because otherwise you'll shoot straight off the stub of a broken bridge and plummet 800 feet to your death on the rocky rapids below."

"Oh," said the visitor, turning a bit white himself.

"He says," observed Knack, leaning forward, putting down his latte and stroking his soul-patch.

"The map says," countered Nick.

"Map?" asked the visitor.

"Yep, right here," replied Nick, spreading out the item itself on the counter. "See that red X there? It means bridge out."

"You say it means that," snarked Knack. "I say it means 'X marks the spot.'"

"Oh, come on," retorted Nick. "There's a legend at the bottom of the map, for crying out loud! See? 'Bridge out!' It isn't rocket science."

"Scholars now realize that 'X' means many different things in different cultures. Besides, you're talking as if that's the only map," drawled Knack. "This one shows a clear, delightful road right where our visitor wants to go. See?"

"That's in crayon!" exploded Nick.

"You got something against crayon?" inquired Knack.

"No," Nick shot back. "I have something against people destroying themselves."

"Psh," Knack sneered. "You just want safety in rules. The visitor's a daring seeker. He should seek. The journey is what matters, not the destination."

"Seek death?" Nick replied. "I think he'll care plenty about the destination when his car shoots off into space."

There was an angry silence, broken by a sob. It was the visitor, who has tears running down his cheeks.

"All I know is I've yearned to go down Route 49 as long as I remember. Some kids mocked me, others ridiculed me and were mean to me, but the desire has always been there. I can't conceive of not wanting to go down Route 49. It's what my heart tells me to do, and I have to be true to my heart, don't I? I can't lie. It defines me. You can't separate this desire from me. I can't imagine not wanting to go that way. It fills my dreams. I even have a T-shirt. See?" He pulled open his blazer and displayed the garment.

"I understand," crooned Knack. "There is nothing wrong with you or with what you want. And there's nothing wrong with going that way. For you, it is the only way. And in fact, I want to help you. I will personally go ahead of you and remove all the blocks, chains, signs, speed bumps, and ropes that have been stretched across the road. I will mount a parade for you — a Route 49 Pride parade. I will lobby to prohibit people from speaking against traveling Route 49. I will side with you against all the harsh, rule-happy Route 49 nay-sayers. In fact, I will get my brother here fired, because he made you feel bad about wanting to go Route 49. He doesn't care about your feelings, as I do. He doesn't have any love or compassion for you, and I've got buckets of both. Nick's all about rules and maps and shutting you out and playing it safe; I'm all about love and compassion and justice and being bold and daring. Nick is shallow, reactionary and not helpful. I'm deep and thoughtful and helpful. So you just get in your car, and you go go go!"

As the visitor beamed, Nick sprang to block the door. "Whoa whoa whoa, not so fast! Look, friend — how you feel about Route 49 doesn't change the facts: the bridge is out! My feelings aren't the map, your feelings aren't the map. Go that way, and you will die! I don't want you to die. I don't think it's loving or compassionate to give you bad information that means your death. The people who put up those signs and those obstacles knew what they were doing, and they did it because they care about people like you. It shouldn't be easy an comfortable to go down that road. It wouldn't be compassionate of me to focus on giving you a smooth ride to your own destruction, and it isn't "bold" and "daring" to head off to certain doom. Enabling you isn't really helping you. And look, I can show you other ways to go, or I can try to find other ways to help — but don't go that way! It'd be the end of you."

Silence fell again for a moment, then:

"We could call a five-year moratorium on this," offered Knack.

"But I want to go that way now," countered the visitor.

"The map says what it says now, and it isn't unclear," said Nick. "It's said that for a long time, and nothing's changed. Nothing's going to change in five years."

The visitor looked back and forth between the brothers, confused. He knew which brother's advice he liked best, which brother told him what he wanted to hear, but... was that the wisest way to decide?

PREMISE: the bridge was indeed out, and the map was indeed accurate.

QUESTION: which brother actually showed love and compassion?

---

The Portrait

by Frank Turk

All this thinking about how to love people reminds me of a story. I heard it in church about a year and a half ago, so it shouldn't offend too many people.



There was a young man -- a doctor -- who was sent off to war, and he left behind a young wife and a 7-month-old baby girl. He was away at the war for two years, and was faithful to his wife. In writing to her frequently, he sent back a portrait of himself to her and the baby as a promise that he would return home soon.

He returned two years later, and the baby was now a toddler who didn't know him. In fact, in some ways she didn't want him in their house. He was a stranger, and he didn't belong. She only knew the portrait.

One Saturday the young doctor was sitting on the couch reading the paper when the toddler got up from her bed and slowly came down the stairs. He didn't want to antagonize her, so he just sat and read, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She started in the kitchen, then the dining room, then came into the living room sort of watching him, sizing him up. She came to the other end of the sofa, and then pointed at the portrait.

"That's my daddy. Some day he's coming home," she said, looking at the portrait.

He lowered the paper, and looked at her -- both bursting with pride at her confidence and aching on the inside from her ignorance.

She looked at him again, and pointed at the portrait. "That's my daddy," she said certainly, and looked straight at the young doctor.

Then there was a curious silence as her face changed.

"You're my daddy," she said breathlessly.

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