“Shame is the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.” – Brené Brown, Daring Greatly


“ Merely to write the words ‘my shame’ is to perform a subtly transgressive act, albeit one already native to writing itself. What, the reader may wonder, with an impending sense of vicarious shame, is the author about to reveal? (Shame is peculiarly infectious.) Writing, however, is a place where we hide as well as reveal ourselves. Be reassured—and warned.” – Virginia Burrus, Saving Shame: Martyrs, Saints, and Other Abject Subjects    



In E Lawrence’s recent, fantastic, post reflecting on some of what she learned last year, there were a number of points where, had I printed out the piece instead of reading it online, I would’ve written “AMEN!” or “Fuck Yes!” in the margins (and may have actually muttered them aloud while reading, to be honest). It was one of the best things I’ve read on theology and the body (and each category of literature on their own, for that matter) in awhile, perhaps ever, as my hypothetical marginalia would suggest. One of those points in particular is when she leads into her second point, that our bodies deserve care, by giving some context about the intermittent vaginal pain she’s suffered from this past year, and begins with a sort of justificatory proviso, writing: “The feminist in me dictates that I write the next part, because fuck silence.”

I was thinking a lot about this sentence in particular, in part because, while I think it is spot on, I also think, I would add something to what she so profoundly and yet plainly said. Yes, fuck silence. But also, fuck shame. I actually had a similar sentiment when I read Janice’s recent, also fantastic, post on the recent Sia music video for “Elastic Heart” that’s been stirring up a bit of controversy.

Or, at least, that’s what I initially thought. But then I started doing a little research on shame, because I didn’t know what to add—how to expound upon my elaboration from the critique of silence to the critique of shame other then “fuck it.” And then my research efforts got the best of me, and I found myself nose deep in shame literature in a variety of different fields. I’d happily—but also shamefully, given the number of pressing things on my to do list—fallen down the rabbit hole to the wonderland of shame studies….which ended up taking me down some rather unexpected paths…. [1]

my "traveling library of shame"...

my “traveling library of shame”…


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While some scholars have mused that in America today we’re ashamed of shame, shame has actually gotten some quality airtime as of late, though by quality I certainly don’t mean positive—who would want shame to have “positive airtime,” you ask! Why? Well, more on that later…[2] Rather, shame, when we do speak of it, gets spoken of much in the same way that Obama gets spoken of my Bill O’Reily or Sean Hannity.

Brené Brown, a social work professor at the University of Houston, is probably the most well-known and popular public scholar talking about shame and its ill effects—her first TED talk, “The Power of Vulnerability,” has been, and remains, one of the most watched TED talks in history (the others that make the top five are on orgasm, creativity, leadership, and happiness, which makes the fact that a talk on vulnerability and shame making the list all the more impressive), with over 18 million views; her follow up talk, “Listening to Shame,” has over 4.5 million views, and two of the books she’s written on the subjects of shame and vulnerability—The Gifts of Imperfection and Daring Greatly—were #1 on the New York Times bestseller list.

Shame is a somewhat confusing, a big, thing to define and describe (hence my tumble down the rabbit hole). Brown, in an effort to describe it simply enough for a twenty minute talk, explains that:

“…shame is really easily understood as the fear of disconnection: Is there something about me that, if other people know it or see it, that I won’t be worthy of connection? The things I can tell you about it:it’s universal; we all have it. The only people who don’t experience shame have no capacity for human empathy or connection. No one wants to talk about it, and the less you talk about it the more you have it. What underpinned this shame, this “I’m not good enough,” — which we all know that feeling: “I’m not blank enough. I’m not thin enough, rich enough, beautiful enough, smart enough, promoted enough.” The thing that underpinned this was excruciating vulnerability, this idea of, in order for connection to happen, we have to allow ourselves to be seen, really seen” (4:18).

Brown goes on to explain her research on shame and what made some impervious to its ill effects—what gave them a sense of worthiness. What she found was two common factors: that 1) “these folks had, very simply, the courage to be imperfect,” and 2) they “fully embraced vulnerability” (8:20, 8:39). I bring that up because, in her second, follow-up talk, “Listening to Shame,” Brown explains that “addition to really finally understanding the relationship between vulnerability and courage…we have to talk about shame” (6:21). Brown goes on to define shame as “the gremlin who says ‘Uh uh. You’re not good enough…’” (12:49). Shame, then, is what prevents us from “daring greatly,” and vulnerability and empathy, then, are the antidotes. But shame often prevents us from taking the risk of being vulnerable, thus it functions as a sort of feedback loop, shame putting up more and more obstacles, making us feel more and more disconnected, which makes it harder to be vulnerable, etc…etc… Wash, rinse, repeat. This is why Brown calls shame “lethal,” and “deadly.”

Brown is by no means alone in seeing shame in such a hostile light. The psychological and popular literature is overflowing with research on the pernicious effects of shame that Brown points to and preaches against. For example, Gershen Kaufman explains that

“…shame is important because no other affect is more disturbing to the self, none more central for the sense of identity. In the context of normal development, shame is the source of low self-esteem, diminished self image, poor self concept, and deficient body-image. Shame itself produces self-doubt and disrupts both security and confidence. It can become an impediment to the experience of belonging and to shared intimacy….It is the experiential ground from which conscience and identity inevitably evolve. In the context of pathological development, shame is central to the emergence of alienation, loneliness, inferiority and perfectionism. It plays a central role in many psychological disorders as well, including depression, paranoia, addiction, and borderline conditions. Sexual disorders and many eating disorders are largely disorders of shame. Both physical abuse and sexual abuse also significantly involve shame.”[3]

As Kaufman points out, a whole panopoly of negative traits are associated with, and understood at least in part as consequences of, shame. Two of the three of the “dark triad” of personality traits—narcissism and Machiavellianism —are highly associated with shame (the third, psychopathy/antisociality, not so much). Shame, studies have shown, in addition to playing a major role in depression and anxiety, is shown to be a significant factor in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,[4] is known to contribute to victims of intimate partner violence staying in dangerous and abusive situations,[5] is connected with relationship problems in general,[6] is linked to disordered eating[7]… the list could go on and on… Shame has even been shown to negatively effect our immune system functioning.[8] Psychology Today has—aptly, considering the literature—dubbed shame a concealed, contagious, and dangerous emotion.

Shame, as the studies and articles I’ve already cited (along with a host of others) has been closely linked with silence and secrecy. This is a point Brown makes throughout her talks and writings. “If you put shame in a Petri dish,” she suggests, “it needs three things to grow exponentially: secrecy, silence, and judgment” (“Listening to Shame,” 18:53). I think this point Brown makes is what made me, on the one hand, utterly love E Lawrence’s fuck you to silence, and on the other hand, also what made me want to extend it to say fuck shame… and then, with that, what fucked up my own sense of saying fuck you to shame. Let me explain…

On one level, it’s easy. I think in wanting to put up my middle finger to shame, I was really pointing to the third aspect of what causes shame to grow according to Brown—judgment. Brown suggests that the antidote to shame then is speaking, and, concomitantly, empathy; “if you put the same amount of shame in a Petri dish and douse it with empathy,” she explains, “it can’t survive.” So in calling out shame, I was thinking: people really not better pitch a fit at this post (and, since I last checked the comments/touched base with Lawrence, nobody had—thank you, dear blog readers). But that’s also where it gets complicated, and where I started to get all kinds of confused and descend down the rabbit hole, because I got to wondering… what do we do/what happens when empathy isn’t offered, where judgment is overflowing in abundance (a pretty common occurrence in Christian communities, at least in a wide range of communities I’ve been a part of, whether they’ve been evangelical or mainline, conservative or progressive…)? What do we do then? Are we just stuck in a place of shame? And then, if shame is an emotion that we alone can’t manage—because it’s so contingent on our relations to and with others—what do we do with that?

Given my queerness, I couldn’t help but think about shame and sexuality—of my own sexual identity, my history of shame in relation to my own coming out process (both developmentally speaking, as well as in terms of the everydayness, the “being out” of the coming out process); and how shame tends to play a pretty significant role in the coming and being out processes to varying degrees in many, if not all, of us who identify somewhere within what Mark Jordan has referred to as the queer alphabet, as LGBTQQIA.[9] This history/affect of shame in relation to my sexuality, both explains a great deal of my desire to “fuck shame,” (think here about Gay Pride: the movement, the various parades and events, etc…), as well as my own confusion about it all. Shame has played an enormous role in my own history and still lingers in various forms and manifestations in my present. While there is part of me that hates that feeling and some of what it can sometimes produce in my life, it’s also a part of me… I’ll get into this more in a little bit, but Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, one of the foremothers of queer theory, suggests that, “at least for certain (‘queer’) people, shame is simply the first, and remains a permanent, structuring fact of identity…”[10] Building on Sedgwick’s point, Ellis Hanson, calling shame “my curse and my oldest friend,” points out that, “without my shame, I could hardly recognize myself—indeed, I would not have a self to recognize—and so to banish shame would be absurd.”[11]

Michael Warner, I think, sums up this sort of ambivalence I feel towards shame—my paradoxical eschewal of shame and simultaneous need for it…my finding the eschewal of it all too simple, at best, and perhaps even problematic.[12] In his essay “Pleasures & Dangers of Shame,” he explains:

“Gay pride, and much of the movement organized around it, entails a theory of shame as a thing of the personal and collective past—shame about shame, if you will. For many, this picture has come to seem not only empirically false and subjectively thin, but worse: too safe to be sexy and too dishonest to be safe.[13]

What, then, to do with shame? If not (gay) pride, if that’s too dishonest and too boring (what a sad combination!), what’s the alternative? How else to think of shame….? In my next post, I’ll explore some queerer pastures….



[1] I don’t know whether the various literature in psychology, theology, and queer theory that I consulted actually constitutes a discrete field called shame studies, but alas…

[2] As Virginia Burrus puts it in Saving Shame: Martyrs, Saints, and Other Abject Subjects (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), ‘Shame is an emotion of which we frequently seem deeply ashamed” (1). A few pages later, she notes, “I have already implicitly raised the question of whether the Christianized, if also secularized, modern West has, by becoming ashamed of shame, in face effectively evacuated shame” (5).

[3] Gershen Kaufman, The psychology of shame: theory and treatment of shame-based syndromes. 2 edition. (New York: Springer Publishing, 1996), xvi.

[4] Andrew Stone, “The Role of Shame in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” American Journal of Orthopsychiatry 62(1), January 1992, 131-136; Jennie Leskela et. al. “Shame and Posttraumatic Stress Disorder,” International Journal for Traumatic Stress Studies 15(3), June 2002, 223-226; Judith L. Herman, “PTSD as a Shame Disorder” Online Trauma Training Webinar, International Society for Traumatic Stress Studies, October 14, 2014.

[5] Jacquelyn C. Campbell & Linda A. Lewandowski, “Mental and Physical Health Effects of Intimate Partner Violence on Women and Children, Stress in Health and Disease 20(2), June 1997, 353-374; Jacquelyn C. Campbell & Karen L. Soeken, “Forced Sex and Intimate Partner Violence: Effects on Women’s Risk and Women’s Health,” Violence Against Women 5, 1999, 1017-1035; Belle Liang et. al. “A Theoretical Framework for Understanding Help-Seeking Processes Among Survivors of Intimate Partner Violence,” American Journal of Community Psychology 36(1-2), September 2005, 71-84.

[6] Judith A. Feeny, “Hurt Feelings in Couple Relationships: Towards Integrative Models of the Negative Effects of Hurtful Events,” Journal of Social and Personal Relationships 21(4), August 2004, 487-508.

[7] Stephanie M. Noll & Barbara L. Fredrickson, “A Mediational Model Linking Self-Objectification, Body Shame, and Disordered Eating,” Psychology of Women Quarterly 22(4), December 1998, 623-636; June Price Tangney et al. “Moral Emotions and Moral Behavior,” Annual Review of Psychology 58, January 2007, 345-372.

[8] Sally Dickerson et al. “Immunological Effects of Induced Shame and Guilt,” Psychomatic Medicine 66(1), January/February 2004, 124-131.

[9] I couldn’t really figure out how to frame this sentence well… I realize that queerness just sounds like “strangeness,” and/or just sounds, well, strange, like a personality trait or something…. While I am most certainly also strange, here I’m talking in particular about sexual identity. Given “that I identify as queer?” Framing it like that avoids the ontologizing of identity that I so often fear, but also makes it seem a bit flippant, a little too casual, given the weight that “coming out” has had in my life. Given “my rampant lesbianism?” That gets the point across, but that definitely ontologizes gender and sex, even more then the previous option. Given “that I fall in love with/become romantically involved with/sleep with women?” That just seems a little clunky, and perhaps, at least for some, a little too straightforward (though, I mean, that’s what sexual identity is/means, right? But the way we talk about or don’t talk about sex is a conversation for another day… which definitely speaks to my broader point about shame and sexual identity—it’s definitely not only queer folk who experience sexual shame…). So, in light of all that, I’ve stuck with the awkwardness of “given my queerness”… Also, to expound on the queer alphabet acronym, in case some of y’all don’t know the whole thing, it’s Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Questioning, Intersex, Ally, Asexual… I’m also sure I am missing a panopoly of other sexual minority/queer identifications that have made their way into the every growing acronym, so my apologies for whatever I’ve left out…

[10] Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, “Shame, Theatricality, and Queer Performativity: Henry James’s The Art of the Novel. In David M. Halperin & Valerie Traub, eds. Gay Shame (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 49-62 (61).

[11] Ellis Hanson, “Teaching Shame,” in Gay Shame, 132-164 (138).

[12] To “eschew shame” = the academic/fancy way of saying, “fuck shame”…?

[13] Michael Warner, “Pleasures and Dangers of Shame,” in Gay Shame, 283-296 (287, emphasis mine).

“Money promises value. It does not specify the form that such value will take. Used for consumption, money promises pleasure. Used for investment, money promises more money. The value of money, or the value that is promised, has no exact or fixed measure. It is an indefinite potential.” (Philip Goodchild, Theology of Money, 107)

“How could anyone expect to profit from unpayable loans without debtors who were already marked by their racial/cultural difference ensuring that at least some among them would not be able to pay? This is precisely what makes “high-risk” securities profitable. The Black and Latino/a holders of subprime loans, like Dana, owe incomprehensible and unpayable monetary debts precisely because they are not constructed as referents of either the relationship between persons presumed in commerce (which Graeber states precedes all other economic circumstances) or the capacity that according to Karl Marx ultimately determines their value of exchange (the productivity which John Locke, David Ricardo, and Marx agreed elevated the human thing).” (Denise Ferreira Da Silva and Paula Chakravartty, Accumulation, Dispossession, and Debt, 367)

Money promises value, as Philip Goodchild announces in the quote above. The promise of value is also the production of more money. Because money promises value, in order for more value to be created, more money must be created. In Goodchild’s elaboration, this creation of money to satiate the value it promises is the creation of debt. That is, the promise of value requires the creation of debt in order to produce value.

If money, according to Goodchild, is the promise of value—a promise which creates debt—blackness, following Ferraira da Silva and Chakravartty’s analysis, is the invention of an indelible indebtedness—the promise of a permanent inability to pay the debt that money creates. Blackness’ indebtedness is a demarcation of the threat that is named poverty. The threat of poverty in the US is figured as black just as the threat of global poverty is figured as Africa. The threat of poverty that blackness represents is the threat that secures the promise of money’s value. In other words, money is valuable and desirable because its accumulation is how one proves they are not-black, not poor. Goodchild understands the threat to value as exclusion from participation in social life and the loss of freedom:

“value is seen to be not a transcendental category, but rather always relational, and an effect of the use of money to mediate exchange. So, we find that the value of money arises from its nature of a self-fulfilling promise. And therefore, also, from the counterpoint of that promise, which takes the form of a threat of exclusion for those who are unable to participate in social life because of a lack of money. It may then be said that money also “draws its value from the will to survive that is threatened by a lack of money.” [pp. 119] The promise of money is then a certain kind of freedom, the freedom to make one’s demand effective and thence, to express one’s own evaluations.” (Indradeep Ghosh, Absolute Economics)

While this is correct on one front, we must also think from the underside of this logic. Goodchild argues that we must think ecologically about money – think about the relations it enables and disavows. I would argue this, but even further. We must think of money and blackness ecologically – Think of the relations that money and blackness engender. If we follow this ecological thought, we must take Da Silva and Chakravartty’s analysis as a necessary interlocutor and even more incisive understanding of the relations money produces. Because these authors understand global capitalism to come into being and expansion with the invention of race, they are also aware of the relation between money and blackness, not just the relations money produces. In this formulation, the promise of value is dependent on the promise of debt—the promise that the black will never be able to repay its debts and that the overwhelming debt accrued by blackness will be what organizes the principle of money’s promise. A permanent indebtedness, then, is the condition of blackness.

For my own part, I am concerned with how the criminalization of blackness alongside carceral, legal, and theological structures, works through this racialized relationship between the value that money produces and blackness. What I consider in my next two blog posts is the way value is distributed racially, what the implications are for our contemporary political moment, and some alternative ways we may be able to understand this distribution, or imagine it otherwise for the purpose of thinking of new modes of sociality. The second post in this series will consider whiteness as credibility, suggesting that whiteness is the position of finding one’s self credible even when one has debt (or perhaps precisely because one has debt).1 In other words, whiteness is the position Da Silva and Chakravarrty reference in the quotation above: “the relationship between persons presumed in commerce … or the capacity that according to Karl Marx ultimately determines their value of exchange.” My third post considers Blackness as indebtedness, arguing that blackness is the position of finding one’s self excluded from credibility and situated as a “high-risk” object, or criminal, whose circulation produces wealth for the credible.

My parenthetical above perhaps makes more sense in light of this. There is a difference between having debt and being indebted. The difference lies precisely in the relation between having and being. It is a difference of those who are the owners of their debt and those whose preceding indebtedness makes them ownable and exchangeable for profit. My hope is that in the following posts, greater clarity on the relation between having debt and being indebted will be produced and so gain new insights with which to examine the racialized ecology of global capital, and its carceral arm. Finally, I hope to invoke some ideas of how the relation between value and indebtedness, between money and blackness, enables us to follow the high-risk object, the criminal, into another form of social possibility.

1. Thanks to Sean Capener, who wrote some very insightful words in an AAR paper/thesis excerpt on the relation between credibility and indebtedness.

When I was previously immersed in research for years about Augustine and his legacy for theological anthropology, I came across an article by John Cavadini entitled, “Feeling Right: Augustine on the Passions and Sexual Desire,” [Augustinian Studies 36.1 (2005): 195-217]. I want to revisit some of the issues raised by this article in order to explore questions about Christian feminist options for decrying violent sexualities and encouraging healthy sexualities. Continue Reading »

We at WIT get a lot of trolls.

There’s just something about a group of young women with advanced degrees talking about God that really seems to get people all riled up.

Come, stroll with me down Troll Lane. There was the person who said, “You give good reason s why women need to be silent.” I can recall the lovely gentleman who told us, “you should not be called Wit you should be called witch women in theology creating Heresy.” There was the man who proclaimed us “under mortal sin, clearly” and the woman who called us “fringe wackos.” I could go on but I think you get the picture.

I must admit that being subjected to hateful, vitriolic, and occasionally un-hinged comments can get to me. I have felt tempted to slur back–anything to make my interlocutor feel what she has made me feel. And anyone who glances through the comments I have left on this blog will have no problem finding evidence of times I have lost my cool. I know I have said things I wish I hadn’t.

But these unpleasant visitations do not always end so poorly. Sometimes, as I learned tonight, they can inspire in us a fresh appreciation for forgotten beauty or push us in the direction of unexpected theological insights. Grace does not always look like we think it should. Today, a woman I can know only by the name of Mary left me the following response to an old essay of mine entitled “Jesus Was Not A Bully; The Ambo Is Not A Bully Pulpit.”

Continue Reading »

Trigger Warning This piece discusses pedophilia and the role of young bodies in art.


“Young bodies are like tender plants, which grow and become hardened to whatever shape you’ve trained them.”

Desiderius Erasmus


This week, Australian performer Sia released yet another mesmerizing music video. This time for her song Elastic Heart. Teaming up once again with dancer Maddie Zeigler and director Daniel Askill (both from Chandelier), Sia chose Shia LeBeouf to play Maddie’s dance counterpart; the result being a highly visceral exploration of, as Sia described it: ‘these two warring ‘sia’ self states’. LeBeouf was an inspired choice, not only because of the provocative statements both Sia and LeBeouf have made about fame, but because he exudes a kind of animal intensity that ensures the psychological dimensions of this clip remain bodily. As far as music videos go, I see this as a stunning piece of art



And yet in the two days since the release, Sia has come under attack for creating a piece that promotes pedophilia. There are hundreds of tweet going around, including this account of the video: “Smacks of child molestation #pervert #unacceptable #childabuse…Explain please!”[1] Well I have watched the clip a number of times, over and over, and I really I don’t see any overtones of pedophilia (this is not to presume or rule out the whole myriad of triggers that may occur for people for various reasons). As Sia has said, she constructed the clip entirely around her identity. And if one has followed Sia’s career, this is hardly difficult to discern. But it does not surprise me that this has raised eyebrows. It’s not surprising because we are increasingly uncomfortable with the bodies of the young, and certain rules about young bodies are emerging that seem increasingly objectifying and shaming.


I hesitate before moving going on. I know this discussion is tremendously difficult for many, and I certainly do not want to defend the production of visual pedophilia. What I do want to do, is to consider how certain reactions to art forms that include young bodies participate in a well-worn body shaming, suppress the imagination and the senses, and ultimately rehash the discourse of rape culture.


Maddie dances in the color of her flesh. So does LeBeouf. People have a problem with this. One commentator put it this way: ‘it doesn’t help that both dancers are not wearing much, and that those clothes are flesh-coloured – giving the appearance of nudity’[2]Would pink lyrca be more acceptable for a young girl? Young bodies must be covered in certain ways. This is a new rule. I remember my own childhood: summers often spent dancing and playing naked on an Australian beach. You can’t do that now. Now I get the complexity of this, I just think it is wrong to assume that the visual representation of a young body alone or exclusively promotes pedophilia, as if nakedness is always the definitive factor in pedophiliac desire. But what really concerns me is what our desire to cover over the young body is saying. That Maddie Ziegler’s flesh has created discomfort says something about the projection placed upon the young body. That this body is a cause for panic, censure, erasure even. It is a discomfort that teaches parents and guardians to hide away and hide from the young body. These bodies must be covered over because they are most significantly, sexual.


This is played out in the spaces in which young bodies can move, in the acceptable uses of their own body. Perhaps we have never had more concern over what exactly a young person can do with their body. The way they move is dangerous. In many neighborhoods, especially the affluent, kids are not allowed to climb trees, ride their bikes alone, flip backwards off the pier into the lake near Grandma’s house. It is not safe out there (despite statistics regularly showing otherwise). But there is something particularly disturbing about the way accusations of perversion or pedophilia emerge in the production of art, as with the case of the Elastic Heart video. Claims like this – of pedophilia – suggest that all contact between bodies is sexual. There is a problem of proximity, a young body in contact with an older person (and the way this nearly always plays out via adult male and young girl is telling) is inappropriately intimate. When Maddie dances with LeBeouf and their bodies make contact, a line has been crossed. And Maddie (as with LeBeouf) has done something terrifically wrong. She shouldn’t use her body like this, it is not right. Surveillance must be practiced over the movement of a young body, and their body must not be touched, because their bodies are most significantly, sexual.


The repetition of rape culture discourse is obvious. To the young person: your body is essentially sexual, you must cover it over and move only in ways that other, more powerful, humans dictate. You must do this to protect yourself against violent sex crimes, and you will do it because you are ultimately responsible for your own protection. Of course there must be boundaries with minors. I would hope I don’t have to argue that, but here is a message that is burdened upon the most vulnerable time and time again. Do we ask ourselves if this is ever helpful? What is achieved through these rules for young bodies apart from an early body shaming and fear? And when we squeeze young bodies into a trajectory that assumes all physical expression and contact is sexual, surely it dulls both the imagination and the senses? This is particular true in pop music. Consider the Disney child who grows up and inevitably feels a need to express adulthood in sexual terms. To be clear, I have no problem with this, but it does seem that their trajectory has been set, their imagination captured, their senses dulled. They have heard, ‘when you have some autonomy and want to explore and express yourself, perhaps through your body and art, this will be sexual, because you are most significantly, sexual.’


In Elastic Heart Sia clearly tells a story about herself. You might say it is haunting, disturbing, beautiful, poignant. You could say lots of things. Maddie returns to play the role of Sia. She is a dancer, a performer that uses her body to tell a story that is as riveting as it is confounding. And yet all that many can see is sex (a sex that is disordered and shameful). Is this really the only thing that we have to say to young people about their bodies?



[1] http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/sia-apologizes-for-controversial-elastic-heart-video-with-shia-labeouf-20150108

[2] http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/music/sia-sorry-over-pedophilia-upset-caused-by-elastic-heart-video-20150108-12kabs.html#ixzz3OHYH4omz

U.S. Americans typically have responded to the release of the Senate Committee’s Report on Torture by debating either the morality or the efficacy of torture.  When opponents denounce torture as ineffective they do so because they believe that it does not provide the United States government reliable information about terrorism while those who disagree claim just the opposite. And when others decry torture on ethical grounds they do so because they believe torture an immoral way of securing national safety while those who disagree claim just the opposite. Either way, both debates center around whether or not torture represents an appropriate means to the end of self-defense against terrorism.

But what if torture serves another, even more primary purpose? What if, not foreign terrorists and their intransigent allies, but the U.S.-American public supplies the ultimate target of the torture wreaked upon the bodies hidden away in secret prisons scattered across pro-American parts of the globe? What if torture’s success lies precisely in its failure both to conform to long-recognized moral norms and to demonstrate with certainty that it gathers life-saving information.

We have misclassified torture. Rather than a strategy, I argue, the torture deployed in the war on terror operates as a soteriology, a type of salvation story.

Continue Reading »

The Archbishop’s column in the most recent Catholic St. Louis magazine made me start to think about New Year’s resolutions. All sorts of research shows that most people fail at the resolutions that they make for the New Year and a poll back in 2013 showed that most people don’t even make resolutions anymore.

Continue Reading »


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