A friend and former colleague of mine has just been made (or to use the proper word “created”) a cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church. He is the first person ever named to that position who has been to the movies with me. For fear this seem to you a dubious distinction you should know that he has some other qualifications for being named to the College of Cardinals.

For one thing, he has distinguished himself as a theologian, having written some twenty books on  various subjects in this field. In fact, he has written so much that he had better stop soon. Otherwise he faces the acute danger of knowing altogether too much about God.

The new cardinal’s  name is Avery Dulles and, as a Jesuit priest, he is currently a professor at Fordham University in New York City. If you are of a certain age, the name Dulles may resound in you: his father was Secretary of State in the Eisenhower administration and his uncle was CIA director.

If you are older still, you may remember his great-uncle, Robert Lansing, who was Secretary of State in the Wilson administration. And, if you have broken all known records for longevity, you will remember yet another high office holder in the line of Avery Dulles’ ancestors, John Watson Foster, the Secretary of State in the Benjamin Harrison regime. If John Paul II has any sense of history, he will promptly appoint the new cardinal Vatican Secretary of State.

Another distinction of the new appointee is that he is 82 years of age, one year older than John Paul himself. Unfortunately for him, he will thus be ineligible for the suspenseful and heady experience of electing the next Bishop of Rome. But he can wear the regalia and act cardinalatial all he wants.

In his first press conference, this cardinal-elect wondered aloud how the new honor will change his daily life. One of the questions he asked was whether he now should wear red socks. If he does so, clearly he will be required to move from New York to Boston where people wearing red socks play ball. Of course people interested in ecclesiastical preferment have been playing ball at the Vatican for some two thousand years.

As his comment about the color of his socks indicates, the new man is taking the sudden interest in him on the part of the press quite lightheartedly. Though he has now joined the great American celebrity system, he stands close enough to God that his head will not be turned. After all, he has tasted other pleasures in life: for example, he saw a Republican become president last month.

I asked one of Father Dulles’ Jesuit colleagues, Father X,  how he felt about the appointment. Not without a cackle, the colleague said he would need time to get reconciled to it because he is convinced the Vatican made a mistake. They meant to choose Father X himself but somehow their record keeping system confused him with Father Dulles. How’s that for infallibility?

Avery Dulles’ personal history shows him to be an extraordinary human being. After all, he first found God in Cambridge, at Harvard College of all places. The presence of the deity at that institution was then, and some would say even now, rare indeed. But that’s where the future cardinal discovered that there was a God even greater than Harvard itself.

I pray that my friend’s health remain vigorous for at least the next three weeks. That’s because, if Avery Dulles does not make it to February 21st, he will go to heaven without ever having actually become a cardinal. The same holds true if John Paul II dies before that date. Viva il  Papa!, as the Italians say (Long live the Pope).

A different kind of concern comes from some carping liberals among Catholic ecclesiastics. They note that, in the last few years, Father Dulles has been moving further and further to the right ideologically. In fact some have even seen this shift as a factor in his selection as cardinal.

It is hard for me to believe that politics of this sort could have had any such role but perhaps I have not shed all my youthful naiveté. In any event, if he is leaning rightward, he will find himself in good company in the Washington D.C. of today.

Think what might have happened if I had played my own cards more adroitly. Would not I now be buying new socks, outfitting myself with prelatial regalia, and reserving tickets for travel to Rome? Clearly, I left the Jesuits too soon, before the Vatican turned toward my former community for a cardinal candidate. I could have looked forward to what the Latins call otium cum dignitate (a dignified leisure) in my old age. Instead, I have to live out my days without any such distinction.

And now I bet you that Avery Dulles will never go to the movies with me again.

Richard Griffin

Discreetly minding my own business, I was walking home from Harvard Square last week when I was accosted by a middle-aged man with whom I am slightly acquainted. He looked to be on a mission, one that turned out to be directed against me. With some passion, he stopped me on the sidewalk and embarked on a tirade against what he considers the sins of liberals.

His first attack was against my friend James Carroll, the author of the newly published “Constantine’s Sword: the Church and the Jews,” a book already making a strong impact on the reading public. My interceptor had not read the book itself, only an interview with its author, but that had supplied enough material for his attack.

He charged that James Carroll is anti-Catholic, guilty over and over of writing what offends the church and its members. Carroll’s weekly columns in the Globe show the same bias, according to his critic. They make clear that the writer finds whatever he can to embarrass the church and to hold it up to ridicule.

In response, I found it difficult to know where to start. I protested to the critic that I was a long-time friend of the author and hold him in much esteem. As a Catholic himself, James Carroll is committed to the faith and does not embrace negativity for its own sake, I pointed out.  That I had read a fair amount of the book under discussion gave me confidence over against my antagonist who could not make the same claim.

The latter then went on to attack the Boston Globe, a newspaper he also labeled as anti-Catholic. In particular, he lambasted the Globe for its cartoonists who, he charged, draw cartoons offensive to Catholics. Here, too, I do not share my disputant’s view and thus found myself defending a newspaper that I do not regard as having attained journalistic perfection.

Besides showing that a walk in the vicinity of Harvard Square can easily turn into an intellectual adventure, what else does this encounter prove? Perhaps, little or nothing. However, I take pleasure and some profit from the events of each day and am addicted to sifting them for meaning. I believe that they help define me as a person and that reflection on these encounters can lead to growth in self- understanding and a better grasp of the world.

In this instance, I discovered myself to have something of a local reputation, both true and false. Yes, I am a self-avowed political liberal who has survived the ups and downs of this approach through many years. As a former candidate for public office, though an unsuccessful one, not to mention my current status as a columnist pledged to stir readers, I know what it is like to take positions before my fellow citizens.

But no one with reason has ever accused me of being normal. I like to think of myself as not entirely defined by any political label. I feel free to take positions that may not accord with conventional expectations of what the label means. Sometimes those positions may even prove offensive to some members of the public. Is not this unconventionality and frankness one of privileges that those of us of a certain age claim for ourselves?

Some of us have lived too long to serve as prisoners of the politically correct. We have seized the freedom to hold opinions that may surprise people and views that do not fit the categories. No matter the conventional pieties about age: we can cherish radical opinions about the world whenever we want.

But my antagonist apparently considers me Mr. Liberal, a person ready to defend anything and everything that supposedly belongs to my chosen political creed. In fact, I am always prepared to defend dear friends from the attacks of others, no matter their views, as I did in this instance for my friend Jim. In this instance it helps that I find his book full of insight and admirably provocative.

That said, I do not wish to be counted on for a reflex response in defense of the Boston Globe or any other institution or agency. Surely by a certain age everyone should have learned that all institutions are flawed, many badly so. Nor will I take a pledge to shield every political doctrine associated with liberals.

The next time I meet my critic or someone else who considers me merely a spokesman for a predictable point of view, I shall again stand my ground but this time perhaps I shall plead the privileges of my age. Having reached decade number eight ought to be worth something, after all.

Richard Griffin

By the time we reach a certain age, many of us have developed at least a few rules of thumb by which to live. These rules offer an assurance and stability that help us navigate through heaving seas. Some of the rules may have been handed down to us by our parents; others are our own invention

To cite one that I have invented, let me regale you with my first law of economics: “Expect the level of your expenditures to rise inexorably until it meets the level of your income, or probably surpasses it.” This rule makes living with debt seem normal.

Writing books with such rules is a tradition that goes far back in English literature. The most famous American example dates to 1733 when Benjamin Franklin published his “Poor Richard’s Almanac.” That small volume comes filled with maxims designed to help readers live well.

Franklin’s sayings are pithy and pointed so that they have been often quoted. Among them is the famous dictum: “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” The most recent edition of Bartlett’s Quotations has dozens more of them.

Now another rules maker has come along, namely Roger Rosenblatt, the writer and television commentator. His “Rules for Aging” is witty, acerbic, and ambiguously tongue-in-cheek. The book’s subtitle warns you what to expect: “Resist normal impulses, live longer, attain perfection.” Slight though it is, this slim volume will stir many readers to amusement and, occasionally, serious thought.

Rosenblatt provides 58 rules in all. Some of them are immediately clear and need no explanation. For example, “After the age of 30, it is unseemly to blame one’s parents for one’s life.”  The need for this rule is certainly confirmed by experience, even with people long past 30. Think of the current literary vogue whereby authors of allegedly mature years badmouth their parents for their own problems.

And in this same category: “Just because the person who criticizes you is an idiot doesn’t make him wrong.” In commenting on it, Rosenblatt instructs us: “Treat all criticism as if it has been produced by the monkey with the typewriter; that is, see it as a lucky shot that happened to hit the mark.”

The wisdom in this next one is easy to appreciate: “Never attempt to improve anyone, especially when you know it will help.” I blush to admit how recently I have violated this absolutely essential rule. Keeping it would have saved me much grief.

A favorite duo of mine are the what the author calls “male and female compatibility rules.” They go like this: “a) She’s right. b) He’s really thinking about nothing. Really.” No commentary from me putting a price on these two nuggets of wisdom is needed.

Other good rules follow but I will not show myself so shameless as to keep quoting from the book. Go read it yourself. If you like sophisticated playing with the vagaries of human experience, you will enjoy it. The investment of an hour or so to read it will amply repay your time. Even if you take offense at some of poor Roger’s sayings, you might still be tickled into a sharp riposte or two of your own.

Roger, of course, is sometimes clearly wrong. For example, he warns “Attend no opera that begins with the word ‘Der.’” And right after, “Attend no other opera.”

As an opera fan from teenage years who loves, among many others, Der Rosenkavalier, I take umbrage at these instructions. (At the moment of writing, I am listening to the Verdi orgy on WHRB, the Harvard student radio station, an action that would surely draw heavy fire from Rosenblatt.)

The author also does not give enough space to one of my prime rules of thumb, namely, do not expect things to turn out well. For many decades this approach of low expectations has served me remarkably well. Perhaps it derives from the character of the first paid job I ever had. It involved putting ten small red feathers into an envelope all day for a summer.

Or from my second, gathering sheets of papers from the editors’ desk at the old Boston Globe, putting them in a steel container, shoving the canister into a pneumatic tube and shooting it up to the composing room.

How could I reasonably expect ever to have much of a job after this kind of start in the world of work?

Roger Rosenblatt, however, seems ironic enough in his approach to the world that he would sympathize with my philosophy of low expectations. He suggests as much when he states that five minutes of happiness is about all one should look for. He thinks people deluded in expecting long periods of being happy.

Try that approach for improving your life.

Richard Griffin

Forty years ago, I felt excited about the inauguration of a new president. The ceremony in which Jack Kennedy took the oath of office amid much hoopla stirred in me pride and a new hope for the future. The idealism to which he gave expression in his eloquent speech to the nation promised that we Americans were entering upon a new era that would bring out the best in us all.

I will always remember, as those of us of a certain age do, that wintry day in Washington when the young man from Massachusetts called on us to ask what we could do for our country, rather than posing the question the other way around.

This past week my feelings were very different. The passage of decades has changed my outlook on many things: in particular I am no longer easily impressed by public officials. Maturity has given me a more realistic sense of how complicated national and international issues are and how intractable. Though leadership often makes a crucial difference, few people have the qualities of mind and heart needed to bring about a better world.

The ascension of George W. Bush to the presidency in particular disturbs me and makes me fear for the well-being of our nation. These feelings are grounded, not so much in the personality of the man, but rather in some of his basic values. It is upsetting to see take over the top position for at least four years someone who espouses public policy positions that I consider harmful to this country and the world.

To mention only five of the positions espoused by Bush II, I cringe at the prospect of large increases in military expenditures (especially for the missile shield), the despoiling of forests and other environmental treasures for the sake of industrial profit, reluctance to support gun control, refusal to back even mild measures for campaign finance control, and continued enthusiasm for imprisonment and capital punishment as answers to problems of crime.

These five positions and others championed by the new administration make me wince at what is happening to our country. I feel uneasy because of the values that underlie these policies. Excessive reliance upon military power and legalized violence rather than the slow, painstaking education of our people in the ways of peace seems to me self-defeating in the long run. Capital punishment, rampant gun use, and the dominance of money over everything else will, I fear, lead to a worse rather than a better society.  

In addition to these substantive issues I must confess not liking George W. Bush’s style.  Here is a man who went to Andover, Yale, and Harvard and yet he gives precious little evidence of caring about intellectual life. The joke about him having read a book when he was an undergraduate is a joke: the reason why we laugh in response is our recognition that W. does not in fact seem to care much about learning.

Nor does he evidence much personal interest in countries other than his own. Mexico counts as an exception but, in general, the former country of Texas seems to satisfy his cultural life. This I say, not out of prejudice against that state, but because I consider interest in the history and culture of other parts of the world to be a valuable quality in an American  president.

Some readers will undoubtedly find this column to be a mere exercise in political prejudice. They will see my words as those of a liberal Democrat disgruntled that one of his did not get to the White House.  

Instead, I intend this column as a further sharing of my own personal experience of growing older. As we age, often we find ourselves out of sympathy with what is happening in our society. Many people I talk to express disappointment, even disillusion with the organizations for which they have worked. They see things changing in ways that distress them because they are convinced that the changes do not serve the best interests of the organizations themselves or the people who work for them.

That’s the way I am feeling this week about the changes in national leadership. And I contrast these feelings with what I experienced forty years ago and at other times in our national life. Of course, I realize that the Kennedy administration did not fulfill the idealism that it professed. Nor did his successors who spoke grandiose words but did not follow through on their promises.

So while watching the inauguration last week I felt some pain. Perhaps W. and his allies will surprise us but whatever little wisdom that I have gained over the years gives me precious little confidence that any leader with the values that he has promulgated can give his fellow citizens what we really need.

Richard Griffin