The prison philosopher in me believes the solution to any given problem cannot be found within the problem itself, but must come from a greater source outside of itself. Somewhere “other than.” This is to say that, ultimately, Texas Department of Corrections (TDC) itself is not our problem. It’s only a symptom of it. The actual problem stares back at us from the mirror every morning. It’s in the way we think, the way we live, and the way we respond to life’s situations and circumstances. Our entire Weltanschauung [worldview] has been affected, poisoning our thought processes and preventing us from getting out of our own way, that we might be successful at this thing we call life.
As a symptom resulting from a problem, therefore, how can TDC sell us the dream that has convinced us that they have the solution? As an analogy, I think of a woman with cancer who is going through chemotherapy. After exposure to the radiation causes her hair to fall out, she may choose to conceal her baldness beneath a wig. (I use the example of a woman because most men don’t care about such things.) Her baldness itself is not the problem, but only an outgrowth of it. In other words, the hairpiece doesn’t do anything in the way of treating her cancer. It merely conceals the results of it.
In this way, TDC is attempting to conceal our baldness beneath the hairpiece of education reform, psychological reprogramming, and the social gospel. Any of these things (or all of them), in and of themselves, isn’t without value per se, just as the hairpiece isn’t. Each serves a specific purpose. Any single one of them, however, is far from being the be-all-end-all of solutions.
Whenever I speak to people about these things, many of them seem to feel as though I’m just complaining about things that we have no power to change. The reality, however, is this: I’m speaking of things that we do have the power to change. At least to some extent. They’re just uncomfortable to talk about. Before we can effect any meaningful change in our outward circumstances, we must first and foremost acknowledge that a problem actually exists, identify what the problem is, and pinpoint its location—only then will we begin to be able to troubleshoot and reasonably expect to work toward a feasible solution.
In saying that, I somewhat agree with many of my detractors. The novelist John Saul says that it’s impossible to write a book (he who has written many). It is possible, however, he says, to write one paragraph at a time until eventually all those combined paragraphs add up to what ultimately becomes a book. In like manner, TDC is a nameless, faceless, uncaring bureaucracy. It is uninterested in the sufferings of the individual men and women confined within its walls nor the abuses inflicted upon them.
Similarly, it is not likely possible that we, as individuals, or even groups within, can change the Texas prison system or its nature. It is possible, however, for us to work toward change in the nature of ourselves. Once that is under way, then we can begin to effect change in the lives of our neighbors. Great change is not effected in multitudes. It is effected neighbor to neighbor, one person at a time. One heart and one life at a time, not an assembly line of change.
Many people—if not most—don’t want to change. It’s not that they’re happier or even particularly enjoy being the person they are. It’s simply easier. It’s familiar. It’s comfortable. Like the maxim that says that the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t—even when that devil is us. A desire or a willingness to change implies an introspection, and that can be painful.
Many people aren’t even interested in knowing who they really are or what they’re capable of becoming. They’re complacent worshipping at the altar of their idols of the theatre. (1, Bacon)
It’s easier to kneel before the distorted wooden images they’ve amateurishly carved of themselves than it is to gaze into the mirror of their own soul. St. Thomas a Kempis (1380-1471), Superior of the Canons Regular of St. Augustine at Mount St. Agnes Monastery (i.e., Brethren of the Common Life), just outside Zwolle, Holland, writes:
“Often we are unaware of our own interior blindness. Many times we do evil and, what is far worse, we justify it.
Sometimes our passions rule us and we mistake it for zeal. We are critical of the small defects in our neighbors, but overlook the serious faults in ourselves.
We are quick to complain of what we put up with from others, with never a thought of what others suffer from us.
If we would see ourselves as we really are, we would not find cause to judge others severely.” (2)
Change is not easy. It’s inconvenient, to say the least. We would much rather mold other people into the clay images that complement our own lives than make a change. Being reborn—or reshaped—into a true image that serves the lives of others is bothersome. Everyone wants to put a star on their chest for recognition of their importance and honorable accomplishments, but few want to put in the work. St. James Minor, the first Bishop of Jerusalem, wrote:
“Demonstrate your faith to me without works, and I will demonstrate my faith to you from my works.” (St. James 2:18)
In other words, either shit or get off the pot.
He, then, who would be honored, let him first produce the fruits of his labor. If we’re ever to be successful agents of change in the prison system, whether we’re doing a deuce or multiple life sentences, we must all pass through the purgatorial fires of rebirthing. In our materialistic society, we are conditioned—many times by our parents, our friends, our schools, the mass media, or by Hollywood—to view “success” in terms of a large bank account, a trophy wife (or husband), a luxury car, the right job, the right education, the right-sized house in the right neighborhood, and even the right set of friends. No controversy allowed or you’re a failure. St. Isaac the Syrian, Bishop of Nineveh (660-680), called this the “tyranny of possessions” and the twenty-first century definition of American slavery. (3)
I do not mean to imply that having money or nice things is somehow unimportant or a bad thing. I mean, we all need money to grease the wheels of the machinery that is our lives: the ability to pay our bills, feed our families, clothe ourselves, and put gas in our cars. But there is a world of difference between earning to live and living to earn. St. John Climacus (ca. 579-649), a hesychastic (i.e., Quietist) monk at the Egyptian community at Raithu, just to the southwest of the Sinai, writes:
“Avarice, or love of money, is the worship of idols, a daughter of unbelief, an excuse for infirmaries…. The beginning of the love of money is the pretext of almsgiving, and the end of it is hatred of the poor. So long as he is collecting he is charitable, but when the money is in hand he tightens his hold.” (4)
I quoted St. John here only to make a point. It should be kept in mind that he is an ascetic, and while we can accept his lesson on greed at face value, he also assigns a deeper spiritual meaning: Namely, that greed can be any overt desire for a thing to replace our spiritual lives. And by extension, therefore, greed equals gluttony equals lust equals idolatry.
I believe that a faith in God and a commitment to His will for our lives is essential to our finding a lasting solution to this mare’s nest that we’ve fostered in the prison system. We’ve discovered that in and of itself, educational reform doesn’t work, drug treatment doesn’t work, psychological counseling doesn’t work, and stricter rules and tighter security measures sure as hell don’t work. These measures have already been tried a dozen times and failed. At best they’ve acted as Band-Aids to be ripped off of old wounds at the first opportunity.
As men and women living behind the walls, haven’t we yet grown tired of all the cartoonish, tough-guy posing, posturing, and fakery? Or are we still occupied by some novelty in the ephemeral charades of daily prison life? Isn’t it time to try something new?
None of us is blameless. From the crook who keeps the prison in business to the courts who make sure that custom is plentiful. And from the politicians who hawk its wares to the taxpayer who, wittingly or unwittingly, supports its endeavors. We’ve all have our role to play in this spiritual bloodletting and We’ve not failed to play our part. Yet wouldn’t it be more fulfilling and more rewarding to play a role in its redemption?
Just sayin’.
Bibliography
1. Roger Bacon, Novum Organum I, 38
2. St. Thomas a Kempis, de imitatione christi II.v.1
3. St. Isaac Ninevita, de discorsis asceticis IV, 23. cf. Philo Iudaeus Alexandrinus, Quod Omnis Probus Liber Sit III, 2
4. St. John Climacus, de scala paradisi XVI, 1,4
Jayson Scott Slaymaker #00634548
Texas Department of Corrections
Alfred Hughes Unit
Rt. 2 Box 4400
Gatesville, TX 76597
