Transcription
Welcome back to the Word on Fire show. I'm Matthew Petrusic, senior director of the Word on Fire Institute and the host of the Word on Fire show. Thank you for joining us.
A debate has been raging on social media recently about the role work should play in both our individual and communal lives. One side argues that Americans, on the whole, are not only spending too few hours at work, but at a deeper cultural level, they believe the United States and much of the West has become lazy and prone to immediate gratification—a moral failure that undermines efficiency, personal wealth, and national power and prosperity.
The other side maintains that although work is good and necessary for individual and societal well-being, pedestalizing time spent at a desk, on the road, or on a factory floor—away from one's family, friends, and activities that you find most fulfilling—is not only to miss what makes life most valuable and enjoyable, but also compromises individuals' creativity and ingenuity.
This debate is not only rhetorical; how we conceive of the relationship between work and leisure has very real cultural, economic, and even political consequences. So who has the upper hand? Should we live to work or work to live? And if both, what principles should we appeal to in order to get that balance right? Here to help us see how the Catholic intellectual tradition can constructively address these questions is Bishop Robert Barron.
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Well, welcome back to the studio, Bishop.
Thanks, Matt. Always good to be with you.
Today, we're looking at getting the relationship right between work and leisure, kind of based on a debate that's been raging online on social media. But before we get started, as always, what have you been up to?
A lot of different things, but one thing comes to my mind is this year we're commencing a year-long celebration of our 25th anniversary at Word on Fire. We came out with a trailer that kind of went over some of the history, and there'll be some events coming up this year. I'm just excited about that.
You know, I often go back in my mind to the very beginnings of Word on Fire and how kind of modestly it began. It's wonderful to see, I think, through God's grace, how this ministry has grown. So we're celebrating that all this year.
Has time gone by quickly?
Oh, it's unbelievable. You know, it seems like two weeks ago that I started this whole thing. And you know, when I say I started this thing, that sounds way too grandiose because I did not have this in mind at all. I wanted to get on the radio and do a little preaching at 5 o'clock in the morning, you know? So it started with that little seed. But then, that's the way it works in God's providence.
I think now you're in your own studio.
Now in my own studio, yeah. No, believe me, that morning when I was asking for the money, I was not thinking about this. So praise God, you know?
Yes, praise God.
So, all right, let's turn now to the topic. There's, as I noted, a debate that's been going on on social media involving work and our understanding of work and how we should relate work to leisure. The two basic sides line up this way: one side tends to be arguing that we don't work enough in our country because of a moral failure that actually identifies a moral failure to live up to our full professional and economic potential.
So that's one side. The other side argues that work is already too consuming and that we need leisure in order to maximize our creativity. So it's not just rest for the sake of rest; it actually helps us to be more productive.
So our task, Bishop, is to see how the Catholic intellectual tradition can help shed light and maybe even provide some solutions to this debate. So to start off, what from a Catholic understanding defines what it means to do work or to be working in sort of the most general sense?
Isn't it true that the simplest things are always the hardest to define?
They are. You know, we use love to work. I mean, it's an effort that brings forth a product of some kind, it seems to me, and it involves some sustained effort. When we speak of work, it's a sustained, concentrated, purposeful effort that brings forth a product.
Because I'm trying to define it broadly enough to include, you know, digging a ditch and writing an academic paper. They're both expressions of work in this focused, purposeful way to produce something. I guess that's work.
Is there something about work that's tied also to the idea of necessity—that we do it in some sense because we have to?
Yeah, probably most work. And maybe we'll get to the issue of how the fall has affected all that.
Absolutely. But I think probably, yeah, practically speaking, most of our work has a kind of connection to the necessities of life. Now, like an academic paper really doesn't.
And that's an interesting point. When we've taken care of the basic necessities, now what do you call the efforts that we engage in after that?
We can talk about that.
Sure, let's look at that work from that biblical perspective of seeing it as a punishment even. So let me just remind our readers of the actual passage from Genesis. You know this well, Bishop: God says to Adam, "Cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat its yield all the days of your life. Thorns and thistles it shall bear for you, and you shall eat the grass of the field. By the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread until you return to the ground from which you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return."
So given that very pivotal moment in salvation history, how do we understand work as not just kind of a curse—even as something that we justifiably want to do a little as possible of?
Right, because you have to go back behind that passage, before that passage, and you have Adam given a task in the garden before the fall. So he tills the soil of the garden; he does work prior to sin. So that means that it's not just a punishment.
It's something that God wants for us. Think of Adam here as representative of the whole of humanity. What God wants for us, he wants us to express ourselves. And you know, not just in a purely effortless way, but precisely through—like, think of tilling the soil as an effort.
But see, think of this man, you know, as I go to what John Paul II called my intellectual workbench. So let's say I'm working on an academic paper. Is there a drudgery involved in that? Yeah, anyone that's written knows about that.
But at the same time, I'll go to that work full of enthusiasm. I'm glad when the day—let's say I have a day where I'm going to do writing. I'm glad to have that challenge. I look forward to that challenge, and I know it's going to be an effort to put this paper together in a coherent way. But I like that, and I wouldn't want it to be easy.
It's like if you're a golfer, you don't want to just go to some open field and swing the club any way you want. Who cares where the ball goes? That's no fun. What you look forward to is being on this challenging course, and there's a lot of interesting moves I have to make, and I gotta use different clubs, and this hole is particularly challenging.
That isn't like a, "Oh God, what a punishment." No, I pay for that. You know, I'll pay for the privilege of doing that.
So work, in that sense, that's challenging but in a wonderful way, in a life-giving way.
Here's something maybe it's odd, but I do think about this: heaven. What's heaven like? You think, "Oh, I'll just be in a hammock forever, you know, I'm just resting in peace." Well, that's no fun.
I mean, compare, for example, the difference between sitting on the—I thought this when I was in California a lot. I had a beautiful back porch in my house in Santa Barbara. So sitting on that back porch, looking up at the mountains on a beautiful day, compare that to having climbed the mountain trail for an hour and now coming back and with a cool drink, sitting down in that chair.
The second experience is better than the first experience because it involves something like work, effort, right? Challenge.
Getting up that mountain, but I didn't see it as, "Oh, this awful burden." No, I wanted it. I got dressed for that moment, and I went up and climbed that mountain.
So in that sense, work is good. God wants that for us. He wants our powers and energies and creativity engaged.
If you told me for all eternity all you will do is lie in a hammock, you know, beautiful day and all that, I'd be bored in about 10 minutes.
It's terrifying, right? It's terrifying. I'd be bored in 10 minutes.
I think heaven's a place where it's more like the mountain hike, more like a golf course, more like writing an academic paper, or think of a Michelangelo, you know, sculpting the David and sweating.
Yeah, good. I think God wants that for us, and that's Adam working before the fall.
Now, after the fall, does all of the above become more difficult? Sure.
Let's say I'm writing an academic paper and facing the usual challenges, but now I'm preoccupied with, you know, who's going to listen to this paper, and I'm worried about what they're going to think of me, and what about that job I want?
Now sin, if you want, is interfering with the process and making it more difficult, more challenging. So work becomes more difficult after the fall.
So there's the sweat of the brow thing, but in itself, the calling forth of our energies and creativity and intelligence, I think that's part of the splendor of living.
You've already mentioned St. Pope John Paul II. Let's dig a little deeper into this thought.
So here's a pivotal quote from his great encyclical Centesimus Annus, which is on the year anniversary of Pope Leo XIII's Rerum Novarum. He writes this about work: "Work belongs to the vocation of every person. Indeed, a human being expresses himself by working. At the same time, work has a social dimension through its innate relationship not only to the family but also to the common good, since it may truly be said that it is only by the labor of working men that states, meaning nations, grow rich."
And this, in the same passage, is where St. Pope John Paul II also says that work has dignity.
Now, as you know, dignity is central to the thought of JP II. What's the significance of him connecting human dignity to the dignity of work?
It's really everything we just were talking about. And I think what I find so intriguing about John Paul II is he was almost maybe unique among the popes of the last century or so. As a young man, he did hard labor. He worked in a quarry during the awful time when the Nazis came through.
He was a young man; he'd been a university student, but then that university was shut down, and he worked in a quarry. And that's not easy work. He labored with his hands and his muscles and his sweat and all that, and I think it affected him very deeply.
He, of course, was also a great intellectual, a man of books and ideas, but he also knew what good hard physical labor was like. And he saw all the positive things we just talked about, and that's where the dignity comes in.
It's expressive of our dignity. Something else I find really interesting in that passage—and you also find it in Laborem Exercens, his earlier 1981 encyclical—is that John Paul II, you know, kind of comes of age in communist Poland. He made it his goal to understand Karl Marx because he knew that Marx was the chief ideologue of this new system.
Fair to say that John Paul II basically, you know, hated communism?
Yes, was not a sympathetic follower of Karl Marx, to be sure. But there were a couple of ideas in Marx I think that found their way or that he thought were congruent with Catholic thought. One of them is this idea of we express ourselves in our work.
So it's key for Marx's philosophy of the human person that work and its product become a sort of mirror in which we see ourselves. Think of a craftsman—whoever, I don't know, designed this glass, let's say. Good work can produce this thing, and you can find a sort of image of himself in that.
John Paul is picking up on that theme there, that that's part of the beauty and dignity of work is that we discover ourselves. There's kind of a Hegelian quality, of course, that's where Marx would have gotten it from there.
In the other, you know, I come to a deeper appreciation of myself. And I think John Paul had got that. But I like the fact that we had a pope in him who had known what hard labor was like.
So another notable part of the quote is that the pope specifically ties work not only to the good of the individual but to the social good. And then he specifically says the good of the state or the nation or the country in terms of its material prosperity.
Now, some may hear that and say, is JP II advocating for kind of a prosperity gospel? Are there any kinds of alignment there, or does he have something else in mind?
No, he certainly wouldn't subscribe to that because there's something very crude about the prosperity gospel, as though, you know, just follow the teachings of Jesus, and by God, you'll be wealthy and you'll have a big house and a boat and all that.
I mean, that's just naive and silly. I mean, God does what God wants, and the game is not you follow the Lord so you can become materially prosperous.
What he's driving at, indeed, though, is entrepreneurship. It seems to me an economic creativity that our work contributes to the value, the economic value of a society.
Where does value come from? Well, it comes from the creativity, productivity, entrepreneurial verve of its people, over and against a Marxist view like a labor theory of value, where value comes from the labor of workers simply.
John Paul II, I think, we have a more ample market economy view whereby value comes indeed from workers but also from the risk taken by entrepreneurial investors and so on and so forth.
But I think they're sure that we can increase the economic value in a society. It's not simply a zero-sum game where there's one set pie that has to be divided. No, we can make the pie bigger, you know, through our efforts.
So he would certainly subscribe to that.
Is it fair to say that the same position would uphold that there's nothing wrong in and of itself with material prosperity?
Yeah, no, that's right. It's in Centesimus Annus where he says one way to gauge the success of a business, you know, is it producing more value in society?
Are people saying, "Hey, maybe I can do that too?" So competition arises, like within a market economy. All right, that means the value is going to increase in different ways. Economic competition can be a good thing and not just a desperate struggle.
So sure, I think we can measure the value of a society to some degree through material prosperity. Certainly, John Paul II wouldn't say that's the only measure, but it's a measure.
Now, from a Catholic perspective, is there any kind of moral difference that we could or even should identify between, say, like manual work and the work of the mind?
As you know, Bishop, in some classical Greek philosophy, for example, there's a clear moral hierarchy of those who are at the bottom and those who are at the top in terms of the kind of work they do.
Is there any kind of that moral hierarchy at play in the Catholic understanding of work?
No, I wouldn't say moral difference, but I'll say this: this goes back to the classical authors, Plato, that a recognition of natural differences among people.
So not everyone in a society is going to be capable of, let's say, intellectual work. Some people are much more attuned; they're much better at the more manual labor. And it's not to say one is better morally than the other, but we're acknowledging real differences and that we shouldn't try to flatten all that out—that everyone should be at the same level.
Now, people do have different levels of intelligence, creativity, interest, physical ability. I think, you know, myself, I've been an academic much of my life, and books and ideas and words, and that's what I'm kind of good at.
My dad was a very smart guy, but he loved pragmatic things. He loved practicality, and he would try when I was a kid to draw me into, you know, helping around the house and fixing things. I was terrible at it. I was terrible at it.
And I've always had, I have it to this day, a deep admiration for people that can handle all these practical things. I'm hopeless at them. Cars, I don't know how cars work. You know, if you—I open up the hood of a car, I don't know what I'm looking at, you know, because I was never interested. I was never very good at that sort of thing.
So I would just say great people like me are suited to certain types of work, and other people, thank God, are suited to other types of work. And we're not morally—one is not morally superior to the other, but there are differences, and the differences are good.
You know, there's a tendency—you can find it in a lot of modern political philosophy—to try to flatten out the differences, right? And that leads to a lot of mischief, I think, in our society.
So a final question on St. John Paul II's quote here. He very clearly connects dignity to human dignity to work. So it raises two issues there.
So one, how should we understand sort of the status of the dignity of those who are capable of working but choose not to? Is there a sense in which they're harming their own dignity?
Who choose not to? Not people who are incapable, but capable of working but choose not to for whatever reason?
Yeah, I suppose we have to look at what they're choosing not to do because, I mean, likely they're doing some kind of work, right?
But if someone, I'm going to opt out of it, yeah, I think that's a denigration of their own humanity. And finding a way to be productive, you know, I'm not a big fan of Sigmund Freud, but I've always felt Freud, the older Freud, was asked after all your years of psychotherapy and everything, what makes people happy?
And Freud responded, "Liba un abite," meaning love and work. And he meant, I think, satisfying relationships and satisfying work is what makes you happy.
And I think that's right, largely. I would give it maybe a more ample vision than Freud does, but I find when talking to people who are unhappy, you can identify, okay, there's a defect in one of those two: their relationships or their work.
And so to opt out of work is to opt out of happiness. You know, that's some productive. See, that's not a bad thing.
When I was a kid, there was all this, you know, it's not what you do, it's who you are. And I never liked that distinction. I think that's a dumb distinction, you know? Being is more important than doing because you can't separate those two, right?
Yeah, I find that a joyful day for me is almost always a day where I've accomplished something. I've done something that I think is worthwhile.
It doesn't mean I'm reducing everything to work, but I think it's a necessary ingredient in happiness. A great day usually involves the two Freudian things: it involves something with friends and relationships and then some work that I've done.
So to opt out of work, you know, someone I've cited at this table before, William F. Buckley, one time said, "Industry is the enemy of melancholy."
So if you're sad, yeah, now it's not a—I don't want to suggest that's the be-all-end-all answer, but there's something right about it.
It helps. Industry is the enemy of melancholy. If you're feeling low and you've got the blues and you're depressed, do something. Do something. Work, you know?
And I found in my own life that's certainly true. Industry is the enemy of melancholy. If I'm, let's say, I'll go back to my example of writing a paper, I can just feel my joy increasing as I produce this paper and as I read it and think like, "Okay, okay, good, that's right, that's good, now I keep writing."
You know, I find my joy increasing as I do that. And I've given that Buckley advice to people who are feeling caught in a depressive cycle.
Industry is the enemy of melancholy.
Bishop, what words would you offer to those in our audience who may have a disability or for whatever reason are, in fact, incapable of doing work, especially given your citation of Freud that love and work are sort of key to happiness?
What can the Church offer individuals in that situation?
Our last show about prayer, you know, prayer is a kind of work in its own way that even those who are severely disabled can still, even like, you know, help a kid with his homework or reach out with a phone call.
You know, all these ways that we can express our connection, our love to people, you know, broadly described, that's a type of work they can do. I think you usually find something, even those who have a lot of restrictions.
Let's now turn to what many may take as the opposite of work. We could define it as rest or leisure or play.
So, Bishop, what's a good Catholic definition of that category: rest, leisure, play? Especially taking into account Genesis, which says that, you know, God rested on the seventh day of creation.
It's a really rich idea, and I've been playing with it recently because I've been working on this paper on Josef Pieper, who is a great Thomist philosopher from the last century in Germany. In some ways, he's like the Jacques Maritain of Germany.
He wrote a famous book called "Leisure: The Basis of Culture." And what he bemoans in that book, in a lot of his writings, is our tendency in our modern society to valorize work and what he would call the work-a-day consciousness.
That we lose sight of what the liberal arts have always explored. And it's very interesting: the liberal arts are free. They're free from what? Utility. They're free from usefulness.
So work, even as we've been describing it very broadly, has to do with a useful activity. Well, a useful activity is one that's subordinated to an end outside of itself. But the highest things in life are useless because they're not subordinated to something extrinsic to themselves; they're good in themselves.
So I'll give you first a mundane example: watching a baseball game. Watching a baseball game is not useful at all; it doesn't produce anything.
But you go to the game, and you spend hours—you know, a baseball game takes three hours. Now they're a bit quicker because of the pitching rule.
When I used to go and watch games more seriously, I'd always get a scorecard. And the scorecard is—I'd throw it away when the game was over. But, you know, when you're keeping score, you're keeping account of what everyone's done, balls and strikes and who hit and, you know, you say, "Well, why are you bothering with that?"
Well, it's a contemplative exercise; that's what that is. It allows you to enter into the game more deeply. But then when the game's over, throw the scorecard. I'm not—I wasn't producing the scorecard; it was just a tool to help me contemplate.
Well, go from baseball to the fine arts. You know, why do you look at a painting? Don't think now about producing the painting so much, but now going to a museum to look at a painting. You're not producing anything; it's not a useful activity.
But you spend hours at a great museum, you know, taking in what's going on there. But it's the savoring of something for its own sake.
So whether it's literature, it's painting, it's baseball, it's prayer, they're all useless activities, and those are the highest.
What Pieper complained about—he was a prophet—there was the dominance of the work-a-day model that all we can think of is productivity and being sort of caught in the work-a-day world.
But that has to be not despised, but it has to be transcended into this area of, call it leisure or play if you want.
So think of baseball or playing golf. When you're actually playing, you're not watching a game, but you're playing a game. Golf isn't productive; it isn't useful at all. It produces nothing.
But I tell you what I love about golf—many things—but one is when I'm golfing, I'm not aware of anything else outside the golf course. I've lost sense of time and space.
You know, when you're playing golf, I don't know where I am vis-a-vis the road I came in on, and the game has so enraptured me that that's all I'm focused on. And it's producing nothing; it's valuable in itself.
That's the area of leisure or play or the liberal arts that lies beyond the work-a-day. And see, both are very important.
Something fascinating in the Mass series that you did is you describe the Mass as a form of play. And I think play—you've already given reasons why this wouldn't be the case—but play can be associated with sort of frivolity and superficiality.
But you're saying play is a category for the Mass. How does that work?
Quite right. Well, and I got that from Romano Guardini. That's a very old thing. He wrote that book in 1918 called "The Spirit of the Liturgy."
And Guardini was very influential on the liturgical movement and eventually on Vatican II. And that's his idea that the Mass is the highest form of play.
And you're right, not in the sense of frivolity or superficiality, but play meaning good in itself. I think of—we're here now, in a way, what we're doing is useful because we're producing this show.
But like we both know, in a good conversation, when neither person is trying to impress the other one, neither one's trying to produce anything, you're just into it.
And yeah, that's interesting, and that reminds me of something else. And we're actually moving toward a deeper appreciation of the truth.
There's nothing more fun than that. It's when you've lost a sense of usefulness, and you're playing. It's a playful relationship, you know, between two conversants, like two tennis players.
There's an example I've used. I'm dating myself here; it goes back to the late '90s when the Chicago Bulls were so good, and I was a Chicagoan, Michael Jordan, that era, right?
And this was one of the playoff games, and it was Charles Barkley, right, with the Phoenix Suns at the time. And it was in triple overtime, and this intense game back and forth, and you know, Bulls are ahead and the Suns are ahead, and they're in triple overtime, and they're about to tip off.
And the camera caught Barkley looking at Jordan, and the two of them—multi-millionaires and all that—they just kind of winked at each other as if to say, "This is what it's all about. This is why we do this."
They did, of course, but you know, we're not caring so much about winning and about trophies. It's just the sheer joy of what we're doing, you know?
And that's what play is. That's why the Mass, Guardini said, is the most useless thing we can possibly do.
There's no good outside of it; it's the highest possible good. And it does have the form of a play. You know, the call and response involved in the Mass—something there, like a tennis game or like a conversation.
And it's Christ, the head, the priest, is in body in Christ, calling out to his members, the members of the mystical body, and they sing back to him, and he speaks to them again, and they respond.
And there's this building up of the body in this sort of mystical play. That's why this move during Mass is—there's something always perverse about that because you're meant to be outside of time.
Right? I'll confess as a priest, like, did I talk too long? You know, I look at my watch. But you're outside of time; you're outside of space the way you are in a good conversation or a good game of basketball.
That's the Mass.
Is it too much to say that play, in the way that you're describing it, is kind of a taste of the divine, a taste of heaven?
Yes, of heaven. See, and that's why heaven—and we talked about it—it's not lying in a hammock. A much better one would be like that game with the Bulls and the Suns in triple overtime.
That's what heaven, I think, is like. It's this intense, beautiful, strenuous, you know, calling forth your abilities and so on.
That's why I've always liked the image of the city. There is the heavenly image of the New Jerusalem, which is beautiful, has a lot to say, where you see what you've always wanted to see, right?
But I also like the idea of the city, the heavenly Jerusalem, where there's a lot going on—business and entertainment and sports and transportation.
And there's all kinds of stuff going on and communities and conversations. And think of the buzz of a city, right? That's the image they use, you know, for heaven, the heavenly Jerusalem.
I like that.
So to come full circle, Bishop, recognize we sort of started off with the context that there's this debate going on between working too much and working too little.
How do we relate then? What principles can we appeal to to relate work to leisure? Should the goal be to kind of equalize them, to establish the equilibrium, or are you suggesting that one should serve the other?
There's a kind of hierarchy; we should work in order to...
I think that's right. Leisure, that's the better way to do it.
Yeah, and then look, we're animals; we're these bodies, and we're in this world, and we're in a fallen world. And so there will always be a kind of strenuous—in the negative sense—a strenuous thing attached to work.
But yeah, I think we work for the sake of leisure. The servile arts are in service of the liberal arts; it's the way the medievals would have put it.
The servile arts, they serve something. They're in—not slave; that's maybe too strong a word—but they serve another purpose. The liberal arts are free from that.
So I think that's probably the right relationship: for the sake of—maybe think of John Paul, you know, the young John Paul laboring away in that quarry, which enabled him, you might say, then to become the philosopher that he became.
But you know, the balance of the two of them, I think, is a good thing to strike in life.
You know, how much servile work do I do? I suppose, as I say, like writing a paper, preparing a sermon, you know, all that is work.
But the ultimate purpose is the free play of the spiritual life.
Let's put a fine point on one of the features of this debate: some are advocating for 80-hour work weeks.
I don't know; that seems a little crazy to me.
No, because that's the dominance of the work-a-day model. That would be what Pieper worries about—that that's all we know is work.
So there is indeed, you know, love and abide. So yes, there should be work involved in your happiness.
But no, you see, we have to a large degree lost a sense of the liberal arts, and that's a real tragedy. If all we can see—I go to university so I can learn accounting or economics or, you know, engineering—well, no.
I mean, you should ultimately—I'm with Cardinal Newman—you should go to the university to learn the liberal arts and learn what makes life really worth living.
So no, no, we don't want the dominance of the work-a-day model.
All right, it's now time for our listener question. Today we have a young Max from Virginia asking about the name, the surname of Jesus.
My name is Max, and I'm from Virginia. My question is, does Jesus have a last name?
Oh, thanks for that question, Max. You know, we call him Jesus Christ, but of course, Christos is a title, right? It's Greek for the anointed one. They would have called him Mashiach in Hebrew—Jesus the Messiah, the anointed one.
They also would have called him Yeshua from Nazareth. So in those days, they wouldn't have last names the way we do. That was kind of a later development.
They would have called him Jesus, but to differentiate him from a lot of other Jesuses—that was a common name—they would have named him that way.
But then we gave him, as an honor, this great title of Christos, the anointed one. But I think just calling him Jesus would be great.
Thanks for the question!
Thank you, Max, for reaching out to us. If you would like to ask Bishop Barron a question for a future Word on Fire show, please visit askbishopbarron.com. That's askbishopbarron.com.
As always, we'd love to hear from you.
Well, thanks, Bishop. We're at the end of another show.
Good conversation. Good being with you, Matt. Many gems, as usual.
Thank you.
All right, God bless you.
That does it for us today. Thanks for joining us on the Word on Fire show. If you're interested in learning more about how Word on Fire can help you grow closer to Christ, become a better evangelist with and for others, and work for the common good, consider joining the Word on Fire Institute.
Check us out at institute.wordonfire.org. That's institute.wordonfire.org.
And we'll see you next time.
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