This is a snippet of a message I wrote to another Catholic.
"I think a big chunk of my "melancholy" is acquired. The gap between the idealism inculcated in the seminary, and the cynicism and laxity of parish operations, drives me to distraction. On the one hand, I want to be a priest so that I can show people that the Church and the liturgy and the faith are beautiful, life-giving things (even without our silly "adaptations"). On the other, I don't think I could handle all of the opposition I would get with much grace. This is how curmudgeons are born.
Seems to me Catholics have been force-fed Sesame Street theology and liturgy for fifty years; it's no wonder so many (especially men) choose instead the gritty "real world" offered by secular commercialism. It was only because God saw fit to give me a non-BS Catholic formation that I stayed. That doesn't mean I have a harsh or heartless Catholicism (although sometimes I feel that way when I get all uppity and offended, heh). Just means I don't paper over suffering and sin with euphemisms, superficial gestures, and ego-coddling music. "
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
A Short Parable
A doctor was distressed by news of a rise in skin cancer, so he spent a fortune to offer free sunblock to people visiting the beach. Although many beach goers accepted the offer, still some ignored it. The sun made everyone happy while they were there; but some it tanned, others it burned, and a few got cancer. If there is a “wrath of God,” it is not that God chooses to punish people out of childish need for revenge. Rather, when we sin we ruin our openness to God's love (like damaging the O-Zone layer). Only God can help us to receive his love well, and give it to others. For some he does this mysteriously. But to us Catholics he has given the Sacraments, which allow the love of God to find its rightful place in us, making us free and bringing us together.
Star Wars, morality, and metaphysics
Recently I finished playing through a game called "Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic." In the game, there are lots and lots of discussions about the dark and light sides of the force, and the varying perceptions of each of these. Today, I was so hopped up on caffeine that I decided to write down some thoughts in a forum about Star Wars, morality, and metaphysics. This is the result, plus a response I got from another reader...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've never been more impressed by a piece of pop-culture's grasp of the issues at stake on ethics. Granted, virtually nobody in the Star Wars universe is a relativist, so controversies surrounding moral relativism don't come up. But what does come up is the whole dispute between Nietzschean nihilism and Christianity.
Elements of Nietzschean thought in the Sith: the will to power; the eternal recurrence of the same; master morality vs. slave morality (i.e., the artificiality of morality); and the abolition of transcendent truth as a value.
Elements of Christian thought in the Jedi: service to the transcendent; the coincidence of morality and true (rather than superficial) freedom; the primacy of reason over the passions,* sanctity of life, equal importance of means and ends in moral evaluations.
* Jolee Bindo corrects the Jedi disapproval "love" as a passion and distinguishes between saving love and corrupting desire--something that has always bothered me about the Jedi ever since Episode II came out.
Now, it seems evident to me that the game-story, even though it lets *you* be Dark Side, is itself not very friendly to "Dark morality." It's Dark defenders lack conviction and sophistication in their arguments, until they are left only with squawking about "Jedi propeganda." Putting thoughtless dismissal into the mouths of the dark sympathizers makes them seem less intelligent than the Jedi. Now granted, for obvious reasons my own sympathies are going to be with "Jedi morality;" but even so, I feel like it's cheating when a story gives the sympathetic portrayal to one side even when they don't necessarily have the slam-bang arguments.
After all, in the Star Wars universe, where the Force can be used equally well by the evil as well as the good, what evidence is there that the Force even has a will or purpose, as the Jedi believe? If there is nothing "higher" than the Force to give it the "purpose" the Jedi are looking for, they don't seem to have a clear reason to serve the Force rather than be served by it. It makes a big difference whether we conceive of the Force as divine or as mere energy. The Sith's best argument is that nature would seem to legitimize their stance. Nature has more "moral content" than the Force, since the patterns of nature are given before anyone imposes their will on it via technology; on the contrary, the Force is subject to individual wills in a way that nature is not. Therefore, if nature is our guide, selfishness and exploitation seem to be the rule.
Of course, there is a hypocrisy in this argument; nobody in this universe alienates themselves from nature more than do the Sith. Nature is a complex reality; the Sith (and by extension, Nietzsche) have merely isolated one element--exploitation--and made it the determining root of their ideal. This causes an alienation from nature, as it does from the Force, because both of these (as well as other human beings) are viewed as mere fodder for exploitation.
And there we have the fundamental Jedi argument. If the Sith are reducing nature to technology and the Force to the will, the Jedi see that nature has an autonomous worth before it is strip-mined into blasters and starships; so also the Force has a complex life of its own before it manifests itself in "mind tricks" and lightning and such. Exploitation is a part of nature, but only a small part; it depends on there being first something to exploit. Nature is not only predatory; it is also (and primarily), alive. So we can argue by analogy that the Force is the same way.
This does not get past the fact that the Force may not actually have any kind of transcendent purpose or will or personality; but the Jedi never claim as much. They only claim that following the "light" leads to "life"--and as we see from the canon movies, the eternal life of the Jedi is a kind of a final harmony with the deepest root of being, yet without destroying the individuality of the deceased. But anyway, there is something Nietzschean about the Jedi in that their ultimate "salvation" hopes are basically selfish--rooted in a desire for eternal life without, necessarily, communion with a personal Other with whom they can share it.
The key empirical ingredient to the Jedi argument is that the harmony with the Force is something which is experienced, in nebulous fashion, before death. Following the way of the light is expansive and freeing in an *interior* sense; following the dark is expansive only in a "conquering" sense, but the conquerers' inner lives are prisons and dungeons, and their thoughts mad and circular (even if clever and treacherous).
Reply from "DustyPhantom"
i've studied nothing in the line of philosophy or nietzchean nihilism, but after reading your posts i can extrapolate, and i see the connection of force to the premise of each religion. a more obviously transparent similarity between the light side and christianity (which you may not have mentioned sheerly because of it's blatancy) is the existence of a saviour that has been prophesied, which only appears in the movies, in the form of skywalker (take that to mean luke as the real saviour or annikan as the fatherless child fated to shift the balance).
the points brought up about the game, such as the shallowness of the darksided arguements , were a point of relativity. The darkside philosophy is, as you said, one of exploitation, but the sith that only chant of "jedi propaganda" were the weak ones, at least as far as my memory of the game goes, though as dark revan the dialougue selections are admittedly shallow, in the second game when guided by kreia, your decisions are given a logic as opposed to pointless slaughter and hatred. on the first planet (memory a bit short, can't remember name) the killing of a receptionist in the corporate headquarters is scorned by kreia, and the more you try to follow her way of thinking, the more you see a deeper meaning to the exploitation, greed, and deception of the true sith. not that there is something morally sound behind it, but that killing an innocent out of boredom is perverse, while killing an innocent and taking their belongings because you need or desire them, and that person is too weak to hold on to them, is a solid practice. the darkside wanderer has the choice to be superficially sith, and kill anything and everything that gets in his way without the ability to defend itself properly(reminiscent of the social darwinist movement), or be a true sith, only killing when something can be gained from it, and not needlessly extending aggression.
hope i've brought up a few points you hadn't thought of, i know i only concentrated on one issue, perhaps with more time i'll tackle some of the others.
My reply
Indeed, it's true that the Sith ideal is governed by an interior logic. When Darth Bandon asks you whether victory is desired at any cost, the correct answer is, rather surprisingly, "no." In fact, the game demonstrates two general ways to be a "false" or "superficial" Sith: (1) animal irrationality, or (2) slavish obedience to the Sith code. The first is exemplified by Juhani's little jaunt to the Dark Side, when she retreated to a hideout and attacked anything that moved. The second is exemplified by Bastila in her rote recitation of tired Sith arguments and lack of real conviction.
My favorite Sith in the game is Darth Bandon; he has that whole "honorable villain" thing going on that Malak does not. He admits that the Jedi "act with skill" which shows a bit more sophistication in his thinking. Though believing and teaching that Sith strength comes through exploitation, he demonstrates none of the snivelling power-lust of his subordinates (and one might argue, of his superior, Malak). The most dangerous Sith would be one who appropriated the Jedi virtues of calm and rationality and turned them toward their nefarious ends. As C.S. Lewis wrote in "The Great Divorce," the higher the virtue, the more deadly it becomes when corrupted (his example: sexual addiction is merely a low-grade vice; but motherly love corrupted into controlling codependency can destroy souls much more efficiently).
Re: savior stuff. You're right; I deliberately avoid looking for "Christ figures" in pop culture because I find them cliche; and most of them that *do* occur are more often misleading than otherwise. For example, I could say that Bastila is the real "Christ figure" in the game because the Bible says that "For our sake he made him to be sin who did not know sin," (2 Cor 5:21). But when Bastila reconverts to the Light (in the good ending), she fails to bring other Dark Jedi with her, which is what a real "Christ figure" would do.
But anyway, back to the topic of Sith rationality, while it is true that there are "true Sith" and "superficial Sith," nevertheless the Jedi critique of the Sith exploitation still holds. The Sith were never accused of being simply irrational. Rather one might say that they are, sort of, "narrow minded," because all existence for them is filtered through the narrow purpose of self-magnification. They are blind to any existence the Force might have beyond it's usefulness as a tool; and naturally speaking, they exclude from their environs all non-technologized remnants of nature. Seriously, did you ever see a potted plant growing in an Empirial Star Destroyer? So it might be truer to say that the Sith are alienated from the Force in the same way they are alienated from nature.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've never been more impressed by a piece of pop-culture's grasp of the issues at stake on ethics. Granted, virtually nobody in the Star Wars universe is a relativist, so controversies surrounding moral relativism don't come up. But what does come up is the whole dispute between Nietzschean nihilism and Christianity.
Elements of Nietzschean thought in the Sith: the will to power; the eternal recurrence of the same; master morality vs. slave morality (i.e., the artificiality of morality); and the abolition of transcendent truth as a value.
Elements of Christian thought in the Jedi: service to the transcendent; the coincidence of morality and true (rather than superficial) freedom; the primacy of reason over the passions,* sanctity of life, equal importance of means and ends in moral evaluations.
* Jolee Bindo corrects the Jedi disapproval "love" as a passion and distinguishes between saving love and corrupting desire--something that has always bothered me about the Jedi ever since Episode II came out.
Now, it seems evident to me that the game-story, even though it lets *you* be Dark Side, is itself not very friendly to "Dark morality." It's Dark defenders lack conviction and sophistication in their arguments, until they are left only with squawking about "Jedi propeganda." Putting thoughtless dismissal into the mouths of the dark sympathizers makes them seem less intelligent than the Jedi. Now granted, for obvious reasons my own sympathies are going to be with "Jedi morality;" but even so, I feel like it's cheating when a story gives the sympathetic portrayal to one side even when they don't necessarily have the slam-bang arguments.
After all, in the Star Wars universe, where the Force can be used equally well by the evil as well as the good, what evidence is there that the Force even has a will or purpose, as the Jedi believe? If there is nothing "higher" than the Force to give it the "purpose" the Jedi are looking for, they don't seem to have a clear reason to serve the Force rather than be served by it. It makes a big difference whether we conceive of the Force as divine or as mere energy. The Sith's best argument is that nature would seem to legitimize their stance. Nature has more "moral content" than the Force, since the patterns of nature are given before anyone imposes their will on it via technology; on the contrary, the Force is subject to individual wills in a way that nature is not. Therefore, if nature is our guide, selfishness and exploitation seem to be the rule.
Of course, there is a hypocrisy in this argument; nobody in this universe alienates themselves from nature more than do the Sith. Nature is a complex reality; the Sith (and by extension, Nietzsche) have merely isolated one element--exploitation--and made it the determining root of their ideal. This causes an alienation from nature, as it does from the Force, because both of these (as well as other human beings) are viewed as mere fodder for exploitation.
And there we have the fundamental Jedi argument. If the Sith are reducing nature to technology and the Force to the will, the Jedi see that nature has an autonomous worth before it is strip-mined into blasters and starships; so also the Force has a complex life of its own before it manifests itself in "mind tricks" and lightning and such. Exploitation is a part of nature, but only a small part; it depends on there being first something to exploit. Nature is not only predatory; it is also (and primarily), alive. So we can argue by analogy that the Force is the same way.
This does not get past the fact that the Force may not actually have any kind of transcendent purpose or will or personality; but the Jedi never claim as much. They only claim that following the "light" leads to "life"--and as we see from the canon movies, the eternal life of the Jedi is a kind of a final harmony with the deepest root of being, yet without destroying the individuality of the deceased. But anyway, there is something Nietzschean about the Jedi in that their ultimate "salvation" hopes are basically selfish--rooted in a desire for eternal life without, necessarily, communion with a personal Other with whom they can share it.
The key empirical ingredient to the Jedi argument is that the harmony with the Force is something which is experienced, in nebulous fashion, before death. Following the way of the light is expansive and freeing in an *interior* sense; following the dark is expansive only in a "conquering" sense, but the conquerers' inner lives are prisons and dungeons, and their thoughts mad and circular (even if clever and treacherous).
Reply from "DustyPhantom"
i've studied nothing in the line of philosophy or nietzchean nihilism, but after reading your posts i can extrapolate, and i see the connection of force to the premise of each religion. a more obviously transparent similarity between the light side and christianity (which you may not have mentioned sheerly because of it's blatancy) is the existence of a saviour that has been prophesied, which only appears in the movies, in the form of skywalker (take that to mean luke as the real saviour or annikan as the fatherless child fated to shift the balance).
the points brought up about the game, such as the shallowness of the darksided arguements , were a point of relativity. The darkside philosophy is, as you said, one of exploitation, but the sith that only chant of "jedi propaganda" were the weak ones, at least as far as my memory of the game goes, though as dark revan the dialougue selections are admittedly shallow, in the second game when guided by kreia, your decisions are given a logic as opposed to pointless slaughter and hatred. on the first planet (memory a bit short, can't remember name) the killing of a receptionist in the corporate headquarters is scorned by kreia, and the more you try to follow her way of thinking, the more you see a deeper meaning to the exploitation, greed, and deception of the true sith. not that there is something morally sound behind it, but that killing an innocent out of boredom is perverse, while killing an innocent and taking their belongings because you need or desire them, and that person is too weak to hold on to them, is a solid practice. the darkside wanderer has the choice to be superficially sith, and kill anything and everything that gets in his way without the ability to defend itself properly(reminiscent of the social darwinist movement), or be a true sith, only killing when something can be gained from it, and not needlessly extending aggression.
hope i've brought up a few points you hadn't thought of, i know i only concentrated on one issue, perhaps with more time i'll tackle some of the others.
My reply
Indeed, it's true that the Sith ideal is governed by an interior logic. When Darth Bandon asks you whether victory is desired at any cost, the correct answer is, rather surprisingly, "no." In fact, the game demonstrates two general ways to be a "false" or "superficial" Sith: (1) animal irrationality, or (2) slavish obedience to the Sith code. The first is exemplified by Juhani's little jaunt to the Dark Side, when she retreated to a hideout and attacked anything that moved. The second is exemplified by Bastila in her rote recitation of tired Sith arguments and lack of real conviction.
My favorite Sith in the game is Darth Bandon; he has that whole "honorable villain" thing going on that Malak does not. He admits that the Jedi "act with skill" which shows a bit more sophistication in his thinking. Though believing and teaching that Sith strength comes through exploitation, he demonstrates none of the snivelling power-lust of his subordinates (and one might argue, of his superior, Malak). The most dangerous Sith would be one who appropriated the Jedi virtues of calm and rationality and turned them toward their nefarious ends. As C.S. Lewis wrote in "The Great Divorce," the higher the virtue, the more deadly it becomes when corrupted (his example: sexual addiction is merely a low-grade vice; but motherly love corrupted into controlling codependency can destroy souls much more efficiently).
Re: savior stuff. You're right; I deliberately avoid looking for "Christ figures" in pop culture because I find them cliche; and most of them that *do* occur are more often misleading than otherwise. For example, I could say that Bastila is the real "Christ figure" in the game because the Bible says that "For our sake he made him to be sin who did not know sin," (2 Cor 5:21). But when Bastila reconverts to the Light (in the good ending), she fails to bring other Dark Jedi with her, which is what a real "Christ figure" would do.
But anyway, back to the topic of Sith rationality, while it is true that there are "true Sith" and "superficial Sith," nevertheless the Jedi critique of the Sith exploitation still holds. The Sith were never accused of being simply irrational. Rather one might say that they are, sort of, "narrow minded," because all existence for them is filtered through the narrow purpose of self-magnification. They are blind to any existence the Force might have beyond it's usefulness as a tool; and naturally speaking, they exclude from their environs all non-technologized remnants of nature. Seriously, did you ever see a potted plant growing in an Empirial Star Destroyer? So it might be truer to say that the Sith are alienated from the Force in the same way they are alienated from nature.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Pay, Pray, and Obey
This post is largely a placeholder for an extended exploration I would like to write on the expression, "Pay, Pray, and Obey." My views on the expression itself are mostly critical--if used out of simple cynicism, it is trying to say something which it has no authority or position to say. That notwithstanding, the critical use of the phrase does point to some serious issues that cannot be ignored. More later.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OK, let's get on with this. Now, in order to look at the intended use "Pay, Pray, and Obey," I will have to indulge in some guesswork. Examining hypothetical intentions always runs the risk of unfairness. That's why I'm going to start off in a sympathetic way.
I imagine that the root of the situation which might justify the critique of P.P.O. lies in legalism. A quick survey of the Catechism and the Code will reveal that all of the things that the laity are required to do by the law of the Church themselves follow the pattern of P.P.O. For example, let's look at the Catechism's version of the precepts of the Church:
One should keep in mind that when I call this "legalism" I do not mean the belief that all of the Church's laws should be followed (this is not legalism; it is faithfulness). Rather, by "legalism" I mean that one's concept of Christian life is determined exclusively by laws. Another word for it is "minimalism;" it presumes that one who rigorously obeys the written precepts has a claim on God's and salvation without the necessity of charity. When it is overt, it can be deeply idolatrous.
This legalism has a double negative impact: first, it feeds into the moral laziness of the clergy and the laity. A lay legalist may believe that once he or she has a hang of the Ten Commandments and the six/seven precepts, he or she has salvation "in the bag" (even if that person lacks charity). Clerics have a substantially greater number of laws they must follow; hence legalism is more tempting for the clergyman because its inherent laziness is not so obvious (heck, even as a seminarian I struggle to do even most of them; if I could do everything required of me, I imagine I would be very proud of myself).
Second, this legalism can feed into the temptation of the clergy and the laity to have contempt for one-another. On the part of the clergy, there is the bittersweet myth that the life of the laity is easier because it has fewer ecclesiastical restrictions. The legalistic clergyman 'naturally' assumes that his laity don't do anything beyond Church law (indeed, if they follow Church law at all), and so inflates his ego with the gas that is his own rigorous obedience. Moreover, and ironically, the clerical legalist becomes exceedingly uncomfortable when the laity do actively go beyond the P.P.O. model. The active Christian life becomes a kind of personal territory of his that he will not cede to the rabble and the mob. Thus--in the guise of rightfully reminding his flock not to abandon the precepts of the Church--the cleric may in fact be insisting that they also not go beyond them.
The converse temptation exists for the laity--that they could imagine that the priest is exactly just as described, when in fact he may not be. This is where the cynical application of "Pay, Pray, and Obey" comes from. It is an anti-clericism which supposes--rightly or wrongly--that the cleric has a kind of contempt for, and patronization of the laity. The critique invokes an image of a church which does not view its lay members as living active Christians and children of God, but rather has the human fodder for the perpetuation of power structures. In its extremes, it may serve as a justification to ignore the precepts of the Church altogether--an anti-legalism, as it were.
I submit that this anti-legalism, in cases where it is rash and inaccurate, can itself be a breed of legalism, for two reasons. First, both legalism and anti-legalism share the assumption that the external obedience (or disobedience) of laws is the true theatre of the rise and fall of values; neither has sufficient regard for the interior dispositions of the other party. In other words, the legalist priest misinterprets lay activism for lawlessness (even if they broke no laws); and the anti-legalist laity misinterprets the priest's discipline for heartlessness (even if he were a man of great kindness).
Second, both legalism and anti-legalism indulge in minimalism; one seeks obedience as a substitute for justice; the other seeks justice as a substitute for obedience. Neither has a strong care for the emphasis of both or the recognition of complementary roles in the Church.
The #1 reason why I have a deep animosity toward the cynical application of the "Pay, Pray, and Obey" critique is that it seems to harbor a thinly veiled, ideologically anti-legalistic contempt for these three actions. It is less a call to the renewal of active Christian life and more an indictment of all humble submission to the visible continuation of Christ's authority on earth. By this, I do not imply that there are no priests who really are legalists and who do have an unfair disdain of the laity. Nor do I imply that the lay vocation is confined to P.P.O.--it must not be. But I have the feeling that people are indulging in Enlightenment fantasies of Christianity without humble prayer, generous tithing, and willing obedience (which itself is as much a clerical virtue as it is a lay virtue, of course).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OK, let's get on with this. Now, in order to look at the intended use "Pay, Pray, and Obey," I will have to indulge in some guesswork. Examining hypothetical intentions always runs the risk of unfairness. That's why I'm going to start off in a sympathetic way.
I imagine that the root of the situation which might justify the critique of P.P.O. lies in legalism. A quick survey of the Catechism and the Code will reveal that all of the things that the laity are required to do by the law of the Church themselves follow the pattern of P.P.O. For example, let's look at the Catechism's version of the precepts of the Church:
- You shall attend Mass on Sundays and holy days of obligation and rest from servile labor.
- You shall confess your sins at least once a year.
- You shall receive the sacrament of the Eucharist at least during the Easter season.
- You shall observe the the days of fasting and abstinence established by the Church.
- You shall help provide for the needs of the Church.
- (The 1908 Catholic Encyclopedia adds...) not to marry within a certain degree of kindred nor to solemnize marriage at the forbidden times (i.e., Advent or Lent).
One should keep in mind that when I call this "legalism" I do not mean the belief that all of the Church's laws should be followed (this is not legalism; it is faithfulness). Rather, by "legalism" I mean that one's concept of Christian life is determined exclusively by laws. Another word for it is "minimalism;" it presumes that one who rigorously obeys the written precepts has a claim on God's and salvation without the necessity of charity. When it is overt, it can be deeply idolatrous.
This legalism has a double negative impact: first, it feeds into the moral laziness of the clergy and the laity. A lay legalist may believe that once he or she has a hang of the Ten Commandments and the six/seven precepts, he or she has salvation "in the bag" (even if that person lacks charity). Clerics have a substantially greater number of laws they must follow; hence legalism is more tempting for the clergyman because its inherent laziness is not so obvious (heck, even as a seminarian I struggle to do even most of them; if I could do everything required of me, I imagine I would be very proud of myself).
Second, this legalism can feed into the temptation of the clergy and the laity to have contempt for one-another. On the part of the clergy, there is the bittersweet myth that the life of the laity is easier because it has fewer ecclesiastical restrictions. The legalistic clergyman 'naturally' assumes that his laity don't do anything beyond Church law (indeed, if they follow Church law at all), and so inflates his ego with the gas that is his own rigorous obedience. Moreover, and ironically, the clerical legalist becomes exceedingly uncomfortable when the laity do actively go beyond the P.P.O. model. The active Christian life becomes a kind of personal territory of his that he will not cede to the rabble and the mob. Thus--in the guise of rightfully reminding his flock not to abandon the precepts of the Church--the cleric may in fact be insisting that they also not go beyond them.
The converse temptation exists for the laity--that they could imagine that the priest is exactly just as described, when in fact he may not be. This is where the cynical application of "Pay, Pray, and Obey" comes from. It is an anti-clericism which supposes--rightly or wrongly--that the cleric has a kind of contempt for, and patronization of the laity. The critique invokes an image of a church which does not view its lay members as living active Christians and children of God, but rather has the human fodder for the perpetuation of power structures. In its extremes, it may serve as a justification to ignore the precepts of the Church altogether--an anti-legalism, as it were.
I submit that this anti-legalism, in cases where it is rash and inaccurate, can itself be a breed of legalism, for two reasons. First, both legalism and anti-legalism share the assumption that the external obedience (or disobedience) of laws is the true theatre of the rise and fall of values; neither has sufficient regard for the interior dispositions of the other party. In other words, the legalist priest misinterprets lay activism for lawlessness (even if they broke no laws); and the anti-legalist laity misinterprets the priest's discipline for heartlessness (even if he were a man of great kindness).
Second, both legalism and anti-legalism indulge in minimalism; one seeks obedience as a substitute for justice; the other seeks justice as a substitute for obedience. Neither has a strong care for the emphasis of both or the recognition of complementary roles in the Church.
The #1 reason why I have a deep animosity toward the cynical application of the "Pay, Pray, and Obey" critique is that it seems to harbor a thinly veiled, ideologically anti-legalistic contempt for these three actions. It is less a call to the renewal of active Christian life and more an indictment of all humble submission to the visible continuation of Christ's authority on earth. By this, I do not imply that there are no priests who really are legalists and who do have an unfair disdain of the laity. Nor do I imply that the lay vocation is confined to P.P.O.--it must not be. But I have the feeling that people are indulging in Enlightenment fantasies of Christianity without humble prayer, generous tithing, and willing obedience (which itself is as much a clerical virtue as it is a lay virtue, of course).
Thursday, June 29, 2006
The Point of Liturgical Inequality
"It must be acknowledged that the Church has not come together by human volition; rather, she has been called together by God in the Holy Spirit, and she responds through faith to his free calling (thus the word ekklesia is related to klesis, or 'calling'). Nor is the Eucharistic Sacrifice to be considered a 'concelebration', in the univocal sense, of the Priest along with the people who are present. On the contrary, the Eucharist celebrated by the Priests 'is a gift which radically transcends the power of the community. . . .'" (Redemptionis Sacramentum, #42).
"It was a wonderful vehicle, blazing with golden light, heraldically coloured. The Driver himself seemed full of light and he used only one hand to drive with. The other he waved before his face as if to fan away the greasy steam of the rain. A growl went up from the queue as he came in sight. 'Looks as if he had a good time of it, eh? ... Bloody pleased with himself, I bet ... My dear, why can't he behave naturally?--Thinks himself too good to look at us ... Who does he imagine he is? ... All that guilding and purple, I call it a wicked waste. Why don't they spend some of the money on their house property down here?--God! I'd like to give him one in the ear-'ole.' I could see nothing in the countenance of the Driver to justify all this, unless it were that he had a look of authority and seemed intent on carrying out his job" (The Great Divorce, by C.S. Lewis).
Yet upon closer examination, we see that inequality and injustice are not the same in history. There are evil inequalities and good inequalities. More later.
"It was a wonderful vehicle, blazing with golden light, heraldically coloured. The Driver himself seemed full of light and he used only one hand to drive with. The other he waved before his face as if to fan away the greasy steam of the rain. A growl went up from the queue as he came in sight. 'Looks as if he had a good time of it, eh? ... Bloody pleased with himself, I bet ... My dear, why can't he behave naturally?--Thinks himself too good to look at us ... Who does he imagine he is? ... All that guilding and purple, I call it a wicked waste. Why don't they spend some of the money on their house property down here?--God! I'd like to give him one in the ear-'ole.' I could see nothing in the countenance of the Driver to justify all this, unless it were that he had a look of authority and seemed intent on carrying out his job" (The Great Divorce, by C.S. Lewis).
In our course on Christian Spirituality, Fr. Michael Fuller explained that there are two primordial "scandals", the causes and the results of the fall of our First Parents, which have furnished the cesspool for human evil throughout the millenia. The first is the scandal of mortality: so saith the serpent, "You will not die;" yet so saith the Lord, "...you are dust, and to dust you shall return." The second is the scandal of inequality: so saith the serpent, "you will be like God;" yet so saith the Lord (to the woman), "[the man] shall rule over you," (and to the man), "in toil shall you eat of [the ground] all the days of your life" (i.e., the ground shall rule over the man, creating a double-slavery of man and woman to the dirt).
These curses which we now bear are themselves not an enduring part of God's plan. They are, in fact, mockeries of those elements of the original creation which God himself instituted for his own glory and our sanctification. Mortality is a parody of the blessed finitude which God permitted us to have even before the fall, so that we could be individuals who could love the Lord with hearts that were truly our own. And the inequality of worldly injustice is a parody of the holy inequality between ourselves and God's self--"between the Creator and the creature so great a likeness cannot be noted without the necessity of noting a greater dissimilarity between them" (Lateran IV, Denzinger 432). This inequality is holy because it is the source of all of our finite freedom--the smaller the boat in comparison to the sea, the greater the freedom of the boat--"Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion..." (G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy).
Yet upon closer examination, we see that inequality and injustice are not the same in history. There are evil inequalities and good inequalities. More later.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Update, some fresh ideas, etc.
Per request of my esteemed colleague Jacob, I will update this old thing. Because people are apparentlytired of my anti-freethinking rant. Who knew?
First the factual stuff. My pastoral internship has ended and my pastoral year has begun. I have moved from St. Anthony of Padua Parish in Casa Grande, AZ to St. Joseph Parish in Tucson proper. Up until tonight I have had no Internet access save for the occasional trips to my parents' house on the north side of town (horror of horrors!) but now I am happily mooching off of the DSL connection of the forward-thinking associate pastor upstairs.
Some other minor news. I joined a beginner's bowling league (even bought my own ball and shoes), so Mundelein bowling turney, watch out! Because I'm sure to have graduated from "Gawd awful" to "mediocre" in two years time. Fear! Also, as it just so happens, one of my new 'teammates' also happens to be an artistic woodcarver by trade. Providence!
I also sold almost all my of my video games. Radical asceticism? Only if you call the XBox 360 and Oblivion "asceticism". :)
Now, on to the ideas part. I continue to do some reading from time to time. I bought two books on topics from my Louvain days: "The Will to Believe, Human Immortality" by William James, and "The Portable Hannah Arendt". I wrote my philosophy BA paper on William James, and I continue to believe that he came closer to anybody else to a valid description of the natural component to the advent of faith (for one does not need to deny that faith is a supernatural gift in order to acknowledge that it has a natural aspect as well, right?) And Hannah Arendt, in her Origins of Totalitarianism, has given me the core understanding of what ideology is, which has helped me to understand certain writings of John Paul II like Centesimus Annus.
Some other recent book purchases: John Henry Newman's Apologia Pro Vita Sua (also available online); and C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce. The latter is per the recommendation of the same colleague who complained about the lack of updates. I read it in a night--and I agree, it is now my favorite work of his, surpassing even The Screwtape Letters. Reading it, I discovered (in much more pleasant prose) the very same ideas I worked through in my recent blog posts on human freedom... which leads me less to think of myself as being on par with Lewis and more to the suspicion that he's been influencing me all these years.
On a different note... because of some recent developments in my life, I have become motivated to instruct myself on all of the finer points of ecclesiastical discipline concerning liturgy. It was then that I discovered the Federation of Diocesan Liturgical Commissions, whom I have personally dubbed, the "Friends of Doing Liturgy Correctly". Of course, as Redemptionis Sacramentum states, "A merely external observation of norms would obviously be contrary to the nature of the Sacred Liturgy, in which Christ himself wishes to gather his Church, so that together with himself she will be 'one body and one Spirit.'" For that reason, as I continue to peruse the many post-conciliar documents on the liturgy, you will notice the spurt in posts defending the rubrics, from a pastoral, theological, and aesthetic perspective.
Well, that's it! Now stop complaining and let me get back to Oblivion.
First the factual stuff. My pastoral internship has ended and my pastoral year has begun. I have moved from St. Anthony of Padua Parish in Casa Grande, AZ to St. Joseph Parish in Tucson proper. Up until tonight I have had no Internet access save for the occasional trips to my parents' house on the north side of town (horror of horrors!) but now I am happily mooching off of the DSL connection of the forward-thinking associate pastor upstairs.
Some other minor news. I joined a beginner's bowling league (even bought my own ball and shoes), so Mundelein bowling turney, watch out! Because I'm sure to have graduated from "Gawd awful" to "mediocre" in two years time. Fear! Also, as it just so happens, one of my new 'teammates' also happens to be an artistic woodcarver by trade. Providence!
I also sold almost all my of my video games. Radical asceticism? Only if you call the XBox 360 and Oblivion "asceticism". :)
Now, on to the ideas part. I continue to do some reading from time to time. I bought two books on topics from my Louvain days: "The Will to Believe, Human Immortality" by William James, and "The Portable Hannah Arendt". I wrote my philosophy BA paper on William James, and I continue to believe that he came closer to anybody else to a valid description of the natural component to the advent of faith (for one does not need to deny that faith is a supernatural gift in order to acknowledge that it has a natural aspect as well, right?) And Hannah Arendt, in her Origins of Totalitarianism, has given me the core understanding of what ideology is, which has helped me to understand certain writings of John Paul II like Centesimus Annus.
Some other recent book purchases: John Henry Newman's Apologia Pro Vita Sua (also available online); and C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce. The latter is per the recommendation of the same colleague who complained about the lack of updates. I read it in a night--and I agree, it is now my favorite work of his, surpassing even The Screwtape Letters. Reading it, I discovered (in much more pleasant prose) the very same ideas I worked through in my recent blog posts on human freedom... which leads me less to think of myself as being on par with Lewis and more to the suspicion that he's been influencing me all these years.
On a different note... because of some recent developments in my life, I have become motivated to instruct myself on all of the finer points of ecclesiastical discipline concerning liturgy. It was then that I discovered the Federation of Diocesan Liturgical Commissions, whom I have personally dubbed, the "Friends of Doing Liturgy Correctly". Of course, as Redemptionis Sacramentum states, "A merely external observation of norms would obviously be contrary to the nature of the Sacred Liturgy, in which Christ himself wishes to gather his Church, so that together with himself she will be 'one body and one Spirit.'" For that reason, as I continue to peruse the many post-conciliar documents on the liturgy, you will notice the spurt in posts defending the rubrics, from a pastoral, theological, and aesthetic perspective.
Well, that's it! Now stop complaining and let me get back to Oblivion.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Free Thinking is not the same as Critical Thinking.
The caffeine high continues...
I challenge the supposed dichotomy between "irreligious free-thinking" vs. "Christian indoctrination" that gets repeated here [rottentomatoes Da Vinci Code forum] so often. I propose that, formally, there is actually not much difference between people who classify themselves as either. Both "groups" admit of varying degrees of attachment to one or the other "orthodoxy," and both have all different degrees of critical thinkers. A few points:
First, it is important to distinguish between "critical thinking" and "freethinking." The former is a skill which is developed through training and practice; it involves the recognition of the structures and substance of arguments, avoidance of fallacies, making of distinctions, and the perception of patterns of thought, in order to aid in the pursuit of truth in matters large and small. The latter is a philosophical disposition toward truth exemplified by the Enlightenment, with slogans such as Kant's "Sapere Aude!" - "Dare to know!" (or sometimes, "Dare to think for yourself!"). Although freethinking is partially evident in ancient skeptical philosophies, modern freethinking takes its cues from varying degrees of rationalism (nothing can be known which is not absolutely grounded in pure reason), and deconstructionism ("truth" is ultimately an instrument of the Will to Power and has no higher existence).
Second, although being a Christian (hence accepting any number of beliefs based on authority) does preclude one from being a freethinker, it does not preclude one from being a critical thinker. Certainly everybody falls into fallacies from time to time. And moreover, there are backwards Christian sects which actively oppose critical thought. But critical thinking is a skill, not a belief; thus it does not necessarily attach itself to any particular belief or lack of belief. It is mere self-preening (not to mention demonstrating a great lack of life experience) to assume that the height of critical thought always necessarily tends towards one's own set of beliefs, whether that is Christianity or freethought.
Third, being a freethinker does not gaurantee that one is a critical thinker. It is this point which is most nefariously ignored by so many of the freethinkers I come across--but importantly, not all. It is only too easy nowadays for someone to build an entire worldview out of nothing but cheap slogans, of which "Dare to think for yourself!" is but one of many. Certainly any doofus can reject those authorities which are most obviously Empty Authorities, since religious leaders are unabashed in their expecation to be taken seriously by the faithful. But far rarer is the freethinker who prunes from his self-made worldview those Empty Authorities which are not so obvious... the ones that pat him on the back and congratulate him for being so independent, and then tell him what to think next. Should freethinkers not perform an "examination of conscience" and ask themselves why there is so much inner conformity amid their supposedly spontaneous and individual ranks?
Fourth, freethinking has its own orthodoxy. The tenets of freethinking militate against having a canon of literature, or the acceptance of dogmas based on faith. Still, the philosophical foundations of freethought lack much of the certainty with which freethinkers believe they know everything else that they know. The conflict between rationalism and deconstructionism in 20th century philosophy has left freethinkers confused as to whether they should be proclaiming special access to truth or the death of truth altogether (both of which DVC does with flourish). The only thing that they do know is that religious authorities are unequivocally banned from the game of knowledge--W.K. Clifford even said that if a revelation from God actually happened, we would be duty-bound to disbelieve it. But try as they might, the undeniable foundations for this freethinkers' doctrine are not forthcoming.
Fifth, historic Christianity has its own (legitimate!) diversity. A theologian once told me that the only thing you can count on theologians to do is to disagree with one another. This is not to say that Christian theology, root and branch, is just a lot of conflicting opinions (contrary to Dan Brown's definition). But just because Christians are more passionate about Truth with a capital 'T' than are your average agnostics, does not mean that all disagreement is heresy or that orthodoxy is a stagnant, dead object, inert to human reflection. Within the boundaries of orthodoxy there are always battles over the Next Big Issue--and until the end of time there will always be the Next Big Issue. Theologians will cross lines even as they are in the process of drawing them--but censure is usually reserved for those rare occasions when an individual threatens to undo the very fabric of the Church community. Even St. Augustine identified heresy more with the arrogance or self-serving purposes of the errant teacher than with the erroneous teaching itself. Dogmas or no, the Church would die without critical thinkers in her midst.
In conclusion, I wish freethinkers would be more polite.
I challenge the supposed dichotomy between "irreligious free-thinking" vs. "Christian indoctrination" that gets repeated here [rottentomatoes Da Vinci Code forum] so often. I propose that, formally, there is actually not much difference between people who classify themselves as either. Both "groups" admit of varying degrees of attachment to one or the other "orthodoxy," and both have all different degrees of critical thinkers. A few points:
First, it is important to distinguish between "critical thinking" and "freethinking." The former is a skill which is developed through training and practice; it involves the recognition of the structures and substance of arguments, avoidance of fallacies, making of distinctions, and the perception of patterns of thought, in order to aid in the pursuit of truth in matters large and small. The latter is a philosophical disposition toward truth exemplified by the Enlightenment, with slogans such as Kant's "Sapere Aude!" - "Dare to know!" (or sometimes, "Dare to think for yourself!"). Although freethinking is partially evident in ancient skeptical philosophies, modern freethinking takes its cues from varying degrees of rationalism (nothing can be known which is not absolutely grounded in pure reason), and deconstructionism ("truth" is ultimately an instrument of the Will to Power and has no higher existence).
Second, although being a Christian (hence accepting any number of beliefs based on authority) does preclude one from being a freethinker, it does not preclude one from being a critical thinker. Certainly everybody falls into fallacies from time to time. And moreover, there are backwards Christian sects which actively oppose critical thought. But critical thinking is a skill, not a belief; thus it does not necessarily attach itself to any particular belief or lack of belief. It is mere self-preening (not to mention demonstrating a great lack of life experience) to assume that the height of critical thought always necessarily tends towards one's own set of beliefs, whether that is Christianity or freethought.
Third, being a freethinker does not gaurantee that one is a critical thinker. It is this point which is most nefariously ignored by so many of the freethinkers I come across--but importantly, not all. It is only too easy nowadays for someone to build an entire worldview out of nothing but cheap slogans, of which "Dare to think for yourself!" is but one of many. Certainly any doofus can reject those authorities which are most obviously Empty Authorities, since religious leaders are unabashed in their expecation to be taken seriously by the faithful. But far rarer is the freethinker who prunes from his self-made worldview those Empty Authorities which are not so obvious... the ones that pat him on the back and congratulate him for being so independent, and then tell him what to think next. Should freethinkers not perform an "examination of conscience" and ask themselves why there is so much inner conformity amid their supposedly spontaneous and individual ranks?
Fourth, freethinking has its own orthodoxy. The tenets of freethinking militate against having a canon of literature, or the acceptance of dogmas based on faith. Still, the philosophical foundations of freethought lack much of the certainty with which freethinkers believe they know everything else that they know. The conflict between rationalism and deconstructionism in 20th century philosophy has left freethinkers confused as to whether they should be proclaiming special access to truth or the death of truth altogether (both of which DVC does with flourish). The only thing that they do know is that religious authorities are unequivocally banned from the game of knowledge--W.K. Clifford even said that if a revelation from God actually happened, we would be duty-bound to disbelieve it. But try as they might, the undeniable foundations for this freethinkers' doctrine are not forthcoming.
Fifth, historic Christianity has its own (legitimate!) diversity. A theologian once told me that the only thing you can count on theologians to do is to disagree with one another. This is not to say that Christian theology, root and branch, is just a lot of conflicting opinions (contrary to Dan Brown's definition). But just because Christians are more passionate about Truth with a capital 'T' than are your average agnostics, does not mean that all disagreement is heresy or that orthodoxy is a stagnant, dead object, inert to human reflection. Within the boundaries of orthodoxy there are always battles over the Next Big Issue--and until the end of time there will always be the Next Big Issue. Theologians will cross lines even as they are in the process of drawing them--but censure is usually reserved for those rare occasions when an individual threatens to undo the very fabric of the Church community. Even St. Augustine identified heresy more with the arrogance or self-serving purposes of the errant teacher than with the erroneous teaching itself. Dogmas or no, the Church would die without critical thinkers in her midst.
In conclusion, I wish freethinkers would be more polite.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Envornmentalism vs. Conservationism?
The irony that I listed "conservationism" as a republican value and "environmentalism" as a democrat value isn't lost on me. I wonder what the distinction might be between these two? This is pure conjecture, but I imagine the difference looks like this: conservationism is an anthropocentric value. Like the various other distinct republican platforms, conservationism is intended for the preservation of natural goods for use by posterity. Democratic environmentalism is less anthropocentric and tends to look at the environment as an end unto itself. It does not matter whether or not a piece of land will be beautiful or useful somewhere down the line--except of course in terms of preventing world cataclysm (an immediate need). The environment should be protected because it is the environment. Spotted owls don't need any usefulness in order to be protected, even at great cost to ourselves.
At the Bottom of Conservative and Liberal
In a recent post, I discussed the distinction between conservative and liberal in terms their attitudes toward the "golden age" - namely, that for conservative the golden age was in the past, whereas for the liberals the golden age is in the future.
In connection with another assignment, I came across an insight which I think gets much deeper into the mystery of the distinction between conservative and liberal. And it's very simple (which, I know, always raises red flags among philosophers). Again, I make no claims to original ideas, but this might be something for me to look up someday.
The key words are immediate and ultimate.
The more I look at this, the less profound it seems... such is the nature of late night inspirations. But essentially, I can only imagine that the politics of the left and the politics of the right do, in fact, have their own respective strains of continuity--Republicans are consistently and narrowly concerned for values of ultimate significance--that is, far into the future, and weightier, nation-shaping issues; and Democrats are consistently and narrowly concerned for values of immediate consequence--the right now, the individual, needs, gratifications, and anxieties. This changes my previous opinion, that the democratic and republican party platforms had their stances on abortion backwards and thus placed themselves in positions of horrific inconsistency. On the contrary; now I see that what both parties have going for them is a horrific consistency.
It is such a simple distinction, and yet it seems to explain so much. Distinctively republican values always center around general, universal matters whose effects are always projected out into the far future. Family, society, economy, morality, nation-building, security and defense, and conservation. Distinctively democratic values center around individualistic, particular issues involving the relief of grievances in the immediate present. Healthcare, Wellfare, poverty and unemployment, civil rights, public safety, birth control, and environmentalism.
Obviously, all of the above mentioned issues have wide-ranging causes and effects, both immediate and ultimate. But I believe that the major distinction remains valid, and it has become increasingly evident in my lifetime. It is no accident that Republicans bristled when the Clinton administration took credit for the booming economy of the 90s--after all, Raeganomic policies were never intended to have an immediately visible effect (so the Republicans argue); rather, they were sacrificing immediate prosperity for later gain.
Interestingly, what is worst about either party is that it always and mechanically pursues its own values, needlessly at the expense of those of the opposition. Granted, there will always be conflicts and competing priorities. But the very notion that immediate needs as such, and ultimate goals as such, must en bloc be against one another, is absurd.
This distinction also demonstrates the potentially ideological, and even totalitarian possibilities inherent in either party. In the republicans it seems more evident, because totalitarian ideologies are always far-future looking in scope, with seemingly boundless ambition and a callous disregard for immediate needs and civil rights; a highly cynical and utilitarian outlook. But in fact, totalitarian potential resides no less in the extreme left, which after all must utilize a broad, sweeping infrastructure necessary for the fulfillment of its immediate values, and must always face the temptation of promising worldly salvation via protocols and programs without regard to morality, family, society, or nation--another recipe for exploitation.
In connection with another assignment, I came across an insight which I think gets much deeper into the mystery of the distinction between conservative and liberal. And it's very simple (which, I know, always raises red flags among philosophers). Again, I make no claims to original ideas, but this might be something for me to look up someday.
The key words are immediate and ultimate.
The more I look at this, the less profound it seems... such is the nature of late night inspirations. But essentially, I can only imagine that the politics of the left and the politics of the right do, in fact, have their own respective strains of continuity--Republicans are consistently and narrowly concerned for values of ultimate significance--that is, far into the future, and weightier, nation-shaping issues; and Democrats are consistently and narrowly concerned for values of immediate consequence--the right now, the individual, needs, gratifications, and anxieties. This changes my previous opinion, that the democratic and republican party platforms had their stances on abortion backwards and thus placed themselves in positions of horrific inconsistency. On the contrary; now I see that what both parties have going for them is a horrific consistency.
It is such a simple distinction, and yet it seems to explain so much. Distinctively republican values always center around general, universal matters whose effects are always projected out into the far future. Family, society, economy, morality, nation-building, security and defense, and conservation. Distinctively democratic values center around individualistic, particular issues involving the relief of grievances in the immediate present. Healthcare, Wellfare, poverty and unemployment, civil rights, public safety, birth control, and environmentalism.
Obviously, all of the above mentioned issues have wide-ranging causes and effects, both immediate and ultimate. But I believe that the major distinction remains valid, and it has become increasingly evident in my lifetime. It is no accident that Republicans bristled when the Clinton administration took credit for the booming economy of the 90s--after all, Raeganomic policies were never intended to have an immediately visible effect (so the Republicans argue); rather, they were sacrificing immediate prosperity for later gain.
Interestingly, what is worst about either party is that it always and mechanically pursues its own values, needlessly at the expense of those of the opposition. Granted, there will always be conflicts and competing priorities. But the very notion that immediate needs as such, and ultimate goals as such, must en bloc be against one another, is absurd.
This distinction also demonstrates the potentially ideological, and even totalitarian possibilities inherent in either party. In the republicans it seems more evident, because totalitarian ideologies are always far-future looking in scope, with seemingly boundless ambition and a callous disregard for immediate needs and civil rights; a highly cynical and utilitarian outlook. But in fact, totalitarian potential resides no less in the extreme left, which after all must utilize a broad, sweeping infrastructure necessary for the fulfillment of its immediate values, and must always face the temptation of promising worldly salvation via protocols and programs without regard to morality, family, society, or nation--another recipe for exploitation.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Be Smug With Me.
I'm currently on page 325 of Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code. I am not reading it for pleasure. Although, by and large, even the pop-culture public is sick of the book, and they (thanks be to God) don't take it seriously, still, there are enough people out there who know little enough that they just eat this stuff up.
The book is a propeganda tract for every little bit of esotericism out there--Wicca, goddess worship, nature worship, gnosticism, ritual sex, etc.--candy-wrapped in a shallow, implausible, comic-bookish mystery story. Brown paradoxically preaches absolute postmodern relativism regarding historical beliefs, and at the same time he throws out phrases like "established historical fact" and "copiously researched" to decorate his fantasy. It is as if repeating these claims ad nauseum was sufficient to command the assent of millions.
And, sadly, it is.
But this blog post isn't meant to take down every ugly part of Brown's book (I imagine even every anti-Brown book published so far only scratches the surface), but to point out one in particular. The smugness. Oh, is it ever thick. It's so thick that Brown even celebrates it, attributing smugness as the grand virtue of every character sympathetic to his esoteric paganism. The sly self-superiority and the grandiose stroking of his own cleverness saturate the novel so much that I'm wearied by it and I have to take frequent breaks.
I can only imagine that the smugness is a deliberate mechanism. Smugness in a novel isn't a habit; it's a technique. Although being smug is not generally a lauded quality, in day to day interactions it has a polarizing effect. Smugness, I assume, generally involves taking loud pleasure in one's own superiority--real or imagined. When it comes to gnostic superiority--the superiority of being in possession of "secret knowledge," the difference between the "haves" and "have nots" is particularly sharp. Nobody wants to be on the wrong end of smugness; nobody wants to be the one ignorant of the reason for somebody else's furtive "knowing" smile.
Thus is nestled, in the smugness of Dan Brown, an ingenious little temptation. Be Smug With Me. Believe what I tell you. As one of the back cover praises says, "Read the book and be enlightened." Then you won't be one of the dumb people anymore. You can be among the intelligent, the enlightened, the smug.
For those who don't feel particularly tempted by the desire for gnostic superiority, the smugness has a different--and again, intended--effect. Rage. It does not matter how demonstrably untrue are all the smug person's reasons for being smug; how many laws of logic are flouted in the name of smarmy moralistic self-flattery; how academically ridiculous the case is--no response will crack the ritual mask of smugness. This, understandably, makes Brown's many targets--faithful Catholics--upset.
The anger, predictably, feeds into the smugness. Brown includes in his novel several (naive) portrayals of the general public as being "unable to handle" what he has to sell. To disgree with his esotericism means you're a dupe; but to get angry means that you're weak, and maybe even psychotic (like Silas the Opus Dei monk).
It reminds me of G.K. Chesterton's explanation of circular thought in Orthodoxy: if I believe I am the Queen of England, then surely if you disagree with me it is because you have an agenda to keep the true monarch off the throne. It's a wonderful, logically consistent, perfect, tiny world of self affirmation.
The book is a propeganda tract for every little bit of esotericism out there--Wicca, goddess worship, nature worship, gnosticism, ritual sex, etc.--candy-wrapped in a shallow, implausible, comic-bookish mystery story. Brown paradoxically preaches absolute postmodern relativism regarding historical beliefs, and at the same time he throws out phrases like "established historical fact" and "copiously researched" to decorate his fantasy. It is as if repeating these claims ad nauseum was sufficient to command the assent of millions.
And, sadly, it is.
But this blog post isn't meant to take down every ugly part of Brown's book (I imagine even every anti-Brown book published so far only scratches the surface), but to point out one in particular. The smugness. Oh, is it ever thick. It's so thick that Brown even celebrates it, attributing smugness as the grand virtue of every character sympathetic to his esoteric paganism. The sly self-superiority and the grandiose stroking of his own cleverness saturate the novel so much that I'm wearied by it and I have to take frequent breaks.
I can only imagine that the smugness is a deliberate mechanism. Smugness in a novel isn't a habit; it's a technique. Although being smug is not generally a lauded quality, in day to day interactions it has a polarizing effect. Smugness, I assume, generally involves taking loud pleasure in one's own superiority--real or imagined. When it comes to gnostic superiority--the superiority of being in possession of "secret knowledge," the difference between the "haves" and "have nots" is particularly sharp. Nobody wants to be on the wrong end of smugness; nobody wants to be the one ignorant of the reason for somebody else's furtive "knowing" smile.
Thus is nestled, in the smugness of Dan Brown, an ingenious little temptation. Be Smug With Me. Believe what I tell you. As one of the back cover praises says, "Read the book and be enlightened." Then you won't be one of the dumb people anymore. You can be among the intelligent, the enlightened, the smug.
For those who don't feel particularly tempted by the desire for gnostic superiority, the smugness has a different--and again, intended--effect. Rage. It does not matter how demonstrably untrue are all the smug person's reasons for being smug; how many laws of logic are flouted in the name of smarmy moralistic self-flattery; how academically ridiculous the case is--no response will crack the ritual mask of smugness. This, understandably, makes Brown's many targets--faithful Catholics--upset.
The anger, predictably, feeds into the smugness. Brown includes in his novel several (naive) portrayals of the general public as being "unable to handle" what he has to sell. To disgree with his esotericism means you're a dupe; but to get angry means that you're weak, and maybe even psychotic (like Silas the Opus Dei monk).
It reminds me of G.K. Chesterton's explanation of circular thought in Orthodoxy: if I believe I am the Queen of England, then surely if you disagree with me it is because you have an agenda to keep the true monarch off the throne. It's a wonderful, logically consistent, perfect, tiny world of self affirmation.
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