'Hanging Horse', a work of art by Maurizio Cattelan - respectfully exhibited also at the Guggenheim, NYC.
It occurs to me that many of those who want religion today – as opposed to those who live happily without it and would just as soon it went away -- not only want to be dispensed from thinking, but want strong constraints and rigid rules. This is of course a reaction to the perceived chaos, and the perceived immorality, of modern life. If they are wrong, we should be able to formulate, in reasonably simple terms, why we consider that they are wrong.
1) Modern life is no more chaotic than life in any past one cares to study (as opposed to the ‘past’ of a reasonably happy childhood, which is invariably seen selectively and idealized – quite rightly so). No other period of history produced events less chaotic and less depressing. Ponder the Great Depression; ponder World Wars 1 and 2; ponder the dark satanic mills with their child labour and their tuberculosis; ponder the imprisonment without trial of the Ancien Régime and the trials without justice and guillotines of the New; ponder the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes and the expulsion of thousands of families, with their children taken away and forcibly re-educated in convents; ponder the St Bartholomew’s Massacre and the slaughter of the Indians in the Americas; and keep pondering as you go back. No; what I have called the ‘perceived chaos’ is in fact the chaos of perception: caused, not by an overwhelmingly terrifying situation (though some families may have that) but by the ceaseless presence of TV, Internet, radio and newspapers, and the ceaseless barrage of information about much of the planet that it brings. Much of this, if information, is information twisted, not just by op-ed (Glenn Beck or Rachel Maddow) but by the fundamental and undiscussed bias of news media, which is their appetite for drama and conflict, and their conscienceless stimulation of generalized anger.
2) Modern life is indeed in some ways more immoral. And here the culprit is not so much the news media as, perhaps, the arts.[1] In the latter, what began as a reaction and a protest against a certain kind of hypocritical Victorian bourgeoisie has by now, ca. 125 years later, triumphantly outlived said bourgeoisie but still dons what is now a specious mantle of courageous rebellion.[2] The real immorality, though, often has nothing to do with sex, and goes well beyond what fundamentalists protest against. The number of modern plays, films and novels (to say nothing of video games) in which fundamental values, not only of faith but of humanity, decency, kindness and worth are ridiculed, trodden underfoot, or ignored in favour of violence, cruelty, amusing worthlessness and plain evil – in some cases covered by an ostensibly noble moral purpose -- is depressingly great; and the visual arts have in large measure followed them. So yes: here the seekers after stricter rules are more understandable. They are also, to our understanding, wrong in that a) it almost certainly won’t work except in closed communities (from which many young adults will escape); and b) if it did work, it would necessarily go against other values that we also value, e.g. freedom of expression and democratic consultation and decision-making. It would, in other words, create a Taliban society – and how little that works in a modern context can be seen in Iran. Moreover, in such a society the very values of humanity, kindness, respect and consideration for the other would once again be trodden underfoot in an orgy of punishment.
Psychologically, this need for a religion of intellectual simplicity and moral constraint may also proceed from a need and desire to see others punished; but that edges into speculation. It does, though, have another and deeply negative consequence: the sustaining and encouraging of an aggressive (and equally simplistic) atheism and spiritual (as opposed to moral) nihilism on the other side.
What are the remedies against such tendencies? They may be twofold. For the intellectually sophisticated the first thing is not to give way to the temptation of confusing fundamentalism with faith, and to believe or proclaim that Muslim Jihadism or an obscurantist and condemnatory Christianity is what all ‘religion’ really is. The next step on this road is actually to study theology, with either an open mind or one ready to explore faith for oneself. It is not enough just to have questions. If Jews can study scripture and centuries of rabbinical wisdom, we can read the odd Church Father. Moreover, it involves regarding the fundamentalist with a positive eye upon his faith, not just his rules: for his faith may be stronger than ours.
Which brings me to the second remedy: working out a solid theology of one’s own, and not fleeing conversation with the fundamentalist but being ready to counter his arguments with equally strong ones, while showing respect for those aspects of his faith one can admire. A little spiritual séduction would do no harm.
As for the spiritual nihilist – who often calls himself, not without some self-satisfaction, an agnostic – with him there seems to be little possibility of conversation, since he doesn’t want it and sees no need for it. He regards the faith of another either as idiocy (in which case he is closer to the real atheists) or as a private hobby which he may personally think ridiculous but would not openly denounce or deride, out of good manners or out of fear of giving it unwarranted importance.
[1] I leave aside, here, the political or economic ‘immorality’ vigorously denounced by some protest movements: it is not except tangentially concerned with matters of religion.
[2] Just as the work of Lacan gave a whole new lease of life to Freudianism, so the cultural revolution of the Sixties gave a whole new lease of life to the ‘revolt against the bourgeoisie’.
David Czerny, Permanent Installation at FUTURA Gallery, Prague
Info: you climb a ladder and stick your head in the sculpture’s arse to see a video of two Czech politicians feeding each other slop to a soundtrack of ‘We are the Champions'.
Thanks to: http://villageofjoy.com/controversial-art-by-david-cerny/
Hail Hrothgar, and thanks for your generous reply to my wee-hour ramblings. I really did not get to sleep until 8 this morning. I don't think you're being curmudgeonly in your weariness with wannabee worldly critics who dismiss Eliot as too "serious" and think that praising Shakespeare adaptations for their "grittiness" makes them sound sophisticated. Most people succumb all too often to the seduction of posing (largely for themselves) as sophisticated, and I see myself in them and so enjoy humoring them, but there is a small portion of those poses that really rub me the wrong way. They're like obscenity: I can't define it, but i know it when I see it. Or, more accurately, I find certain wannabee worldly critical poses to be, precisely, obscene. Most of them I let slide, too, because I fear how many such obscenities I have myself committed.
ReplyDeleteMy favorite moment in The Winter's Tale, is when Leontes, sinking into his paranoid delrium in Act 1, has just told Mamillius to go play because he, too, is playing, and announces that
many a man there is, even at this present,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,
That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't
Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will.
At least we men in the audience cannot escape Leontes' hermeneutic of suspicion, even as we can see plainly that he's crazy and foul-tempered, to boot, and it's that kind of involuntary almost-complicity that lends real savor to the sweetness of Paulina's awakening of Leontes' faith at the end. Ultimately we're not going to get more than faith to go on with each other, and to extend faith to another human being makes us horribly vulnerable.
Which brings us around to religious faith, where you started the whole inquiry in July, and about which I have been circling. I am one of those whose long habit of disdaining religious reactionaries has stunted. The grudges I hold against the fundamentalists are more than justified: these people have been thoroughly wrecking health care and nearly every other benefit of civilization in America. Most of my closest friends, the ones I respect the most, are pretty much convinced that religion has brought nothing but delusion and evil into the world. I am chary of professing my own faith, though (weak though it is) it has helped me through some difficult times. You have helped me to see that the vulnerability I fear in professing faith might be a normal and a good thing. Thanks for inviting ruminations!
--Joel
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DeleteAs far as I can see, there are three crucial things about a genuine and intelligent faith: one, that one should not behave (as I once told some otherwise delightful charismatic friends) as if God had created every part of us except our brain; two, that as the essence of God is love, this is necessarily the only curb on His omnipotence: if you were in love and a good fairy offered you the power to force your beloved to love you back, you wouldn't take it -- so love implies freedom, to have it returned or no; three, that a true faith makes one vulnerable and yet is often rewarded by strength. Strength from the most surprising sources. A Renaissance colleague told me that around the age of 30 she had seriously thought of suicide because she felt desperately alone, with her faith, in an academic environment that seemed to consist entirely of Dawkinsian scoffers; but when she was encouraged by a therapist to come out of the religious closet, so to speak, she was amazed and delighted to find how many others there were who thought the same way. And, of course, strength comes to those who make themselves vulnerable from you-know-Who, too. Or, to quote Rowan Atkinson in Four Weddings and a Funeral: "the Father, the Son, and the Holy Goat". . . . .
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