I was thinking about the Vatican's depredations in terms of underlying policies and priest sexual abuse yesterday and I wrote this:
In the latter days of World War II, Hollywood began churning out
patriotic war movies that I adored as a kid. I had no wider perspective
and soaked them up with a gusto otherwise reserved for chocolate.
Victory, glory, wisdom and the good guys always won.
And in the wisdom department, many of these movies were more than
willing to recycle the unquestioned wisdom of countless others that
preceded them. One such recycling depicted the very young and very
scared soldier about to go into battle for the first time. Taming his
fears was an avuncular, all-purpose chaplain who would soothe in a
fatherly voice and probably say at one point or another, "Son, there are
no atheists in foxholes."
It sounded good. It sounded reassuring. And as a kid, who was I to
argue with Hollywood -- a place where grown-ups made movies and
grown-ups wouldn't lie or fudge the truth, would they?
Sixty years on, with 40 years worth of interest in spiritual endeavor
under my belt (much of it Zen Buddhist), I return like other old farts
to their formative moments ... and smile ... or wince... or perhaps just
self-indulgently chew my cud.
In the face of the Vatican depredations both through policy and
through the actions of its sexually abusive priests, I return to those
Saturday afternoons in a darkened theater when things were true and shot
through with glory. "There are no atheists in foxholes" -- a formative
truth.
I'm not exactly sure when the thought occurred to me that old
set-piece nostrum was good as far as it went, but it didn't go far
enough. There was another shoe to drop: True, there are no atheists in
foxholes and simultaneously inescapably true, there are no believers
either. Faced with immense and appalling danger -- where the mortar
shells and grenades are everywhere -- there is no time for add-ons like
belief or disbelief. Scared shitless is just scared shitless: Ask any
soldier who has been there. Only later do the comforting intellectual
and emotional constructs have room to roam. It is only after the fact
that believers and disbelievers are born.
And it is not just in immense and appalling danger that anyone might notice this fact. Is there any nitwit who bothers to believe in
love or some other compelling construct while in the midst of a loving
kiss or a wondrously huge sneeze or a tears-run-down-your cheeks laugh?
All of this creates what the Binky-prone intellect might call a "paradox." Belief and disbelief rely utterly on the past and ...
Human beings live in the present.
I think it is important for individuals to admit this to themselves,
even if they are not entirely ready to accede to the implications.
The victims of the Vatican's shelling are numerous. Small children,
boys, girls, men, women, heterosexuals, homosexuals, families ... the
list goes on an on. And one of the compelling aspects of that torn flesh
and aching soul is the realization that a belief or a belief system has
been decimated and a trust betrayed in horrific ways. When an
institution claims to be an intermediary for God, and when I believe in
God and credit an institution that credits itself as intermediary with
God ... then when the shells begin to fall, it is not just my belief in
the institution that is ripped to shreds. My belief in God is likewise
under immense and appalling attack.
I would not, as a non-Catholic and as someone who has very grave
doubts about the youthful excesses of Christianity, presume to tell
anyone how to heal such heinous wounds. People heal themselves as best
they may. Heaven knows if I possessed the balm that would heal the
Catholic victims' wounds, I would supply it in quantity. But the fact
is, I do not possess it.
The Anglican author and theologian Charles Williams once observed in
one of his metaphysical thrillers, "People believe what they want to
believe." This very simple observation strikes me as holding one of the
keys to an honest healing. Read it again: "People believe what they want
to believe." What they want to believe. In that one small
sentence, belief is acknowledged for what it is -- a secondary matter,
however cherished it may be. Secondary does not mean lesser or worse or
something to be sneered at. It's just the lay of the land: Beliefs rely
on the past. Human beings live in the present. It is human beings who
want to believe, no matter what the belief. But it is they who are in
the driver's seat, not whatever they happen to believe in. Belief has no
free-standing, all-inclusive mandate or reality. It's a choice. Maybe a
very good choice, but still a choice.
This is, as I say, important to consider, even if the implications
are difficult to accede to. To imagine there could be an intermediary
between man and God is a choice. To believe in the Vatican -- or
disbelieve -- is a choice. To try to salvage some good from a decimated
belief system is a choice. People believe what they want to believe.
This is not simply some cold-hearted dissection of a theoretical
construct. It is just something to notice in a walking around life, I'd
say. The Vatican barrage, as it falls, leaves no room for believers or
disbelievers ... but there is suffering and there is blood.
The kiss of God is not important in the sense that it is God doing
the kissing. It is the kissing itself, right now, without a backward
glance ... same as one lover might give to another, same as a mother
might give to her child ... no one gives a kiss to anyone they truly
care for: There is just kissing.
Later we can give things over to the love-poets or arch-enemies. We
are in charge, not because we say so and not because we hope so and not
because we believe so but because there is simply no other possibility.
No comments:
Post a Comment