SSJE: "Praying Our Lives: Judgment"

Here's a very good reflection from the Society of St. John Evangelist's Lent series:

Caramelized Onion & Carrot Soup

The Tomato Tart offers this wonderful and easy recipe; I just made it tonight.  It's fantastic - and vegan, too.   Do exactly as she says (although I did add a bit more water than it says here), and you won't be sorry; definitely do the herb oil thing as well.

•  INGREDIENTS CARAMELIZED ONION & CARROT SOUP
• 1 large onion, sliced
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 ½ lbs carrots peeled and sliced into coins
• 1 large Yukon gold potato peeled and cut into ½ inch pieces
• ½ cup celery sliced
• 8 oz vegetable stock- homemade or low sodium variety
• salt and pepper to taste

• OPTIONAL GARNISHES
• 1/4 cup parsley leaves, loosely packed
• 1 sprig lemon thyme, leaves removed from stem
• ¼ cup olive oil
• sea salt
• 1 tablespoon piment d’espelette

• INSTRUCTIONS CARMELIZED ONION AND CARROT SOUP
• Cook onions and olive oil over medium low heat until well-caramelized and a dark golden brown, stirring infrequently (about 25-30 minutes)
• Add carrots, potato, and celery and cook for another 10 minutes, tossing well to coat with olive oil and onions.
• Add vegetable stock, turn heat to medium high, and bring to a rapid boil. Cook until vegetables are very tender almost falling apart- about 20 minutes.
• Blend with an immersion blender until completely smooth, thinning with just a little bit of water or milk (rice milk if dairy free) if necessary
• Season with salt and pepper and serve with parsley oil and a sprinkling of piment d’espelette if using

• HERB OIL INSTRUCTIONS
• If you’re making the herb oil, do so while the soup is cooking so it has time to steep
• finely chop parsley and thyme in food processor until it is tiny tiny tiny
• Add olive oil and give it a little whirl
• When ready to serve, strain through a fine mesh sieve and add one teaspoon of the herbs back to the strained oil and whisk to incorporate.

Celebrity and saints

Another thought:  perhaps celebrities are playing a teaching role - almost in the way that saints have?

Christian saints - and also mythic (or real) heroes of all kinds in all cultures - have always been, in part, stand-ins for personality types and examples of human behavior, and a way to teach the faith's values and possibilities.  For instance: 

• The Blessed Virgin Mary (she accepted God's will for her - and henceforth all generations call her blessed); 
• Joseph (it's his feast day today; he's the accepting father and provider); 
• John the Baptist (the wild prophet - the "voice crying in the wilderness"); 
• St. Peter (the loyal but deeply flawed disciple - redeemed in spite of his betrayal);  
• St. Thomas (the doubter); 
• Martha and Mary of Bethany (the active and contemplative - the worldly and mystical); 
• St. Paul (the mystic and thinker and gadfly); 
• Mary Magdalene (at various times:  the loyal disciple, the madwoman, the sinner, the whore, the "Apostle to the Apostles", the "good role model");  
• St. Jerome (the cranky scholar); 
• St. Francis (the true disciple, the ne plus ultra, the mystic); 
• St. Julian (the solitary, the mystic, the lover of souls); 
• others you can name here, I'm sure.

The Greek and Roman gods performed this function, too, as far as I can tell.  Zeus, Hera, Aphrodite, Hermes, Apollo, Athena, Hercules, etc. - all are distinct personality types, and all are "patrons" of various aspects of human life, exactly as the saints were later.

So perhaps this is what the celebrity culture is about?  Perhaps people are using them - and the word "using" is pretty accurate, I think - as a way to look at and dissect the human condition via the variety of character traits and personality types that celebrities act out?  As models for behavior?  And, more specifically: as a way to understand human life and behavior?  To talk all this out, and figure out what's good and what's deleterious?  The difference, of course, is that there is no real system to this - and the values it contains are of-the-moment and very likely fleeting.

Celebrities are used as scapegoats, too, of course - there is that love-hate thing going - and that's another place the "saint" comparison breaks down.

Saint culture is almost gone now, in these terms - and celebrity culture is powerful and everywhere.  And unreasonably central to modern life - which says to me that it's an adaptation, and functioning in, perhaps, the same way as religion once did.  That is, to give shape to all the data, and find coherence in patterns, perhaps?   Perhaps people are simply using "celebrity" as a means to deal with the loss of the religious function in their lives?

Think Ayn Rand, too, BTW, and the continued popularity of her novels - and the unquestionably "religious" devotion of her disciples.  This is another case of oversized enthusiasm for characters, I think - which in addition comes alongside a developed statement about coherence.  This is what people are doing, I think:  looking for patterns and "ways of being," and/or talking out human problems - whether or not these ways of being actually work or make real sense in the long run.  (This is exactly what I'm doing on this thread, too, as a matter of fact!)

This is what the church does, too, of course; it tells a strange story, filled with fascinating, mysterious characters and powerful events - and has worked out a theory about the coherence and meaning of human existence based on those events.   The really interesting thing is that it has spoken strongly to people for such a long time - which says that it's dealing with some very basic, core human concerns.

I've always thought, BTW, that the "twelve tribes of Israel" may actually represent some basic breakdown of human personality types or spheres of interest.  Someday I'll have to look closely at what the Oral Tradition says about this, if anything....

"Authenticity"

Dave Zahl at Mockingbird has been talking about "Authenticity" lately, and notes at that post that "Exhibit A here is what the always insightful Heather Havrilesky refers to as: 'Oscar night’s Lawrence/Hathaway carnival ride of attraction/revulsion' in her column for The Vulture, 'Why Jennifer Lawrence and Mila Kunis Are Beloved'."

What's immediately interesting, to me, is the strangeness of the whole concept:  that people take a really way oversized amount of interest in the personality characteristics of other people they don't actually know.   Here's an example, from the Harvrilesky article:

While actors can display a wide range of behaviors and say anything they want (short of spewing hate speech) without eliciting much scorn, actresses are lambasted for the slightest slipup. Too skinny or too fat? Too fussy or too messy? Too unpolished or too stiff? Women in general can't do much in this world without garnering a flood of criticism, often from other women. Deliver a few narcissistic pronouncements, be haughty to a foreign journalist in a weak moment, get a little too caught up in the dream you dreamed in time gone by, and yesterday's innocent princess is today's evil queen.

Even so, there's something very specific, and very dramatic, about this everygirl/diva study in contrasts — as embodied by Oscar night's Lawrence/Hathaway carnival ride of attraction/revulsion. The vocal negative reaction to Hathaway and her ilk feels like more than the sadly predictable backlash against intelligence or a reflection of our cultural disgust with girls; it suggests a sea change in the way we encounter celebrity. We may have reached the outer limits of our patience with the kind of self-involvement that rises from a life in the spotlight. There are just too many ways to be famous, or at least to draw an audience — from blogging to posting clips on YouTube to tweeting something pithy during the Super Bowl — for most of us to want to see a star treating the world's attention as something that they'd been destined to bask in since birth. By sharing their Instagram feeds or favoriting our tweets, famous actresses seem accessible, a part of our sphere; so to have one step back and act like they are untouchable, or in some way part of a rarefied world, is an insult that is not to be tolerated. Mila Kunis and Jennifer Lawrence haven't simply scored a "win" by behaving like normal, everyday people, eliciting comments like "She is the greatest!" and "I want to eat burgers with her!" They're doing what we expect every star to do, in this post-celebrity age. We expect stars to keep their egos in check.

What's a little strange about this shift, though, is that it doesn't seem to apply to actresses like Lena Dunham, whose aw-shucks remarks are consistently ripped to pieces by commenters who don't seem to believe that Dunham deserves the press she's getting, despite the fact that, unlike most actresses, she actually writes her own material and as such probably has plenty of interesting opinions beyond her love of a particular brand of beer. Alas, when Dunham professes her enthusiasm for short shorts and warns the public that she'll be showing off her legs "until I'm 100," the comments sections soon turn nasty. "I was sick of her and her empty vibe from the start," one wrote on this website. "She looks like a sausage trying to escape from its casing," said another. By parading her perfectly nice, girl-next-door face and regular-mortal body on the small screen, Dunham has waged an admirable fight against the reigning mindset that women on television should always be gifted with supermodel good looks. And Dunham rarely comes off as anything but earnest and funny and self-deprecating, the same party tricks demonstrated by Kunis and Lawrence. So why all the hate? Apparently it's not enough for a woman to be smart and likable and humble. Audiences presumably don't crave Dunham as their best friend because they already have a best friend just like Dunham. They want an upgrade. The key is to act just like average humans, but not to look remotely like them.

I watched "Anne Hathaway's interview with Ricky Lo" - linked above, and didn't find anything strange or "haughty" about what she said - or, in fact, anything weird about what he said, either (apparently he's getting the business over the clip, too).   Why are people - apparently - cringing about these things?  I guess I can understand that, though; perhaps it's a bit of self-contempt - that we're so invested in celebrity itself.  When celebrities don't seem to live up to the status we ourselves give them - and who could live up to it? - perhaps that says something about us and how overinvolved we are in the whole thing.  We continue to watch, though; we can't look away.

Following along with some of these links and reading the comments it seems that people are also just really, really angry about something.  What?  Are they angry that celebrities get so much attention, while they themselves get little or none?  In the case of Ricky Lo, some from his own country seem embarrassed by him - as if he were the "face of the Philippines" and causing them to lose face somehow.

Or are people just plain furious generally?  That does seem to be the case, actually - at least online; it's no different in any other part of the web.   You see the fury on news blogs and political sites and everywhere; there's this seeming desire to make every passing thing into a huge drama, invested with deep meaning for the fate of the world or for the culture itself - and to take sides and demonize others.  What's interesting about that, actually, is that people you know in your own life - friends, neighbors, co-workers, acquaintances - don't seem all that furious, in the flesh.  (Well, except in traffic.)  And we're all online now, so it doesn't seem to be two different groups of people.  I've always seen the web as "the world's id" - and I guess that's really true; people do say things anonymously they'd never say in person.  They seem to feel free to let go of their rage online.

I do get that "social media" is a driver; Twitter appears to be a worldwide gossip engine at the moment - and also, in its "trending" concept, feeds into what seems to be a desperate desire and need to be "on it," in terms of what the latest thing is.  This happens on Facebook, too - from what I remember (I signed off for good a few months ago).  I suppose that's all just to be able to think of oneself as in the loop, part of the stream of life.   Andrew Sullivan has created a living for himself out of this sort of thing; once he said something like, "I'd like to really sit down and write a long book about Christianity" - but how does anybody have the time for that, when they have to keep track of the latest flotsam and jetsam of the culture? 

The deeper question, though, is:  is all this stuff about "life"?   Well, no - it sure doesn't seem to be.  It's all surfaces - and even more to the point:  it's all about somebody else.  The inner - and therefore the examined - life is, apparently (as Gloria Steinem once noted), not worth living.  And that, I think, is the problem.

I think "trending" taking the place of other, deeper things; it's a way to hide from the inner self.  As I mentioned here once before, at other times and in other places, people looked to "character building" as something desirable in itself - but it was something you had to actually seek out and learn about.  (That last link is a post about a current theory that modern life rewards extroversion and punishes introversion!)  The assumption was that people, by ourselves the way we come, are "unfinished" and need formation by systems of thought and/or faith.  And I think this is what "Authenticity" is actually seeking after:  a method or system to help people understand themselves and the world.

And perhaps the fixation with "celebrity" is an effort to focus on people that the whole world can look at and talk over - the modern way of talking about "the human condition" that's missing from our individual lives.

Because many people don’t have much of a program or system for this sort of thing any longer; religion, of course, once played the role of “explaining how the world works” and "talking about the human condition."   But its former system is maybe no longer intelligible to those outside it (and even to some inside it!) - or else needs to take new information into account and hasn’t caught up yet.  I suspect the system needs to be reworked and upgraded in any case, since some of the more fundamental things - the basic equality of all human beings - have been incorporated into our thinking now.  That is, of course, excellent - but it's nowhere close to the end of the story!  And I suspect "current thinking" will be found to be rather fluid in any case.

The fact still is, though: we have “data” pouring in everywhere, but many people have nothing that can make it coherent - or at least, permit thinking about coherence.  As I've said before here, too:  people don’t think much about things like “the classical virtues” – I didn’t know what these were until about 10 years ago, myself – and I bet few people outside of A.A. can name “the 7 Deadly Sins."   We know that people can’t name the 10 Commandments, let alone thinking about them in depth.  Society doesn’t hand down “the wisdom of the past” any longer; the past seems benighted in the current era, so people don’t tend to look at it much, either.

Religion, of course, is a systematic way of thinking about life on earth and what it means.  A.A. has its own system - one that leans heavily on religious practices, and one that helps me to think about things to this day, after almost 30 years.   Trying to understand life - human motivations, desires, actions, and etc. - has always been extremely to human beings.  Philosophy and psychology (which admittedly is taking up some of the slack today) have done this work, alongside religion.

The search for "authenticity" seems to be part of that search - a way to discover truth - but then morphs into a status symbol, and a way for people to "win."  It's the age of Marketing, after all.

The thing is:  religion, from my point of view, is just way more interesting - and it's free, besides.

"Why be a liberal Catholic when you could be an Anglican?"

This, from Theo Hobson in the Guardian; note the section I've bolded below, which is a discussion of the idea of a "Cultural Anglicanism" I talked about here a couple of months ago.  It's also helpful to think about it in relation to the David Brooks article I posted here yesterday.

What's the appeal of Roman Catholicism to a fairly liberal person? Why don't they jump ship? They say they dislike clerical celibacy, which they largely blame for the abuse scandals. Well, there's a church close at hand that rejects it. They say they want to see the ordination of women. Well, there's a church close at hand that ordains women (more or less). They say they dislike the church's intransigence on homosexuality. Well, there's a church close at hand that has an honest, messy debate about this issue. They say they dislike the church's legalistic approach to birth control, abortion, and various other moral issues. Well, there's a church close at hand that rejects such an approach. They say they dislike the church's authoritarian structure, the monarchical aura of the papacy. Well, you know what.

Why do they stay in a church that is so full of things they dislike, when there is one close at hand that is more or less free of those objectionable things? Presumably they would reply: because, despite everything, the Roman church seems to us the authentic church, and the Anglican church does not. But there is a sector of Anglicanism whose style of worship is scarcely distinguishable from that of Roman Catholicism. Yes, they might reply, but the institution lacks authenticity: it was founded by a randy monarch, and remains confined by its national character. Fair point perhaps, but does it really outweigh the benefits of Anglicanism to a liberal believer? Is this really a reason to stay in an authoritarian, illiberal church – that at least it wasn't founded by Henry VIII? The man had his faults but he wasn't Satan.

So what's Rome's appeal to these people? Is it that they want the prestige of belonging to an exotically large, old tradition? Do they feel a sort of thrill to be connected with an institution that strikes their friends as baffling, mysterious, romantically gothic? Do they like seeing eyebrows raised at dinner parties, when they state their allegiance?

This might be a factor, but it misses the central point. It seems to me that the central appeal of Roman Catholicism is its bold insistence that Christianity must be embodied in culture. For Catholics, religion is not confined to a carefully demarcated sphere, or to the realm of individual faith: it must be holistic, public, all-embracing – it demands to be known as the meaning of cultural life. By contrast, Anglicanism seems to accept the marginalisation of religion, and seems to approve of liberal culture. Religion is a wonderfully rich bit of culture, Anglicanism seems to say, but it's just one bit of culture; it knows its place. No, says Catholicism: the place of religion is everywhere; its role is to be everything.

I first got thinking about the greater cultural richness of Catholicism when Pope John Paul II died: I was fascinated by the spectacle of pilgrimage and devotion that ensued. Among the television coverage was some footage of his visit to Britain in 1982, complete with huge rallies and open-air masses and people fainting with excitement. It struck me that Roman Catholicism has the character of a constant carnival, a world-sized show. Soon afterwards I was in holiday in Spain for Good Friday, and the old walled town was abuzz with amateur theatricals: Roman soldiers on horses, huge lines of people in those eerie pointy KKK-like hoods such as the ones Goya painted. This is something that no form of Protestantism offers: the sense of a whole culture joining together in religious ritual.

I had the same feeling when the relics of St Thérèse of Lisieux toured Britain: there was much sceptical press comment about the irrationality of Catholicism, but I looked on with a sort of sacramental envy, as excited crowds queued to be near the dead nun's bones (as I explained at the time).

Incidentally, on the subject of relics, John Henry Newman had a sure grasp of this aspect of Catholicism's appeal. In his Apologia Pro Vita Sua he poetically defended popular devotions that made dry Anglicans angry. Devotion to relics should be seen as a powerful form of popular culture, he said. "Why then may not the country people come up, in joyous companies, singing and piping, to see the Holy Coat at Trèves?"

My response is mixed. I chiefly view Roman Catholicism through liberal Protestant eyes: it is an intolerably reactionary version of Christianity. On the other hand, liberal Christianity ought to imitate huge aspects of its cultural richness, of its bold belief in religion as culture. We should not turn away in puritan distaste from the tradition of colourful public religion.

Again, though:  I think this is an overly - and unhelpfully - "liturgical" way of thinking about the issue.  The reason Catholicism can do this is not because it likes to do big, colorful, public rites and rituals; it's because of what it teaches about Christianity and its place in the world.

Remember what Brooks said in that article, about Augustine's idea that "the church should go on offense and swallow the world"?  This is the missing piece; the liturgy is a reflection of this idea - it's a teaching method, not a feature standing alone.  If Anglicanism doesn't teach this - and, as far as I can tell, it doesn't - it won't appear in its liturgy.  It's an idea - and I think Hobson's right that "Protestantism" does not contain this idea, because its origin comes out of an attempt to get the church of its time to stop its "swallowing of the world."

That's because the church of its time was corrupt - but of course, the movement went too far, as reactionary movements always do.   Protestantism - of every variety  - is now more concerned with self-referential "purity" (again, as Brooks noted) than with the healing of the world. It's certainly not "deeply preoccupied by the idea of the basic unity of the human race," as Brooks says Augustine was.

Brooks continues, remember, this way: 

He wanted the church to go on offense and swallow the world. This would involve swallowing impurities as well as purities. It would mean putting to use those who are imperfect. This was the price to be paid if you wanted an active church coexisting with sinners, disciplining and rebuking them.

In this view, the church would be attractive because it was hungering and thirsting for fulfillment. Far from being a stable ark, the church would be a dynamic, ever-changing network, propelled onto the streets by its own tensions. Augustine had this deep, volatile personality. His ideal church was firmly rooted in doctrine, but yearning for discovery.

Think, too, at that point, about James Alison's view of the church as "halfway house" - and perhaps add in Father Paissy's thought from TBK:

"You are completely misunderstanding it," said Father Paissy sternly. "Understand: the Church is not to be transformed into the State. That is Rome and its dream. That is the third temptation of the devil. On the contrary, the State is transformed into the Church, will ascend and become a Church over the whole world — which is the complete opposite of Ultramontanism and Rome, and your interpretation, and is only the glorious destiny ordained for the Orthodox Church. This star will arise in the east!"

That is where "cultural Catholicism" (or "cultural Orthodoxy" - or "cultural Anglicanism") comes from.  It can't be had by tinkering with the liturgy; it's got to be a teaching.   It's got to be based on a way of thinking - which is why Anglican fixation with "liturgy" will never be the cure.  The church is a hospital for the whole world - not a haven for the "righteous."  This is the central idea here - and it's crucial to reclaim it.

The church simply cannot presume that anybody, from now on, understands what Christianity is for- still less, that anybody "believes" it.  It can't assume that anybody's grown up with a firm sense of what Christianity is about - of what its value is.  I think perhaps people who've always been involved in it simply don't consider these things very deeply; they don't know what it's like to live without faith, so they don't ask these very basic questions.  The Episcopal Catechism - I'll say it for the hundredth time! - assumes what it's setting out to "prove."  Or, rather, it assumes it doesn't have to answer deeper questions; it assumes that everybody's already hooked into the faith - something that's manifestly not true, even in terms of its own membership.

Again, take a close look at the Catholic Catechism and note what it's trying to do; it uses language and ideas that anybody can understand.  It tries to make a case.  It doesn't assume that these ideas are self-evident.

"How Movements Recover"

From David Brooks today, about the Catholic Church and the new Pope.

The Catholic Church in North Africa was in crisis at the beginning of the fourth century. The Roman emperor Diocletian had persecuted the Christians, and many bishops and priests had collaborated with the regime. Priests had turned over Christian believers to the pagan magistrates. Bishops had surrendered Holy Scriptures to be burned in the public square. An air of corruption and lewdness hung over the church.

Two rival reform movements arose to restore the integrity of Catholicism. Those in the first movement, the Donatists, believed the church needed to purify itself and return to its core identity.

The mission of the church, in the Donatist view, was to provide a holy alternative to a unclean world. The Donatists wanted to purge the traitors from the priesthood.

After they pruned their membership, the Donatists wanted to close ranks to create a community of committed believers. They would separate themselves from impurity, re-establish their core principles and defend them against the hostile forces.

The Donatists believed that, in those hard times, the first job was to defend Christian law so it wouldn’t be diluted by compromise. With this defensive posture, the Donatists would at least build a sturdy ark for all those who wanted to be Christian.

This Donatist tendency — to close ranks and return defensively to first principles — can be seen today whenever a movement faces a crisis. Modern-day Donatists emerge after every Republican defeat: conservatives who think the main task is to purge and purify. There are modern-day Donatists in humanities departments, who pull in as they lose relevance on campus.

You can see them in the waning union movement: people who double down on history and their self-conscious traditions. You can see them in the current Roman Catholic Church, which feels besieged in a hostile world. You can identify the modern-day Donatists because they feel history is flowing away from them, and when they gossip it’s always about intra-community rivalries that nobody outside their world could possibly care about.

In the fourth century, another revival movement arose, embraced by Augustine, who was Bishop of Hippo. The problem with the Donatists, Augustine argued, is that they are too static. They try to seal off an ark to ride out the storm, but they end up sealing themselves in. They cut themselves off from new circumstances and growth.

Augustine, as his magisterial biographer Peter Brown puts it, “was deeply preoccupied by the idea of the basic unity of the human race.” He reacted against any effort to divide people between those within the church and those permanently outside.

He wanted the church to go on offense and swallow the world. This would involve swallowing impurities as well as purities. It would mean putting to use those who are imperfect. This was the price to be paid if you wanted an active church coexisting with sinners, disciplining and rebuking them.

In this view, the church would be attractive because it was hungering and thirsting for fulfillment. Far from being a stable ark, the church would be a dynamic, ever-changing network, propelled onto the streets by its own tensions. Augustine had this deep, volatile personality. His ideal church was firmly rooted in doctrine, but yearning for discovery.

This second tendency is also found in movements that are in crisis, but it is rare because it requires a lack of defensiveness, and a confidence that your identity is secure even amid crisis.

Like most of the world, I don’t know much about Pope Francis, but it’s hard not to be impressed by someone who says he prefers a church that suffers “accidents on the streets” to a church that is sick because it self-referentially closes in on itself.

It’s hard not to be impressed by someone who stands by traditional Catholic teaching, but then goes out and visits Jeronimo Podesta, a former bishop who had married in defiance of the church and who was dying poor and forgotten. It’s hard not to be impressed by someone who ferociously rebukes those priests who refuse to baptize the children of single mothers.

It’s hard not to be impressed by someone who seems to feel a compulsive need to be riding the buses, who refuses to live in the official residences, who sends his priests out to the frontiers and who once said he would die if locked away in the Vatican.

I’ll leave it to Catholics to decide if Francis is good for the church. The subject here is how do you revive a movement in crisis. The natural instinct is to turn Donatist, to build an ark and defend what’s precious. The counterintuitive but more successful strategy is to follow Augustine, to exploit a moment of weakness by making yourself even more vulnerable, by striking outward into complexity, swallowing the pure and impure, counterattacking crisis with an evangelical assault. 

I'm delighted, I have to say, that this new man has taken the name Francis - and actually astounded that nobody else ever has.  It's definitely an excellent beginning, from my point of view.