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  • Redeeming the Dreary

    by Michael Kirk

    One of the fundamental characteristics of modernism, that cultural shift in the way we see the world, ourselves and our condition, was the celebration of the ordinary – ordinary life, ordinary work, ordinary people and the ordinary things they do. Not everything about the “modern movement” – which began over a hundred years ago – was a boon to humanity. For Christians one dimension of modernism made a total muddle of theology and bears a big share of the blame for the creation of that “desert of relativism” of which Pope Benedict XVI speaks. But surely a vision of the ordinary things of life, liberated from the realm of the humdrum and the boring is something to rejoice in?

    This positive dimension of our modern sensibility was taken up in a paper by an American professor teaching in Rome. Professor John Paul Wauck, at a congress on Poetics and Christianity, spoke of a change in how Christians now see ordinary life. He described this change as “a genuine revolution” in terms of ascetical theology and found it epitomised in the words of St. Josemaría Escrivá when he wrote that the Christian vocation, “consists in making heroic verse out of the prose of each day.” Those words, along with all his teaching, moved Blessed Pope John Paul II to proclaim Escrivá “the saint of the ordinary” on the occasion of his canonization in 2002.

    Wauck was, however, setting out to explore another dimension of modernity’s celebration of the ordinary – how this celebration in general, and this theological revolution in particular, seemed to have to struggle to make its way into literature. He set out to look at how literature and ordinary life stand in relation to one another, and more particularly, to look at how Christian faith might affect that relationship. “Ultimately,” he said, “the question I hope to raise is whether a change in how Christians see ordinary life could change the way we see, read and write literature.”

    Professor Wauck seems to suggest that there is a conspiracy against the ordinary in a great deal of literature, and particularly in the classics, ancient and modern, against the celebration of the ordinary. This conspiracy is rooted in our apparent deep attraction to what we see as the heroic. He speaks of “the tension between the thirst for the heroic, grand, ecstatic life and the reality of the life we actually live, with its humbler virtues.” He quotes the Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor:

    “We are in conflict, even confusion, about what it means to affirm ordinary life… We are as ambivalent about heroism as we are about the value of the workaday goals that it sacrifices. We struggle to hold on to a vision of the incomparably higher, while being true to the central modern insights about the value of the ordinary life. We sympathize with both the hero and the anti-hero; and we dream of a world in which one could be, in the same act, both.”

    To develop his point, Wauck draws on the work of the American writer, Walker Percy, a convert to Catholicism, quoting his biographer, Jay Tolson: “The horror of ‘dailiness’ is in fact the starting point for many of Walker Percy’s novels, and if it is not the central problem for many of Walker Percy’s works it is always at least one of the problems.”

    “Tolson”, Wauck says, “uses the word ‘horror’ advisedly, for Percy does not mince words:

    ‘[A]s Einstein once said, ordinary life in an ordinary place on an ordinary day in the modern world is a dreary business. I mean dreary. People will do anything to escape this dreariness: booze up, hit the road, gaze at fatal car wrecks, shoot up heroin, spend money on gurus, watch pornographic movies, kill themselves, even watch TV. Einstein said that was the reason he went into mathematical physics.’”

    How many of us, when we pick up our papers to read the news, are drawn to the “great” events, the exceptional, the extraordinary? Is that not the definition of news? Not many of us have the insight which moved the Irish poet, Patrick Kavanagh to write his 1938 poem, “Epic”:

    I have lived in important places, times
    When great events were decided: who owned
    That half a rood of rock, a no-man’s land
    Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims.

    I heard the Duffys shouting “Damn your soul”
    And old McCabe stripped to the waist, seen
    Step the plot defying blue cast-steel –
    “Here is the march along these iron stones.”

    That was the year of the Munich bother. Which
    Was most important ? I inclined
    To lose my faith in Ballyrush and Gortin
    Till Homer’s ghost came whispering to my mind.
    He said : I made the Iliad from such
    A local row. Gods make their own importance.

    And so does God. The mite of the widow tossed into the Temple collection box looked like a very small and ordinary thing. It is now, for all mankind, a symbol of heroic detachment and sacrifice.

    But for Kavanagh’s ordinary Monaghan farmers, fighting over scraps of land, this was warfare. In some ways fighting has raised the stakes in the human imagination, lifting our actions out of the realm of the ordinary and into the heroic. Wauck alludes to this when he again cites Percy’s observations about our struggle with the ordinary.

    “The apparent emptiness of ordinary life is only intensified by our occasional tastes of the extraordinary, dramatic and heroic – nowhere more typically experienced, as Percy was keenly aware, than in that timeless feature of heroic literature, warfare.”

    But if literature in general has had problems coping with the ordinary, literature in the context of Christian faith is where he finds the greatest challenge. The revolution in ascetic theology has still, he feels, to translate into the realm of Christian literature. He asks, “If Christianity offers an answer to the dilemma of ordinary life on the existential level, might it not also open up new possibilities for capturing the grandeur of ordinary life in literature?” The perception is that clearly it has not done so yet.

    He illustrates the problem by quoting a letter from the non-believing American novelist, Shelby Foote, to Walker Percy who was his friend, in which he says: show me a Catholic writer who doesn’t write about doubt, putting God in scare-quotes, but instead handles religion with the matter-of-factness of Maupassant writing about sex. Certainly the oeuvre in Catholic Ireland’s substantial literary canon would seem to bear out the validity of that challenge.

    But even in this Irish context, there are exceptions. The later novels of John McGahern – Amongst Women and That They May Face the Rising Sun – show not only a wonderful and delightful portrayal of the lives of simple and ordinary people in rural and small-town Ireland, but also show them in the simple practice of their Catholic faith. In these novels – written over the last years of McGahern’s life – there is the full spectrum of the faithful, the unfaithful, and those with doubts, but all are sympathetically and authentically presented in ways which do not diminish the glorious ordinariness of their lives and their communities.

    However, that being relatively exceptional, Wauck’s speculations remain very pertinent.  “How might one, then, in practice,” he asks, “convey the heroism of ordinary Christian life? To appreciate the difficulty, consider, for example, the following point from The Way by Saint Josemaría Escrivá, the champion of sanctity in ordinary life:”

    “We were reading – you and I – the heroically ordinary life of that man of God.  And we saw him struggle whole months and years (what an ‘accounting’ he kept in his particular examination of conscience!) one day at breakfast he would win, the next day he’d lose…. “I didn’t take butter… I did take butter!” he would jot down. May we too – you and I – live our…. ‘drama’ of the butter.”

    The protagonist of this little drama was an Irish Jesuit priest, Fr Willie Doyle, who went on to die a more traditionally heroic death in the trenches of the Great War where he served as a chaplain in the British Army. It was, however, the “butter” drama of his daily interior struggle which appealed to Escrivá as an example for ordinary Christians in their own struggles to live lives pleasing to God.

    Wauck speculates at the end of his lecture that perhaps it is not possible to directly portray the grandeur of an ordinary Christian life. “Perhaps the ordinary is not meant to be the subject of great Christian literature. I can think of no a priori reason why it has to be.

    And yet, might it not be that, by and large, Christians simply haven’t tried to capture the drama of ordinary life? Are there really no heroes and villains, sorrows and joys, dangers and dramas to describe in day-to-day Christian existence, or are we simply refusing or failing to see them? We do, after all, in principle, believe that each Christian, every day, at home, in the office, on the street, is walking on a battlefield – a battlefield where the stakes are very high, higher even than mere life and death. That same Christian is also, at the same time, caught up in an extraordinary love story – a love affair with a God who is willing to die for him, Who gives Himself to him as food to eat every day. That same Christian is on a journey that will take him farther than Ulysses ever dreamed of travelling.

    I for one resist the idea that we are still living under the sign of Boileau, a French poet of the 17th century,  who said that the mysteries of the faith are ‘too majestic to be represented in a work of art.’”

    “The project that lies ahead of us” he suggests, “seems to have been glimpsed already by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), who wrote that ‘the great poems of heaven and hell have been written, and the great poem of earth remains to be written.’ To put it another way: where, we might ask, is the Dante of this world? Surely, it would be an odd thing for a Christian to maintain that Homer and Virgil have exhausted what there is to say about the earth.”

    Patrick Kavanagh would agree.

     

    This article by Michael Kirk was originally published on MercatorNet.com under a Creative Commons Licence. If you enjoyed this article, visit MercatorNet.com for more.

    The views expressed by the authors and editorial staff are not necessarily the views of
    Sophia Institute, Holy Spirit College, or the Thomas More College of Liberal Arts.

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    • Sarto

      When I preach a sermon, finding a hook in the ordinary lives of the people who are listening to me is key. If my sermon cannot give them a sense of the drama of God alive in their ordinary lives, then it is only an abstraction.

    • Tom

      We are not called to ponder on abstracts concepts like “ordinary” or “little things”.

      We are called to follow God’s commandments. There are only two: Love God and love neighbor.

      There is nothing “ordinary” about supporting one’s family, to make sure children get a good education and are raised in the Faith. There is also nothing “ordinary” in things like pornography: these are called sins, involve real humans, and often end in tragedy.
      Also what is this juxtaposition of words like Heroic and Ordinary? Why use such Spanish Civil War slogan inspired doublespeak and make part of our Church? Abstract notions of “ordinary” only exist in the minds of Escrivistas, but they try to force feed it onto the rest of us. And why not identify “Professor John Paul Wauck” for who he is: Father John Paul Wauck of “Opus Dei” (again, a redefinition from St Bebedict’s original Opus Dei, that means simply prayer, in opposition to work, that is done by humans).

      I love JP2, but his judgment of Hispanic outwardly orthodox appearing new movements with lots of money is suspect: he called Maciel “an efficacious guide of youth” little more than a year from Escriva’s beatification. And, as is well know, this beatification/canonization was done while the office of promoter of faith was being dismantled under the watch of Escrivista operatives at the Vatican.

      I don’t agree with a lot of what SSPX says, but I agree 100% with there assessment that, in large part, Escriva’s spirituality is a modernistic heresy. This will need to be fixed, by critically re-examining his writings, often peppered with double speak and redefinition of millennia old terms like payer, work, obedience, charity, poverty, shame, etc..

      PS: this is the same Charles Taylor who was hired in 2007 by the Quebec Government to say “Catholicism has left an indelible mark on Québec’s history. Traces of it are all around us. Under the principle of the neutrality of the State, religious displays linked to the functioning of public institutions should be abandoned. Thus, we do not believe that the crucifix in the National Assembly and the prayers that precede municipal council meetings have their place in a secular State. In both instances, public institutions are associated with a single religious affiliation rather than addressing themselves to all citizens.”
      Using these Government sanctioned arguments by Taylor, the mayor of the town of Saguenay was fined for saying prayers before the town assembly meetings last year. Thanks for such enlightened modernistic “catholic” thought. Fortunately the very secular members of the Quebec’s National Assembly left the Crucifix, despites Taylor’s admonition.

      But I guess the town of Saguenay is just too ordinary for “a professor” from Rome.

    • Marion (Mael Muire)

      “We are not called to ponder on abstracs concepts like ‘ordinary’ or ‘little things’ . . . . I agree 100% with (the) assessment that, in large part, Escriva’s spirituality is a modernistic heresy.”

      Are we called to enumerate specific examples of alleged “heresy” within Saint Josemaria’s spirituality? Or are we content with just shooting off our mouths with nothing to back it up? (“All hat, no cattle,” as they say in Texas.)

    • Tom

      Consider the two apparently contradictory statements by Escriva concerning prayer.

      “86 Your prayer should be liturgical. How I would like to see you using the psalms and prayers from the missal, rather than private prayers of your own choice.” The Way

      “A life of prayer and penance, together with an awareness of our divine filiation, transforms us into Christians whose piety is truly deep. We become little children at the feet of God. Piety is the virtue of children. And if the child is to take refuge in the arms of his father, he must be, and know that he is, small, needy. I have often meditated on this life of spiritual childhood, which is not incompatible with fortitude, because it demands a strong will, proven maturity, an open and firm character.
      To work in this way is to pray. To study thus is likewise prayer. Research done with this spirit is prayer too. We are always doing the same thing, for everything can be prayer, all activity can and should lead us to God, nourish our intimate dealings with him, from morning to night. Any honorable work can be prayer and all prayerful work is apostolate. In this way the soul develops a unity of life, which is both simple and strong.”
      Christ is passing by, 10

      Basically he advocates formal prayer as a mere “liturgical” formality, implying that deeper forms of prayer, promoted by St Ignatius and others, is not good. Then he says “everything can be prayer”. But I am sorry “everything” can not be prayer. Sure, we can bring our sins to prayer (we are all are sinful by our very fallen nature), but our sins are not prayers. Also, on a practical level, Fathers of the Church recognized for millennia that more often then not, one can not mix prayer with work (St Benedict, St Bernard etc..). Some times one can, when doing a repetitious task, but not during tasks requiring full mental attention. Payer and work are both important, but separate concepts. Payer informs our work. Escriva confuses them. This is called doublespeak, or loading the language, and is a common technique used by religious or secular cults to weaken the power of language, to better control people.

      Same thing can be said about Escriva’s high-jacking of the term “Opus Dei”. St Benedict defines “Opus Dei” in his rules as the time when monks pray, in direct opposition to work. St Benedict does not say that work is bad, on the contrary, but it is separate form Prayer. This was the case for millennia, until Escriva mixed the two, and, by doing so, downgraded the very critical nature of Prayer, that many of us tend to neglect, anyways.

      Also consider that how Escriva defines one’s call to “ordinary holiness”

      “387 The standard of holiness that God asks of us is determined by these three points: Holy intransigence, holy coercion and holy shamelessness.”
      The Way

      Really? Where is that in the Scriptures? How about looking at the opposites:

      “The standard of holiness that God asks of us is determined by these three points: Holy understanding, holy persuasion and holy shame.”

      It seems to me that the opposites of Escriva are more in tune with the Scriptures. So what is going on? Well, I am not a theologian, but it seems to me that there are things Natural and Devine law, and there are things called virtues and sins. What Escriva promotes is only a one sided extreme, full throttle. This is not what the application of virtues dictates (Love, Faith, Hope, prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude).

      Those are just examples, take other words that he uses and it’s the same problem (charity, love, poverty, etc, etc..). I think Escriva was a product of his time, and he copied Spanish Civil War doublespeak sloganeering. This secular modernistic trend was later brilliantly denounced by Orwell and others. I think that a serious correction is way passed due in the Church, to rid Herself of this 20th century doublespeak. I am not saying that all is bad with Escriva’s movement, but a big part is indeed a “radical” modernistic departure of millennia old, time tested, sound, Christian doctrine, and it’s a divergence, like extremes of liberation theology. But contrary to liberation theology, OD is given a pass, because it is effective at generating $$$ and influence.

      • Michael PS

        And yet the Apostle says “Pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17)

    • Tom

      “Test everything; retain what is good. “(1 Thessalonians 5:22)
      I think St Paul means real prayer.