The Vinegar Decision!
Well, I have given serious thought to the question of how forceful, aggressive, sarcastic and rude to be in my writings here on my journal. After pondering the matter soberly with my brain, I came to the conclusion that I was not only right in every nuance and aspect of the question, I was the greatest thing on Earth since sliced bread, so there was no need to change a thing.
Being somewhat suspicious of that result, I decided to check my results scientifically, bent the knee, said a prayer, and communed with the Higher Powers.
The Higher Powers said, “But I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment: and whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire.”
Hm. That was a little unexpected.
Maybe the Higher Powers had made a mistake, or confused my case with a similar case, perhaps mistaking me for science fiction writer John Scalzi? So I bent the knee again, and told Heaven that I was the author of THE GOLDEN AGE, not OLD MAN’S WAR. Two entirely different people. “Your last message may have been garbled, Lord: I am the guy who is the greatest thing since sliced bread, remember? My brain told me so. You are supposed to confirm my feel-goodness about how great I am, right?”
I was on hold for about twenty minutes, and got an answer back: “A soft answer turneth away wrath; But a grievous word stirreth up anger.”
Now, at this point, I was beginning to get nervous. All my atheist friends assure me that religion is nothing but self-delusion and wish-fulfillment. Well, I did not seem to be getting my wishes fulfilled.
After all, my brain could not be wrong, could it? I spend so much time tinkering with it and polishing it, so it hums like a top in overdrive. I am very proud of my brain.
So obviously I was approaching this the wrong way. After all, I was not a Protestant, so I did not have to talk to the Highmost of the High Powers. Maybe if I got the intercession of a saint, things would go more my way, eh?
First, Justin Martyr, patron saint of philosophers, my hero and my namesake:
“We pray for you and all other men who hate us, so that you may repent along with us and not blaspheme the One who by his works, by the mighty deeds done through his name, by the words he taught, by the prophecies announced concerning him, is the blameless and irreproachable-in-all-things Christ Jesus. We pray that, believing on him, you may be saved in his second glorious coming and may not be condemned to fire by him.” (Dialogue with Trypho 35)
Hm. That did not sound much like him saying it was OK for me to condemn people. But he is a philosopher, so perhaps he was speaking in some obscure and technical language. I tried again with Saint Ignatius of Antioch:
“Let us, then, be imitators of the Lord in meekness…” (Letter to the Ephesians 8. )
Looks like the saints were not coming out exactly on my side either with this.
Well, what did the saints know about sanctity? I am an artiste! I decided to consult the poets. Their insight into human nature, illumined by the muses, would surely justify me. What did Dante have to say about wrath and where it leads,eh? People who are wrathful in the service of God surely merit some divine reward!
And I, who stood intent upon beholding,
Saw people mud-besprent in that lagoon,
All of them naked and with angry look.They smote each other not alone with hands,
But with the head and with the breast and feet,
Tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth.Said the good Master: “Son, thou now beholdest
The souls of those whom anger overcame;
And likewise I would have thee know for certainBeneath the water people are who sigh
And make this water bubble at the surface,
As the eye tells thee wheresoe’er it turns.Fixed in the mire they say, ‘We sullen were
In the sweet air, which by the sun is gladdened,
Bearing within ourselves the sluggish reek;Now we are sullen in this sable mire.’
This hymn do they keep gurgling in their throats,
For with unbroken words they cannot say it.”Thus we went circling round the filthy fen
A great arc ‘twixt the dry bank and the swamp,
With eyes turned unto those who gorge the mire;Unto the foot of a tower we came at last.
Okay, so this the not the reward I had hoped. Deserved, yes; hoped, not so much.
Fie on Poets! What do they know, anyway!
So I decided to go straight to the Top. Y’See, I know how my household is run–the Mom is in charge. God was not telling me what I wanted to hear, but instead was giving me a rather hard commandment, nay, an impossible commandment to carry out. How am I supposed to fulminate about the issues of the day without giving my honest opinion, and if that opinion is cruel or sarcastic or negative, so be it! No one can be expected to be nice all the time! What did I care, proud and independent intellectual that I am, if I should ruffle a few feathers of the groundlings and heathens and hoi polloi? I was a guy smart enough to use phrases like hoi polloi (A Greek remark!) in the midst of my sentences, was I not?
So I prayed to the blessed Mary, Mother of God, and asked her. Surely she was not going to tell me to follow the crazy and impossibly difficult task the Good Lord was putting before me, right? I was not actually going to have to do what He told me, right?
“Whatever he tells you,that do.”
Gee, thanks, Ma.
So now I am stuck. I could have been a member of some nice, undemanding religion like Asatru, and all I would have to do is support the Second Amendment and die in battle for Odin, then be carried off to Valhalla by Brunhilde or Ortlinde or someone, and it would be endless drinking of mead and endless battle awaiting the Last Charge of the Light Brigade against Surtur and Fenrir. None of this asking me to do stuff I cannot do.
So now I am avowed to turn over a new leaf, repent, and be nicer on in my journal. Yet somehow without compromising the honest of my commentary: there are things that are hellish in the world, and deserve rightly to be called so. There are many damned stupid ideas.
There are, however, no damned people, that is, not necessarily. The forgiveness of Christ is freely open to one and all. All you have to do is ask.
So, starting today, starting now, the kinder and forgiving version of me is going to be writing in this space. The only problem is my inner nature is opposed in every way, and with every excuse imagination can invent, to hinder the project. For a man like me, it is impossible.
I still must try, buoyed by the hope that all things are possible with God. I will fall and fail and try again, dear friends, and I will have the simple faith of a child that the Good Lord can accomplish the impossible.
About John C Wright
John C. Wright is a practicing philosopher, a retired attorney, newspaperman, and newspaper editor, and a published author of science fiction. Once a Houyhnhnm, he was expelled from the august ranks of purely rational beings when he fell in love; but retains an honorary title.
