When nineteenth century journalist Finlay Peter Dunne (1867-1936) handed down this dictum, he was speaking to newspapers, but it has been embraced by politicians, social activists, and The Church (lots of "The Churches"). Besides the traditional buttons and bumper stickers, you'll find it on coffee mugs, tee shirts, even clerical stoles.
You might think that as a declared liberal, I would love it, but I don't. I'm tired of being told what to do, particularly in the guise of begging. I am deluged with letters from organizations -- for peace, economic justice, the planet, abused animals, sick children. They are all worthy causes, but I can only do so much and I can only take so much. (I can't listen to Sarah McLaughlin's "In the Arms of the Angels" ever since it was used in a commercial for the American Humane Association, with pictures of abused or simply sad cats and dogs. When they switched to "In the Bleak Midwinter" just in time for Christmas, I posted a warning on Facebook,)
I realize that I am one of the comfortable people who are supposed to be made uncomfortable. But then I'm one of the afflicted, so who is going to comfort me?
I don't think this occurs to potential afflicters, who are probably thinking in terms of social action. (Make enough people feel guilty enough and you can save the world! Or at least a part of it.) But I tell myself that they mean well.
And if liberal guilt doesn't bring enough suffering, there is always religion.
The most familiar affliction method is the Damnation Doctrine, "Refuse to believe the correct interpretation of the Bible and you're going to Hell, where the fires burn but never consume and the wailing of the tortured never ceases!" If you believe you are too intelligent or too educated to be taken in, try reading Jonathan Edwards's "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God", and see if you feel a twinge of unease. "What if they're right?" Done in the right spirit, it's kind of fun, like watching scary movies, but I wonder how much time professors of early American literature have spent reassuring students that the Puritans and theologians of the Great Awakening like Jonathan Edwards weren't necessarily right. (My early American literature professor told the story of a student who asked, "But how do we know we're saved?" in the middle of a lecture on predestination.)
Old Time Religion is bad enough, but New Time Progressive Religion does its share of afflicting too. Even in mainstream denominations we hear stories about miracles, the virgin birth, and the Resurrection starting in Sunday School. But nobody ever told me that these were only legends. Teachers and preachers talked as if it was no problem to believe because we've learned that "God can do anything," and is one smells a logical rat or serpent, "You just have to have faith."
Even those who see the creation stories and Revelation as allegories and metaphors may think that everything else is historically, if not literally, true. And it may be a bit of a shock (in Episcopalianspeak) when we come across the New Theology, kind of like finding out about Santa Claus. I'd like to say to the Progressives, "I hope you understand that a lot of us, in spite of years of education, are not going to get this. And a lot of us are going to give up trying."
Literature and real life are full of former Catholics and Fundamentalists who have lost their faith. They all deserve sympathy and the real ones need any help we can give. But what about the rest of us? Our fall isn't nearly as dramatic; now we can sleep or play golf or go to brunch on Sunday. It's not worth becoming a tortured antihero. Really? Holes in one, Sunday Morning on CBS, quiches and mimosas can't do much for a crisis of faith.
So how are we to deal with this? Can we trust ourselves to choose who to believe or to even come to our own conclusions?
My spirituality is at the corner of Whatever and You Tell Me and Then We'll Both Know. This works. Usually. Fortunately, The Episcopal Church is "a big tent" with room for everyone. But sometimes . . .
You needn't bother to afflict me if I'm too comfortable. I can afflict myself, thank you very much.
