Of Monsters and Saints
It's entirely possible, I admit, that I spend too much time and bandwidth drawing comparisons between life, and the acts of reading and writing. Whether you do much of either in the physical sense isn't the least bit relevant. It seems to me to be such a simple and accurate analogy of a much wider picture, that I can't help but reach for it often. One person is speaking, the other is listening in order to gain understanding. And then the roles reverse. Simple conversation. Business, entertainment, education, health care, friendship, love...they all work this way, at their most elemental level.
So with that said, and using 'read' and 'write' by the larger definition, one goal to which I think more writers should aspire, is to inquire more. To examine why they hold their own beliefs. To make every effort to see things from all points of view.
To do otherwise is for them to presume (or pretend) they have answers others don't already have, or that their own thoughts or conclusions are wise beyond those of the reader. Or that their words are something other than their own opinions, which is rarely true. When words are set to print - even when they are put forth as fact - they nearly always contain a speculative element, if only in the leading a writer does, toward a given conclusion.
That is not to say answers can't be found in reading. It's just that they aren't often found obviously or directly. The pieces are assembled in joint effort, between writer and reader. And it's unlikely either holds all of those pieces, or if they did, that either would recognize, alone, where they fit. An author asks the same questions a reader asks themselves. But when asked by another, they often sound entirely new. Or are posed from an angle we don't normally consider. And it is through this different perspective, that those questions give clarity to what it is we're really asking.
The contrast between the tension of asking a question and the relief of having it answered, is one of the things that makes conversation interesting. It's part of the foundation of story. And story is affecting.
Music satisfies us in much the same way, by alternating tension and resolution. Dissonant sounds resolve to pleasant ones, crashing passages to peaceful interludes. All music has elements of this, but it's maybe most easily seen in blues songs: Voices of wailing anguish, softening again to match a slow, easy, four-beat flow. Wrong-sounding chords held just a little too long, bending back to the in-key chorus, restoring the sense of 'right'.
It is a rhythm present in many things in life. We've grown accustomed to - even to like - a little disharmony for a time, because the sense of resolution is heightened after having experienced it. In the wait, lies the space for anticipation. Reunions are made all the sweeter, after being far away from those we love. Enduring the grueling journey west makes the first mountain stream that much colder and more clear.
Television programming takes advantage of this, by amplifying our tendency to be persuaded by anger or sympathy, before resolving to a conclusion. To watch any true crime documentary, is to find ourselves riding the speculative wave of guilt or innocence. With a shift of a suspect's eye, or his hesitant words trailing off into an unfinished sentence, comes a change of opinion from us: He did it. She couldn't have done that. No escaping this evidence. I'm convinced. Wait - there's no way... It's an addicting cycle that makes us watch as long as it takes to gain closure.
But what of those episodes where resolution doesn't come? We still watch and debate. But we're never quite fulfilled. There are incomplete answers. A botched case. The conviction of someone who may be innocent - or at least not entirely guilty - which leaves us feeling hollow and unnerved. Or the exoneration of someone who may be guilty - or at least not entirely innocent - which leaves us feeling like justice may not have fully prevailed.
If we apply that example to the larger view - to our real lives - this is where we begin to feel unsettled. We grow impatient when the scene doesn't resolve in a comfortable time frame. Conflict is fine, as long as there is a solution. Some questions are to be expected, as long as we don't have to fare long without answers. The felt pressure of dissonance is so great that when answers don't arrive quickly, or aren't what we wanted to believe, we manufacture our own. We jump to conclusions. We stop the questioning period, entirely. We take an immediate inventory of what we think we've learned, what we believe we know, and stuff it into an airtight vault, never to be opened again. One which keeps the topic in a confined space, small enough that we can 'understand' and 'explain' it.
Perhaps you're familiar with Martin Luther, at least by name. He is known by history as the originator of the Protestant Reformation in 16th century Germany. The Reformation was begun by Luther chiefly in response to the practice of leaders in the Catholic church at the time, of granting indulgences - monetary payments which granted forgiveness for sins. Luther specifically opposed a man named Johann Tetzel, who bore the title of Grand Commissioner of Indulgences in Germany. and who was selling them to finance the construction of St. Peter's Cathedral.
Luther, being opposed to a practice he believed to be contrary to the teachings of the Bible, and to leaders who had become corrupt at the expense of peasants and townspeople who lacked the means to pay, wrote his 'Ninety-five Theses', which were rumored to have been nailed to a door at Wittenberg Church. He was pursued by the highest officials of the Catholic church after refusing to recant his writings, and was forced into hiding. While in exile, Luther translated the entire New Testament into German, so that common people would have access to the scripture which, prior, had been available to only the highest officers of the church. His effect on church history is virtually impossible to overstate.
If the story ended there, perhaps the legacy of Martin Luther could more easily be filed away in a categorized box. The label might read: "Opposed oppression, championed the downtrodden, brought the Holy Scripture to the masses: Decent guy."
But it didn't end there. There were other reformers in that time. Men who originally opposed the same oppression which angered Luther. And Luther began to insult and demean them, when they didn't agree specifically with him in principle, or on the meaning of certain parts of scripture. He was often unclear on what his positions actually encompassed. Decidedly anti-Catholic in practice, he at the same time subscribed to the teachings of Augustine - arguably the only man in history to have had more influence over the development of Western Christianity than Luther himself - and who was decidedly Catholic.
Railing vehemently against those who believed that all members of the church should have a function, or that all should take communion, Luther believed that order and rule and communion were the sole domain of the pastor; an ironic position, when one considers the Reformation itself occurred, in part, to break the power structure of the church, and return it to the citizen. He made an effort to have four books removed from the Bible, because they didn't support his teachings. Once a champion of the poor, Luther ultimately sided in support of the killing of peasants during the Peasant's War: "It is just as when one must kill a mad dog; if you do not strike him, he will strike you, and a whole land with him." Their uprisings against rulers had become too outrageous for his liking, especially considering he now needed those same rulers to support his church.
Long having written in vague opposition to the Jewish heritage, any doubt to his stance was erased later in his life, upon the publishing of his book: On the Jews and their Lies.
So the box in which we might have confined Luther - the easily-categorized one - has necessarily become larger. More damaged. Poorly-labeled. Who was Martin Luther, when one reads more of the story? A monster? Or a saint? Maybe both. And likely neither. The answer, I believe, is that Luther was a man. Imperfect, as was anyone ever born, but One. The advances he made against tyranny, and in support of placing the Bible in the hands of the masses, cannot be erased by the villainy and bitterness which became part of his later years. Nor can those things be erased by the monumental good he accomplished early. His achievements were nothing short of astounding. And he had failures to match. History rejects ledgers as a means of quantifying a life.
My intent is not to offer opinion, or change any that are already held of Martin Luther or specific leaders in the early Catholic Church. Without being an apologist for Luther's actions, we can state that it is impossible now to know his 'whys' then. We cannot explain what could've caused a man to exhibit such disparate behaviors in one lifetime. He lived in a violent, tumultuous time. Rhetoric and hatred and bloodshed permeated all sides, and wars and violence were as commonplace in organized religion, as they were in everyday society.
But that doesn't change the fact that an honest reading of Luther's life revises nothing of it. In fact, I've included the story only to illustrate the opposite of easy and casual opinion: Contrary to popular thought, it is far less wise to confine and label so that we appear to understand, than it is to acknowledge the existence of possibilities, ideas and circumstances we can't fully grasp. And to acknowledge the idea that there is likely always more to a story, and that we shouldn't fear the whole truth.
We do that, don't we? At least I do. We fear looking directly at the ugly side of humanity. At subjects which may hold facts contrary to what we've long held. Or at the questions in the spiritual realm for which there are no simple answers. We hold this conviction, that to peer into what we've already dismissed or ignored, would be to shake the foundation of what we believe. To create controversy which we know will invite assault. For which we feel the need to justify, but cannot.
But Truth is larger than that. It doesn't fear our examination. We need to become comfortable with the idea that there are things which will never resolve to the major key. To look at all aspects of a situation, and even then, withhold judgement, and learn from, rather than criticize the participants. To allow that deeply considering things, while being much more uncomfortable and complicated than categorizing them generically, is far preferable to a lifetime subscription of half-truths. The practice of throwing one blanket under which all ideas fit makes us feel organized and confident in our opinions, but it changes reality no more than a man hiding his head under a chair makes him invisible to anyone but himself.
It is far from my point to suggest that we shouldn't form and hold opinions. That there is no such thing as unchanging Truth. That we shouldn't stand our ground, holding fast to our principles. I'm suggesting instead, that we should feel the lifting of a huge burden:
Discovering, on our own, through difficult questions and long periods without comforting resolution, is in fact the only way to ever really believe in Truth when we see it. We should feel the peace of being slow to form opinions and judgement. Experience for ourselves the reassurance, that we each have the freedom to determine where we stand. And that we all possess the ability to learn the facts and perspectives necessary for those opinions to be held without guilt or need of defense.
The older we get, the more it strikes us that there are fewer and fewer things in this world that can be known, with any real certainty. And we should find encouragement that this is by design. To pursue knowledge not for it's own sake, but in order to develop empathy for our neighbors; the freedom to explore and learn and welcome the opinions of others, yet to unashamedly plant flags marking our own beliefs, is a privilege on the highest order.
Rather than a life lived behind a door closed against the possibility of discovery, we can choose to live instead in the pursuit of Truth. All of us.
Made wiser, by being unafraid to ask more questions than we answer.