On Smoking and Drinking

If I had been a Heathen,
I'd have praised the purple vine,
My slaves should dig the vineyards,
And I would drink the wine.
But Higgins is a Heathen,
And his slaves grow lean and grey,
That he may drink some tepid milk
Exactly twice a day.

--GK Chesterton, The Song of the Strange Ascetic

This morning on my way between mechanical engineering classes, I passed a girl having a smoke, and this set me to thinking. It seems today that smoking is going the way of drinking in the more fashionable intellectual circles. Drinking beer and wine in the good old days of High Modernism (as opposed to today's Low Modernism, aka Unabashed Debauchery) was seen as something harmful to health and society, and this cold Reformist outlook still persists in various forms and fashions today, from the Baptist "prohibition" against drinking to the modern social scientist who still wages the heroic yet Quixotic fight against the pub and bar, the two leftovers of a bygone age of fraternity. And today, it seems that smoking is going that way as well.

Now, I myself have never cared to smoke and probably never will, outside of the very occasional cigar at a house of Blues music. I think this stems from the time when I was eleven and my mother dropped her cigarette butt in my presumably empty soda can, as was her habit when we were in the car; only my soda can was not empty. The subsequent shock and futile attempt to find an unlocked bathroom in which to wash out my mouth has remained with me, and I doubt it will ever leave. I have also harbored a bit of a suspicion against people who smoke, as if they are somehow 'bad' because they smoke.

But there was a thought that struck me this morning as I passed the person drawing a puff outside the classroom. This idea of linking smoking, and drinking, to bad habits and bad people comes only from the relatively modern idea that anything that is good is beneficial to your health or the "social health", and anything bad is harmful or hurts. And yet I myself have always quarrelled with this notion. Any Christian worth his salt will surely recall and perhaps admire the extent to which some of the old sinners went to admonish themselves for their sins. And we are reminded of the gruesome things they did to their bodies, from whipping to jumping into a bush of thorns, that they did in reparation of their evils. Now, I am not here suggesting that we all find the closest thornbush and jump in. But I am suggesting that these people really were doing something good, even though it was harmful to them materially.

A more social example is perhaps the day of rest on Sunday. Certainly this was not adopted to increase the efficiency and productivity of society. But then, the idea that efficiency is good for society has only arisen in the past 300 years. The idea that the day of rest should be abolished by some leading thinkers of our times is based purely the fact that it is inefficient for the whole of society to be not working 1 day of 7. And yet, from even a social and not a sacramental standpoint, this day of rest does do something good for society, even though we may not see it materially.

These things are not necessarily good for the body or society, but they are good for the soul and humanity. Drinking may make one drunk if one is not temperate, but used appropriately a pint of ale or a glass of wine in the local tavern or winery really does warm the soul and in some small way connect us with both the simple and rustic men in the taverns with their beer and the wise sages of old who sat back at the end of the day with a small glass or cup of burgundy to reflect and muse on ineffectual things. And I think one should remember that often with that beer or wine went a little cigar or a pipe. It would be difficult to think of some men in the American West without their accompanying smokes, and it would be difficult to conjure up Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings without his long pipe in his mouth as he pondered on difficult and simple things in turn.

Now smoking, like drinking, does have both its personal and its social vices. And admittedly, at least with corporately mass-produced cigarettes, the chance of becoming addicted, hooked and psychologically dependent on cigarettes is high. But one should not look down on those who smoke as being inferior or bad simply because they smoke, as it seems that society does these days. Like a good drink at the end of the day, a smoke helps some people to relax, to remember that it isn't all struggle and frustration, that there really is something good in this old world of ours, even if it is passing us by a bit too quickly for our liking. And I don't think that's a bad thing.

Betrayal of the Common Man

There must be an educational specialist in loco parentis. But the master at Harrow is in loco parentis; the master in Hoxton is rather contra parentem. ... Can anyone alive even pretend to point out any way in which [the] special virtues of the poor are reproduced in the education of the poor?

I do not wish the costers' irony to appear as coarsely in the school as it does in the classroom; but does it appear at all? Is the child taught to sympathize at all with his father's admirable cheerfulness and slang? I do not expect the pathetic, eager pietas of the mother, with her funeral clothes and funeral baked meats, to be exactly imitated in the educational system; but has it any influence at all on the educational system?

--G.K. Chesterton, What's Wrong with the World


Yesterday on our ride back from playing golf, I had one of the very few conversations about religion that I've ever had with my father. While we get along quite well, my focus on religious stuff in the 3-4 years has always been a bit peculiar to him. Not bad or weird, just something that has been a bit curious to him. (I used to not be very religious at all, and my brother's change has been even more marked. So my dad has wondered.) Also, my father will turn 65 this year; he grew up on a rice farm and has worked hard for everything he has gotten. That'll help set the stage.

Anyways, the talk started with my father wondering about whether a good friend of mine was definitely becoming a priest. This quickly turned to my dad talking about the heirarchy. First, he said that the the cardinals and bishops involved with the church pedophilia scandal had "betrayed the laity". He is quite angry over all of this still. He wasn't molested, but he figures (quite rightly) that it was very wrong for the higher-ups to know what was going on and just keep shuffling the priests around.

I responded, "Well, I think some of the problems stem from Vatican II." And this really set him off. My father said, "Yes. Yes, I totally agree. I mean, I remember when I was little and Mass was very solemn and quiet and prayerful. I was an altar boy through high school and several times in the Navy. [He was in the Navy in the years just prior to VatII.] After that, I stopped being a practicing Catholic for about 15 years. You know, it used to be that the priest did everything. Now, there's lay people doing all sorts of sh*t up there. There's no...REVERENCE anymore.

And nowadays, everybody goes up to Communion. I remember when I was little, there'd be 100 people in the church, and MAYBE 30 would go up. And if you knew you were receiving Communion that day, you didn't eat or drink at all that morning. It didn't matter if I got up at 4 to milk the cows. I didn't eat. I mean, I used to have several problems with it, and I still kinda do. And Pawpaw [his father] never got over it. At the Sign of Peace, he'd stand there with his arms folded over looking at the altar. You? I...I just don't know anymore..."

I let him keep talking and responded here and there, but for the most I just listened. I knew that the 1960's was a period of turmoil, but I never really knew or understood until now. Quite simply, my dad feels betrayed by the clergy. I told him that reading the VatII documents, there wasn't any actual doctrinal change, but that there were ambiguous places which many liberals took advantage of. But still, I can see why my dad feels betrayed. After all, nobody but those in the most rose-colored glasses will deny that the Church has been in decline and had several problems and controversies since VatII.

And so my intro quote from Chesterton comes into play. No matter how you respond to VatII, whether you are enthusiastically for it or simply abhor it, you need to answer this question: Who asked the common man about the changes that were about to occur? Who took him and his thoughts, his experiences, his prejudices into the equation? I would consider my father to be a smart, but regular, man. And regardless of the growth and importance of urban spiritual life in North America and Europe, the common man, the man who lives and works (or at least grew up) in the fields, still forms the backbone of the Church worldwide in South America, Africa, and East Asia.

Reflecting on our discussion last night, I can completely understand my father's reluctance for me to be very involved in the religious life or entering the priesthood. He doesn't want me to be betrayed the way he feels that he was. And while he has perhaps resigned himself to not getting an answer, I think it is important for one to be had.

Who's going to come to the common man? Who's going to stand up for him? And who's going to defend him when they come to take away the only life he's known?

The Donkey

The Donkey

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

All animals, I believe, have their purpose here on Earth. And, of course, man was given them to gaurd before Adam screwed it all up for us in Eden. (That's okay, we forgive him yet. There were more wondrous things to come...) Jewish thought, and picked up in Catholic theology, shows that the animals fell as well when man fell. But they all had, and still have, their original purpose. The sheep shows our our relation to God, the need of a saving Shepherd. The dog shows us our loyalty to Him (as my friend Jimbo once put it, we must all be "domesticated to God"...stop kicking, biting, clawing, scratching...). One can even imagine the ferocity of the bear shows us an infinitely small yet infintely understandable image of God's wrath should we so wrongly decide to tick Him off without begging for forgiveness.

But some animals are more difficult to figure out. Chesterton found the answer for the donkey, which lies in italics at the bottom of this entry when the introductory verses are concluded. And perhaps my brother found the answer to the great mystery of the tapeworm, when he so keenly noted that, like the Holy Spirit, "it lives within you."

Still, there are some animals that are simply inscrutable. The ant, for example, is simply difficult to know. Is it there to show us that hard work and effort can save ourselves? Or are they simply a cosmic practical joke, God's way of saying, "Look, animals get along together better than you silly humans! Wake up!" And there's the sloth; it's very name is a Deadly Sin. I think either Adam or the 19th-century naturalists made a mistake there somewhere. And lastly, there's the platypus. I'm still waiting on any kind of sane explanation of the platypus.

But each animal, I am convinced, has it's imprint from God, the simple, indelible mark of Creation. God made them for some reason, to help us in some, often undetermined manner to lead us toward Him. Perhaps simply their existence should point the way to their Creator. For surely, there is no other reason for the natural beauty of the butterfly than to point us toward the Heavenly beauty of God.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet. --G.K. Chesterton