I came upon a profound piece of writing this morning that has just turned into an opportunity for thought:
Once—many years ago—a minuscule incident afforded me a deeply upsetting revelation. I was writing in a café; I had been sitting there for a couple of hours already, comfortably settled at a table with my books and papers. Like many lazy people, I enjoy a measure of hustle and bustle around me while I am supposed to work—it gives me an illusion of activity—and thus the surrounding din of conversations and calls did not disturb me in the least. The radio that had been blaring in a corner all morning could not bother me either: pop songs, stockmarket figures, muzak, horseracing reports, more pop songs, a lecture on foot-and-mouth disease in cows—whatever: this audio-pap kept dripping like lukewarm water from a leaky faucet and nobody was listening anyway.
Suddenly a miracle occurred. For a reason that will forever remain mysterious, this vulgar broadcasting routine gave way without transition (or, if there had been one, it escaped my attention) to the most sublime music: the first bars of Mozart’s clarinet quintet began to flow and with serene authority filled the entire space of the café, turning it at once into an antechamber of Paradise. But the other patrons who had been chatting, drinking, playing cards or reading newspapers were not deaf after all: this magical irruption of a voice from heaven provoked a general start among them—all faces turned round, frowning with puzzled concern. Yet, in a matter of seconds, to the huge relief of all, one customer resolutely stood up, walked straight to the radio, turned the tuning knob and cut off this disquieting intermède, switched to another station and restored at once the more congenial noises, which everyone could again comfortably ignore.
At that moment the realisation hit me—and has never left me since: true Philistines are not people who are incapable of recognising beauty; they recognise it all too well; they detect its presence anywhere, immediately, and with a flair as infallible as that of the most sensitive aesthete—but for them, it is in order to be able better to pounce upon it at once and to destroy it before it can gain a foothold in their universal empire of ugliness. Ignorance is not simply the absence of knowledge, obscurantism does not result from a dearth of light, bad taste is not merely a lack of good taste, stupidity is not a simple want of intelligence: all these are fiercely active forces, that angrily assert themselves on every occasion; they tolerate no challenge to their omnipresent rule. In every department of human endeavour, inspired talent is an intolerable insult to mediocrity. If this is true in the realm of aesthetics, it is even more true in the world of ethics. More than artistic beauty, moral beauty seems to exasperate our sorry species. The need to bring down to our own wretched level, to deface, to deride and debunk any splendour that is towering above us, is probably the saddest urge of human nature.
— Simon Leys (Pierre Ryckmans), “An Empire of Ugliness,” in The Hall of Uselessness: Collected Essays (New York: New York Review Books, 2013), pp. 41–42.
I can’t say that this is entirely true. It’s an observation. It’s an opinion. But it does seem to touch on something that’s there — “This is why we can’t have nice things,” right? Because there will always be a faction of humanity (not always the same faction in every situation) that doesn’t agree with another on what is beautiful, right and true; and sometimes disagreement to death.
Christianity is a beautiful religion, despite being hijacked time and again throughout history by those who would “bring it down to [their] own wretched level.” While it exhorts you to fight an enemy, that enemy is found more in the power of Satan as the “ruler of the world.” As for the people in it, Christians are to love them — to do everything within their own abilities to live at peace in the world.
But when people see that, they react with an unreasonable hatred. They don’t see the love behind the Christian message, they see their own indictment as sinners, so they fight. They’ll do anything but look in the mirror. Anything but an honest assessment of themselves:
And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed. (John 3:19-20)
In the United States, Christians often get their feelings hurt. Elsewhere, they are literally hacked to death or beheaded (quite often by practitioners of what is sometimes known as a “religion of peace”). Men love their darkness.
The Christian? Try this: “… whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” (Php 4:8). Or a good chunk of Romans 12:
9 Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. 10 Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. 11 Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. 12 Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. 13 Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality.
14 Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. 15 Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. 16 Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. 17 Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. 18 If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. 19 Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” 20 To the contrary, “if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.” 21 Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Romans 12:9-21)
Or of course Jesus himself in Matthew 5:
43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Mt 5:43-48)
Nowhere is the Christian called to deceive or kill others. Our rebellion is to be counter-cultural and, as Paul writes to the church in Philippi, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Php 2:3-4). How rare these days. Even — I should say, especially –for Christians. Because the standard for Christians doesn’t say, “look out for others 47% of the time.” And it doesn’t say, “Pray for your enemies 17% of the time” either. Remember? “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
But good luck with that, right? We still cling to our ugliness. We twist the words of the New Testament (not to mention the Old, the commands of which are meant for an entirely different people). Or we ignore them entirely. Why? Because we’d rather not have the good thing, but only our thing. We can never understand real beauty because we’re too caught up in our version of it. And it’s this version we favor at the expense of the truth. This is what Leys/Ryckmans is saying. We are jealous of the right. We “think” about the things of Philippians 4:8 only to secretly smuggle in our own meanings.
Could doing the opposite be that simple? No. The humility that is asked of us is far too hard to attain. We seldom recognize that true humility really needs at its root an object by which we may be humbled, and here we have Jesus, “6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, 7 but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. 8 And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Php 2:6-8). A death on the cross that happened while we were still his enemies! (Rm 5:10).
Jesus showed the perfect way in a way that none of us could ever achieve, but our hope is not lost. While we were enemies. While we were sinners. What? This: Christ died for us. And here’s the important part: not to be the example of how it’s done, but rather, to take our place because left to ourselves we would never even think to try! “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Cor 5:21).
This is how we escape the ugliness — we turn it over to the only truly beautiful one, and then we hang onto him with all we can muster (which is still not enough and only done through his grace), living (imperfectly as we do) as he wants us to live, and rising above the ugliness…
