The Analogion

Our Icon

2007-07-06T15:15:00.000-06:00

This here. Vietnam: Incense is burned in temples and in the home to prevent evil spirits from entering. Singapore: Prayers are offered for guidance, to give strength or to ask for help in times of need.

What strange, strange people.

America: People buy health and life insurance to protect themselves from great financial difficulties.

Our icon embodies this philosophy. Gazing in her mirror, she sees the world and herself as they really are. She is also a reminder that, in our increasingly faceless world, we are a company with a personality and a heart.

There is no limit to the ways in which we listen, and no limit to the ways in which we understand, anticipate and deliver the products and services that cater to the needs of everyone, everywhere.

Wait, what?

What kind of sadistic, scrambled brain came up with this? Let me see if I can understand.

She gazes in the mirror. She sees, one would safely presume, herself. According to the philosophy of Prudential Asia, she also sees the world, reflected, perhaps in her own eyes. She sees them for what they really are, for the mirror does not deceive; it does not incorrectly represent reality as does our memories.

Now, we witness her gazing at herself and the world in the mirror. She is beautiful, I guess. She has a face, personhood. She is real.

Somehow this is connected to the next paragraph. We are all things to all people. Our real, personal, beautiful face is wonderful to all. She listens, she understands. Is she money? She delivers the stuff that everyone, everywhere needs.

I'm no good at this. She scares me. Like some primitive god of Southeast Asia:

Happiness

2006-12-09T12:35:00.000-07:00

From etymonline.com:
happy:1340, "lucky," from hap "chance, fortune" (see haphazard), sense of "very glad" first recorded c.1390. Ousted O.E. eadig (from ead "wealth, riches") and gesælig, which has become silly. From Gk. to Ir., a great majority of the European words for "happy" at first meant "lucky." An exception is Welsh, where the word used first meant "wise." Used in World War II and after as a suffix (e.g. bomb-happy, flak-happy) expressing "dazed or frazzled from stress." Happiness is first recorded 1530. Happy hour "early evening period of discount drinks and free hors-d'oeuvres at a bar" is first recorded 1961. Happy-go-lucky is from 1672. Happy as a clam (1636) was originally happy as a clam in the mud at high tidewhen it can't be dug up and eaten.

Happiness, it seems, has little to with what one does but what situations, conditions, circumstances or life in which one finds oneself. I’m so happy! Let’s see how you feel in a few hours. I’m so happy! Great, but let’s not go basing your life around this feeling. I like the sense of happiness merely being lucky, that good fortune has accidentally fallen upon the one who is happy. But the good part of happiness seems unnecessary, if just for the happening, the chance and fortune of it. It seems that one to whom great misfortune has fallen is also happy, in a sense. The prophet of suffering, Job himself, is happy if we ignore that the designs of God and satan in the story are the cause of that suffering. But how can we do that—isn’t that what the story is about? Not really, for Job could just as easily have put his circumstance up to chance and fortune, calling himself unhappy. But he knew that things do not just ‘happen’; rather, they come from God.

There is a dual stupidity in the word ‘happy.’ Secondly (most recently), we use the word as if it is a state we could attain by our own power. Once I get that mortgage paid off, I’m going to be happy. That is a lame example, but you get my drift.

Firstly (do you like how I’m going backward here?), happiness is a false understanding of the world, as we see from the example of Job. One who is ‘happy’ might just as well be one who lives each day on the vicissitudes of his decrepitude, or whatever. This idea of happiness is the opposite of the ridiculous modern understanding as expressed in the first paragraph: “Whatever makes you happy.” One leaves his care to the winds of fortune. He seeks his meat from his fellow man, i.e., he is a beggar. This possibility sounds in fact God pleasing, but if so his ‘happiness’ is an illusion; God is providing for him. If not for him, then why not for all? Let us look to the example of Jesus—the birds of the air have their nests, the beasts of the field have their dens, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. Oh, you will feed me—OK. Was the Son of Man happy? Was Jesus happy, I ask my Sunday school children. (I don’t have any Sunday school children). No, he wasn’t. Was he unhappy? No. The word is irrelevant and meaningless in His case. Did he just happen to be crucified?

In Greek the word for happiness is eudaimonia, meaning ‘having a good daemon.’ Socrates was eudaimonic in that he had a demon that told him whenever he was approaching falsehood. If we understand the word ‘demon’ in a Christian sense, however, the word happiness has a very negative meaning indeed. One is tempted by earthly gifts and false securities in order to be enslaved for the devil.

This word eudaimonia is rightly contrasted with the Christian euangelion, trans-literally ‘evangelism,’ but more accurately ‘having a good angel,’ or a good ‘messenger.’ The daemon comes from… who knows where; it represents fortune, luck, ambiguous direction, but certainly direction and guidance, known by the man (in the case of Socrates, which is entirely different—his daemon may even be the Holy Spirit, the spirit of truth) or unknown (most cases). It is ‘good,’ but perhaps only seemingly, or in a human understanding. An angel, on the other hand, is a direct message from God, proclaiming clearly some good news. Christians do not place their hope in being happy, in having a good demon, but in being the recipients of the good angel on Earth. The path of a Christian is clear, definite and unshakable, having no concern for the follies and fortunes of this life, not placing any hope in such things but always having faith in God. Happiness is human, and irrelevant.

Dirty Christians

2006-12-09T00:03:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't posted in a while... oh wait, I have no friends and no one reads this. Right.

But there are some good religious blogs out there, on one of which I found this marvelous piece on Christian "respectability. Here's a quote:

"Leave your umbrella in a suburban Catholic Church today (an ugly-on-purpose cinder-block affair, self-consciously tricked out in that tell-tale conjunction of low kitsch and middle-brow minimalism) and somebody in nice knitwear, wearing a strange facial expression known in Protestant circles as a SWEG (Sickly Weak Evangelical Grin) will make a point of handing it back to you. It makes me sick to my stomach."

Hilarious. Now, I don't know how much Christians should praise themselves on their sinfulness, but they should on their honesty. Smarmy worshippers of secular freedom and private property can be Christians only half-heartedly. An indication of honesty is that the followers of Holy Mother Church of Rome call themselves "Bad Catholics," while the rebel scum are "good Protestants." The Orthodox I know probably fall somewhere toward the latter end. If they talk about such things. Why be so chirpy and terminal as to make such pronouncements? Rambling on, the umbrella reference originally comes from an old quip about where one is likely to have his left-behind rainshield nipped. The answer: a Catholic (and not a Protestant church), thus indicating that the Catholic faith is real and alive, because the dirty poor scum who would need to steal your umbrella are to be found there. Or something. Maybe I missed the point entirely. Salyer, did you convert to Catholicism as a standing symbol of your commitment to Southern agrariangism? Because they'll let you smoke a drink whiskey? Granted. But don't you think the distinction between venial and mortal sins is arbitrary and irrelevant? (Vultures somewhere in the middle of a desert, circling a near-corpse. The corpse is this paragraph. All right, you vultures, come to the banquet.)

I especially liked The Ochlophobist's response:

"Do umbrellas fall into the category of private property? I thought the rule was that one grabbed the nearest umbrella available at signs of wet weather. Fuck the bourgeoisie."

Damn straight. I feel redeemed-- vindicated after having been rebuked in my nascent adult life for having such little respect for 'other people's things.' Sorry, I didn't know that we all had precious worlds of things with which to defend ourselves. Tell me, how do I brush my teeth? I am used to cutting sarcasm and clever wit for my sword and buckler, but fine. Suit yourself. If there's one person from college who shared with me this total disregard for personal property, it was Mr. J. Gannon, probably soon to become 'Brother Ambrose' or something. Maybe there is some sort of relationship between said approach and holiness, or the pursuit thereof. Maybe? Who am I kidding-- of course there is. Kant, take your morality and shove it.

Christianity and Islam: What's the Difference?

2006-11-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

Re: Symposium: Convert or Die, by Jamie Glazov, FrontPageMagazine.com, October 20, 2006

This may seem like a stupid question with obvious answers, but for many Westerners, it is a challenging question and one worth answering. Many political libertarians with otherwise sensible views see all religious beliefs as basically equal and equally inferior, differing only inasmuch as they interfere with the ‘true’ work of politics. Likewise, anarcho-capitalists, general secularists, and weak liberalized theists are inclined to see the religion of Mohammed and the Body of Christ as belief in the same God with differing worship traditions—traditions that we must respect.

The “Convert or Die” symposium featured one Muslim apologist, Mustafa Akyol from Istanbul, and three men who are very clear about the danger of radical Islam: David Aikman; Robert Spencer, director of Jihad Watch; and Andrew Bostom, an associate professor of medicine and oft-publisher of Islam commentary, including The Legacy of Jihad: Islamic Holy War and the Fate of Non-Muslims.

What is up for debate is not whether the West faces a danger from radical Islam; it is clear that it does. Having understood this, it seems merely academic to decide the real question: Is the religion of the Mohammedans inherently, traditionally and theologically violent? Is jihad merely a spiritual war or the defense of the faith, as the modern Muslim apologists claim, or is it and has it always been bloody war and persecution of infidels? The specific question of this symposium was: does Islam condone violent conversion, as of the two Fox News reporters Steve Centanni and Olaf Wiig, who were forced to confess Allah? In the video I have linked here, the men, speaking the words they have been given, make the claim that Islam is a peaceful religion, that there is no compulsion in Islam, etc. We do not need to see this video to hear this claim. It is made in our country. It was even made by President Bush, who was been called to embrace Islam (or die). But is it true? We need to answer this question because the answer will teach us how to respond to the threat.

Christianity has its own share of shameful episodes. Of course, the Crusades are the obvious example. But Christians make the claim that because Christians do bad things does not mean that Christianity is wrong (See The Worth of Christianity and the Unworthiness of Christians by N.A. Berdyaev). In the Roman-Catholic church especially, we see the argument made repeatedly that no matter what the condition of the priest’s soul, it is still the Sacrament that he administers. The Pope himself could be in the clutches of the devil, but the Church will survive. Somewhere under all the filth is the True Church.

Is it the same with Islam? I am inclined to agree with Aikman, Spencer and Bostom that jihad has always been about violent destruction of non-Muslims, an act considered by these people to be a holy duty. As quoted by Bostom, in the words of the 14th century saint Gregory Palamas, who lived as a captive amongst Muslims: “they live by the bow, the sword and debauchery, finding pleasure in taking slaves, devoting themselves to murder, pillage, spoil… and not only do they commit these crimes, but even—what an aberration—they believe that God approves of them.”

But how to show that this is what true Islam is? Perhaps to find a continuous Islamic tradition of love, charity and mercy toward non-Muslims would be sufficient? But we cannot find this. Public outcry from the Muslim community when atrocious acts are committed ‘for the glory of Allah’? Examples of this are disingenuous, smarmy lies, and obvious ones, only created as sound bytes for the gullible Western media. When do we see real anger from the Muslim community? We see them on the occasion of peaceful remarks from Pope Benedict, in an academic speech at Regensburg where he quoted an ancient conversation. I say the words are peaceful not because he was not accusing the Muslims of violence—he certainly was—but because they were an invitation to dialogue, and they were not spoken in anger. What was the universal Muslim response? You say we are violent? How dare you? DEATH TO THE INFIDELS! It would be funny if it weren’t the occasion for the taking of innocent life in the name of God.

This is Islam because there is no tradition that disputes it besides modern apologist scholars like Akyol who make plausible arguments that sound nice but have no historical basis. Christianity has much violence in its past but it has always been condemned by Christians. There is scholarly and theological tradition down to the present day, and a continuing monastic community that preserves it. Similarly, the Koran cannot be dissected and interpreted in a vacuum, as the fundamentalists Christians do with their Bible, but must be seen in the light of the life of Mohammed, the Suras, the laws, their scholars, and all the unholy tradition down to the present day. And if when we have examined all this, we conclude that Islam is a demonic religion and Mohammed a man tempted by devils to pervert the truths of Judaism and Christianity, there is nothing to be done but destroy the idols.

Of course I hope that this can be done without war. We should fight the evil presence in men, and love the men themselves, not thinking that they are evil, but rather under a demonic delusion. For we ourselves have often suffered delusions. Muslims are convinced that they are believers of the true faith—as humans this is a godly desire. We cannot rectify the delusion by adding further lies about the meaning of Islam. This only adds fuel to the fire of so-called ‘radical Islam,’ i.e. traditional Islam. The same result is achieved when we attempt to replace the deep desire for spiritual righteousness with an empty secularism. The only substitute is an equally fervent Christianity, so that so-called Muslims may love men with greater force than they have hated them. At present we give them only the destruction of their identity.

This must seem to them as an inevitable death on the one hand, and on the other as a call to arms. The more we dismiss the apocalyptic nature of this conflict, the more it incites those minded toward apocalypse. Some respond by embracing the comforting, somnorific call of secularism, maintaining Islam only as symbol, in the Western post-Enlightenment sense (strange how Enlightment came to mean the dimming of the intellect—though the nonsense about symbols came much earlier). Many more, however, respond either by the suicidal destruction of human life, the systematic large-scale destruction of it, or the calculated misinformation of the enemy, through their tragically confused Ministry of Information, i.e. News Corp/etc.

Honesty & Irony in Kierkegaard

2006-10-28T14:14:00.000-06:00

Richard McCombs’ lecture on Kierkegaard last night got me thinking about honesty and irony. It is interesting about Kierkegaard—he is the philosopher I most resemble in spirit, and yet I know little about his works. I read parts of Philosophical Fragments and Fear and Trembling in Senior Seminar, but as Richard pointed out is often possible, I merely fell in love with his style, and imitated it; I was the unfortunate character misunderstanding the warning flails and falling over the cliff in clownish style.

When Brent and I formulated the theory of the three levels of irony, we based its coherence on the tripartite sublimation of Hegel’s Phenomenology of Absolute Spirit. And yet, here was Kierkegaard, whose dissertation on Socrates and irony is apparently the refutation par excellence of Hegel’s “System” and its “trilogy” of subsuming concept groups. However, our own system was not a response to Hegel, but merely a co-opting of his way of knowing in order to describe irony in some accurate manner. Hegel had finally given us the tools with which to understand. We never considered that Hegel (and/or the Hegelians) would fall somewhere else besides the third-level understanding.

Interestingly, it is not in irony that I coincide with Kierkegaard sympathetically; it is in honesty. For as I just came to realize, it is not irony that especially characterizes him, but honesty. For his main critique of Hegel’s System is that it is dishonest. It seeks to integrate Christianity into the Borg, to comprehend it and yet transcend it. Kierkegaard contends that the Hegelians have not understood Christianity at all, and their pretending actually to be Christians in some enlightened way is disingenuous and despicable. It is even an act of cowardice to assume such a proposition in this way in the hope of removing its offense. For this reason Richard pointed out that Kierkegaard would perhaps admire Nietzsche, whose response to Christianity was one of horror—he was entirely honest about its offensiveness.

For me, honesty is the greatest of the intellectual virtues, and dishonesty my greatest complaint about the academic world, extending deeply into the seminars and tutorials of St. John’s. For Kierkegaard, such a proposition as The Paradox of Christianity requires more than the mere mental exercise of assent or dissent according to reasonableness. Such a Paradox requires the complete involvement of the imagination, the passions: the whole human person. When St. John’s students treat such things lightly and fail to engage real philosophical and spiritual problems, their dismissal is usually due to that offense—Christianity’s “sinfulness”—and passed off as logical incoherence, structural inconsistency, or aesthetic disagreement. These are usually dishonest responses, and I abhor them. They represent most responses to Christianity.

The great dishonesty of academia today is Marxist deconstructionism, a further perverted form of Hegelianism. Such doctrine does not presume any intellectual freedom but rather claims that we are all slaves to our time and place, mere products of the particular art and culture characterized by the owners of the means of production. It presumes we are servants and speaks to us as if we are servants. (As opposed to Biblical works, Plato, Kierkegaard and others, who strive to uphold our freedom as readers). This understanding is not limited to the pseudo-disciplines of Feminist Studies, Race Studies, Sexual Preference Studies and the like, but penetrates most deeply into Art, Literature, History, Philosophy, and most painfully, Religion. No matter what it is, we are compelled by the World-Borg-Spirit and not the divine or transcendent—the Spirit of God.

On the other hand, such study, i.e. reading the Bible with a feminist perspective, while entirely ridiculous, is mostly harmless. Hegel’s Zeitgeist-doctrine was dishonest, but it was also incredibly compelling.

There is an important difference between the intellectual dishonesty of the Hegelians and that of intellectuals today: the former claimed to have understood Christianity and given its proper place in the order of thought, while the latter claim that Christianity is stupid, an inferior meme marked for extinction. In this way ours is more an “age of honesty” than the “age of irony” it is sometimes dubbed. On the other hand, one often gets the feeling that those arguing against Christianity push the points about which they care the least—historical reality, the lives of actual Christians, etc.—and not what truly offends them: the idea that they are sinners. It seems to be that the response of the Hegelians, in claiming to be Christians, is far more dangerous.

Irony and Death

2006-10-23T19:35:00.000-06:00

1st level: We'll live forever.
2nd level: Death trumps everything, including irony.
3rd level: Life defeats death.

2nd level irony proclaims that something is to be taken seriously, namely death.

But Christianity, as third level irony, teaches that death is a consequence of sin and thus alien to the human condition. Christ, being God, freed mankind from the condition of death. This, in opposition to everything taught by worldly wisdom. For Christ may raise Jairus' daughter, whom He says was only sleeping, but He is too late, they tell him, to raise the already stinking Lazarus. Even then, no man can defeat his own death. But of this-- the Resurrection-- we have constant need of reminder. God is more powerful than death.

Name Change; Proverbs

2006-10-22T12:02:00.000-06:00

I changed the name of this site to "The Analogion" because "The Irony Files" does not really give an accurate picture of what I am doing. If one searches for "the irony files," one finds some rather ephemeral and slight pages. I.e. “Here's one for the irony files, President Bush said, etc.” Or, “I used to hate eggplant, but now I love it! How ironic!”

I don't know if I want to fight for the redefinition of irony within the narrow circle of Christian intellectuals of which I am a part only in spirit. If so, I can still do this without giving the inaccurate picture of my blog that the title "The Irony Files" conveys. There is something awfully dead about that phrase. I do not wish to pick out things that are ironic in a first-level way and present them on this page; that is not what it is about. I am writing about the philosophic concept of irony, with reference to other philosophical and religious concepts. Thus, analogion: analogy, words in comparison. This is not really a 'blog' in the sense that I am keeping a log of things in my life, news events, or issues affecting the Orthodox world today.

As such, I have added a 'description,' from the Book of Proverbs, Ch. 1, Vs. 6. This is in a sense a mission statement-- the mission of my life, whatever form it will take. It is almost like an objective for a resume-- there is my dream job.

I was reading Proverbs recently and realized that Solomon (or Wisdom) is not merely inveighing against harlotry—whether fornication, adultery, or prostitution—but he is describing the false, vain philosophies that oppose themselves to true wisdom. Just as Wisdom is personified as a woman (does Nietzsche take this idea for Beyond Good and Evil?), the lack of wisdom, or false wisdom, is personified as a prostitute.

What characterizes false wisdom? It is “wily of heart… loud and wayward; her feet do not stay at home; now in the street, now in the market, and at every corner she lies in wait.” (7:10-12)

Falsehood is ubiquitous, just as sin, which is present in the street and in the market; always the devil sets traps for us.

Most of all, vain philosophy is overly simple. We find this fault among Christians as well. “How long, O Simple ones, will you love being simple? How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing and fools hate knowledge?” (1:22)

On simplicity, Proverbs has two branches. First: “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction” (1:7). In verse 7 we see that knowledge and wisdom are first grounded in a proper relationship to God—what we know is this relationship, where we stand with God. If we do not know this, we do not know anything. All wisdom is grounded in this understanding, this state of the heart. But what then is the culmination of wisdom or the road to wisdom? One is told first, to “hear…your father’s instruction.” Then we are told what to avoid, and what to pursue. The path of wisdom is a path of virtue, a right ordering of the passions.

This path, however, means different things to different persons:

…that prudence may be given to the simple, knowledge and discretion to the youth – the wise man also may hear and increase in learning, and the man of understanding acquire skill, to understand a proverb and a figure, the words of the wise and their riddles. (1:4-6)

While the man with five talents (the simple) will receive prudence from words of Solomon, the man with one talent (the man of understanding) will acquire the skill not of understanding base things (by burying his talent in the earth), but of understanding “the words of the wise and their riddles”: the parables of Jesus, the allegories and metaphors of the Old Testament, and the secret truth about God hidden in the darkness of irony.

For this is irony—to say a different thing to different men, and surely the Bible does this, the Book of Proverbs does this, and Jesus does it. As Socrates explains in the Phaedrus, saying the same thing to all men is the fundamental defect of writings. This is only transcended by certain types of writing—called esoteric-- wherein the person of the author is transcended. Instances of this include Plato’s dialogues and any divinely inspired writing, such as the books of the Bible.

When Truth itself somehow condescends to speak in human terms, Truth is saying less than He knows. Wisdom says less than She knows. This is also irony, to say less than one knows, and it is the particular irony of Socrates.

It may also be a sign of irony that one is aware of saying more than he knows—that his language is somehow a transcendent form of his knowledge. The ironic person knows that his words can only slightly depict wisdom but may by some allegory be launched to heights higher than his climbing, whereas the unironic person has an unyielding faith in the power of his words to simple convey his meaning unequivocally, just as he conceived it.

On Christian Dorks

2006-10-09T23:43:00.000-06:00

By dork I do not mean one who is not ‘cool’ or socially inclined. I mean something rather technical in relation to my theory of the levels of irony, but also something deep and spiritual.

In a way I moved toward the Eastern Orthodox Church amongst all Christian churches because it is the most ironic and the least dorky. In this way I have given a working definition of dorkiness: it is the lack of a deep sense of irony.

First level irony, which is mere negation and is at its root destructive, characterize many who are unwilling to delve deeper into the human soul to find greater truth. Such is often found among the role-playing game type, who are content merely to play out their lives as something or someone they are not, but do not successfully transform this experience into deeper insight as to who they really are.

We find this in much of e-conversation, which often can only tear down arguments through negation, or dismiss them with sarcasm. The flood of sources and readily available contradictions lends the sense that everything can be defeated by something else, and nothing really means anything anyway.

It is disturbing to find such an attitude amongst Christians, with its great ironic tradition. This ‘dorkiness’ is manifest in a sort of religious bigotry, akin to nationalism and patriotism, only with soft modern edges. It claims Christianity merely to be the realm of the soothing and personal, and not the transcendent and stirring.

Other churches just haven’t been around as long; their truth is not enduring, only partial. The customs are not the meaning of the church, but it helps to have practices that are generations and generations old and will endure for ages. It helps to have a liturgy that does not make shameful allowances. It helps to have a true sense of awe.

A simple, undecorated church can be beautiful and transcendent, as can an ornate one. It is not merely a question of icons and chant; however, guitars and all that just seem like a big ‘ol helping of dorky. “Have you heard the Good News?” evangelism also seems dorky. Accepting Jesus Christ as your Personal Lord and Savior painfully smacks me of dorky. Worshipping should not make use of transience, and it is not easy. Evangelism cannot be that simple. Conversion is much deeper.

Death of Online Poker

2006-10-08T22:31:00.000-06:00

I have recently made a number of forays onto the 2+2 message boards. 2+2 is a forum for all things having to do with gambling, but most prevalently online poker. Many of the members of the 2+2 community are college-age or younger, and many have made quite a bit of money using their mathematical skills to exploit those for whom gambling is more recreational, pathological, superstitious and destructive.

Recently, however, a great storm shook the world of online poker. The recent Safe Ports law included legislation effectively banning online gambling in the United States. Once this bill is signed into law, the biggest poker site, Party Poker, will close its doors to U.S. customers. It is still unclear how this law might be circumvented (it prohibits U.S. banks from making transactions with these sites), and so a definitive pronouncement on the state of online poker cannot be made.

That is not my concern. I point to this community as one lacking in real irony, and thus a subject somewhat concerning my study. The board has a forum called "Science, Math and Philosophy" in which the most common talk is religion and how stupid its followers are. I have made a number of posts on these topics (you should be able to figure out who I am):

Religion is for the Weak-Minded

Colorado shooting & God's negligence

I've gone into my right mind and realized that such "trolling" at worst, or debate at best, is harmful. Such are not the good-natured victual-loving atheists one might expect, but rather have the disturbing humorlessness of vicious men who "work all uncleanness with greediness."

I was very wrong to imagine that these young men would laugh off the poker legislation and move on. Rather they reflected the French aristocracy upon the Revolution, or more simply corporate oil goons who had lost a favorable play:

Update: Friday Night, September 29th

I admit that the poster's asking for forgiveness at the beginning for his post lacking energy is humorous. Something truly grave has happened and he is unable to maintain the typical level of juvenile wittiness typical of this medium.

Quick Preview of Upcoming Irony Files

2006-06-15T11:17:00.000-06:00

There are a number of themes I hope to explore in the upcoming essays.

First, irony and humor-- I have been reading P.G. Wodehouse. While he has many admirable stories, I will use his Laughing Gas as a study (in irony). I will compare this to the idea of irony as humor understood by the likes of Jedediah Purdy in For Common Things: Irony, Trust, and Commitment in America Today. Purdy contrasts a sort of Seinfeldian 'irony' with belief-- "the barriers that irony sets against belief." He represents the other side of the debate--false-- between those two camps. Purdy's understanding of belief seems to be some sort of wide-eyed gullibility about souls and angels, totally 'unironic,' I suppose 'taking these things seriously, not as jokes,' never broaching the possibility that belief itself is ironic, and that the tired worldly attitude where everything is passé and we are just so unaffected is actually the half of the dichotomy wherein lies the real naiveté (or honesty).

But enough of this for now. I have only read the Preface, Introduction, and part of the first chapter of Purdy's book.

Another work which I'd like to throw into this mix is Vladimir Nabokov's novel, Laughter in the Dark, in which we find this gem describing a familiar tripartite level system, supposed to be novel by a certain cosmopolitan literati:

Uncle alone in the house with the children said he'd dress up to amuse them. After a long wait, as he did not appear, they went down and saw a masked man putting the table silver in a bag. 'Oh, Uncle,' they cried in delight. 'Yes, isn't my make-up good?' said Uncle,taking his mask off. Thus goes the Hegelian syllogism of humor. Thesis: Uncle made himself up as a burglar (a laugh for the children); antithesis: it was a burglar (a laugh for the reader); synthesis: it still was Uncle (fooling the reader.) This was the super-humor Rex liked to put into his work; and this, he claimed, was quite new.

After this piece I hope to understand irony in relation to tragedy; like comedy and irony together are familial with life and faith (or lack of faith), tragedy with irony is related to death, as I explored in The Mighty One Who Cannot Save and elsewhere. In this essay it will be interesting to bring in much that was said after our recent engagement with death (the'tragedy' of September 11th, 2001). We can recall such articles as The Age of Irony Comes to An End in TIME magazine and others. I do not know who first made this proclamation of ultimacy, and of course, what they are saying is over is lack of seriousness about life and death issues-- death for them is to be taken seriously, thus when the reality of death 'hits home,' we can no longer be ironic (again 'ironic' means perpetual sarcasm, disingenousness; thus, the subtitle to the above-quoted piece is, "No longer will we fail to take things seriously."). This defenition of irony is stoutly maintained by Purdy in his work , and it was he who cointed the phrase "age of irony."

Again in this discussion I will bring my favorite work, Plato's Laws, wherein much is made between the Athenian Stranger and the old men about what is to be taken seriously. The old mens' positions concerning war and politics as things to be taken seriously and their taking offense at the Stranger for his disagreement, and the political/philosophical basis for these ideas are what I will be discussing.

That some folks deem it necessary to 'rethink' irony 'in the wake' of September 11th shows that they do not understand what irony is. I would like to read this article I found entitled Irony in the Wake of Tragedy, by a chap named Raymond W. Gibbs, Jr., but it seems I have to pay for it, or get better at research. It doesn't help that my only resource is a poorly-outiftted public library in Belfast, Maine. I prefer to just pull whatever I can from anywhere, and usually this is just whatever I happen to be reading at the time.

Coming soon.

Honesty and Irony in the Individual

2006-05-31T22:28:00.000-06:00

On Socratic Irony, Platonic Irony, Politics and Poetry.

“Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile.” -John 1:47

“…the ironic [person] commits faults that deserve not one nor two deaths…”
-Plato, Laws, X. 908e

In Book Ten of Plato’s Laws he distinguishes three types of impiety. They are 1) the belief that the gods do not exist, 2) “that the gods exist, but think nothing of human things,” and 3) “that they do think about them, but are easily persuaded by sacrifices and prayers” (888c). Each of these three errors admit of two divisions, 1) the honest, and 2) the ironic. One is “full of frankness,” openly expressing his beliefs and making others like himself, while the other
“has what is called a ‘good nature,’ and is full of guile and trickery.” He
hides what he believes, he pretends, and he lies. He is likable.

The cause of this difference is attributed to nature: “For a naturally just disposition may come to characterize the man who doesn’t believe the gods exist at all: such people do come to hate bad men, and out of disgust at injustice won’t submit to doing such actions” (908b-c). Thus these men will not lie about what they believe, for they suppose a just world in which the truth should be expressed and one does not need to lie to get along. In contrast, the others in addition to their impiety “may be afflicted by lack of restraint as regards pleasures and pains, and may also possess strong memories and sharp capacities to learn.” Such expresses, I think, many of our bright young intellectuals, and many at St. John’s.

Of course, it is not as simple as expressed here by the Athenian Stranger. For as Leo Strauss points out in The Argument and Action of Plato’s Laws:

…the disjunction made by the law is not complete: what happens to the atheist who is a just man and does not ridicule others because they sacrifice and pray and to this extent is a dissembler [i.e. ironic]? Is it literally true of him that he deserves not one death nor two, i.e., no death at all, nor imprisonment? Also, why could such an atheist not possess a good memory and be good at learning?

Of course Plato understands this. He writes, in the words of the Athenian Stranger, “There would be many forms of these things, but just two that are worthy of establishing laws about,” that is, the ironic and the honest. The thing about establishing laws is “the lawgiver… must always exhibit one speech about one subject” (719d), that is, he cannot be ironic, as the poet: “Since his art consists of imitation, he is compelled to contradict himself often, by creating human beings who are opposed to one another; and he doesn’t know if either of the diverse things said is true” (719c). But contradiction is not irony, and neither is irony a contradiction. Consider the passage from Strauss on this:

We note that the poet [Plato], when speaking of the poets’ self-contradiction, contradicts himself: the poet does not contradict himself by making different characters contradict one another; the Athenian abstracts and at the same time does not abstract from the dramatic character of the poets’ works. Besides, the poet is not simply ignorant of which of the contradictory statements is true; the utmost that one could say is that he regards the question as to the truth of the contradictory statements as secondary to the question as to their fitness for human beings of contradictory dispositions. Contrary to the ancient story, originated and propagated by the poets, the poets, and especially the dramatic poets, know very well what they are doing; they present themselves as less wise than they are; they speak ironically (cf. 908e2), whereas nothing is more unbecoming for a legislator than the use of irony: he must always, to all human beings, say the same things on the same subject. (As Socrates explains in the Phaedrus, saying to all human beings the same things is the essential defect of writings, a defect which is presumably remedied in Plato’s writings: Plato’s writings, including the Laws, are as remote as possible from the legislator’s writings.) But this does not do away with the fact that the poets are in certain respects more knowing than the legislators or that the legislators must learn certain things from the poets, especially about the great variety among the natures and habits of the souls (650b6-9).

All of this in reference to irony and honesty in the individual means that irony is not dishonesty; it is not the same as lying. The honest one commits many blunders by supposing that the truth can be conveyed by speaking simply; the ironic one recognizes that truth does not transfer from mind to mind like a wax impression or copying a computer file. He is aware of the appropriateness of different accounts for varying dispositions. This is why legislators must learn from poets about souls, because “politics” is “the art whose business it is to care for souls” (650b). This is why education is not merely the transmission of facts and skills but the training of the soul in virtue, why the Athenian recommends just prior to giving the above definition of politics that they “observe people through play.”

The concept of play is an important bridge for understanding the bridge between honesty and irony, between politics and poetry. At the end of book four the Athenian says, “Let’s repeat, with a second and better start, as they declare in playing games” (723e). The interlocutors are able to have a ‘do-over’ because they are not just making laws but having a conversation about law. This involves the education of the old men who are taking part in things of which they are unfamiliar. Their endeavor is more than once called a “game.” Plato’s dialogues themselves are like games with which we must play along if from them we are to learn. The contradiction of the characters is a true expression of the relations of human beings in poetry and politics. The irony of the approach, through its knowledge of what is at what time appropriate and in its representation of contradictory persons is what allows for reconciliation. It is a unifying submission of one to the other, the other to the one. This is irony in an honest form.

Between simplicity and contradiction is irony. Irony, defined Socratically, is saying less than one knows; it is not saying the opposite of what one knows. The Greek word eironeia, comes from eiro, to say, speak, or tell, and generally implies assumed or pretend ignorance. Socrates admits to such ignorance, making it the opposite of boastfulness. In this way it is like humility. It is not the unhelpful contra-diction, or the saying against that is the way of truth. That is merely boastfulness.

There is dishonest irony and those who practice it (“full of guile and trickery”) are those who deserve the worst punishment according to the sentence of Plato’s Laws. “From this type come many diviners and men equipped in all of magic, and sometimes tyrants, demagogues, and generals, and those who plot by means of private mystery-rites, and the contrivances of those called sophists.” In that last category I would number Descartes, Kant, and Hegel. There have been many men of that age who were able to speak of God and Christ with ease, giving Him thanks, dedicating to Him, praising Him, but inwardly rejecting Him and His Church. Such is dissimulation of the worst order; such is dishonest irony.

In this wise I find it strange that ours is called an age of irony because the things of God are mocked and sarcastically rejected. It seems on the contrary that we are a far more honest people—less ironic, less dangerous, less dissimulating. We are “full of frankness in [our] speech about the gods, as well as about sacrifices and oaths, and by [our] ridicule of the rest… make others like [ourselves].” We may be ironic in a certain sense about God, but it is a very transparent, public first-level irony that has little danger. We are very clear that we ‘do not believe in God’ or that we hate Him. What is dangerous comes not from the self-proclaimed non-Christians and enemies of Christianity, but those who claim to be Christian but are rather champions of secular values. What is needed is not more honesty, for these folks are nothing if not honest, but rather irony, the irony that has always existed in the Church and in its understanding of Scripture, the irony that knows what to say and when and how. This I will explore in a later essay.

How are we then to understand what Our Savior says upon seeing Nathaniel? (Above) He indicates a man who is like a child, who is honest, whose doubt is not of pride but of wonder. It is not a question of irony. It is a question of where his heart’s treasure is. I have quoted this saying of Christ because I want us to cease the equation of irony with guile. We must cease to imagine Socrates as some sort of Odysseus who lays traps, pretending to be ignorant but waiting to catch people in their specious reasoning. It is always those with him who cling arrogantly to false notions who charge him with this deceit. We should imagine instead that Socrates’ irony is an effect of his love and humility. We should believe what he says, that he is a midwife.

The Mighty One Who Cannot Save

2006-05-22T14:49:00.000-06:00

On Jeremiah 11-14

O the hope of Israel, the savior thereof in time of trouble, why shouldest thou be as a stranger in the land, and as a wayfaring man that turneth aside to tarry for a night? Why shouldest thou be as a man astonied, as a mighty man that cannot save? Yet thou, O Lord, art in the midst of us, and we are called by thy name; leave us not.
(Jeremiah 14:8-9, KJV)

The holy prophet asks, “Why does the way of the wicked prosper? Why are those happy who deal so treacherously?” For us today, such a question is a whiny complaint made by someone who does not want to ‘take responsibility’ for himself. The question is not the same for Jeremiah as it is for us, who do not hold as the Jews did that a man’s prosperity is a sign of his righteousness. For Jeremiah to make the opposite claim was tantamount to a condemnation of God and His Justice. He is outwardly a blasphemer, for he wants to “talk” with God “about [His] judgments” (12:1), like a Job who is not humble.

Yet he asks not for anything; he does not wish to be seen as righteous, or for those men he sees as evil to be exposed as such. He does not want affliction to befall them. He is not concerned with the opinions of men, or with his own well-being. “You, O Lord, know me; You have seen me, and You have tested my heart toward You” (12:3).

What is prophetic about Jeremiah’s plea is the subject of death. He says, “Pull them out like sheep for the slaughter, and prepare them for the day of slaughter” (ibid.). He is not calling for their destruction necessarily, for he is himself “like a docile lamb brought to the slaughter” (11:19). He asks for all to be prepared for death, for death to be the judge of all. And as he foretells Christ’s death and power over death, he brings to light the hideous reasoning of evil men.

They said of Jeremiah, and of Christ (both, because “the Lord gave me knowledge of it, and I know it; for you showed me their doings” (11:18), both the proceedings of Jeremiah’s persecutors and those of the high priests, Christ’s persecutors), “Let us destroy the tree with its fruit, and let us cut him off from the land of the living, that his name may be remembered no more” (11:19).

Christ is the tree of life, and they sought to destroy all His good works and Disciples by destroying Him. They thought by killing Him they would “cut him off from the land of the living,” that His name could be destroyed through death, because were he the Son of God as he claimed, according to their reasoning, He manifestly could not die or would not submit to death. So by death they could take the power of His name from the lips of men.

Likewise the wicked, those who “deal so treacherously” with Jeremiah, say, “He will not see our final end” (12:4), that is, that through death they can escape from the sight of the Lord. They are wrong.

Now their words speak condemnation to themselves. For they say, “If you have run with the footmen and they have wearied you, how then can you contend with horses?” (12:5). By which they mean, that they have not experienced loss and pain and hardship on account of their great and many sins, which are themselves like little deaths, so how could they suffer in the all-powerful death; in this how could they be punished? The Lord did not punish them before because He could not contend with their sins, so how could he contend with death, the great god and master of these men?

Likewise, “And if in the land of peace, in which you trusted, they wearied you, then how will you do in the flooding of the Jordan?” They reason that in their life the Lord overlooks their transgressions because of their great endurances of pain, so of course in death, the greatest of pains, He will overlook the greatest sum of their transgressions.

But out of the mouth of the Lord, these words are a great affliction to evildoers. That is, I have given you struggles in this earthly life (footmen) that were designed to help you be perfected, but they have wearied you and you have been wicked. How then are you to overcome death and all the afflictions of Hades if you do not obey My commandments? Or, My footmen have been with you as guides and helpers and you have not heeded what they have told you; they were My servants and you mistreated them; I have given you little bits of the truth and glory of God for your life and spirit, and you have turned aside. Instead of running with the footmen, a feat of which you were capable, you let yourself fall behind. Thus the horses that were to carry you into the Kingdom will trample you underfoot. The divine majesty of God will exhaust you—you will turn instead to the torments that the Devil has prepared for you.

Likewise, “if in the land of peace, in which you trusted, the wearied you, how then will you do in the flooding of the Jordan?” The Lord requires of us that we embrace both the good times and the bad times, because both come from God. If you were sinful and unfaithful in the small things, how will you do in the greater? If you have not hated your present detachment from God, how are you to be with Him in spirit at the end of your earthly time? Because you have loved death, death will be yours. Thus, “the young men will die by the sword, their sons and daughters shall die by famine” (11:22). If the earthly life is what we love, then the earthly death is what we shall suffer. “All who take the sword will perish by the sword” (Mt. 26:52). Those who do good works and “bear fruit” (Jer. 12:2) for the honor of men, will have their reward. We should not concern ourselves with the apparent well-being of those who persecute us.

Also, “the flooding of the Jordan”—for the righteous the death to the world and a rebirth in Christ (baptism), but for the wicked a destroying flood. This is like the love of God in death, Heaven for the righteous and Hell for the wicked.

The mighty one who cannot save, he is in the Lord, in the eyes of the wicked. Call to mind the words of those who passed by Christ, “He saved others; Himself he cannot save. If He is the King of Israel, let Him now come down from the cross, and we will believe Him” (Mt. 27:42). And further, it seems that this great teacher comes and “tarries for a night,” but the Savior is supposed to dwell forever with His people. Thus the cries of “leave us not.”

But in truth the mighty one who cannot save is death. Death, the hope of the wicked, is powerless to hide our sins, to erase our iniquities, to defeat the Son of God. Death, which is supposed to be permanent and ever abiding, is proved to be that which “tarries for a night,” removed by the universal Resurrection.

The true meaning of death is the power of Jeremiah’s prophecy. Like all the prophets, he is prophetic because his suffering is a participation in the suffering of Christ: “I was like a docile lamb brought to the slaughter.” This connection exists because Christ’s suffering became for all times future and past the meaning of all true suffering, and the redemption of the righteous who ask, “Why does the way of the wicked prosper?” This is why so many prophecies concern seemingly non-essential events that occurred while Christ was on the cross, such as the piercing of His hands and feet, the staring and gloating, the division of the garments and the casting of lots for His raiment (Psalm 22), because Christ witnessed these things in His suffering, and He is the comfort of those who suffer peacefully and gracefully. Those who suffer with Him die with Him, and participate in His Resurrection.

The Irony of the Cross

2006-05-22T14:24:00.000-06:00

In considering the Cross of Christ, and how it is ironic, we must first remember that we are approaching a mystery, and not a problem. When we draw near to the living God, we do not seek to understand Him, but He understands us. We do not stand outside of the mystery, but enter into it. In the words of Bishop Nikolai Velimirovich, “God understands man, but man does not understand God” (The Prologue of Ohrid, April 29^th, Homily). As Bp. Nikolai shows in that passage, God draws near to men, not ultimately through reason and law, but through love, and this is “a confusion to men."

With this in mind we must consider next that the parts of the Cross are symbols; they represent things. They are also really what they appear to be. Such is the “real symbolism” and the “symbolic reality” of which Father Alexander Schmemann spoke in For the Life of the World

Now let us consider the cross in three parts. They are 1) the middle bar, 2) the headpiece, and 3) the footrest.

Part one. His outstretched arms
First, the middle bar, on which Christ’s arms are stretched out and his hands are nailed. This is the most obvious irony of the Cross, and in its simplicity expresses the whole of its meaning. Here, the Cross goes against all expectation and understanding. In stretching out His arms on the Cross Christ defies our religious mind. He is God, and yet he is pinned to this wooden structure. He reaches out His arms to us, yet we hold back His embrace with nails. He could release Himself, but He does not. He submits Himself, yet we think we have made Him to submit. The significance of the event is for all time, because it still represents and always represents the ironic condition of mankind. Hatred and love, wretchedness and grace, victory and defeat, retribution and sacrifice, in short, God and man are unified on the Cross.

We can echo the words of those who “sneered, saying ‘He saved others; let Him save Himself if He is the Christ, the chosen of God’” (Lk. 23:35). Is it not ironic that the Savior does not save Himself? When he was ushered into Jerusalem with calls of “Hosanna in the highest!” they did not expect that this would be His end, and certainly not that this would be His glory. Even though he foretold this death to His disciples, they did not understand. No one saw and no one knew that the power of God is not in earthly glory and destruction, but in loving sacrifice and humility. The bloody sacrifice becomes a sacrifice of praise; the temple of God that is destroyed and raised in three days is not an earthly temple, but Christ’s body. The Messiah does not come proclaiming a new political freedom for the Jewish race, but spiritual freedom for all mankind.

Part two. The title
John 19:19-22
Now Pilate wrote a title and put it on the cross. And the writing was: JESUS NAZARETH, THE KING OF THE JEWS. Then many of the Jews read this title, for the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. Therefore the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write, ‘The King of the Jews,’ but, ‘He said, “I am the King of the Jews.”’” Pilate answered, “What I have written, I have written.”

What is the meaning of this? The commentary in the Orthodox Study Bible suggests, “Pilate, a Gentile, insists on the kingship of Jesus, possibly seeking to humiliate the Jewish leaders in retaliation for their earlier pressure against him.” This may be true in a certain sense, which I will soon address. But what else is said of this title? The Nazarene Way of Essenic Studies makes this rather blunt claim:

…John 19:21-22 states that Pilate rejected the charge that Jesus was crucified
because he falsely claimed to be king and instead stated that the reason Jesus
was crucified was because he was the King of the Jews. Thus, Pilate personally
was convinced that Jesus was the Jewish Messiah. This is further corroborated by
the Eastern Orthodox Feast of Saint Pontius Pilate on June 25 since early church
histories state that after converting to Christianity, Pilate himself was
martyred by double crucifixion.
(http://www.thenazareneway.com/inri_the_inscription_explained.htm)

I have been unable to find any evidence that the Orthodox Church considers Pilate a saint, or that tradition teaches of his martyrdom. However, since the Orthodox Study Bible attributes Pilate’s words at John 19:22 to an entirely different motivation, it is safe to say that this Nazarene consideration of the Orthodox interpretation is incorrect. What seems to be their own understanding presents a third possibility:

Pilate was loathe to crucify Jesus without some strong justification. The one he used was the standing Roman treaty with the Jews which allowed them self-government. When it was complained that Jesus was interfering with that self-rule by holding himself to possess authority that He lacked, Pilate challenged him to deny that he was called "King of Jews." Jesus did not deny the accusation.

We have then, multiple ways of interpreting John 19:22. Since the Orthodox understanding is unclear to me at this point, I feel all right about considering these together. Pilate writes what he writes because:

He wants to humiliate the Jews.
He needs a political justification to crucify Jesus.
He is secretly a Christian.

These explanations, of course, are not exclusive of each other. As an aside, I should note that The Nazarene Way, claiming to be the bearers of “esoteric Christianity,” presents what I would call a very ‘first-level’ understanding, under which the supposed Orthodox conception of Pilate as a saint betrays naïve simplicity. But this is a topic for another day.

It seems to me that the title admits of little better than a second-level interpretation, apart from the whole understanding of the Cross, which I discussed in Part one. It is also the part about which the idlest talking can be done, so I will keep the rest of this short- here is what I think:

The title represents the ironic response of politics to religion. For the Jews, or the city-as-religious, Jesus has claimed to be the Messiah, the Savior. But this does not concern Pilate, governor of Jerusalem as political city. So he can call Jesus “King of the Jews” without having for him the necessary implication of religious savior. But, the inscription is not only in Latin, but also in Hebrew and Greek, so it is clear to the Jews and most resident gentiles what is meant. Thus Pilate becomes the preacher to the Jewish people of their truth… “…Many of the Jews read this, for …[it] was near the city…” In trying to be citizens of the Roman state, the Jews are reminded of their religion.

Likewise, Christianity functions through the mouths of unbelieving priests and hypocrites, which is a beautiful irony. Pilate is able to see Christ well because he is able to ask the rhetorical question “Am I a Jew?” (John: 18:35) But, then, he does not hear him, for he asks, “What is truth?” (18:38) and proclaims, “Behold the Man!” (19:5) If he had love for truth, if he were patiently waiting for salvation, he would not have delivered Christ up for crucifixion.

Those who claim that he who “marveled greatly” (Mt. 27:14) became a Christian but had him crucified because Christ somehow wanted it, speak the same as those who say that Jesus asked Judas to betray Him, and there is a lot of the latter going around, as there used to be much of the former. But he who “marveled greatly” did not believe. He only was able to have sympathy for a man, because he knew that “they had handed Him over because of envy.” (Mt. 27:18)

The title is an ironic symbol because: “What I have written, I have written.” It is very simple. Yet we are the Jews who say, “Don’t write that, write, ‘He said, “I am the King of the Jews.”’” And are we not like Pilate who asks, “What is truth?” to Truth itself? Pilate wrote, “The King of the Jews,” yet we must qualify what he meant by this. Isn’t the important thing the words that he has written, and what they come to mean?

Part three. The footrest.
The ultimate irony for us, the eschatological irony, is that nothing justifies our salvation except Christ Jesus. It is not our own goodness that gets us into the Kingdom of Heaven, but the Lord who says, “today you will be with Me in Paradise” (Lk. 23:43). There are three main ironies associated with the thieves who are crucified with Jesus. First, He is “numbered with the transgressors,” who has not sinned. Second, “those who were crucified with Him reviled Him” (Mk. 15). Those who have nothing to gain yet still mock and scorn because they are themselves mocked and scorned, while those who have everything to lose suffer mockery and scorn voluntarily. The peculiarity of this is emphasized in Matthew’s account, when he first mentions the scorn of “those who passed by,” then “the chief priests… the scribes and elders,” and finally, “even the robbers who were crucified with Him reviled Him with the same thing” (27:39-44). Third, of the two robbers, one recognizes that his punishment is just and that Jesus is punished unjustly. Yet this in itself is not ironic. What is ironic is that even recognizing Jesus’ spotlessness and unjust punishment, this robber does not join the others in charging Him to save Himself. He sees somehow that this man who is powerless to save Himself from crucifixion is able to grant him a place in Paradise. He believes this manifestly absurd proposition. It seems like a paradigmatic case of first-level irony- everyone can recognize the ridiculousness of this man nailed to a cross with the charge “King of the Jews” over His head having any Kingdom at all. It seems that His crucifixion is proof that His claim to be the Christ, to be the Savior and Redeemer of Israel, the Messiah, was ill founded. Even if his life and teachings were not hateful, as they were to the Jewish leaders, even if He was clearly a loving and inspired teacher but not God as he claimed, this moment seems to be His defeat. How plainly, then, is the stage set for the ironic “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom” (Lk. 23:42).

But is it not the case that even the most hardened irreligious fail to see the irony in this statement? It is taken to be an example of simple faith, and rightly so. But to the other thief condemned with these two, the exchange must have seemed rather ironic. What kind of irony is this? A painful, biting irony, it must have been for him. But we who read see this not as funny or absurd but as joyous and wonderful, a testament to Jesus’ great love and mercy. This is because we know who Jesus is, or at least who His ‘character’ is meant to be. The only irony is that it might seem ironic, but it is not. But it is—

And Jesus said to him, “Assuredly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” And it was about the sixth hour, and there was darkness all over the earth until the ninth hour.

Out of darkness comes light. At the time when Jesus seems the most to have been defeated, His great triumph is ready to emerge. The thief recognizes this because he has the fear of God in him. He does not believe his eyes and so is not blind to the Truth. Jesus’ footrest inclines to the right to indicate that the thief on His right hand is saved and it declines to the left to show that the left-hand thief is deprived of mercy.

The inclination of the footrest means that God does not follow the law that we give Him, but that we are followers of His law. Those who laugh at the foot of Christ’s cross, and the one who even up on their own cross laughed at Him, thought that the King was subject to human laws, that even if He were free from these that He could not overcome death. These same today try to refute Christianity with arguments from reason, with methods of analytic philosophy, with the science of body. Descartes, Hegel, and Marx-- all have laughed at Christ inwardly even showing outward signs of respect. But those who are taught by the spirit of the flesh cannot receive the Spirit of God, and they cannot know anything of the Spirit, and they will remain of the flesh, and they will die like the bad thief. This is the bitter ironic end to the enduring truth of their reason. I imagine that Nietzsche, suffering eternal torment, still does not understand why the weak and stupid are saved and he is damned. Or if he knows why, he thinks that God is a God who hates, and a God who punishes and destroys.

St. Theophylact writes in his commentary on Matthew, “The two thieves were symbolic of the two races, the Jewish and the Gentile,” and that at first both were transgressors, but later the Gentile race did “confess Christ,” while the other “blasphemed.” This St. Theophylact puts forth as an explanation of the title, “The King of the Jews,” writing:

For indeed the Lord is King, and came for this
very reason, to save the Jews. But since those who were Jews in the flesh did
not want Him to reign over them, He became King of the spiritual Jews, this is,
of those who confess Him. For “Jew” means “he who confesses.”

In this way we see the unity of the meaning of the Cross. This is the true meaning of irony, as well; it is not a divisive, undercutting device, but the unity of humanity with divinity, of thought and expression, of symbol and reality, of all things in Christ. Irony its most true form is the Spirit of truth when it breaches our human wisdom, and it is a call of love, not as seen by destructive poets, but as the gift of God. The victory of such love is the joyful Cross. St. Theophylact:

There were many ways to be put to death, but Christ was put to death on the cross so that He might sanctify the wood of the tree by which we were cursed, and bless the whole universe: the heavens, which were signified by the upper portion of the cross; the underworld, signified by the “footstool”; and the ends of the earth, the east and the west, signified by the transverse portions of the cross. But he was also put to death on the cross so that He might stretch out His arms to embrace and gather together the children of God who had been dispersed.

Cosmic Irony, Emmanuelian Irony

2006-05-11T17:04:00.000-06:00

There is the idea among conservatives and Christians that irony is merely the tool of the liberals, the godless mockery of everything pure, the weapon of cheap compromise to everything strong and fundamental. With irony goes humor, so the thought goes, and with both of these everything constant and beautiful is lost in the shallowness of self-gratifying passion. That kind of stuff is for The Daily Show, and not for me, the Christian says. Such are the images evoked by the word ‘irony.’

Irony is a concept so much assailed from every direction that the most intelligent treatises on the subject to be found these days amount to re-iterations of the word’s definition and its true meaning, so defiled by popular understanding (i.e. Alanis Morisette’s song, “Ironic” on Jagged Little Pill). We only can go so far as to say what is truly ironic.

But what is irony? Why is it? What is the point?

I want to take back irony from the hands of impudence, from smugness, from superiority, from literary snobs and pedestrian cultural and political critics who never tire of irony’s simple power of negation.

I want to call attention to the great power of humility in irony. Irony that does not serve to ‘burn’ men but irony that brings God to us, this is my subject. I call it Emmanuelian irony, the irony of God-among-us. The reality of God becoming man and being put to death by the men he came to save is not a mere logical negation or barrier to understanding. It is the inscrutable mystery that is the whole meaning of our lives. Yet, this is unexpected. This is not what it seems. This is the cosmic irony.

This last term is used in literary criticism as a sort of ‘really big irony.’ It amounts to the greatly coincidental, or just the great in scale. But kosmos means ‘ordered whole,’ and so for something to be kos-mic, it must be structured and arranged, not just big.

Here is an example of cosmic irony as defined by literary criticism. This is the first search result on Google for the term ‘cosmic irony’:

Some irony goes beyond being unfair and is morally tragic. Such irony is often so severe that it causes people to question God and see the universe as hostile. For example, if an honest, hardworking, and generous person buys a lottery ticket and wins ten million dollars, only to die in an auto crash two days later, the irony would reach tragic proportions. When situational irony reaches this scale, it is often called cosmic irony or irony of fate. Such irony typically suggests that people are pawns to malicious forces.
(http://www.delmar.edu/engl/wrtctr/handouts/irony.htm)

Generally, literary criticism defines irony as a contradiction between appearance and reality. This rubric places the importance on perception at the criterion in distinction. But I say the importance of irony is desire and the criterion is in unity.

In this understanding verbal, dramatic, and situational ironies are merely non-essential categories determined by the number and placement of various perceptive agents in series.

Example, from H.W. Fowler, “Modern English Usage”:

Irony is a form of utterance that postulates a double audience, consisting of one party that hearing shall hear and shall not understand, and another party that, when more is meant than meets the ear, is aware, both of that “more” and of the outsider’s incomprehension.
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irony)

Such is an example of what is called ‘dramatic irony.’ To broaden our view of this kind of irony, let’s consider the book Irony in Mark's Gospel: Text and Subtext since the point of this study is ultimately to show in what way the Gospels are ironic.

What I find here (as explored on the few pages available at Amazon.com) is two levels. On one level are the Roman soldiers who mock Christ, calling him “King of the Jews.” (Mk. 15:18) This is a clear example of verbal sarcasm, who pay homage to Christ yet intend the very opposite. On the second level are the readers, who know that Christ is really King, so that the irony of the soldiers is itself ironic.

This, however, is not simply an ironic reading of the Gospel. It is a function of group identity. The Gospel is written so that men can read and be unified with each other in a common understanding. The common understanding in this case is that the soldiers who revered Christ in mockery, should have been revering him in earnest. The reader imagines that he himself would have given Christ a proper, non-ironic respect. So now the crown of thorns to Christians is a crown of glory. Christianity turns the irony on itself, making the irony of derision an irony of sacrifice and love.

So much is what I imagine is intended in this account. But there is a deeper understanding.

First, the authorities judge Jesus. Second, we readers judge the authorities. But third, Christ judges us.

More than just that we are reading the Bible and can see the irony, but that we read the Bible and do not understand. It is not that we do understand, but that we do not understand that is important. WE ARE THE ROMAN SOLDIERS who mock Jesus with a crown of thorns. We should not judge the soldiers, but ourselves.

God is with us. God’s human expression has changed. Irony now does not merely demonstrate the otherness of God, but how God is with us. Irony gets at the truth of the Gospels because it is in irony that truth can be communicated.

The writers of Text and Subtext wrote, “irony builds a sense of community”; it binds us together. Followers of The Irony Files recognize this as a clear symptom of second-level irony.

Previous works about biblical irony have not perceived the absolute transcendence of God in human expression. Irony is a part of human expression, and because God has come to dwell with us, he has come to use human expression. But of course irony will not show us who God is in His Essence, but the meaning of His works.

Here is something ironic—

Not only does Jesus tell the disciples why he speaks in parables, pointing to their privileged position, but also the disciple Luke tells us non-privileged this privileged view. So we think we are privileged in our understanding. (Lk. 8:9-10)

Why is Christ ironic? Why are we ironic? What does Christ’s irony have to say to us?

First, irony is not a matter of circumstance. It is not a matter of perception. It is a matter of who we are as human beings. We are ironic because of who we are—creatures with desires that are not fulfilled. Christ is ironic because he wishes to speak to and heal this condition.

How does Christ speak to this? Through love and humility. He does not mock those who do not understand, nor does he wish for everyone to understand in the same way. He is ironic because truth is ironic.

How is truth ironic? Truth is not what we want it to be. We think we want it, but we do not. Truth looks back at us, and often lies to us, to bring us closer.

How is God ironic? By not being just. St. Isaac the Syrian wrote:

How can you call God just when you read the passage on the wage given to the workers? 'Friend, I do thee no wrong; I will give unto this last even as unto thee who worked for me from the first hour. Is thine eye evil, because I am good?' How can a man call God just when he comes across the passage on the prodigal son, who wasted his wealth in riotous living, and yet only for the contrition which he showed, the father ran and fell upon his neck, and gave him authority over all his wealth? None other but His very Son said these things concerning Him lest we doubt it, and thus He bare witness concerning Him. Where, then, is God's justice, for whilst we were sinners, Christ died for us!

(from Homily 60, as quoted by Alexandre Kalomiros, The River of Fire)

As Brent Morris pointed out in his New Formulation (my title), injustice is the root of irony. As St. Isaac says, “Do not call God just, for His justice is not manifest in the things concerning you” (ibid.).

As we go through life, it is those who perceive this injustice of God as a hateful thing who punish themselves with sin and are unable to accept His unjust love. It is the ironic ones who accept that God-among-us is the superlatively ironic who are able to rejoice in this unjust love and be remembered in His Kingdom.

Update, 5/13

This is why those who defined "cosmic irony" above spoke of the tragedy of fate. When we have the wrong idea of God (when we do not love Him), then intellectually we have a corrupt understanding of both tragedy and irony. Thus, "Such irony is often so severe that it causes people to question God and see the universe as hostile." Why hostile? Why do we not see this as God's appropriate response? Perhaps God is saving the honest hardworking man from all the evils that He knows money would bring. Is God just? His justice is not manifest in the things concerning us. "Such irony typically suggests that people are pawns to malicious forces," to those who are not faithful to God, who will always be faithful. This reminds me of an oft-quoted passage from the Wisdom of Solomon (4:7-15):

But the righteous man, though he die early, will be at rest. For old age is not honored for length of time, nor measured by number of years; but understanding is gray hair for men, and a blameless life is ripe old age. There was one who pleased God and was loved by Him, he was caught up lest evil change hus understanding or guile deceive his soul. For the fascination of wickedness obscures what is good, and roving desire perverts the innocent mind. Being perfected in short time, he fulfilled long years; for his soul was pleasing to the Lord, therefore He took him quickly from the midst of wickedness. Yet the peoples saw and did not understand, nor take such a thing to heart, that God's grace and mercy are His elect, and he watches over His holy ones.

Can irony and faith coexist?

2006-05-11T15:17:00.000-06:00

Irony is born of pain from distance. We despair at communicating meaning with each other simply, and we suffer for distance from God. Often we are ‘ironic’ with each other as a sort of bitterness. Irony can be a terse retort or clever jibe that takes the place of a well thought-out statement made in loving honesty. Today we see irony as a mask behind which hide many demons of hurtfulness, indifference, and cold-heartedness. To some degree irony is the herald of sophistication, an indication of cultural superiority. Political and religious sincerity is defused in a whisper; irony is the simple class clown who mocks merely by repetition and the chorus of students laugh away the seriousness of their civic duties or spiritual responsibilities.

Behind all irony is unfulfilled desire. Sarcasm is usually a ‘cop-out’: an expression that despairs of the fulfillment of desire. Sarcasm becomes sardonic detachment between human beings. We lose our ability to love one another. We replace true feeling with the imitation of feeling, true love with the mockery of love. We say what we are supposed to say, in a sing-song, detached voice. We do not know if we mean it, do not mean it, or do not want to own up to what we say.

Irony, being part of human meaning, born out of separation and despair, is then of course part of mans’ relationship with God. As there is pain between us men, as we fail to communicate our meaning to each other and grieve for this, so do we feel great suffering for our separation from God. Yet God greatly desires our communion with Him.

God has communicated through the ages with his chosen people, Israel. He fulfilled His promise to His people through His Son, Jesus Christ, whose Life and teachings are found in the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles. Not only these books, but also all of the ‘Old Testament’ is a communication of God to us of the truth of our lives so that we may live according to His commandments and become united with Him. Therefore, though God Himself knows us and our hearts perfectly, He knows how we are separated and in what language He must speak to us, and He does so in a perfect manner. So much then as our human irony and human communication are imperfect, such are perfected in the Spirit of God. Thus the Bible and the Gospels specifically, are a perfect expression of the human heart that longs in suffering to be united, and in this perfectly express the meaning of irony.

Christians ought therefore to be the most ironic people in the world. We are bidden to consider the pleasures of this life to be nothing, to live only for a world that we cannot see. We are to partake of bread and wine, which are said to be not these but the body and blood of Jesus, a man who is God, who is the Creator of all but was born of a woman, who knew no man. Every element of faith is not merely a denial and an affirmation but a transformation of life by Christ and his Resurrection. Yet Christians are considered as boring, straightforward dupes who are not up to the challenge of a dynamic world charged with potent meaning. In a recent article on irony, entitled “The final irony,” in the U.K. newspaper The Guardian, Zoe Williams wrote, “Irony can never coexist with faith, since the mere act of questioning causes the faith fairy to disappear."

Such a quotation is unfair taken out of the context of the article, which surveyed “four important epochs of irony,” and went beyond the usual criticism of Alanis Morissette’s misuse of the word in her popular song and the reduction of irony into a sort of postmodern disingenuousness. However she does offer this little nugget of popular secular wisdom about Christians, that they are lacking in irony. She probably means not this exactly but that they are ‘uncool,’ for Christians are most certainly that. “Irony is used as a synonym for cool, for cynicism, for detachment, for intelligence,” she wrote, and seems to fall into this bastardization and simplification herself when applying the concept to faith.

For what could she mean but that Christians believe like fools and do not question what they are told, lack humor and are unable to take insults to their naïve faith, which they cling to so stupidly? “Irony and Christianity cannot coexist,” since intelligence and faith cannot coexist. Cynicism and detachment cannot coexist with faith. Though she takes such pains to show how these things are not the same as irony, when coming to faith she falls into that familiar identity.

This is not striking because a columnist for The Guardian is hostile to the Christian faith. It is striking because she presents the same opinion that Christians present regarding irony, except from a hostile position. That is, that “irony and faith cannot coexist.” The purpose of this essay is to show that the Christian faith is the superlatively ironic, and this is not incidental to the truth of the faith, but integral to it.

A Response to Brent Morris’ New Formulation of the Three Levels of Irony

2006-03-11T13:18:00.000-07:00

Brent, I think the most novel additions that you have made to our concept of the levels of irony are the ideas of justice and desire. It is clear that herein is a crucial difference between the first and third level. “With the use of oppositional irony,” you write, “there is a necessary contempt, an apparent slight, an injustice.” The person who uses first-level irony needs to point out this injustice; there is a need for this injustice to be recognized, and in fact the very use of this irony implies, as you say, an “unfulfilled desire.” The basic need we have for irony, it seems, has its basis in the very human conditions of suffering and the perception of injustice. Oppositional irony presents itself to man as a way of expressing his sense of that injustice. That things could be not to one’s liking, that meaning and truth could go unrecognized is a problem whose natural reconciliation could only lie in the very negation of the effect of language and meaning itself. In a way, we ‘lie’ in order to right the ‘lie’ in the outside world.

I want to be sure that we see this as the root of irony, and as such we should not limit our study to “verbal irony”; as you have given them to us, the levels “oppositional,” “reflexive,” and “universal,” only apply to irony as portrayed in words, and this is not a complete picture. However, I think it is fair to limit us at this point to verbal irony, if only we remember that all other forms of irony will fit this rubric, since language is unique to humanity and irony is, as well. But language is not the fundamental expression of our humanity; it is rather meaning: the meaning of words, yes, but also the meaning of actions, expressions, and the imitations of those things. Here is the classical subdivision of ironies into “verbal,” “situational,” and “dramatic,” but as we both realize, these are not the fundamental categories. Thus we present the levels

I return to oppositional irony. I think your classification of the two “poles” is accurate. The polarity lies in the two dichotomies of actual meaning and literal statement and what is or was and what should be. I am confused however, by your calling the one “positive” and the other “negative.” As I understand it, the literal meaning of the statement, “It sure was a nice day” expresses the speaker’s desire for what should be. However, you characterize this as a paraphrasing of the condition for ALL oppositional ironies—unfulfilled desire—not just “positive ones.” It is clear that in “negative” oppositional ironies the literal meaning is expressive not of the desired state (“what should be”), but rather it is in the absurdity brought out of the literal meaning through the irony that gives rise to the desired state in the ACTUAL MEANING. The configuration of the dichotomies stated above is reversed; however, the underlying condition of unfulfilled desire as an injustice remains the same. So I do not see the difference in the exposition in any way as categorical. Please elaborate as to why you call the one expression “positive” and the other “negative.”

You have added some new things to our understanding of second-level irony, but clearly it remains the stepping-stone irony in many ways, existing on the one hand as the maturation of first-level irony, and on the other hand as the setting apart of the first and third-levels. Actually, I think you have intensified this problem through your rigorous classifications of oppositional irony, which of course is the root of all other ironies.

Have we abandoned the sense of dialectic movement? In the article I wrote on the levels for The Gadfly last year, I spoke as if the difference in the levels lay in the subject-object relation of irony. You have not abandoned this in your language of otherness, but the focus has shifted it seems. The subject realizes in reflexive irony that he himself is an object for his own irony, but is this the basis for a dialectic shift? You write that “reflexive irony is of the same nature as oppositional irony.” Do you mean this in the same way that universal irony is of the same nature as oppositional irony? This raises many questions.

Your example of the Presidential quip is a mere composite of two oppositional ironies: first, the bringing out of non-being the Schwartzenegger comment into being, and second, the situation of a poor English speaker being a critic of another’s English. The latter is clearly an example of what you would call “negative” oppositional irony. However, how would you characterize the first irony? In and of itself, it seems that saying that someone said something that he did not in fact say has no desire-content unless we are provided with a content for the utterance (the second irony). So it seems that the first irony only exists to serve the second. Is this the form of all reflexive ironies? If I say, “I have never done something stupid when drunk,” is this a composite statement? Is it even reflexive irony? What about saying, “I am stupid,” when I mean the opposite? It seems that, dependent on context, these could be either oppositional or reflexive ironies. If I am referring in the latter statement to an incident where someone called me stupid, I think it would be a simple oppositional irony. But also if I simply mean that I am smart. Such a statement could only be truly second level, or truly reflexive, in the sense that I am expressing a greater truth than mere negation, if I mean in some sense that I truly am stupid. However, I intend for my audience to understand that because of my recognition of this stupidity, I am the better; if not ‘smart,’ then I am ‘wise,’ or something else not connoted in the literal sense of ‘stupid.’ In the case of the Presidential quip, he means that he is in fact a poor speaker of English, but because of his overt recognition of this fact, and because of his audience (a Republican convention) and their prior knowledge of him, we are to sense his wisdom.

In order to see this more clearly, we should approach the study of second-level irony in a less abstract and definitional way. What kinds of people are second-level ironic? Politicians and comedians. Not anyone who happens to turn oppositional irony on himself. We have said before that first-levelers are whiny brats, and who is more apt to do this than them? But second-levelers are likeable people, and not merely because they are able to include themselves in the sphere of ironies, but because they comprehend oppositional irony and are able to transform it. Many second-level ironies are crafted to be funny to first-levelers, but those who laugh do not understand wholly why. When a comedian tells a joke, it is designed to strike all as truth about the world and other people in some way. But most of us are unable to tell such jokes (or to ‘come up’ with them) because we are not transformed by the dialectical movement of irony, the truth of suffering. The joke is funny because we have suffered the truth of it, but the comedian has suffered, or appears to have suffered, for all. (The same is true of politicians in the sphere of justice). However, his dialectical movement is incomplete because his suffering is devoid of content; it is incomplete. It needs recognition. The comedian’s irony needs understanding. He is himself a first-leveler puffed up by bravado; no matter how easily he is able to transform his experience into a universal, the charm of it remains his, and his performance only has its fulfillment in the recognition of an audience. Here we can see how desire is only masked in the second-level and not defeated. However, the irony thus produced has a claim to its own (above the first-level, in fact, born out of the dialectical movement that destroys the first level and yet includes it), because irony resides in meaning, and meaning transcends the individual who provided its content.

And so we can see third level or universal irony would thus be very well hidden from us. A first-leveler simply cannot comprehend it the way he can the second level. This is because, as you have pointed out, Brent, universal irony is necessitated by the complete annihilation of desire. It is very paradoxical, because, as it appears to be the same as first level irony at the outset, it is in fact so different from it that we may even wonder whether it is in fact irony. If there is no perceived injustice, if there is no unfulfilled desire, where is the need for seeming-to-be-other-than? Here again we must consider what irony IS. The consideration I want for us is the same as the reason I just presented for why reflexive irony is a level of its own despite containing the same motives as oppositional irony. That is, meaning. Meaning is something we put out there. Thus in universal irony the originator represents injustice, and mimics unfulfilled desire. He complains about hypocrisy and paradox while secretly embracing them as the very truth and the apex of human expression. And so, not only does third-level pretend to be first-level ironic, but it is first-level ironic, and it is only in this union of seeming-be and being, of coming-to-be and being, that the universality exists. The reality of third-level irony is that human expression does not ultimately fail to express the truth, because the truth is human expression. As many of us are or were St. John’s students, we should be familiar with the dogma of that classroom. It is only by coming to see the truth by ourselves, in a struggle, though the suffering of knowledge being hidden from us, being refuted, being unable to express ourselves, that we come to any real wisdom. The truth cannot be laid out in front of us ready to be consumed. God puts priceless coins in the path of the poor man contemplating his poverty, and he walks past. The Truth is in the way.

As Brent made clear, third-level ironists are not anxious for their irony to be perceived as such. This is irony that has reduced desire to an abstraction; it is passionless even as it embraces the way of passion. Thus the Socratic eros for knowledge.

So far from this state, I can only hope to give my feeling on the matter. But I have surely had moments where I have glimpsed third-level irony. Having experienced this, I think it is accurate to say that in order to perceive third-level irony, one must BE third-level ironic. But we are not to imagine third-level ironists as recluses driven to asceticism by the loneliness of their understanding. So far from this, they have walked the path of suffering and defeated desire to the point where all that is left is love for mankind. They do not speak in riddles so as to confuse us and glorify themselves.

I think the clearest examples are Socrates and Jesus:

"Then his disciples asked him what this parable meant. He said, “To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of God; but to others I speak in parables, so that ‘looking they may not perceive, and listening they may not understand.’” –Luke 8:9-10

"I share the poverty of my fellow countrymen in this respect, and confess to my shame that I have no knowledge of virtue at all.” –Socrates, Meno, 71b

Brent Morris’ New Formulation of the Three Levels of Irony

2006-03-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

From Obsolete Poets’ Home Journal

On the First Level of Irony (1/23/06)

Irony is one of the most commonly misused words in the English language. Its most common definition in use deals with occurences in life that are freakish or out of the ordinary. Yet in this usage we have lost the truest meaning of irony, as stated by the first definition of dictionary.com's wonderful database: "The use of words
to express something different from and often opposite to their literal meaning." Now, this definition shows immediately that there is the possibility for something beyond mere negation in irony. Irony in speech has three levels - the oppositional, the reflexive, and the universal.

Oppositional irony is simply what its name says. It is a statement whose actual meaning directly contradicts the literal meaning. Yet even within this seeming simplicity, there are subtler uses which are difficult to label as oppositional irony. For the first example, I will use a very simple statement:

"Yeah, it was a really nice day out.", when in fact, it rained.

Without a context, we can only guess at the intent of such a statement; perhaps for the bemused agreement of the other person. Yet with the use of oppositional irony, there is a necessary contempt, an apparent slight, an injustice - the speaker could have just as easily stated that 'it was unfortunate that it rained.' or something to that effect. With the apparent contradiction between literal and actual meanings, the speaker shows his disappointment with that state of affairs. In declaring the hoped or desired state within its very negation, the speaker is saying that the hoped or desired state is the necessary condition; that that is what is right. Therefore, unfulfilled desire lurks within all oppositional ironies - oppositional irony expresses what should be, through its use of the literal desired outcome, and what actually was, through the actual meaning.

We can see immediately that oppositional irony is capable of dealing with any slight by simply negating it in speech and thereby demonstrating the injustice. There are everyday examples, viz. sarcasm, and more complicated examples, like political satire. Political satire expresses a desire for otherness through demonstrating the humorous faults of certain political positions. Yet here we see the division between the two types of oppositional ironies - one is a literal statement whose actual meaning is the opposite, the other is where the literal meaning of a statement is demonstrated, revealing the opposite to be the desired outcome. The former is positive oppositional irony, the latter negative. Within these two poles of opposition fall all first level ironies.

On the Journey From the Oppositional Irony to Reflexive Irony (1/24/06)

Oppositional irony is the first step in the development of irony. Despite its simple nature, mastery of its use is necessary to understand the other two levels. The attainment of mastery of oppositional irony comes when the recognition, whether conscious or not, that irony deals with outside objects. Oppositional irony can
apply to any object we choose - we can make reference to an object's non-being when it is, or make reference to its being when it is not; these being the simplest forms of oppositional irony. The step to reflexive irony comes when we recognize that we are fundamentally no different from any of these objects.

Since the recognition of reflexive irony comes from a simple recognition of our own participation in the potential sphere of ironies, it follows that reflexive irony is of the same nature as oppositional irony. Yet this is not a recognition all people make, and certainly not on a consistent basis. Puffed up from their constant use of oppositional irony, these 'first-levelers' jab at the world with barbed words, pointing out every flaw with sarcastic glee. They converse as though oppositional irony were just discovered yesterday, and its use is always new and always poignant.

Our most recent President is an accomplished reflexive ironist. Here is a good example of both reflexive and oppositional irony:

""You may have noticed I have a few flaws, too. People sometimes have to correct my English. I knew I had a problem when Arnold Schwarzenegger started doing it." --during his Republican Convention speech

Yes, the President does have a problem speaking correctly. Yet here is able to use both the first and second levels of irony in the same sentence - his reference to Arnold Schwarzenegger, himself a poor judge of what passes for good or bad English, is a use of oppositional irony for the sake of reflexive. It is unlikely that
Governor Schwarzenegger actually said anything to the President regarding his use or misuse of English - therefore this example is called out of non-being into being for the sake of an ironic comment. The total effect is reflexive irony - the President is mocking his own abilities with language. Perhaps he should not be so
hard on himself - yet he has not attained the third level, universal irony.

On Universal Irony (1/26/06)

Universal irony is the appex of ironies, the summit from which masterful ironists look down on the petty scribblers or the sardonic gum-flapping of the marketplace. The journey there is difficult, perhaps indescribable.

From a perspective of intellectual journey, we can describe it this way - the first level of irony involves a confident speaker or writer negating some idea, object, etc. - he feels above it, able to comment on it and be confident that others will grasp his ironic meaning. The second level involves a speaker or writer negating himself - irony directed inwards, yet he too is confident that it will be apprehended as irony. These two ironies are negations of one another - opposites. Yet much as Being and Non-Being are opposites, yet their union produces Becoming - the state of coming into being and passing away - these two ironies, when combined, do not negate one another, but produce a third irony - universal irony. Since it involves both the speaker of the irony and some outside thing, not one for the sake of the other, as in the Bush example, it is hereby termed 'universal'.

Universal irony is difficult to locate. We can describe the particulars of it - what characterizes it - but spotting it is more difficult, and spotting it objectively is even more difficult. It requires a great deal of context in order to be judged properly. One form of universal irony is that irony wherein the speaker or writer
is aware that his use of oppositional irony is misguided, ineffective, or itself ironic. Yet claiming this objectively is incredibly difficult - one must know the mind of the speaker or writer in order to claim this as third level ironic. This kind of third level irony is indistinguishable from first level irony, without significant other context.

The most significant attribute of third level irony is its complete lack of desire. Oppositional irony is replete with desire - a desire for otherness, even if undesirable otherness. It seeks any change. Universal irony seeks no change and recognizes the central ironies in the way things are. Yet in pointing out those ironies - those paradoxes and hypocrisies and contradictions within every human soul - it praises them. The naive, narrow-minded use of oppositional irony points out hypocrisy as an evil - the universal ironist points them out as necessary and praises hypocrisy's beautiful unthinking - its ability to slip from one point of view to another.

On the face of it, therefore, universal irony seems pessimistic - a way for ivory tower residents to cackle at the unchanging apeishness of humanity, while themselves behaving apeishly. Not so. It is oppositional irony that is pessimistic ultimately, since oppositional irony is capable of seeing all flaws and fixing none. Universal
irony, on the other hand, points out flaws while seeing them not as flaws - as slight imperfections of a slightly imperfect species. It is universal irony that all would-be ironists must strive for - its timelessness, its sense of optimism, its ability to make us laugh and think at the same time.

The Three Levels of Irony

2006-03-11T12:54:00.002-07:00

Published in The Gadfly, St. John's College, Annapolis, April 2005.

The first level of irony is simple negation. It is used often disparagingly in conversation; even when it is used to praise, it involves the use of a derogatory. For example, “You are smart.” I mean that you are not smart. But, “You are stupid,” meaning “you are not stupid,” is still a use of negativity in order to express a positive sentiment. To say “you are stupid” when what is meant is the very opposite is not the same as saying right out, “you are smart.” There is a great difference in meaning, we know this, but where is that difference? What is it? This is the question that spurs the ironic adventure, a trip not unserious but rather jovial because of what is intended, an exploration of the subtlety of negation. What an ironic activity, to explore the nature of irony! There is considerable delight in store for the man or woman who wishes to go beyond mere words, beyond definitions and abstracts, to intention and negation, to the very fount of meaning, on the lying tongue!

A first-leveler dwells on a higher plane than the world. His irony is like a bomb dropped from a height—it includes the whole world in its scope but he is untouched, outside the blast radius. “Everything sucks,” he says, ignorant for the time or perhaps always, that he is one with the world, that he is not impervious to negation or derision, that he is, in fact, an entirely ridiculous object, a mere human being, a lowly creature making sounds. But put this aside for now. First level irony, despite the obvious dubiousness of its blind superiority, is the apex of negation most of us will attain. It is discovered usually in late pubescence/early adolescence, and modified slightly, made more intelligent, used more selectively, but for the most part perfected at the end of growing “high school” years. It is very easy to use. Simply say or do the opposite of what is intended. A non-verbal example is clothing. To wear, say, a shirt from a little league team for which one does not play, is done ironically. The shirt says that the bearer plays for the Weston Wildcats. We know he does not in fact play for the Weston Wildcats. We know he is a chubby stoner kid who has not played sports in years. The concept of him playing baseball is ridiculous. It’s ironic. The ironic value of such things is detracted from by the frequency of such expressions. If everyone wears ironic t-shirts, they are just a fashion. One is doing what one is expected to do, it is not ironic. My brother has a word for this, he calls it “eerony.” Trucker hats.

Before I move on to the second level of irony, here is a note about the scholasticism in this field. The typical literary criticism distinctions of irony are 1) Verbal irony. 2) Dramatic irony. 3) Irony of situation. These are good distinctions, and I accept them, but they are different in kind from the three levels I here present. The three kinds of irony apply across all three levels of irony, although problems of interpretation do arise, in 2nd level dramatic irony, or 3rd level situational irony, for instance. It is generally complicated to articulate the level of irony for dramatic and situational irony; this is why I have only provided examples framed in terms of people and the kind of irony they use, i.e. ‘third-leveler.’ These problems might lead one to think that the levels only apply to verbal irony. This is not true. In fact, I think the three levels of irony are more prior than the three accepted kinds of irony. The kinds are forged in the minds of literary critics, whose job is interpretation of intended and effect-provoking irony, and as we will see in the later levels, irony is not always meant to be discovered.

Second level irony is very common among charismatic people—politicians, comedians, performers. This level includes first level irony in its nature, that is, it is negative, it is an expression of negation, but it includes in that negation the very expression of the irony itself. 2nd level irony is being ironic about being ironic. The movement from the first to the second level is a dialectical ironical movement; on the first level the use of irony comes from a superior height, on the second in is even with the object of irony, or even lower than it! “Everyone sucks, and I suck too.” 2nd level irony is a recognition of the ridiculousness of human existence. That we must use irony! It is a celebration of baseness, a wallowing in the low things. The difference between 2nd and 1st level irony often goes unperceived. But there is just a different feeling to 2nd level irony. A lot of people are nasty and mean, but we like second-levelers because they are funny. First-levelers often come off as jerks. The first level has appeal in a small group, but the true stars, the real show—it all happens on the 2nd level, in the full recognition of the spectacle.

Third level irony: “I know that you do not know that I know that I suck.” This is again a dialectical movement, now from the self deriding self to the self-derider deriding freely from his place of self-derision. This is a real trick. It is very often impossible to detect third level irony. Muecke in The Compass of Irony discusses something similar; he calls it “private irony.” His work is worth considering, but I mention it only in passing here for he does not discuss 3rd level irony in this, its most fascinating light: what is said may actually be what is intended, what is seemingly ironic may not actually be so, etc. It is like Pascal’s hierarchy—the man who is half-learned condemns the piety of the simple man, but the truly educated one condones it and knows it to be the best. 3rd level irony is mysterious; it looks like 1st level irony, it is ironic about 2nd level irony, but it is, in fact, something completely different. The user of this irony, the intender, is not superior, is not inferior, is not equal with the object of his irony. He transcends himself and thus speaks for all men, at all times; he is outside of the ego and outside of intention. When books are said to have an esoteric meaning, a real truth hidden under an apparent, deceiving apparition, this is what is meant. Literary criticism fails here because it places every author or playwright in himself, is his own time and place, but through third level irony the author is transcendent, through him we glimpse not the ephemeral but the eternal truth. This is the end and ultimate destination of human irony, which is the crown jewel of our mortal expression.

I am indebted to many friends, but especially Brent Morris, for his help in this important study.

Mary Magdalene

2006-02-20T09:48:00.000-07:00

I have not read The Da Vinci Code, and know very little about the various stories surrounding Mary Magdalene. But I did come across this article, The Saintly Sinner, by Joan Acocella.

This kind of journalism is stupid. It refers to itself, citing books like “The Resurrection of Mary Magdalene: Legends, Apocrypha, and the New Testament,” by Joan Schaberg, and it treats genuine spirituality as an amusing anachronism. I know very little about so-called “Magdalene scholarship” or “feminist Bible scholarship.” These things are alien to me. But I am a human being, I am a sinner, and I have seen the true way. Such qualifies me to some sort of expression.

The beginning of Acocella’s last paragraph (on John: 20) runs thus:

This scene is the New Testament’s most powerful statement about the confrontation with death, about losing forever the thing you love. The setting is beautiful: the green garden, the morning light, the angels. Then we hear the cruel words: “Don’t touch me.” He was there; he had called her name; she had reached out to embrace him. Now she must stand back, let him go, and make her way alone.

I have a difficult time knowing how to understand her words. First, is she serious? Or, is she merely having fun painting a little picture in ordinary words of a scene from the Bible? What is the point? Is she portraying this as some kind of rejection, like a man having sex with a woman and the next day telling her to leave his presence? It is amusing if she takes it this way, because her feminine misunderstanding is the reason why Jesus tells her not to touch him. Because she does not understand that he is not what he was, that he is to ascend to His Father.

Acocella’s irreverence and ignorance is almost incurable in the environment and availability of Gnostic heresy, Western Magdalene-celebration, Vatican response, and all the superfluity of information and opinion. These are not simple things, but they are not understood by an objective analysis of all that is said and done. The truth is in the Church. However, being the typical New Yorker liberal, she cannot imagine that everyone else does not think in terms of consumer-culture, or does so unknowingly. Thus she speaks of the “[Catholic] Church’s new chastity campaign,” as if the cardinals had sat around and banged out some power marketing for their new line of diet pills. They were “pretty much stuck with the Magdalene,” she writes. So they had to lower her standing by identifying her with the sinning woman who cleans Jesus’ feet with her tears and wipes his feet with her long, untied hair, who is further identified as a prostitute.

The Orthodox Church has never made this identification, though it was suggested by the bishop of Rome (Pope Gregory the Great, 6^thcentury) when the east and west were still in communion. But even if she were a prostitute, such would not preclude her from eternal life with Christ in His Heavenly Kingdom, provided of course that she has sincerely repented and dedicated her life to Him. Another Mary, St. Mary of Egypt, was a licentious prostitute who became a hermit in the desert, repenting of her sins and becoming a blessed saint. Yet the Orthodox Church does not obsess about her former sins, but praises her present glory.

This disingenuous feminist Bible scholarship goes wrong at the very beginning by failing to see the complementary roles of men and women. It thinks that by posing questions about femininity it can stump the faith, because the faith says nothing about femininity except that it is wrong and to be suppressed.

The power of Christianity is in Christ’s Resurrection, and it was first revealed to Mary Magdalene, “the apostle to the apostles.” But, Acocella wonders, “Why her… why a woman?” Never does she suppose that this is something Christians consider and have come to conclusions about. She only presents it as a problem. But how can she ever come to a solution if nothing can be true, nothing can be known? Indeed she writes of the account of Magdalene’s witness to the Resurrection: “The fact that all four Gospels say that the Magdalene was the one strongly suggests that this indeed is what people said had happened.” Pretty firm.

Likewise, she has no concept of the Holy Spirit and how it guides the understanding of men. She writes, “The four Gospels, for the most part, are collections of oral traditions. Once they were written down, they served as a guide for preaching, but only as a guide.” Indeed, without the Holy Spirit, how could one reconcile all that Christian tradition teaches with the mere content of the Bible? How could one avoid Acocella’s characterization of the Orthodox anathema of the Gnostics as anything else but a sort of Empire hunting down and destroying the rebel traditions? It remains the case, that if you don’t believe in the Word of God, then you are lost, and even the perfect explanation of these things are no help.

So what does the Church teach? Why a woman, indeed? And why did Jesus tell Mary Magdalene not to touch Him? An Orthodox exegesis of John 20:11-18 in The Bible and the Holy Fathers for Orthodox, compiled and edited by Johanna Manley, gives the answers. Note that Acocella takes this same passage to be “evidence of the Magdalene’s authority on matters of the soul.”

JOHN 11-18

11 But Mary stood outside the tomb weeping, and as she wept she stooped down and looked into the tomb. 12 And she saw two angels in white sitting, one at the head and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. 13 Then they said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him.” 14 Now when she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, and did not know that it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” She, supposing Him to be the gardener, said to Him, “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” 16 Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to Him, “Rabboni!” (which is to say, Teacher). 17 Jesus said to her “Do not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to My Father; but go to My brethren and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and to your Father, and to My God and your God.’” 18 Mary Magdalene came and told the disciples that she had seen the Lord, and that he had spoken these things to her.

On this passage, John Chrysostom writes:

Full of feeling somehow is the female sex, and more inclined to pity. I say this, lest you should wonder at how it could be that Mary wept bitterly at the tomb, while Peter was in no way so affected. For, ‘The disciples,’ it says, ‘went away to their own homes;’ but she stood shedding tears. Because hers was a feeble nature, and she yet did not know accurately the account of the Resurrection; whereas they having seen the linen cloths and believed, departed to their own homes in astonishment… She received no small reward for this great zeal of hers. For what the disciples did not see, this woman saw first, Angels sitting, the one at the feet, the other at the head, in white… (Jesus) knew what she wished to ask, and led her to make answer...

But why did He say, ‘Do not touch Me?’… I think that she wished still to converse with Him as before, and that in her joy she perceived nothing great in Him, although he had become far more excellent in the flesh. To lead her, therefore from this idea, and that she might speak to Him with much awe, (for neither with His disciples does He henceforth appear so familiar as before), He raises her thoughts, that she should give more reverent heed to Him. To have said, ‘Do not approach Me as you did before, for matters are not in the same state, nor will I henceforth be with you in the same way,’ would have been harsh and high-sounding, but saying, ‘I am not ascended to the Father,’ though not painful to hear, was the saying of the One declaring the same thing… Yet He was not about to do so immediately, only after forty days. How then does He say this? With a desire to raise their minds, and to persuade them that He departs into the heavens. (Homily LXXXVI on John XX)

And St. Augustine of Hippo writes:

With the heart spiritually to touch Christ is to know that he is equal to the Father. Therefore it was that He forbade Mary to touch Him, and said to her, ‘Do not touch Me, for I am not yet ascended to the Father.’ What is this? He gives Himself to be handled by the disciples, and did he shun Mary’s touch? …Or are we to say, that He did not fear to be touched by men, and feared to be touched by women? The touch of Him cleanses all flesh. To whom He willed first to be manifested, by them He feared to be handled? Was not His resurrection announced by women to the men, that so the serpent should by a sort of counterplot be overcome? For because he first by the woman announced death to man, therefore to men was also life announced by a woman. Then why was He unwilling to be touched, but because He would have it to be understood of that spiritual touch? The spiritual touch takes place from a pure heart. That person does of a pure heart reach Christ, with his touch who understands Him coequal with the Father. But whoso does not yet understand Christ’s Godhead, that person reaches but unto the flesh, reaches not unto the Godhead. (Homily III on I John II)

Dedicatory Epistle

2006-02-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, both now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

This "blog" is dedicated to the cousin of Christ, the Prophet and Forerunner John the Baptist, the "Angel of the Desert." With his help I hope for this "blog" to be itself an angel in the desert, free from the taint of undue complexity and useless debate; rather it shall be clothed simply and go uncelebrated, needing no more than a diet of locusts and and wild honey (simple experience) to subsist.

The plan at this point is to have an article or editorial (Yes, this is a journal even though I am currently the sole editor and sole contributor) every Sunday on some topic. I made this page in order to get back in the habit of regular writing of this sort; it will serve the same purpose as my contributions to The Gadfly (St. John's College of Annapolis student newspaper) did of old. Not so much for the audience, as for myself. I of course pursue this with the love and fear of God.