Ritual

Edge has a recent entry on ritual. As a lifelong Episcopalian, I know something about ritual. I don't disagree with anything that the redoubtable Edge has to say, but I think it's much simpler.

We are theorizing creatures. We constantly try to tell ourselves stories that will explain the sense perceptions and feelings that we have, and revise those theories to fit new data that comes in. And that's the basis of ritual. Regardless of intent, you have ultimately no control over the 'meaning' of the ritual, although in the best cases, you're theory won't quite be able to grasp all of the data, leaving a sense of mystery and depth.

And, as Past President brought to my attention when he was orchestrating the initiation ritual that was my fantasy at Inferno last year, the best rituals engage all five senses.

Example Number One: Holy Communion. You hear the music from the choir and the words of the priest. You smell the incense. You see the vestments and the solemn faces. You taste the wine and the host. The theory or meaning? "I am in the presence of the Divine. I am being merged with my fellow communicants into the mystical body of Christ crucified. I am part of something much larger than myself." Or, quite possibly, "Why am I... a rational person living in the 21st Century, going through the motins of the mumbo jumbo of a First Century slave cult?"

Example Number Two: Boot Service. The man providing boot service tastes the leather and smells the leather. He feels the hard ground at his knees. He hears the voice of the Top addressing him as 'boy' and telling him what a good job he's doing. The meaning ascribed: "I am at my best when I'm submitting. This is when I am the most me. This man protects me and cares for me, and I honor him. I find joy in service." But also possible would be, "What am I doing? If anybody I know ever hears about this, I'll just throw myself off a bridge. Who does this chucklehead think he is? I'm a CFO for a multi-national corporation for god sakes! I could buy and sell his sorry ass in a heartbeat. How do I get myself in these degrading situations?"


I've heard comments recently along the lines of, "Your descriptions of S/M are so... clinical." And I reckon that similar thoughts might be running through your head, too. I don't think that a whipping scene is just just about endorphins. But I think it's mostly about endorphins. Or for the Top, Alpha brain waves that come from intense concentration.

That said, I am reminded of a passage in a book that I read decades ago, during, I believe, my senior year of college. It was William Barrett's The Illusion of Technique, and it was essentially an discussion of what Barrett viewed as being the dominant trends in Twentieth Century philosophy, Logical-Positivism, Existentialism, and Pragmatism. At the end of the book, he described how ever time he goes into his study, he pauses at the door, and blesses himself, making the sign of the cross with fingers to forehead, sternum, and left and right pectorals. He does this without thinking. He hasn't been in a church since he was a boy and feels no inclination to go. And, he talks about his dog. His dog is very old, and with age has come sickness and incontinence. She doesn't have much time left. The rational thing to do would be to put her down. Be he doesn't do that.

There is always mystery. There is always that certain something we can't quite grasp, the stranger we're pursuing on the street who disappears into a doorway before we can catch up. That, ultimately, is what makes life worth living.

I remember once when I was a teenager I recounted to my (rational, materialist) father how I had argued with a friend of mine who had become Born Again, was adopted a literal reading of the Bible as part of the deal (no dinosaurs, no Darwin). I felt I had won the argument, striking a blow for Reason. My father turned to me and looked me in the eye and said, "You should never do that. You should never judge what someone else needs to get themselves out of bed in the morning."

And since then, I never have.

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