Eric Sammons, last heard from blaming a global Pandemic, not on the selfish sociopaths among the Greatest Catholics of All Time who refused to observe sane health precautions or take a moment’s thought for the aged and immunocompromised in their midst, but on desperately poor Amazonian Catholics who sought only to obtain the sacraments and some meager pastoral care…
…has pivoted from this superstitious folly (indistinguishable from the sort of thinking that threw Jews down wells during times of plague) to this:
It is remarkable that the Greatest Catholics of All Time can so easily do hellworthy things to the least these, such as ginning up hatred against innocent Catholic brothers and sisters and blaming them for the death of millions merely because of a trivial aesthetic difference, and then turn around and hope for the damnation of others.
The gospel teaches us to pray for the salvation of all and to hope for it. The Reactionary Freak Show, allergic to charity and deeply committed to the hope of damnation for the many, many countless people it hates, always reacts with horror when somebody hopes and prays as the Church has always commanded us to hope and pray. Because for the sociopathic narcissist, the gospel is not about salvation, but about the erection of a complex system of reducing valves designed to keep as many people as possible out of the very exclusive Club of the Elect: a club that only includes the sociopathic narcissist and those rare people who are extensions of his ego. Sacraments exist, in this perverted vision of the gospel, not as sure encounters with God, but as a series of hoops through which we jump in order to earn the favor of a severe, merciless God who wants to damn as many people as possible.
There are two enemies of the virtue of Hope. The first is Presumption and the second is Despair. Both claim to know what no human being can possibly know: the End of the Story. There is nothing at all wrong with hoping that all will be saved. And given that the Church specifically teaches us to pray for that it seems to me to be a healthy thing to hope, just so long as we remember that it is a hope and not a claim of certain knowledge. In contrast, the Church warns of the possibility of damnation and eternal loss, but absolutely forbids us to hope for the damnation of any person. We are to love our enemies, not pronounce on their eternal destinies.
If Sammons had argued against claiming certitude that Hell is empty I would be right there with him. Presumption is dangerous–precisely because it , like Despair, destroys the virtue of Hope, which is all we have in this life. But as is so often the case with Reactionaries, Sammon attacks not presumption, but the virtue of Hope itself.
Advertisement
10 Responses
Well said. Written. Whatever. Anyway…
Presumption and hope are two very different things. I suspect some souls will end up in Hell. But I hope not. I sincerely hope not. And I am in good company, because the Blessed Virgin herself gave us this prayer at Fatima:
“O My Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy mercy. Amen”
Why would the Blessed Mother instruct us to pray for the Lord to lead ALL (her words, not mine) to Heaven if there was no hope for it?
Anyone who is sincerely hoping that there are souls in Hell has joined the wrong team.
I do t have time to listen to the article but the belief that we can be certain that there are people in hell but do not know who in particular (with perhaps Judas) has been widely held in the church. It was the view of for example Augustine and Aquinas.
I can hope that no one will get cancer and pray for that but it’s not a reasonable belief in the strict scheme of things
You’ve misrepresented the article.
Did you miss this:
“But there is a big difference between hoping Hell is empty and hoping and praying for the salvation of each individual soul.”
There is no difference whatsoever.
They’re the same thing. If you can’t hope for an empty Hell, you can’t hope for the salvation of each individual soul. If you hope that each individual soul is saved, you hope that Hell is empty.
It’s interesting that more and more people find the Church abhorrent and evil because She doesn’t condemn anyone and openly hopes that people committing the gravest péché du jour still end up in Heaven.
In times of Jesus there was no worse sin than adultery. Simply put, it was inexcusable and unforgivable. John 8 was scandalous to listeners of Jesus. It’s easy to forget when reading that passage today because, while translators remained faithful to the original text, the attitude to faithlessness changed significantly and it’s no longer the worst imaginable offence, and not only is it forgiven, it’s easily excused.
If you were to view that passage through a modern lens, Jesus could very well be forgiving a child molester*, perhaps a photographer making underage pornography, and his accusers could very well comprise people who were his consumers or who profited from his business, who supplied him with victims, who were perhaps rich and powerful, and finally, the rest of the mob could be people who turned a blind eye to the suffering because it’s “none of their business” — until a lynch mob was formed and they could take it out on him with no repercussions.
*) Yes, I’m aware that the analogy only goes so far here. John 8 has the adulteress, but doesn’t mention the man with who she sinned. And in case of a child molester, it goes without saying that we don’t blame the victim.
“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” — A lot of people these days would race to be the first ones. Consider high-profile people like Epstein, and the list of his potential customers. Nobody in his right mind would defend Epstein, pretty much everyone condemned him, but there’s an unsurprising lack of self-reflection or admission of shared guilt.
And people will gladly spew: “I hope he rots in Hell”. Yet the Church will still hope and pray for his salvation.
“Pachamama Did This”
Let’s assume for a moment that God will send a plague as punishment for dishonoring Him.
Suppose the St. Mary of the Amazon statue actually *was* Pachamama. In that case, throwing it into the Tiber should have fixed everything and no plague should follow.
But let’s assume the statue was a legitimate object of veneration. In that case, throwing it into the Tiber would have resulted in a plague.
QED. People living in glass houses shouldn’t throw bricks.
If there is a problem with inculturation, European imagery is likewise inculturated since the Renaissance, as the imagery, especially sculpture, imitated ancient Greek and Roman art. Thus, all religious imagery that Western Christians are familiar with, is likewise anathema and you can make a very convincing argument that “A Millennium Of Religious Art In The West Did This”.
One thing no one can argue with: the pachamama statues are ugly and stupid.
Our Lady of the Amazon was an expression of love for Our Lady by the poorest of the poor Catholics living in the Amazon Basin who had come to Rome seeking the sacraments. Your racist contempt for them is racist contempt for Christ. Be ashamed and repent.
Interesting. I can’t argue with that because it’s a comment on the aesthetics. So I won’t argue with that.
I appreciate art that requires vision, talent and effort to create. It’s clearly evident in Western works of art (Renaissance to just before Modernism since when art started detaching itself from the mainstream and shock and transgression is being rewarded) and I’ll readily admit that.
Before I comment on the “pachamama”, let me make a digression:
Look at Medieval art. They had limited tools, materials and consumables. If you look at the results, you can see the complete disdain for aesthetics; by the apparent lack of talent; by utter contempt for basic concepts like perspective.
It’s as if somebody gave crayons or a plastic knife and pieces of soap to a bunch of five-year olds and told them to go to town. And then decided to put the worst examples to the walls of a newly-built church.
Then I realized they need to be viewed differently. They’re symbolic and they’re not meant to be pretty pictures that draw the viewer to the aesthetics, but to present a reality beyond the picture. And they work perfectly for that.
Sure, the lacking tools and materials certainly didn’t help, but perhaps even with better tools, Medieval sacred art might not have looked that much different.
In a way, they discovered abstract art a millennium before modern artists. And we owe to them that blue is traditionally a Marian color because blue pigment was incredibly expensive (we still don’t have a “good” blue dye or pigment today for that matter) and if it was to be used, it needed to be used sparingly and only on the most important parts of the picture. Thus, Mary, since Christ was associated with red (blood) and purple (regalia).
Back to “pachamamas”: They’re the product of limited tools and limited time, but certainly not the product of limited effort, limited veneration or limited talent. It’s the best that can be done under the circumstances. Does it appeal to my sense of aesthetics? No. But I appreciate that people of the Amazon find it in them to express their love to Our Lady in the best that they can do under their circumstances and I admire the works for what they are.
Same as I wouldn’t disdain the incultured works done in Japanese, Chinese, Indian, African or Native American styles by authentic artists who are Catholic and that is their way of veneration.
During a retreat 25 years ago, I visited an exhibition of statues of Our Lady from all over the world. Statues that were venerated as miraculous. One of them was so odd that it stood out. It looked like a plastic doll and had hair. I can’t remember the country of origin, I’m almost certain it was South America, perhaps Bolivia. But don’t hold me by my word.
It looked so out of place that I thought somebody could have swapped it or added an “extra” to the collection.
I can’t find it now, whenever I search, google just responds with web stores to buy plastic statues of Mary in bulk.
Did I find it odd? Yes. Would I put that figure in my house? I don’t think so. But even then, I, the uncouth youth that I was, knew that this is not something to understand and appreciate, but something beyond that.
@A Guy
Thanks. Beautiful.
I once went to the home of an Ecuadorian lady named Maria Lourdes in Quito. She was engaged to my future father-in-law. It was the 80s so I can’t say that we Americans were the pinnacle of good taste or had anything to brag about considering our big hair, and the characters we admired, (some featured with Robin Leach on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, one who notably had a gold toilet)–but even I with my big hair couldn’t help but be appalled by the imitation Louis the 15th furniture she had adorning her living room. Upon closer examination I realized that the ornate gilded frames were actually made of plastic. I said nothing, but shook my head in my head. Maria Lourdes was clearly indigenous, and was sometimes mistaken for being Japanese.
If Maria Lourdes had had good enough taste to meld –let’s say Franz Wegner furniture–with Otavalan textiles and the Guayasamin painting she stole from my sister-in-law– she would have knocked it out of the park. If she’d had a niche with a warm spotlight on a Pachamama-looking statue of our Lady –instead of a plaster one of Our-Lady-of-the-1950s-Lipstick–I would have been impressed and considered it fitting.