Lenten Lessons: Gordon Freeman on Perseverance

                  Our final Lenten Lesson comes courtesy of our own unofficial mascot, Dr. Gordon Freeman, and it deals with the most important human factor in any enterprise: perseverance.

                  When we first meet him, Gordon is a young theoretical physicist working in a top secret lab in New Mexico, where he functions basically as a lab assistant, doing the dangerous and uncomplicated work in advanced particle experiments.  By the time we leave him, he’s triumphed over an alien invasion, a Marine death squad, Special Forces, automated machine-gun turrets, helicopters, zombies, tripods, several giant monsters, a telepathic Lovecraftian-overlord, and his former boss, led a thus-far successful rebellion against an all-powerful inter-dimensional alien empire, explored a dimensional border-world, liberated an enslaved alien species, befriended a giant robot, launched two satellites, disproved String Theory*, and won the affections of a very attractive girlfriend.

                 *okay, I may have made that one up, but all the others are completely legitimate.

                  How did a nerdy, bespectacled lab-rat who never fired a gun in his life accomplish all that? Simple; he just kept going.

                  Gordon didn’t start out with any big plans or ambitions; all he wanted to do was to get out of the monster-infested Black Mesa Complex and get help for his friends still trapped below. He had no idea how he was going to do this, or even which way he needed to go to reach the surface. At every turn he encountered locked doors, collapsed ceilings, spilled chemicals, and other obstacles that threatened to trap him forever in the bowels of the complex. But Gordon simply met and responded to each of these problems as they came; he crossed each bridge as he came to it (literally in some cases).

                  For instance, Gordon never stopped to wonder how on Earth he would escape with the U.S. Marine Corp gunning for him. All he did was try to survive each individual encounter he had with them. The problem changed from “Oh, my God! The Marines want to kill me!” to “Oh, my God! These four guys want to kill me!” Which is a much more manageable problem.
                  Likewise, Gordon didn’t try to plan out a path to the surface; he had no means whatsoever of doing so! All he did – and all he could do – is keep moving forward down whatever open paths were available to him and hope that they eventually led somewhere. If he hit a dead end, he’d either try to get around it or go back and take another path. In this way, he successfully wormed and wound his way across almost the entire facility despite having literally no idea where he was going. The important thing was to just keep moving forward. If he stopped or went back, he would never have survived. Indeed, along the way he meets a number of fellow scientists or security guards, almost all of whom are determined to wait out the disaster in their own little hiding spots. None of them have thought their position through, though. For one thing, their trusting that neither the military nor the aliens will find them, which is a dubious hope at best. For another, the aliens are teleporting in more or less at random, meaning that there is no guarantee whatsoever that one of them won’t just teleport right into their “safe-zone.” Finally, most of these guys are so isolated, so well hidden, that they would have no way of knowing when or if the situation improves; they’d would simply be stuck there until they either died or ventured out (not to mention the fact that the facility itself is destroyed after the incident, so anyone who tried to wait it out died anyway).

                  Years later, after returning from the suspended animation he was placed in at the conclusion of the first story, Gordon finds himself in even more dire straits: the Earth has been conquered by the all-powerful Combine, and he has suddenly become one of the leaders of the resistance. Again, he proceeds deliberately, step-by-step, to unravel the Combine’s power. He doesn’t stop to consider how likely it is that he or any of his friends will survive, let alone succeed. All he does is continually and doggedly work to overcome each obstacle as it arises. When the rebel base is attacked and he himself is trapped underground, he makes his way through the zombie-infested town of Ravenholm. When Alyx, his partner and love-interest, is captured by the Combine, he simply breaks into the massive Citadel where she’s being kept.

                  Gordon, you see, embodies a very simple problem solving mentality; face and identify each problem, begin to work on improving or correcting the problem, and don’t stop until it is solved. Never give up; never surrender. No matter how hopeless, how horrible, how desperate the circumstances, Gordon just. Keeps. Going.

                  The secret to Gordon’s success is the same secret of all success; constant, relentless effort. In almost every endeavor, the person who does not give up cannot fail.

                  In our lives, we will fail. We will encounter obstacles. We will make mistakes. The only way we will triumph in the end is by simply pressing on passed them, picking ourselves up, and trying again. That’s the only way we can succeed.

And, more importantly, this is the dynamic of the Christian life. As St. Francis de Sales said, “In this battle we are assured of victory if only we will fight.” Every Christian is either Peter or Judas: when we sin (and we will), we either seek Christ’s mercy, or we despair.

Gordon Freeman provides us an example of the dogged, unfailing perseverance that can move mountains. He teaches us three main things on the subject:

1.     Focus on What Matters

Gordon doesn’t set out to be a hero. His path to becoming what he becomes started with him simply doing what he could to get out alive and help his friends. It’s in trying repeatedly to do this that he accomplishes everything else.

2.     Do What You Need to Do, Even if You Can’t See How

Time and time again, Gordon is faced with an impossible task; get to the surface. Get to the other side of the base. Kill the Nihilanth. Rescue Alyx from the Citadel. Each time he attempts it without hesitation and accomplishes it simply by responding to each situation as it came. He doesn’t try to plan out any brilliant schemes; he simply sees his objective and starts moving towards it.

3.     If You Don’t Give Up, You Can’t Lose

Every time his opponents think they have him trapped or beaten, Gordon fights or thinks his way out of his predicament and just keeps coming. He becomes what he becomes for the simple reason that he never gives up. He triumphs because he focuses on his goal and works toward it unwavering, unable to be moved by anything save death. Therefore, he wins.

Vive Christus Rex!  

Lenten Lessons: George Bailey on Sacrifice

                  After a few weeks of temptation, sin, suffering, and redemption, we’re now ready to begin on how to avoid these things in the first place. Namely, by looking beyond ourselves and sacrificing for the good of others. And our lesson in sacrifice comes courtesy of someone who knows the subject very well; George Bailey of Bedford Falls.

 

                  Young George is a man ready to conquer the world. He plans to first tour Europe, then go to college to become an engineer and travel the world building new kinds of structures. He wants to, in his words, “do something big! Something important!” Something that doesn’t involve staying in the “crummy little town” of Bedford Falls.

                  At every stage, however, his dreams of success are frustrated. The sudden death of his father makes him cancel his trip to Europe. The need to save his father and uncle’s “Building and Loan” business causes him to abandon his college plans and send his younger brother, Harry, instead. When Harry returns from college with a wife and a job offer, George decides he can’t ask him to take over the Building and Loan as planned, forcing him to remain indefinitely. Even his Bermuda honeymoon is cancelled when he and his wife, Mary, spontaneously decide to use the money to help the Building and Loan customers during the Great Depression.

                  At first glance, it might seem like George is simply plagued with bad luck. But it’s not bad luck. At every stage, George chooses his losses. A sacrifice is, by definition, a choice. He doesn’t lose his dreams; he gives them up for a greater good. He didn’t have to give up anything. No one made him give up his trip to Europe. No one made him skip college, or give away his honeymoon money. At every point he could easily have gone the other way, especially when, during the bank-run episode, all he had to do was to keep driving.

                  What makes George the hero of the picture is that, whenever he is faced with a choice between what he wants and what will help someone else, he always chooses the latter.

                  Take, for instance, the moment where George’s brother, Harry, returns from college with a wife and a job offer. The understanding between the two brothers was that Harry would go to college while George ran the Building and Loan, then Harry would take over and George could pursue his own dreams. After Harry’s wife, Ruth, let’s slip about the job, Harry quickly assures George that he has no intention of backing out of their arrangement and that he intends to turn the offer down to run the Building and Loan as agreed. George, though, quietly talks with Ruth and discovers that the opportunity really is a good one, one that would bring Harry a good future. So, he has Harry take it and assumes control of the Building and Loan permanently.

                  There are a couple things to note here. One is that, while George repeatedly sacrifices his most cherished desires for others, he never compromises himself. That is, he never loses his enthusiastic, romantic temperament. After the incident with his honeymoon money, George leads the other Building and Loan employees in celebrating their survival with a mock parade and jokes about “mamma dollar and papa dollar.” Later on, while opening his new housing development, George welcomes the new tenants with a ritualistic gift ceremony.

                  The other thing to note is that every time George gives up something, either he or someone dear to him gains something in return. When he gives up his college dreams, his brother Harry gets the chance to become a great football star (not to mention the aforementioned wife and career). When he steps aside and allows Harry to take his job, he, George, ends up having a life-changing encounter with his future wife, Mary. After he gave up their honeymoon, Mary and his friends set up an abandoned house as a honeymoon suite. As their friends serenade them from outside, Mary reminds him of a night, years earlier, when they made wishes by throwing rocks at that same house. “This is what I wished for,” she whispers.

                  So we see, sacrifice does not mean a complete loss, either of oneself or of one’s dreams. Rather, it means a shifting: a redirection. Our energies are channeled towards other purposes. Our dreams and the dreams of others meld, so that when we lose our own dreams we take up another’s and find that they are even better.

                  Then, of course, comes the great crisis in George’s life: his Uncle Billy loses $5000 of their company’s money, greedy old Mr. Potter is ready to have the law on him, and George, in despair, considers suicide so that his family can have his insurance money.

                  This crisis, for George at least, is yet another one of his sacrifices. Despite angrily telling Uncle Billy that he wouldn’t take the fall for the old man’s stupid mistake, when the chips are down George does indeed claim responsibility for the accident, knowing full well what that will mean for him.

                  Then the other shoe drops: Heaven sends Clarence Oddbody, Angel Second Class, and George is given the “great gift” of seeing what the world would be like had he never been born; had he never made those sacrifices.

                  There is no need to go over the nightmare of “Pottersville” here. Some have complained that the story stacks the deck to far in George’s favor by making him uniquely responsible for the well-being of his community. They miss the point. The point is that what hold the forces of evil at bay is ordinary men, like George, making sacrifices: choosing to give up their own dreams for the sake of others. In so doing, moreover, George doesn’t just save his town from ruin and moral decay, but he personally gains much more than he ever imagined. In the end, finds himself surrounded by family and friends, every single one of them ready and eager to shower him with love and thanks for all he has done for them. All he has given up has rendered him, in the words of his football-star, researcher, war-hero brother, “The richest man in town.”

                  George’s wonderful life teaches us three main things about sacrifice:

1.     Sacrifice is Always a Choice

Every sacrifice George he chose himself. At no point did anyone force him, or did circumstances compel him to do what he does.

2.     Sacrifice Never Involves Giving Up One’s Unique Personality

George may give up his dreams of travel and adventure, but he never loses his romantic worldview.

3.     Sacrificing what We Think We Want Often Leads to Something Better

In the end, George is a richer, happier, and better man than he ever would have been had he succeeded in his own dreams. He has his family and the love of the whole town, almost all of whose lives he has enriched and made better. Trips to Europe, wealth, education, and fame seem trivial compared to that.  

Vive Christus Rex!

Lenten Lessons: Godzilla on Redemption

                This week’s (okay, last week's; sorry I'm so late again) Lenten Lesson on redemption comes courtesy of a character with an especially dramatic redemptive arch. I refer, of course, to Godzilla.

                When we first meet him, Godzilla is, well, he’s a bad guy. Displaced and mutated by an H-Bomb, he lashes out at humanity in anger and misery. When this leads inevitably to humans fighting back, he simply hits harder in response. It’s a brutal cycle; Godzilla attacks, humanity tries to fight him, he becomes even more embittered and angry as a result and lashes out all the more. He carelessly vents his anger on anyone; innocent or guilty. Even on those who are not and cannot be a part of the conflict (as seen when he attacks Mothra’s vulnerable egg).

                The tragic part is that the whole thing is a ghastly mistake; Godzilla was never the target of intentional harm, only (arguably) a victim of short-sightedness and hubris. Moreover, he is lashing out at people who really had nothing to do with his victimization in the first place (since it wasn’t the Japanese who dropped the bomb on Bikini Atoll). His unthinking, blind rage boils down to nothing but wanton destruction and death, while his brutal counterattacks when he encounters resistance are both obviously unnecessary (since he’s effectively invulnerable) and far out of proportion.

                Of course, it could be argued that we can’t really expect him to understand this since he’s not human. However, he does show great intelligence, even pushing sentience so the moral question remains; he’s a brutal, rage-filled engine of destruction who in his bitterness and anger brings death and disaster to innocent people.

                That’s where we meet him and where, for a long time, he remains. But slowly, by degrees, he begins to change.

                It might be said that there are two catalysts for spiritual redemption; the first is to see something good and desire it, the other is to see something horrible and flee from it. Godzilla’s story is primarily an example of the latter. What sets him on the path to redemption is an encounter with someone much, much worse than he; King Ghidorah, the three-headed dragon. Ghidorah flies from planet to planet, wiping out any life he finds before moving on. There’s no reason for any of this; apparently, he just enjoys it. Godzilla may lash out in anger, but Ghidorah commits omnicide for fun.

                Though initially reluctant to do anything that would help humanity, the sheer force of Ghidorah’s evil (combined with an example of selfless courage from Mothra) awakens Godzilla’s latent nobility. In a desperate battle, he joins forces with Mothra and Rodan to drive Ghidorah off. In the process, something changes inside him. Perhaps it’s the realization of what he could become, or perhaps it’s the fact that, for once, he is looking beyond his own anger, but for whatever reason he loses his taste for wanton destruction. After his encounter with Ghidorah, he never willingly attacks humanity again.

                That’s not to say he doesn’t remain dangerous and unpredictable. Rather, with the cycle of violence broken at last, he retreats to the more deserted areas of the world, such as the south pacific, where he mostly keeps to himself, lashing out only when he’s bothered. There he unexpectedly discovers another of his own species; this one an infant. Instinctively, yet reluctantly, he adopts the creature (dubbed ‘Minira’).

                This act, instinctual, impulsive, possibly unwilling, has a profound effect upon him. For the first time, Godzilla has someone else to care about, and to care for. He is taken out of himself by taking responsibility for Minira, and in the process he finds himself at last. His angers cools, and he is finally able to live in peace with his adopted son, and even the other monsters who end up living with them. He becomes, in the end, even a kind of hero; leading a final charge against a returned King Ghidorah and ending an alien invasion before returning peacefully to his island home with his son.

                Godzilla takes a long, tortuous, winding road to redemption. In the process, he teaches us four things:

1.       Vengeance and Lashing out in Anger are Wrong

Godzilla’s bitterness and anger towards mankind are understandable; he was ripped from his natural environment, transformed into a massive abomination of nature, and left to fend for himself. But his violent reaction is nevertheless inexcusable, since not only was his suffering a completely unintended mistake, but he isn’t even lashing out at the people responsible. Moreover, by so doing he simply creates a never-ending cycle of violence in which he attacks, humanity retaliates, and he retaliates even harder.

2.       The Only Way to Break the Cycle of Vengeance is Through Charity and Mercy

What finally snaps Godzilla out of this cycle is when he rushes to the aid of an enemy. Seeing Mothra being pathetically outmatched by King Ghidorah, he comes to her aid. In the process, he not only is helping her but also humanity itself. By doing good for his enemies, he inadvertently causes a kind of ‘ceasefire,’ in which he leaves humanity alone and vice versa.

3.       Extreme Good and Extreme Evil can Lead Us to Redemption

Godzilla’s redemption is set in motion by two things: Mothra’s courage and Ghidorah’s cruelty. Seeing Mothra going off to engage in a hopeless battle against the three-headed dragon clearly shocks Godzilla, so much so that he can’t help following to watch. When he sees how outmatched she is and how merciless Ghidorah is, he snaps out of his selfishness and rushes to help.

4.       Responsibility Saves Us

The battle with King Ghidorah started Godzilla redemption, but it only took him so far. He didn’t become virtuous so much as he just stopped sinning (so to speak). What finally pushed him over the edge into becoming a true hero was when he took responsibility for Minira. Forced to look beyond himself and his own needs and desires, Godzilla paradoxically finds himself and achieves something like real happiness.

Vive Christus Rex!

Lenten Lessons: Prince Zuko on Suffering

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                  This week’s lesson, following after the last, is the inevitable result of sin: suffering. And our guide is a character very familiar with the subject: Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation.

  

                  First some background: Avatar: The Last Airbender tells the story of a world comprised of four nations based on the four elements: the Fire Nation, the Earth Kingdom, the Water Tribe, and the Air Nomads. Each of these nations has its own ‘bending’ art which allows certain people to manipulate their specific element. The Avatar is a person born once a generation who can control all four.

                  The story goes that, one-hundred years before the start of the series, the Fire Nation launched an all-out attack on the other nations, seeking to become the dominant power in the world. When we come in, it is very close to achieving its goal, until our heroes intervene.

                  There’s a lot going on in the story, but today we’re only concerned with one character: Zuko, crown prince of the Fire Nation. His story arch is a long, rough, misery-laden road that eventually molds him from an arrogant, hot-headed young prince into…well, I’ll leave that unsaid for now.

                  Zuko is a character who, as he himself puts it at one point, is never happy. He’s constantly grouchy, sullen, and miserable. And he’s miserable because he’s focused entirely upon one thing which he is convinced will make him happy: capturing the Avatar.

                  Why is Zuko convinced that this will solve all his problems? That’s a little complicated. You see, prior to the start of the series, Zuko had managed to talk his kindly Uncle Iroh into allowing him to sit in on a war meeting (Zuko was thirteen at the time). But when Zuko heard one of the generals planning to callously sacrifice a platoon of eager young soldiers in a suicide attack, he angrily denounced the man for betraying people who loved their nation.

                  In consequence, Zuko’s father, Fire Lord Ozai, said that Zuko had committed an act of “total disrespect” and would have answer for it in a duel. Zuko, thinking this meant dueling the general he had insulted, accepted. But when the duel commenced, he discovered that he had been mistaken; it was the Fire Lord himself who had been insulted, and so Zuko was forced to duel his own father.

                  Zuko, naturally, refused, bowing low and pleading for pardon. In response, the Fire Lord told him “You will learn respect. And suffering will be your teacher” before burning half his face away.

                  Disgusted with his son, the Fire Lord banished him, saying he could only return if he captured or killed the Avatar; an impossible task, since the Avatar had been missing for the past century, and most people thought he had vanished entirely. Zuko, unwilling to believe his father had completely forsaken him, takes to the task with single-minded determination, the scar on his face a constant reminder of his shame and disgrace.

                  The unspoken reality, however, which Iroh knows and which Zuko cannot accept is that the Fire Lord really doesn’t care whether Zuko finds the Avatar or not. He just wanted to get his son out of his sight where he couldn’t disrupt his plans. Zuko is half-killing himself chasing an illusion.

                  And when I say ‘half-killing himself,’ I’m actually understating the problem. At different points Zuko gets into another duel with a master fire-bender, narrowly escapes an erupting volcano, gets blown up in an assassination attempt, nearly freezes to death, and practically drowns himself while chasing after his goal. Indeed, at one point he does consider killing himself, though fortunately Iroh sternly talks him out of it.

                  The sad thing is that Zuko did nothing at all to deserve all he goes through. He gets humiliated, tortured, dishonored, and banished by his own father for doing the right thing. Though sin did not cause his sufferings, his sufferings lead him into sin.

                  As Zuko sinks deeper into despair, he makes increasingly wrong choices. His relentless pursuit of the Avatar causes him to threaten and attack innocent people. His destitution leads him into stealing, even from people who show him kindness (“they’re about to show a little more kindness” he say when Iroh points this out). He’s frequently arrogant and sometimes manipulative. His sins culminate in his very worst moment (which I won’t spoil here) where he finds himself at a moral crossroad…and makes the wrong choice.

                  However, at the same time that he is driven into despair and sin by his sufferings, he also finds unexpected grace which lays the seeds that could lead to his redemption. His years away from home allow him to develop a close bond with his wise and kindly uncle, who proves to be a true father to him. He discovers the dignity of the poor, oppressed people of his enemy nations. He learns patience, humility, and discipline. His sufferings force him to step out of himself and truly grow as a person.

                  Of course, it takes him a while to understand this. From his perspective, all the crap he goes through is just because the universe hates him. “You’re like my sister,” he tells the Avatar at one point. “My father says that she was born lucky. He says that I was lucky to be born.” In another scene he stands on top of a mountain in a storm yelling at the heavens “Come on, strike me! You’ve never held back before!”

                  Zuko, as noted, spends most of the show chasing after something, subsuming everything he has in pursuit of his goal. Then there comes a point where he has achieved it...and finds that he’s more miserable than ever. When forced to say why, he says “because I’m not sure I know the difference between right and wrong anymore.”

                  As you can see, Zuko’s reactions to his sufferings are, like most people’s mixed. On the one hand, it frequently leads him into bitterness, self-pity, and sinful behavior. On the other, he finds himself almost unconsciously learning valuable lessons and maturing from an arrogant teenager into a mature, honest young man. He teaches us three main things about suffering:

1.     Suffering is Not Necessarily Your Fault

We often fall into the trap of thinking “What did I do to deserve this?” but, like Zuko, often times we haven’t done anything to deserve it. Suffering can be the result of our sins, but it’s just as likely to be due to another person’s sin that affects us. Or it could be neither; it could be simply because suffering is what you need to become the person you're meant to be.

2.     Suffering Can Make Us Better People

Cruel as Ozai’s actions are, he turns out to be correct; suffering indeed proves to be Zuko’s teacher, and it makes him into something much more than he ever would have been otherwise, to the point that, in the end, after all he's been through, he can say to his father “Banishing me was the best thing you could have done for my life.”

3.     Getting What We Think We Want Won’t Make Us Happy

“What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?”

Zuko eventually gets everything he wants, but at the cost of his ability to know right from wrong. Without a clear conscience, without a moral center, all the honor, wealth, and even love in the world won’t do us any good. Zuko has his throne, he’s beloved by his people, he has his girlfriend, Mai…and he can’t enjoy any of it because he’s lost himself.

Sometimes, the means to escape suffering is to let go of the goal we’re suffering for and to look for happiness elsewhere.

Vive Christus Rex!  

Lenten Lessons: Gollum on Sin

(Yes, I know I'm running extra behind this week. Sorry)

This week’s Lenten Lesson is on Sin and comes courtesy of Gollum, who is well acquainted with the subject. 

 

                  Now, Gollum is an interesting case because he isn’t what springs to mind when one thinks of evil. He’s actually, at times, a charming character in his own way, and certainly pitiable. Yet, he is also, when it comes down to it, a character wholly consumed by sin.

It was part of Tolkien’s genius that he was able to show his villains as loathsome, unimpressive creatures compared to his infinitely more interesting and exciting heroic characters (frankly, he’s practically unique in being able to pull this off; in most works of fiction, the villain is the really interesting one). Gollum is a good example of this. He’s dangerous, cunning, and malevolent for sure, but he’s also pathetic, emaciated, and miserable.

Gollum started life as Smeagle; a small, Hobbit-like creature who lived on the banks of the Great River. From the little we learn of his life, he was already a greedy, selfish piece of work, but things really went wrong for him when, one day, his friend Deagle fished the Ring out of the  riverbed. Smeagle, enticed by the beauty of the Ring, demands that Deagle give it to him, and when he refuses, Smeagle kills him for it.

Discovering that the Ring turns him invisible, Smeagle (nicknamed ‘Gollum’ by his relatives for the noise he makes in his throat) uses it to play tricks, spy, and steal. He causes so much trouble in his community that his grandmother (the matriarch) casts him out. Cursing his lot, Gollum goes on his way and eventually seeks refuge under the mountains, where he expects to find ‘great secrets,’ but actually only finds endless night and cold and hunger.  

Gollum serves as a remarkably apt example of the effects of sin on a person. He is driven by the desire for one specific thing (the Ring), which has never brought him any good, and which, deep down, he knows will never make him happy. Yet, when he’s separated from it, he dwells on fantasies on how it might solve all his problems if he could only lay hold of it again: he would keep it safe from Sauron. He would use it to become a new Dark Lord and never be hungry again. He would pay back everyone who had ever ‘wronged’ him.

All these are, from our perspective, obviously lies. The idea that Gollum could hide from Sauron, or that he could even grow powerful enough to challenge him, is laughable. But Gollum can’t help but listen to these ideas, and they pull him back into his evil ways.

Gollum, therefore, lives in a state of perpetual temptation; the Ring calls to him every minute of every day, enticing him with grandiose lies to come back to it. But, of course, neither the Ring nor its master gives a hoot about Gollum; they only see him as a possible tool to reunite them. 

A particularly interesting effect that the Ring has on Gollum is that it inspires him to loathe good things: the sun, the moon, family, good food, friendship, etc. It’s implied that he already had some dislike of some of these things to begin with, which helped the Ring ensnare him, but once he gave himself wholly over to it, they became intolerable to him. Thus he complains that the sun burns him, that his family had mistreated him, and that cooking food ‘ruins it.’ But at the same time, he can’t actually like what the Ring brings him in return; darkness, loneliness, and cold fish. They simply aren’t things that can be liked. He has lost his ability to love things that can be loved, so he has no choice but to prefer the unlovable.  As Gandalf says, he hates the dark, but he hates the light more.

This inability to enjoy the good is a mark of sin. We see it today in men who are so wrapped up in their pornography addictions that they prefer the porn to their actual wives. Or in people who have spent so much time listening to rotten music that they can’t even enjoy good music when they hear it. Spend enough time in the dark, and the light becomes nothing but blinding (slight detour into The Dark Knight Rises there).

Gollum spent hundreds of years alone in the dark with himself, so that when he finally emerged he was a wreck of a creature; emaciated, insane, and amoral. His loathing of goodness was by now such that he couldn’t even bear to touch anything made by the elves.

One more point about how Gollum has been ruined. He now is almost incapable of looking beyond himself and his own desires. Something like generosity, or altruism, or sacrifice would be totally alien to his mind (this is symbolized by the fact that he almost always talks to himself rather than to the other characters directly). He complains about how the sun burns him, or how hungry he is, or how cruelly he has been treated, but he never offers comfort or seriously inquires after the other characters. In short, as far as he’s concerned it’s all about him and his precious self.

But, at the same time, for all the above, it’s repeatedly stressed that he might not be completely without hope. Gandalf describes to Frodo how the murder of Deagle had haunted Gollum’s conscience during his long years alone, and how Gollum had made up a lie to justify himself, which he had repeated until he almost believed it. In the same conversation, Gandalf points out that Gollum was almost pleased to meet Bilbo, after going so long without hearing a friendly voice, and to bring up long-lost memories of sun and grass and family (though Gandalf explains that this only made him angry in the end).

Indeed, Gollum actually does come very close to repenting at one point. Seeing Frodo and Sam asleep together, looking so peaceful, Gollum is briefly struck by the beauty of their friendship and, cautiously, makes the first step towards repenting…when Sam wakes up and kills the moment with a harsh word.

Gollum is fittingly one of the most striking, memorable, and haunting figures of The Lord of the Rings. He repulses us in his treacherous natures, yet also invites our pity because he is so miserable, and because his lot seems so unfair. He teaches us four main things about Sin:

1.     Sin Subsumes Us in an Overwhelming Desire.

Sin is very much the opposite of Piety. Piety is losing ourselves in the desire for Christ, but Sin is losing ourselves in the desire for something else. Gollum loses himself to the Ring, and we lose ourselves to, say, pleasure or power or ‘self-identity.’ The difference is that Christ gives us ourselves back, good as new. Sin takes ourselves and never gives them back.

2.     Sin kills the Desire for Good

In our desire for whatever leads us into sin, we eventually lose our desire for things that are actually desirable, leaving us miserable and angry at everything around us and with no apparent way out.

3.     Sin is Self-Centered

Sin ultimately comes down to choosing ourselves over everything else; it becomes all about what I want, what I need. Now, this may seem to contradict number 1 above, but actually they’re two sides of the same point. By chasing after something to satisfy ourselves, we lose ourselves, because that’s not what we were meant for. “He who would save his life will lose it.”

4.     All Sin is Redeemable

While Gollum tragically is unable to complete his repentance due to a harsh word from Sam, the fact that he came so close, that almost succeeded shows that even he, after his long, long years of misery, still had the chance to be saved. It’s a reminder to us that no matter what we’ve done, God can call us back. It is also a cautionary reminder to be gentle with others, even those who may seem unredeemable, because you never know when you might close the door of Grace that has suddenly been opened to them and might not be opened again.

Lenten Lessons: Peter Parker on Temptation

For Lent I’m going to put the Famous Catholic project on hold (give me time to gather more names and do some research) and replace it with ‘Lenten Lessons.’ Each week, I’ll examine a particular fictional character who I think illustrates a useful subject for Lenten reflections.

                  We begin with the subject of Temptation, and our illustrative figure is Peter Parker AKA Spider-Man (as realized in the definitive, yet sadly short-lived show The Spectacular Spider-Man). 

                  When we first meet him, teenager Peter is exalting in his newfound identity as Spider-Man. He’s had a whole summer of just easy-going, carefree crime fighting and, as far as he’s concerned, everything is possible. After a lifetime of being the perpetually bullied class nerd, together with his best friends Harry Osborne and Gwen Stacey, Peter’s ready to take Junior Year by storm.

                  His newfound enthusiasm is brought to a screeching halt the next day. His ill-thought-out attempt to ask out a cheerleader ends disastrously. His nemesis, Flash Thompson, is able to push him around just as easily as ever. He discovers that his new after-school job is an unpaid position, and not only that, but his attempt to pitch himself as a photographer to the Daily Bugle newspaper ends with the Bugle’s editor, J. Jonah Jameson, throwing him out of the office (right before stealing his idea).

                  What Peter comes to realize is that being Spider-Man does not automatically make his life any better. As a matter of fact, as time goes on, it almost seems to make things worse. He loses his after-school job when he thoughtlessly sells pictures of himself fighting his mutated boss, Curt Connors (sometimes The Lizard). His friendship with Harry takes a hit when he becomes so concerned with battling the Shocker that he forgets all about his promise to help Harry study. His frequent late nights out end up getting him grounded.

                  In the face of all this, he begins to face increasing temptations to compromise his moral values. After the Lizard incident, Peter is so frustrated that he considers using a ‘gene cleanser’ he swiped from the lab to erase his spider powers. Not long after he toys with the idea of using his superhuman abilities to join the football team and gain some popularity at school. Far more serious is when the mob boss, Tombstone, offers to pay him handsomely just to look the other way on occasion. With his elderly aunt trying to decide whether the pay the electric, gas, or water bill this month, Peter can’t help but be tempted.

                  But the worst temptation of all comes when Peter ‘accidentally’ acquires a new suit: a power-enhancing, self-regenerating black alien ‘symbiote’ that takes an immediate liking to him. The suit allows him to save numerous people that he would otherwise have failed, but at the same time he didn’t exactly acquire it legally…

                  It is easy to justify sin; temptation wouldn’t be temptation if it didn’t sound reasonable. Every time Peter makes a mistake, he first justifies it to himself. When he considers cheating his way onto the football team, he tells himself that he’s just using his natural talent. When he decides to keep the symbiote, he justifies it by saying that he’s using it to help people.

                  The thing about temptation is that it always involves chasing something good. It may be an obviously inferior good (money, popularity) or it may be a genuinely important good (saving innocent lives). And Peter is not alone in this; almost every bad decision made by any character in the series has a clear path of temptation leading up to it. For instance, Dr. Connors made a bad choice in experimenting on himself, a choice that nearly ends up getting a lot of people killed (including his own family). His goal, however, was a laudable one; helping amputees like himself regain their lost limbs. Or consider Adrian Toombs, the Vulture; his anger with Norman Osborne (Harry’s father) is entirely justified, since Osborne stole his invention. Max Dillan AKA Electro’s anger over his condition and the treatment he receives because of it is likewise not only understandable, but tragic. And it isn’t just villains. Harry Osborne, who like Peter is a perpetually bullied nerd, quite naturally wants to earn some respect both from his peers and from his cold, objectivist father, which leads him into drug abuse. 

Left to Right: Rhino, Electro, Dr. Octopus, Sandman, Shocker, Vulture

                  In each of these cases, the character feels himself justified in making the choices he does. And, in a sense, they are; they are either chasing a legitimate good or have an honest complaint that they are trying to rectify. Their choices, therefore, are justified by expedience: by need.

                  Need and personal experience (such as Harry’s need to impress his father, or Electro’s justifiable anger over his condition) are the fuels of temptation. That’s why a ‘personal morality’ is not just philosophically dubious, but actually worthless in practical terms. A personal morality, a morality based on one’s personal experience or feelings, has no substance to it; it’s made of the same thing as the temptations it’s supposed to protect against, so as soon as a particularly strong or subtle temptation appears, it crumbles. A personal morality is a house built on sand (though, ironically, the Sandman himself turns out to have a stronger moral code than you might expect).

                  What separates Peter from the other characters is that his morality is based on external, objective principles bequeathed to him by his Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Stealing and killing are always wrong. Honor your word. With great power comes great responsibility. Peter’s efforts to keep to these codes are imperfect and uneven, but at every point they are what keeps him from falling from the path of righteousness. Peter’s house is built on a rock (I’m not sure whether it was intentional, but surely the name ‘Peter’ is significant in this context). 

                  It also helps that whenever Peter strays from this path, he pays a heavy price. When he first acquired his powers and tried to use them irresponsibly, it cost the life of his uncle. When he kept the black suit despite the fact that it wasn’t his, it not only cost him his oldest friend, Eddie Brock, but also led to the creation of Venom, one of his most dangerous foes (and who comes very close to killing Aunt May, Gwen, and Peter himself).

On the other hand, whenever a character adheres to the morally correct choice despite the apparent consequences, he meets with unexpected success. Take, for instance, Flash Thompson. Peter’s main tormenter, Flash comes off as nothing more than your typical jock: loud, ignorant, and boastful. When he discovers that Harry had been juicing during their last football championship – which Flash had ruined his leg to win – he at first swears Harry to silence…then comes clean himself. “Championship’s worthless if it’s not won fair and square,” he grouses to his furious teammates. As they walk away in disgust, however, an attractive girl that Flash has been trying to win over for the past few episodes without success comes up to him to say that she was impressed by his honesty, and now that she sees what kind of person he really is, she’s up for going out with him.

                  Peter weaves and dodges around temptations as quickly, agilely, and imperfectly as he dodges his opponent’s attacks in battle. Sometimes he passes through them seemingly effortlessly, other times he takes a brutal hit and goes down painfully. But each time he gets back up; he asks forgiveness from the people he’s hurt and he hits back twice as hard. He teaches us three main things about temptation:

1.     Build Your House on a Rock

You can only survive temptation if you have moral principles that are external, objective, and non-negotiable.

2.     Allow no Compromise

Pope Benedict XVI describes it this way:

“Moral posturing is part and partial of temptation. It does not invite us directly to do evil. No that would be far too blatant. It pretends to show us a better way, where we finally abandon our illusions and throw ourselves into the work of actually making the world a better place.”

Compromise; telling us that by abandoning one of our more ‘abstract’ values we can do more concrete good, is one of the most effective means of temptation, and, consequently, tends to have the most severe consequences (as shown here in the creation of Venom). It’s important to remember that we aren’t only tempted to doing superficial, lesser goods such as money or pleasure; the worst temptations of all are those that invite to do something great and useful, but in the wrong way.

3.     Ask Forgiveness

Whenever we fall (and we will), we need to present ourselves contritely before those we’ve wronged, admit our failure, and ask their forgiveness. We can’t change what we’ve done, but we can make it known that we intend to change what we will do in the future.

When you fall, get back up, ask forgiveness, and resolve to do better in the future.

Vive Christus Rex!