Imperial War Museum

I live right nextdoor to this imposing edifice, immediately to the right of this pic, so given my own military service and my near-obsession with Napoleon and Frederick the Great, it was just a matter of time before I found myself lost here for five solid hours. It was a very powerful experience, with two whole floors devoted to "Crimes Against Humanity" and the Holocaust. I tended to disagree with quite a bit of the museum curators' point of view (I in fact do not think "any of us" could become genocides; I would posit that genocidal societies invariably are societies that devalue and subjugate women; once you subjugate 51%+ of your own population, it's much easier to begin sorting down those to kill; societies where women are not only equal but actually leaders are not ripe to become genocidal anytime soon it seems to me; etc, etc.). Also the snuff film sequence in the middle of the documentary, where we watch one Rwandan after another be slowly butchered, with a final close-up of a 12 year-old boy dying from a severe head gash, seemed to me to have the opposite effect of "sensitizing" us, especially after the documentary rather incredibly segues on from this to sing the praises of Fair Trade Coffee. I love Fair Trade Coffee, I endorse it unreservedly, but after watching the 12 year-old bleed out in close-up I simply wasn't in a very coffee kind of place, and the process of filming these graphic scenes always seems to skirt the edges of morality to me. Not to sound too harsh on the Imperial War Museum; it was in fact a very stirring experience that will remain with me long.

Mother Teresa's Dark Night of the Soul

A great deal of media coverage seems primed to hit over publication of Mother Teresa's private letters detailing her spiritual dryness over half a century of ministry. I tend to chalk this up to the classical "Dark Night of the Soul" idea, that those in regular and intimate communication with God don't always feel great about it, and that the mystery of suffering hits even the holiest among us. Some surprise is mentioned that Teresa seemed to feel this for so long, with no apparent respite, but I say that the problem with invading someone's private letters is that we don't know what went unrecorded, the single day of ecstasy or consolation so great that she didn't want to tell anyone about it.

The "Atheist Chic" movement is quick to say Teresa "realized" religion was a joke and that's why she spent half a century in spiritual pain. I would answer this with an only slightly less subversive idea; perhaps Teresa realized a great deal of pain over the lack of social justice in the world, specifically how the Christian Church contributes to much of this. Given the state of Christianity today, the days of mystics in ecstasy might well be finished, and perhaps this is a good thing. Running a hospice for AIDS victims is surely noble, but it might well cause one to reflect more on the type of "Christian morality" that influenced people's sexual decisions. Being the most famous nun in the world might well cause some painful doubt about the position of women in the world and in the church.

I don't mean to suggest that Teresa was tormented by a nagging, closeted liberalism, but rather that what we often dismiss as ideology might actually have a deeper spiritual significance that is unavoidable in the end. If one accepts the Natural Law framework that supports a theology of mystics and saintliness, the nagging subconscious realization that how Nature had been formally defined didn't seem to match everyday human reality might well cause anyone spiritual pain. Even a saint.

Letters! I get Letters!

Give yourself a quality point if you have that old song running through your head. I received a letter from my friend, to whom I will give the blog-alias la Marquise de Niegebourger. Yay me! Who's a big winner?! It took exactly ten days to arrive here, not nearly as bad as it could have been. No one mentions receiving post cards from me, which makes me think I wasted $25+ on this since I am pretty sure they must have made it to the USA but not met American postal regulations and so remain undeleivered. Not so much a big winner there. But I also checked my blog traffic, and despite the dearth of comments here the blog is in fact being read; some people are actually tracking it on "Catholic Blog Tracker," which is ironic since technically this blog is arguably really part of the "Anglican blogosphere," except that in general I find almost all religious blogs so catty that I do not link to them or even read them much, Amy Welborn as always an exception. But thank you for writing, Madame de Niegebourger, and I hope you all get postcards from me eventually!

Freud's home

Freud's home in north London is quite impressive, a very small and very intimate museum off Finchley Road (in the infamous Margaret Thatcher's former constituency I believe). No photos were permitted, but while I obey this in St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey, my infantile need for wish fulfillment proved too strong in Freud's own house, and I snapped several illicit pics of the famous couch and Freud's large consulting room. What struck me the most is that his desk, chairs, and the couch itself filled little more than one fourth of the room, while an enormous, dining-sized table covered in various stone idols and totems dominated the rest. The desk itself faced to the side, not at all business-like, and the "office" component seemed almost an afterthought. In this day of "solution-focused" short-term therapy that tends to take place in sterile, antiseptic, hospital-like offices, it was nice to see a room filled with objects and symbols by which the client could be inspired. A little disappointing that the museum seems to emphasize Freud's more bizarre cases and dream interpretation rather than the broad idea that the unconscious/subconscious mind inevitably affects our conscious lives and relationships. If you ask me, this little message is far more important than the Wolf Man et al.

Shout Out to Brian's Charhouse in West Chicago

My church officers were kind enough to take me out to dinner last night, and I have to thank them and the delicious Brian's Charhouse as well. Great sirloin, au gratin potatoes, and chocolate lava cake for dessert! Not to be missed if one finds oneself in the far west 'burbs!

Welcome to the YAWNs

Also in the Wall Street Journal, that bastion of fascinating reading, comes this inspiring bit on the new YAWNs--"Young And Wealthy Normals," self-made rich people under 50 who want to live fulfilling and healthy lives that are not given over to excess or vulgar display. A big connection seems to be parents who want to make sure their kids do not grow up to be Paris Hilton or Brandon Davis. Bonus: they are more interested in philanthropy than in partying.