Serial Killers Are Boring

Our world is in the pitifully awkward position of informing us that our gravest sins are not sinful at all, while damning the most modest and the most innocent of our vices. Thus we have it that abortion and euthanasia are in and with-it, masturbation is healthy, pornography is good for your marriage, sodomy is an old-fashioned, oppressive term…and it is illegal to smoke in a bar. (I mean, my dear man! We do have standards, you know.)  The daring and exciting – Kinky Sex OMG! – is toted as normal, while boring, old, human vice – smoking, drinking and punching other men – is outlawed, banned, damned for ever existing. There is no shame in killing babies, but you better be sure you follow the sign: ‘employees are legally required to wash their hands before returning to work.’

The problem with this atitude is that when the most unnatural, audacious of sins are entirely allowed and accepted they do not become a satisfying, natural part of our culture; they become excruciatingly boring. Think about it. If you entirely objectify women through pornography, well then, she is no more exciting than an object. If you make sex a biological act that need no moral scruples attached to it, then it is as exciting as a biological act, and should be performed with as much vigor as is appropriated to similar acts, like sweating and creating mucus. If you masturbate every night, then masturbation is as much a rebellious, pleasure-seeking act as going to sleep; a similar nightly routine. Our world, by it’s lack of virtue, makes sin boring. And when sin is boring there are only two possible actions: A man might convert, and leave the sin behind, and become a saint, or he might move on to a greater sin. For men do not desire boredom.

This I maintain, that the most bored man in the world is not an obese aristocrat with an inherited fortune and nothing to do. He is not the prisoner in a cell, nor the teenager with 7000 video games and no friends, nor the patient confined to the bed, nor you – sitting at your computer, trying to find a way to make the hours go away. No, the most bored man in the world is the serial killer.

A quote from our man Walker Percy would be helpful here.

“The word boredom did not enter the language until the eighteenth century. No one knows its etymology. One guess is that bore may derive from the French verb bourrer, to stuff [...] Boredom is the self being stuffed with itself.”

Likewise, the phenomenon of the serial killer – in actuality as in literature – is a modern phenomenon. To be sure, there were a few mass murderers and pre-cursors to the depraved nihilists we have this misfortune of knowing today – but they were few, and small potatoes compared to the evil of the 20th century. I do not believe that these two phenomenons – the development of the concept of boredom and the rise of the serial killer – are unrrelated. They both result from the fact that our modern world has made sin boring.

To be clear, I do not speak of ‘natural’ psychopaths, that is to say, of individuals with utterly no concept of morality from the moment of their birth. Whether they actually exist is beyond me, because we only test for psychopathy after a few, vital years of child-rearing and environmental conditioning, in which the world and the family have the breath-stopping opportunity to make whole or crush their child. No, I am speaking of Ted Bundy.

A man who as a child, looked at softcore pornography. When that could no longer thrill him, he moved to hardcore pornography. When that could no longer thrill him; onwards to violent pornography. And when that sin could no longer thrill, he moved to his crimes that need no mention here. The point is that his heinous crimes were not daring, they were not boldly, satanically evil; they were not even insane. They were the cowardly, cringing acts of a bored man. The illicit excitement one man could achieve by simply viewing a naked woman, he had to commit inhuman atrocities to obtain.  He is the man who grew bored and moved on to the next big thing. He – not a society of peace, tolerance and freedom – is the child of a world that says that truly inhuman sins are normal.

And that’s the point. People often get up in arms in this country, crying out that “you can’t legislate morality!” and “we have the right to freedom from religion!” and other rallying cries made up in the last couple of years. And there’s some truth to all this. No one’s going to burst into your bedroom and confiscate your pornography. But when we make serious sin legal, tolerated, widespread and accepted, we make it boring. We invite greater evils that make even the most tolerating, accepting New-Ager shudder. When we legalize pornography, we invite boredom with pornography, and thus we invite child-pornography.

So the world is faced with a choice. Boredom or Sainthood? These seem to me the only options, though one can choose to move slowly in either direction. So why not Sainthood? Because the implication is this; if sin is boring, than Sainthood is exciting. Because Sainthood is seeing everything as it is – whether it be the Holy Mass or pornography. Sainthood seeing everything for the first time, every time. The Saint is never bored.

But for you who are already-saints: There’s a common trend within the Church to fear evil men. We should fear evil, I agree, but never evil men. The proper response to the fact of a serial killer is never one of baffled fear, but one of disgust. These are The Bored. Let us see them and be warned against our sins.

All Praise To God the Forgetful

There’s a great story about Sister Faustina who, when she first started recieving visions of our Lord Jesus, did the very sensible Catholic thing and consulted her confessor about them. The confessor – a hard-lining private-revelation-is-stupid kind of man – assumed that the visions were from the devil, giving her a series of questions to ask Him, in order to prove He was who He said He was. The vision answered all the questions truthfully, but the confessor was not convinced. He told Sister Faustina to go back and ask the vision, “What sins did I confess yesterday?” Sister Faustina did, and returned to him confused. “What did he say?” the confessor asked. “He told me he did not know.” Sister Faustina responded simply. “He has forgotten.” And from that point on the confessor believed her, for only God forgets our sins – the devil uses them against us.

Think about that. Our Lord doesn’t merely forgive our sins. He forgets them. This raises an obvious paradox, or perhaps just an obvious problem: How can an all-knowing God forget? Does that not contradict his very nature? The answer – I think – is that sin is the only thing our God must forget, for sin is the only thing not of God. Therefore, in the Divine mind, there is no distinction between forgiving and forgetting. If God and man are reconciled, how can an infinite being remember that which is not of Him and – because of reconciliation – is no longer a part of his beloved creation?

Of course, this leaves us humans in a unique situation for – being fallen – sin is very much a part of us, as human as a glass of beer and American as cherry pie. It has been said that sin is the only thing we can really be proud of, for all else is the grace of God. Which is beautiful – really – because it’s also the one thing we should never be proud of. But regardless, we remember where God forgets. God pulls out the arrows we shoot ourselves with, but wounds remain; we call them guilt.

The common view of the matter is that guilt is a Very Bad Thing. What is modernism but an attempt to erase guilt? What is our culture of moral relativism, our pro-choice, co-habitating, be-true-to-yourself, find-your-own-right-and-wrong world than a massive attempt to cover up our wounds; a bad attempt at soothing our aching souls; an evasion of sin by the evasion of the confessional? And even within Christianity, there is a mentality of “be free” that equates guilt with sin; just the result of an evil act that should be avoided like the act itself. There is truth to this, but I’d like to flip it upside-down, with a few reservations.

Guilt is a gift. God forgets our sins, but he allows us to remember. Guilt is the reminder that sin is not part of our nature – it is the rebellion of the soul, as the body rebels against a foreign disease. Like so much in Catholicism, guilt meets us at the very human, very flesh and bone area of our lives – it is not vague, not some state of sorrow reached by thoughtful meditation – it is guilt, and it follows sin. Because we don’t like guilt, it makes it easier to avoid the sins we do like, as one might avoid chocolate for fear of the inevitable calories, or liquor for the fear of a hangover. Hey, that’s good: Guilt is a hangover. Now, if we were good and shiny-souled Catholics, the mere fact that sin is wrong would be enough to lend us haloes and turn us into immaculate beings. But – and I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this before – we suck at our religion, and God is very aware of it. So we have the gift of a hangover, the gift of guilt to meet us in a very real and inevitable way, to help us stop sinning.

But all things in moderation, my friends; guilt included. If it shows us the error in our ways and helps us overcome sin, then it is good, but if it leads to despair, to not believing we are – or can be – forgiven, then the guilt is garbage, a lie whispered into our ears about our own inadequacy. Let guilt do it’s job, feel sorrow for your sin, but wear it lightly and joyfully, for it is not pulling us down, put pushing us a little closer to holiness.

Forgiveness: Courage Required.

YouTube Preview Image

In my many conversations with atheists, agnostics, secularists and the rest, I find there are very few things that actually interest them about the Catholic faith: very few things besides the Sacrament of Reconciliation. The question I am most asked about my faith is “can a non-Catholic go to Confession?” We are a guilty nation; we have therapy to talk about our sins, psychoanalysis to blame our sins on our parents, postsecret to confess our sins, moral relativism to deny our sins, liberalism to promote and dignify our sins, Jersey Shore to make our sins look trivial, communication technology to apologize for our sins, rehab to get rid of our sins, and on and on and on ad infinitum, doing everything we can possibly do with our sin EXCEPT being free of it all. Except being forgiven. Here’s an idea:

Man up.

Hopefully you watched the Saving Private Ryan clip. There’s a scene where a Nazi is at the top of a tower, slowly stabbing an American solider to death. The man with the power to stop him, the man with enough weaponry to blow the brains out of the entire SS; that man is cowering on the stairs, moaning and crying. He’s pathetic. And that’s me a lot of the times. I have the equivalent of sawn-off shotgun in the mouth of sin – the Sacrament of Reconciliation – and yet I whine, I cower before sin. That sin I talked about in the other post, yeah, I felt miserable about it. But it didn’t take long to realize that honest sorrow for my sin had turned into self-pity and a lukewarm sort of despair. An example of this lameness? Alright but don’t tell anyone. I’m a guitar player, so I started to write an “I’m Sorry” sort of song.

If you’re anything like me you get pissed off at the guy on the stairs. Get up! Stop being a pansy! Grow a pair! Pick…up…the…gun…and…kill…some…freaking…Nazis! Or;

“STOP WRITING STUPID SONGS AND GET YOUR ASS TO CONFESSION.” -God

We have to crush our sins, else the guilt will destroy us, in this world and the next. We have to smash the head of the serpent. We have to man up, admit that we were wrong to another human being, and be absolutely forgiven by a supernatural one. This takes strength, courage, and humility, and so every act of confession is an act of badassery. Therefore, of course the world hates it. They’ll say it’s morbid, it dwells on guilt, it revolves around fear, anything they can to keep you on the stairs. But it sets you free.

I’ve been having a hard time praying lately. Rather, I’ve lost the desire to pray lately. It’s become somewhat of a chore. I’ve been reluctant to hang out with my friends, and have been snapping at my family. Why? Because I committed a mortal sin, which “destroys charity in the heart of man by a grave violation of God’s law; it turns man away from God, who is his ultimate end and his beatitude, by preferring an inferior good to him” (Catechism of the Catholic Church). Sin is not some abstract mark against you in the afterlife. It is an evil, here and now, that stabs us slowly, making our lives miserable. The Christian singer Danny Guglielmucci’s addiction to pornography hurt him so much that his hair began to fall out, and his body would fail him. Sin is literally stabbing us while whispering gently. Reconciliation takes that weight off us, not merely so we can go to heaven, but so we can be happy here on earth!

So get to confession and pray for me, because I’ll be going too.