Fourth of July in Mendocino, California
Books shape things for me. Something some character said in the midst of a heated moment, a truth about life, might pop up later, and will influence my day, or my reaction, or even my writing. While reading Don DeLillo's work this summer, to prepare for that lecture in Portland where he sat on stage and talked about his writing, I came across a passage that I later read to my writing group and copied for a folder of notes and quotes that I reference at times for inspiration. I read this whole book, White Noise, without ever connecting strongly with where Mr. DeLillo was taking me, until I came to the passage below. Months later, it has surfaced in my thoughts, and today, I have to share it.
Jack Gladney, our narrator and main character of the novel, enters a Catholic church seeking some shelter from the poisonous cloud that is eating away at his family's safety and health, and his community's well being. The cloud has followed his car, packed with his family, from his home to a camp in the mountains, and back. While it never truly attacks, the consequences of the cloud affect them all. He begins a dialogue with an old nun he finds in the church, who leads him to an impression that she may not believe in heaven. Jack asks her ".... are you saying you don't take them [heaven and other faith related beliefs] seriously? Your dedication is a pretense?" She responds -
"Our pretense is our dedication. Someone must appear to believe. Our lives are no less serious than if we professed real faith, real belief. As belief shrinks from the world, people find it more necessary than ever that someone believe. Wild-eyed men in caves. Nuns in black. Monks who do not speak. We are left to believe. Fools, children. Those who have abandoned belief must still believe in us. They are sure that they are right not to believe but they know belief must not fade completely. Hell is when no one believes. There must always be believers. Fools, idiots, those who hear voices, those who speak in tongues. We are your lunatics. We surrender our lives to make your nonbelief possible. You are sure that you are right but you don't want everyone to think as you do. There is no truth without fools. We are your fools, your madwoman, rising at dawn to pray, lighting candles, asking statues for good health, long life."
There is more to this dialogue. Jack makes a little fun of the nun, for her long life that he attributes to her prayers, for continuing to pray knowing that in the end, she will die anyway. He chastises her, tells her "You're a nun. Act like one." She ends the conversation with this.
"We take vows. Poverty, chastity, obedience. Serious vows. A serious life. You could not survive without us."
I think that many of us want to be the nun when it comes to our values, our beliefs, what we want our leaders to represent, but like Jack, we are lost about where to go, how to be safe, how to change anything. Do we hide in a camp in the mountains like Jack tried with his family? March on Washington? Post relentlessly on social media? Sign a petition? Stay vigilant? There is always the chance to write our representative in Congress. We hope that our nuns, the ones who have taken the serious vows, will help us survive.
I found a quote today in a timely essay by E.B. White, posted on-line this morning by The New Yorker.
"Democracy is the score at the beginning of the ninth inning."
I hope in the coming months, I find my nun, and the coach who will know how to play me in this, our ninth inning, to help me find my way to stand up for what is right, and more than that, to make a difference. After all, "Hell is when no one believes."