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nlike
old soldiers, old heresies do not just "fade away"; they
"keep coming back like a song," to recall the words of
an old tune.
The fact that old heresies keep returning is not a bad thing, as
it reminds us that the same basic problems remain in every generation
of our kind. Moreover, each "heresy," a modern "cuss"
word with usually a good point, is designed to answer a certain
perplexity about the human condition. Manicheanism a strange
but useful word seems to have originated in ancient Persia.
However, Christians mostly associate it with the life of St. Augustine,
who vividly describes his youthful attraction to it in his Confessions.
Basically,
manicheanism is a response to the inquiry about the origin of evil.
And it is an attractive answer, which is why it continues to come
back in forms that we must constantly uncover and define even in
our own day. What it proposed, and this seems to be the thesis against
which the account of creation in Genesis was written, is that evil
was caused by a god of evil who made matter. Good, on the other
hand, now identified in this dualist metaphysic as spirit, was caused
by a god of good. Thus, if we wanted to be "spiritual,"
as surely we do, the best thing to do would be to get away from
matter as much as possible. The early Church had to confront this
heresy because it implied, contrary to Christian teaching, that
marriage, with its relation to matter, was therefore an evil.
Genesis, by
its account, seems deliberately to have made a point, in each of
the days of creation, that matter was good. In other words, while
it still had to account for the origin of evil, it rejected the
idea that matter was, as such, evil. In the account of the Fall,
the origin of evil is to be found in something good, but something
that was not, strictly speaking, "matter." The origin
of evil was to be found in the free will of the rational creature,
man or angel. That is to say, evil arose out of a good power in
a good being, but not from God. The essential temptation of Adam
and Eve was, following the name of the Forbidden Fruit Tree, to
claim themselves, not God, as the origin of the distinction of good
and evil. This claim was, in other words, a divine claim.
At first sight,
we will wonder about the "practicalness" of knowing about
manicheanism and the revelational response to it. Augustine himself
tells us, in a surprising way, how such a seemingly odd theory might
turn out to be rather useful. If I am sinning or otherwise doing
wrong, but do not want to admit it or take responsibility for it,
it is useful to have a "theory" that explains that when
I do wrong, it is not "me" who does it. Rather it is some
necessary material "god" or necessary evolution outside
my own control. Thus, paradoxically, I can go in either direction.
That is, I can become an ascetic and cease to involve myself in
evil matter or I can go on my merry way and do whatever I want,
holding that the god of evil or matter itself caused it all. Thus
what I do is not my own act. Therefore I can live a sort of double
life, morally pure on the spiritual side and, without contradiction,
quite indulgent on the material side.
But, we might
ask, what does this account, however quaint, have to do with us?
Surely no one "believes" these things today. Whenever
we hear the cant, "nobody believes this today," we can
be pretty sure that the thing is all around us and that we do not
recognize it. When do we see this Manicheanism, or Gnosticism, as
it is sometimes called, around us? We find it whenever we come across
an explanation of the evils of our time that is not primarily located
in a free choice of human beings but in necessary historical, material,
economic, or scientific causes.
What was peculiar
about the twentieth century, I think, was its lethalness in terms
of human life. In classical literature, it would be rare if we found
a tyrant who killed more than ten or twenty people, most of whom
he knew. But in the last century, we found many men responsible
for the killing of thousands and even millions, none of whom they
knew. What was peculiar about these "totalitarian" men
is that they combined in themselves two offices, that of the philosopher
and that of the politician. In this capacity, they sought to impose
their "ideas" about good and evil on the world. All evil,
even the worst, is pursued in the name of some good. Here the good
was the effort to rid the world of its evils by some formula.
The philosophical
part of the philosopher-politician (I think of the Lenins, the Maos,
the justifiers of abortion) is invariably a thesis about the cause
of evil. And that cause is outside the will of the one defined as
evil. Evil has to do with being, not personal will. Just eliminate
that being which is evil and all will be well. There will be a perfect
world if we impose our theory. What is common to these systems then
is that the locus of the evil is shifted away from personal will,
including the will of the politician, to some cause outside, to
some group or class or condition that is defined as the cause of
the disorder in the world.
Once this thesis,
and it is usually a complete system in the mind of the politician,
is put into effect, the passion of the one with the thesis, normally
called the "ideologue" in modern terminology, will be
fired by the mission of eliminating evil or poverty (seen as the
result of evil) from the world. The trouble with this thesis is
that is dehumanizes everyone, not merely the victims of the thesis-action
but also the one concocting the theory. The older classic and Christian
thesis was that we will never find in this world an improvement
of mankind that does not pass through the will and reasoning of
individual persons. And no matter how good the circumstances we
live in, it will always be possible and even likely that someone
will chose himself over the objective good of others. Likewise,
it will be possible in the worst regimes that good still appears
in individual souls aware of the falseness of placing the cause
of evil in things outside the control of human virtue and will.
Manicheanism is still very much with us in diversity theory, in
deconstruction, in postmodernism, in development theory. We even
find it sometimes in religion. In short, this "heresy"
still has much to teach us, especially if we do not see that the
heart of evil also crosses our own souls.
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