...unto dust you shall return.
Having recently attended the funeral of a close relative, I had the opportunity to reacquaint myself with the banalities of our funerary customs. In my mind, a funeral is a solemn occasion, a time for reflection and mourning. At the same time, it is an opportunity for celebration and laughter, for sharing in the pleasant memories of a life well-lived. I do not deny that both the viewing and the funeral provided this release, and had to them a certain therapeutic quality. They served as a farewell of sorts, by which we were able to come to terms with our grief and to fortify ourselves against the loss, while simultaneously honoring the passing of a fellow creature and loved one. Yet, pervading this natural process was something wholly contrived and rather sickening, overlaying the entire affair with a cloying veneer of kitsch.
The baroque vulgarity of the funeral home, meant to provide comfort, offered little more than a terribly tragic fashion statement from a century long since past. The earnestness of the preacher as he espoused his ridiculous nonsense was unbearable; his faith imparting him with a smugness of which he is wholly unaware. His heartfelt entreaties failed to mask the insidious, asinine nature of his faith, born of nothing more than blind fear, desperation and years of conditioning. It is almost as though he were perpetuating some enormous hoax, one whose reality depends upon maintaining some delicate suspension of disbelief. It is an inside joke shared by everyone gathered, and each depends on the one next to him not to point out that the whole congregation is naked.
Is it not enough that we are born, we live out our lives as best as we are able, we perhaps feel a certain spirituality- a sense of awe at the complexity of the universe- then die? Must we be forever inventing such things as religion, altruism, and nationalism; adding coat upon coat of falsehood to our once natural existence? After so many centuries of growth and scientific discovery are we not at last strong enough to stand without a net?
The true enemy here is kitsch. It is the maudlin varnish of deception swathing the heart of mendacity, be it religion, mawkish concern for the welfare of others, or overzealous patriotic fervor. It is the very real feeling of spirituality, compassion, or belonging taken to its grossest, tackiest conclusion, exaggerated until it hardly resembles the original emotion. It is humanity’s desire for the garish and insincere. It is emotion embellished to the point of nausea. It is the step too far. It is a tacky frame on the Mona Lisa. That the greater majority of us live with such vulgarity is revolting, must we also die with it?
The baroque vulgarity of the funeral home, meant to provide comfort, offered little more than a terribly tragic fashion statement from a century long since past. The earnestness of the preacher as he espoused his ridiculous nonsense was unbearable; his faith imparting him with a smugness of which he is wholly unaware. His heartfelt entreaties failed to mask the insidious, asinine nature of his faith, born of nothing more than blind fear, desperation and years of conditioning. It is almost as though he were perpetuating some enormous hoax, one whose reality depends upon maintaining some delicate suspension of disbelief. It is an inside joke shared by everyone gathered, and each depends on the one next to him not to point out that the whole congregation is naked.
Is it not enough that we are born, we live out our lives as best as we are able, we perhaps feel a certain spirituality- a sense of awe at the complexity of the universe- then die? Must we be forever inventing such things as religion, altruism, and nationalism; adding coat upon coat of falsehood to our once natural existence? After so many centuries of growth and scientific discovery are we not at last strong enough to stand without a net?
The true enemy here is kitsch. It is the maudlin varnish of deception swathing the heart of mendacity, be it religion, mawkish concern for the welfare of others, or overzealous patriotic fervor. It is the very real feeling of spirituality, compassion, or belonging taken to its grossest, tackiest conclusion, exaggerated until it hardly resembles the original emotion. It is humanity’s desire for the garish and insincere. It is emotion embellished to the point of nausea. It is the step too far. It is a tacky frame on the Mona Lisa. That the greater majority of us live with such vulgarity is revolting, must we also die with it?
posted by Joel Hardin | 9:31 PM
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