Confessions of a Liberal Puritan

Having only watched the latest episode of "Angel" (5.04) twice, my memory is a little foggy, but I remember Angel saying this line, or something quite like it, in response to Spike's query about why, if he and Angel are both damned anyway and can never truly atone for all the lives they've destroyed, they should still try to help people, still fight the good fight. As credos go, "What else are we gonna do?" is hardly the ringing affirmation of purpose that we got in episode 4.01 last year, when Angel made his speech to Connor about the role of champions: "Nothing in the world is the way it ought to be. It’s harsh, and cruel, but that’s why there’s us: Champions. Doesn’t matter where we come from, what we’ve done, or suffered, or even if we make a difference. We live as though the world were as it should be, to show it what it can be." Now, Angel tells us, he hates even the word "champion" (at least when it's used to describe Spike and himself in the same breath), and the faith he'd managed to keep even after 3 months of starving on the ocean floor has apparently been beaten out of him by all the losses of season 4 -- including even the loss of company in his misery and grief, since no one else retains any memory of Connor's existence, and therefore, presumably, of Jasmine or any of the joys and sorrows Angel experienced as a parent. As a father to Connor, Angel could rouse himself to a passionate defense of the need to fight the good fight and set a better example to the world. But as a grand-"sire" to Spike, all he can come up with is resignation and barely restrained despair. Hopefully, the rest of season 5 of "Angel" will see Angel gradually brought out of the valley of the shadow of death and be able to find some meaning in his existence once more.

Perhaps that's the best reason of all for Spike to be on the show this year (apart from the hotness factor, and the wit and attitude and cheekbones, and the fact that I'd be in serious Spike-withdrawal, otherwise): Spike can be Angel's mirror, reflecting back to him just how far off track he's gotten, even for a guy who'd spent a hundred years feeling guilty and honing his brooding skills. Yes, Angel has good reason to be on the verge of despair, with the loss of his family (Cordy and Connor) and with the corporate structure of Wolfram & Hart doing its best to isolate him from the people who care about him (since his "boss of us" role has suddenly become much more official and distancing, as seen in Fred's natural assumption that his first concern would be for her well-being as a person, rather than for her department's budget over-runs) and from much of the day-to-day, hands-on work of helping the helpless and restoring hope to the hopeless. But Angel's tendency toward frugality at the best of times could too easily become a real miserliness and idolatry of the bottom line, if he's allowed to bury himself and his misery in the role of CEO, allowing the corporate structure to take the place of the structure of values he lost when the role of the Powers in guiding his mission became so highly suspect. Even the carrot that had been held in front of his eyes since the end of season one, the prophecy that he would eventually be made mortal again, seems to be gone, as he tells Spike that that prophecy, like all prophecies, is just so much manure, that nothing is guaranteed or reliable. Since we know that Spike's sins do NOT tend toward excessive frugality or adherence to a chain of command (unless either he or Buffy is at the very top of it), the constant irritation he provides as one outside the system who's not afraid to tick off anyone may be just the tonic Angel needs to shock him out of his malaise and help him define a new structure of meaning for his existence. Individuation, here we come.

Meanwhile, all Angel's envious and scathing words about Spike's lack of guilt and broodiness after getting his soul back (not to mention, Gunn and Wesley's matter-of-fact assumption that Spike was still destined for Hell, world-saving or no) has reminded me that Spike never had the LUXURY of devoting much time to brooding. He didn't have a hundred years to spend waiting to be introduced to Buffy and decide to help her. Instead, his re-ensoulment was quickly followed by the First's war against the Slayers, in which staying on the sidelines wasn't an option, even if he hadn't been in love with Buffy and therefore dedicated to her cause. As soon as the First started messing with his head, working through that repressed trauma with his demon-mother to turn him into a weapon, Spike was in it, no choice. He went from major crisis to major crisis, managing only to deal with that one repressed memory through the inadvertent good graces of Robin Wood, until he heroically sacrificed himself. Now, with his realization and acceptance that "I do deserve to go to Hell -- but not today!", he's finally getting the chance to do some much-delayed soul-searching, and who better to guide his footsteps down that path than Angel? So, just as Spike becomes a mirror reflecting Angel's search for a new sense of purpose and meaning (and pokes holes in Angel's excessive gravity), Angel becomes Spike's mirror, reflecting back the need for some sense of order and accountability in Spike's existence.

But to get back to that somewhat-less-than-inspiring answer to "Then why even bother? Try to do the right thing, make a difference?" -- "What else are we gonna do?" -- here's why I think that stuck with me:

Earlier that morning, on Wednesday, I'd been asked to lead a convocation on the subject of spiritual wellness for a group of students at the university where I teach. I came in slightly flustered and less prepared than I probably should have been, and (finding myself faced with an over-crowded lecture hall, rather than the small group I'd been led to expect) proceeded to more or less lecture off the top of my head for 40 minutes. I started with the little bit of research I'd done the week before just for this talk, and then followed my intuition/inspiration down the many associative pathways in my brain. Not having particularly planned to talk about depression or despair, I nevertheless found myself riffing on Freud's "Mourning and Melancholia," Alice Miller's THE DRAMA OF THE GIFTED CHILD, and the culturally encouraged rift between matters of spirit and science in our society. Apparently, it was coherent enough to pass, since I got a few encouraging comments afterward. Then, a few hours later, while I was trying to respond to some students' papers, a fellow adjunct professor stopped in to say that she'd just met with a student who'd attended my talk that morning, and that something I'd said had so struck the student that she'd spent most of the meeting with her professor talking excitedly about how she was starting to see connections between her passion for science and the religion courses she was required to take. Upshot: something I'd said had helped this young woman get fired up about her college studies and about the possibility that the various sides of her life might actually fit together in unexpected ways. Next, the Dean of the department steps into the office, looking like he's just working something out, and says, without preamble, "I don't think you realize that you're a role model for some of our students." Me? A role model? He went on to explain that there are women students in this religion department who feel called to ministry but who come from family or church backgrounds which oppose that call, who say that ordained ministry is for men only. He said that, as an ordained clergywoman, these students look to me to see what they might become, what it might be like to follow that path. "I think it's good that you're here," he concluded. Color me blushing. (Since it took me several hours to begin to wonder if he'd meant that as a veiled criticism, as a warning that I needed to be a better role model for these impressionable young women, I have to trust that there was nothing censorious in his tone or manner at the time -- or I would certainly have gone into defensive mode there and then -- and that this other possible reading of his words is just the product of my over-active self-doubt.)

I'd been feeling more than a little down, a little empty, lately, wondering what my purpose is RIGHT NOW, as I seem stuck in dissertation-proposal-revising-don't-know-what-to-do-next limbo, and what my purpose should be in the future. It had occurred to me that I was probably stupid for agreeing to do this convocation, when I had real work that needed to be done, and I'd wondered if it was just my vanity that led me to say yes when one of my students asked me to do it. But my colleague's words about the excitement her student had felt reminded me why I want to teach, even when the money's dismal (as it almost always is for adjuncts) -- reminded me what a privilege it is to watch a student's mind begin to click and get fired up. And my dean's words about being a role-model reminded me that my being in ministry isn't just about me, or about the direct good I can do through any sermon or parish visit or community action: at some basic level, it's simply important for me to BE what I am, following my call, so that other women might begin to imagine different possibilities for their own vocation.

Right now, this week or this month, I may not be at the level of faith represented by "we live as though the world were as it should be to show it what it can be" -- but I trust I will be again, someday. And in the meantime, I can hold onto something as simple as "it is good for me to be here" (a slight variation on Spike's "I deserve to go to Hell -- but not today!" perhaps? Or just an echo of Peter's ill-considered words to Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration, "Master, it is good for us to be here"?), or even "What else are we gonna do?" Whether or not I feel that what I do is effective most of the time, or successful, or as brilliant as I think I'm supposed to be (or at least better than everybody else in the department from which I hope to receive my degree), what else am I gonna do? I may not be earning any brownie points with God (like Spike and Angel, I have to count on grace and mercy, in that department) or with my dissertation committee, but as long as I exist I have a road to follow, something that I do because I CAN and too many other people can't. I don't feel like a champion, but I might just be able to face the prospect of being a role model, or just the missing piece in somebody else's jigsaw puzzle, now and then.

I have more to say on the subject of emptiness and purpose and Lois McMaster Bujold's PALADIN OF SOULS and its relation to the Buffyverse, etc., but it's way past my bedtime. More later.