Reflections on Ritual
Dear Tom,
Another thing you mentioned in your letter was the loss of ritual and the void that’s replaced it. I have two interesting things to say about ritual and its importance. The first comes from a young chap, David Perell, who was speaking with a Jewish rabbi on a podcast. Perell is also Jewish but not a practising Jew. Nonetheless, his family has ties with the community, and when his dad’s brother died they turned to the tradition for support. Apparently Judaism has built up a very elaborate ritual that kicks in after the death of a loved one; not just for the immediate aftermath but for the entire year that follows.
What Perell had to say about his experience was interesting. To him, it felt as if the tradition were holding him and his family in place, and in doing so allowed them to fully express their grief. Constrained to perform a fixed set of actions, they were paradoxically freer to feel the full pain of the loss. When faced with a devastating loss and the next step is unclear, the tradition steps in. It not only gives you something to do, but gives you the right thing to do. The Jews from 4,000 years ago were no different from the Jews of today. People still die, and those left behind still have to cope with that loss. In passing down this tradition of mourning and grief and celebration and commemoration, the Jews today inherit what their ancestors considered the best reaction to the death of a loved one. And at least Perell found it helpful.
Of course, this links to the idea of tradition as a standard operating procedure for life. And there are procedures for death, birth, marriage, the change of season, and almost all aspects of life. We’ve kept some of them in some form—like Christmas. But certainly it’s not the same now as when we were at the height of our religiosity.
The second interesting thing that I wanted mention about ritual comes from Jonathon Pageau, a frequent interlocutor of Jordan Peterson. Pageau speaks a lot about the symbolic meaning of the stories in the bible, and provides a framework for interpreting otherwise incomprehensible scenes to secular readers. These range from simple—up is good, down is bad—to complex.
When Jonathon talks about the christian mass, he describes it as the perfect meal. It starts with the idea that to have something to eat is a good thing. It’s good to be lucky enough to have food. It’s better, though, if you can share that food with other people; with your family for example. It’s better to have a meal with people you care enough about to share food with. There are already a few dynamics here: it’s good to have food, it’s good not to be alone, it’s good to have people you care about, and it’s good if those people have something to eat too.
It might be even better—if the situation was stable enough to allow for it—that everyone around the table be united; all be working together on the farm, so that you might have food again; all be working together on your home, so that you might have shelter for days to come. That would indeed be good: you unite to work towards shared goals, and show your unity through a shared meal.
It’s not always easy: family feuds can break out at a moment’s notice. It’s good, then, and perhaps unusual, to be eating peacefully around the table. And when there’s enough peace, and enough good fortune, you might extend a hand beyond the family. Every now and again, you might eat with your neighbours. You share goals with them too: the safety of your street, the maintenance of your shared space. It would be good—and difficult—to be in enough peace with them to share a meal, and to have enough food that your concern can extend beyond the needs of the family.
Push this line of thinking to its limits, and you get the mass. Expand it to include as many families as possible, to display and promote the maximum level of peace, and to cast everyone’s attention to the greatest objective they can possibly share: the worship of God. The mass is the perfect meal, the perfect way of being together.
I really like this idea, partly because our basic needs are so simple—food, family, security—yet something incredibly complex and beautiful can be built around these simple needs. Like the Jews developed over generations their ideal way to comport oneself after a devastating loss, the Christians developed the perfect meal, in memory of that last meal that Jesus ate with his disciples.
Good grief, that must have been boring. Thank you for your patience, Tom. Enjoy the rest of whatever day it happens to be when you read this. And congratulations again for your new job!
James