I actually attended an Episcopalian “Eucharist Service” this past Sunday, for the first time since 2000. I grew up as a Roman Catholic, but I converted to Anglicanism in 1988. At the time, it seemed like a really groovy thing to do. And for a while, I tried to make a go of it. But in the end . . . . . well, Christianity in general just didn’t seem to be my bag. And Episcopalianism in general didn’t seem as dynamic as it was cracked up to be. It really didn’t seem all that . . . . healthy (not intended as a criticism of their pro-gay philosophies, which I still give them credit for). There’s an underlying neurosis of some kind in that church; they just can’t seem to decide what they stand for – English cultural tradition? the Enlightenment? the establishment? the anti-establishment? core Christian doctrines? red doors on old stone buildings?
Nonetheless, I wanted to catch up with a guy who worked at one of the non-profit agencies formerly affiliated with New Community Corp., my former employer. I helped this guy get the job way back in ‘92, back when I was a newly-minted Episcopalian. My friend was still a devoted if liberal Roman Catholic at the time. So it surprised me to learn a few months ago that he was now involved with an Episcopal parish.
Thus, I made the trip across the Hudson River to St. Bart’s in Manhattan, for the 11 AM Eucharist, where my friend was helping out as an usher. Bottom line: it was good to catch up with a former associate, but as to the church stuff – well, it was the same stuff as before. They say you can’t go home again, ‘cause the old home just ain’t home no more. That’s pretty much how I felt.
Afterwards, I was pondering the fact that Christian tradition is so ingrained within our Euro-American “daily culture”, while the tradition of ancient Greek philosophy was reduced to an appendage within our academic institutions. I’ve heard some philosophers talk about “Jerusalem and Athens” being the two legs of our modern ethos. But it seems to me that Jerusalem certainly won a much bigger share of social recognition, although it did so by conquering Rome (and Constantinople). There are Christian churches all over the American landscape. On any Sunday morning in most any town with a population of over 100, you have your choice of congregations praising the risen lord in a variety of styles. And yet, if you want an intelligent conversation about how to live in an increasingly crazy world, perhaps guided by the wise men and women of the past, well . . . that’s rather hard to find.
I myself regret that Athens lost out to Jerusalem and Rome. Why, one might ask, did people come together on those Greek isles long ago to ponder what life means; what our obligations are as humans; how are we to govern and be governed; what is our relationship to the divine; etc. When did that lose popularity? When was it relegated to a course or two that you take in school when you’re 18 or 20? When did philosophy become so shrunken, so dried-out, so esoteric, so hidden away, so irrelevant? Where are the successors to Socrates, Aristotle, Kant and Kierkegaard in a world of techno-terrorism, zenophobic globalism, interconnected loneliness, and transitory family values? When leadership is bought and sold, when children are pre-designed, when morals and human rights are used to sell cars and soap (along with immorals and human wrongs)? Why aren’t people demanding philosophic wisdom in the face of all this confusion?
I know that there have been recent attempts to popularize philosophy. In fact, I attended a local chapter of the Socrates Cafe movement for a number of months. The concept sounded great, but the execution left me somewhat disappointed. There was almost no reference to what Socrates, nor any other philosophers ever said or taught. It was generally a 15 or 20 person bull session / group therapy exercise, which broke by 9pm so that the younger crowd could get to the local pub for a nightcap or two. No one seemed very inspired afterwards; no one wanted to keep the discussion going. By 8:45, everyone seemed antsy to get back to socializing and chit-chat; the group leader became anxious to keep the conversation from veering off in new directions. I never came away with any great insights.
And I didn’t come away from St. Barts this past Sunday with any great insights either, except that it’s always good to catch up with a friend. And that the Episcopal Church hasn’t changed so much since I left. Oh well, maybe that’s for the best. Long may they pay, pray, and pretend not to obey. And yes, I’ll probably stop by again to see my newly Anglicized friend. But what would really impress me is if St. Bart’s started their own Socrates Cafe — and did some real philosophy with it.


