Not a very rigorous long weekend, but at last - at long last!- I was able to see the movie, "The Way", directed by Emilio Estevez starring his father, Martin Sheen. I had looked for it for at least a year, since it came out, even joining a new video store in town, which didn't have it in its entire chain. Instead, it came unasked from a friend, my very own video, and at last I saw it. It promised everything I'm interested in: death, spirit, redemption, meaning beyond discourse. Death, that is, as the great awakener for our somnambulance, the ever- ready alarm clock for our life-long sleep-walk through a poorly understood and nearly de-sacrilized world. Death as the reality maker - the most effective Way to joy through the worst kind of sorrow; death, something I don't want but is always there, as the joker was always there for the conquering Roman emperor, whispering in his ear as the laurels were raised: rejoice now, for someday you, too, shall die.
In that, the movie delivered, but for me, perhaps not as the director and writer had intended. For the most part, it was surprisingly, and needfully, unemotional in a tear-jerk kind of way. An older father finds that his middle-aged son has died on the first day of a pilgrimage on the Camino de San Diego, a five-hundred mile walk primarily through Basque country and the Pyrenees. He flies to France to reclaim the body, but then has it cremated so that he might walk the Camino in his son's stead, spreading his ashes throughout. He meets three other people in various states of need, and they work these needs out through personality conflicts and eventual deep friendship and understanding. Only at spots - like bullet points - does intense emotionality come in, hard hitting but brief as the four travelers then get back to experiencing the road. All of which left me with this one (as I said, perhaps un-intentional) particular realization: how hard it was for any along the road to humble themselves in the task they had (for many unknowingly) set out to do: to lose the daily self for the greater Self, the spirit.
It is made very apparent that the modern man is nearly incapable of this; through the apparent arrogance of modern thought, the illusion that we are at the apex of history, the belief that we are truly knowledgeable about how things really are, that we are so far beyond the ignorance of our ancestors. Yes, I do believe the movie hinted at this, but only subtly; in the end, one of the most secular a characters, a fat Dutchman, humbled himself enough to shuffle on his knees to the statue of Saint James at the end of the pilgrimage. It is telling that the others didn't, even though one of the characters read the words inscribed beneath the statue: words that stated "for centuries, Kings, Queens and Emperors have come to Saint James on their knees" - and regularly. So: in the past, even the most arrogant of power were able to do what most common man of today cannot: humble himself on his knees to some power, he might not know what, that was greater than his little self.
Yes, I would say that was intended, but what was probably not intended was the truth behind the facade of modern arrogance: shame and humiliation. Almost all of us know that we are weak and helpless in the universe; almost all of us have woken in the middle of the night afraid, anxious, children once again pitted against an incomprehensible universe crowned with the skull of death. This we know; but somewhere, someone or somehow, we have been told to hide this; to never, ever admit to the superstitions of our ancestors; to raise our chins high as the symbols of enlightenment sprung from the depths of childish ignorance. We KNOW that we are not those fonts of wisdom- that our deepest concerns remain unanswered by the triumph of technology, that we still tremble before death and even ghosts in the night. But we cannot ever, EVER show it. That is the modern weakness, a false arrogance that will not allow us to admit to our dormant fears and, beyond that, gain access to our inner knowledge. It is the latter that the pilgrims seek on the road, but who can find it before they admit their ignorance, their hopelessness? This is not the "philosophy of the weak" as Nietzsche so famously put it, but the first sign of deeper intelligence in humans. We do not know, cannot know, as humans; we can only know by the inner voice, the deeper self. And to find that we need to get ourselves, our daily selves, out of the way. Grace works, and it works best through the humble path; the path of the pilgrim.
That, to me, was the greatest lesson of the movie, maybe intentional or maybe not. Or maybe the subversive workings of the writer's inner voice. FK
In that, the movie delivered, but for me, perhaps not as the director and writer had intended. For the most part, it was surprisingly, and needfully, unemotional in a tear-jerk kind of way. An older father finds that his middle-aged son has died on the first day of a pilgrimage on the Camino de San Diego, a five-hundred mile walk primarily through Basque country and the Pyrenees. He flies to France to reclaim the body, but then has it cremated so that he might walk the Camino in his son's stead, spreading his ashes throughout. He meets three other people in various states of need, and they work these needs out through personality conflicts and eventual deep friendship and understanding. Only at spots - like bullet points - does intense emotionality come in, hard hitting but brief as the four travelers then get back to experiencing the road. All of which left me with this one (as I said, perhaps un-intentional) particular realization: how hard it was for any along the road to humble themselves in the task they had (for many unknowingly) set out to do: to lose the daily self for the greater Self, the spirit.
It is made very apparent that the modern man is nearly incapable of this; through the apparent arrogance of modern thought, the illusion that we are at the apex of history, the belief that we are truly knowledgeable about how things really are, that we are so far beyond the ignorance of our ancestors. Yes, I do believe the movie hinted at this, but only subtly; in the end, one of the most secular a characters, a fat Dutchman, humbled himself enough to shuffle on his knees to the statue of Saint James at the end of the pilgrimage. It is telling that the others didn't, even though one of the characters read the words inscribed beneath the statue: words that stated "for centuries, Kings, Queens and Emperors have come to Saint James on their knees" - and regularly. So: in the past, even the most arrogant of power were able to do what most common man of today cannot: humble himself on his knees to some power, he might not know what, that was greater than his little self.
Yes, I would say that was intended, but what was probably not intended was the truth behind the facade of modern arrogance: shame and humiliation. Almost all of us know that we are weak and helpless in the universe; almost all of us have woken in the middle of the night afraid, anxious, children once again pitted against an incomprehensible universe crowned with the skull of death. This we know; but somewhere, someone or somehow, we have been told to hide this; to never, ever admit to the superstitions of our ancestors; to raise our chins high as the symbols of enlightenment sprung from the depths of childish ignorance. We KNOW that we are not those fonts of wisdom- that our deepest concerns remain unanswered by the triumph of technology, that we still tremble before death and even ghosts in the night. But we cannot ever, EVER show it. That is the modern weakness, a false arrogance that will not allow us to admit to our dormant fears and, beyond that, gain access to our inner knowledge. It is the latter that the pilgrims seek on the road, but who can find it before they admit their ignorance, their hopelessness? This is not the "philosophy of the weak" as Nietzsche so famously put it, but the first sign of deeper intelligence in humans. We do not know, cannot know, as humans; we can only know by the inner voice, the deeper self. And to find that we need to get ourselves, our daily selves, out of the way. Grace works, and it works best through the humble path; the path of the pilgrim.
That, to me, was the greatest lesson of the movie, maybe intentional or maybe not. Or maybe the subversive workings of the writer's inner voice. FK
RSS Feed