Many years ago when we were looking for a house in Wisconsin, our realtor took us to Stoughton to see a place on the outskirts of town. As we drove down main street through this typical small-city setting of late 19th century buildings, she whispered to us: "I am not supposed to tell you this, but Stoughton has a problem." Ooh, I thought, she isn't going to give us an account of some troubled minority neighborhood, is she? Her pause was only for a few seconds." Well - this town is mostly Norwegian." We thought it was a joke and laughed, but she did not. We never were told WHY Norwegians were a problem, though - apparently, everyone in Wisconsin knew that without saying.
We did not move to Stoughton, but not because of the "minority" problem. We have also been to Stoughton many times since, and I still can't find the problem with it. In fact, is has a great cheese store and a fantastic brew-pub that features an extremely potent beer named "Dragon's Milk." But in Rolvaag's tale of late 19th century immigrants to South Dakota, Giants of the Earth, one gets to understand the problem with Norwegians.
First, they were extremely ethnocentric, but what newly- arrived immigrant group isn't? Second, they were very religious, but again,weren't many from the Old Country back then? But it is not until the last part of the book that we get to understand the meaning of "Dark Lutherans," made famous by Garrison Keillor, the author of the Lake Wobegon books about a fictional small town in Minnesota. In Giants, however, there is nothing comical about the darkness. It has mean edges with sharp consequences.
Rolvaag, though, was clearly not anti-religious. His sympathetic portrayal of a traveling minister allows that religion can, and should, be the very glue that keeps desolate and struggling communities together, and gives the people hope. But one woman, Beret, loses her mind out in the great emptiness of the prairie, to the point where she endangers the lives of her smallest children. Obsessed with the belief that they had come into the Devil's land, she wanders about possessed by fear and anxiety until the preacher is able to persuade her that God is here, too.
Thus she becomes competent again, but obsessively religious. Every non-solemn word and act, from drinking liquor to mild profanity to joking becomes a sign that the originator of such things is doomed to hellfire.
In this way, she becomes a nuisance for the men in the community - but it gets much worse. Norwegian worse. She persuades a man who has come down with a harsh cough that he is going to die, and if a preacher is not brought to him, that he will go to Satan's lair. The man worsens and pleads continually that someone bring him the preacher, although they are in the midst of the worst winter ever experienced there. Finally, the pressure of the women, especially Beret, forces her husband Per Hanson to ski out into the deep snow toward a distant town as another blizzard comes. What becomes of him can be guessed.
There may be a dark side to every religion. In the current Catholic Church, we are told both to rejoice and be glad, for we are saved, and to hang our heads in shame over our many, many inevitable sins. It is for this reason that many have left organized religion, and why many religions, including Catholicism, have become softer. Still, the sting remains. And it is not only the Christian religions that demand a certain sacrifice - even the free-wheeling Dakota peoples of the old Plains would offer themselves to torture in the Sun Dance, would starve themselves to find favor with the gods, and would even offer themselves to death to serve the tribal spirit. As Beret felt, the wild nature of the frontier seemed to demand suffering as well as life itself from all who sought to live there.
So we run from these dark philosophies of the past, and, as Rolvaag shows, often for good reason. However, when we stop our running, we are caught short. Either we are left with no representation of the greater reality to help us make sense of things, or we are left with an ersatz religion that gives us candy and hugs but does not prepare us for what is inevitable - for, just as it is a waste to not enjoy the good things of life, so it is a grand mistake to not accept its realities. We do suffer and die and there is nothing we can do about it. That must be figured into any reality system. It also seems necessary that we offer some form of sacrifice - not for the thirst of the gods, but to prepare ourselves for the troubles that will come. To be spoiled and pampered does not serve us well when inevitable pain, loss and death find us.
In the book, however, most of the Norwegians had found a suitable balance - and that is why Beret was seen as such a pest. Common sense does seem to come into play when juggling the sacred and the profane in equal measure. But many people, and societies, have erred on one side or the other. Muslim fanaticism today shows us the dark side - but American pop culture shows us the candy-cane fairy tale side. A sense of proportion should bring us all around, but it seems to be moving very, very slowly. Heads continue to roll in the name of Allah, and every day in AMerica, we are introduced to another Caitlin Jenner-like frivolity that passes for real life. Lord, give us wisdom. FK
We did not move to Stoughton, but not because of the "minority" problem. We have also been to Stoughton many times since, and I still can't find the problem with it. In fact, is has a great cheese store and a fantastic brew-pub that features an extremely potent beer named "Dragon's Milk." But in Rolvaag's tale of late 19th century immigrants to South Dakota, Giants of the Earth, one gets to understand the problem with Norwegians.
First, they were extremely ethnocentric, but what newly- arrived immigrant group isn't? Second, they were very religious, but again,weren't many from the Old Country back then? But it is not until the last part of the book that we get to understand the meaning of "Dark Lutherans," made famous by Garrison Keillor, the author of the Lake Wobegon books about a fictional small town in Minnesota. In Giants, however, there is nothing comical about the darkness. It has mean edges with sharp consequences.
Rolvaag, though, was clearly not anti-religious. His sympathetic portrayal of a traveling minister allows that religion can, and should, be the very glue that keeps desolate and struggling communities together, and gives the people hope. But one woman, Beret, loses her mind out in the great emptiness of the prairie, to the point where she endangers the lives of her smallest children. Obsessed with the belief that they had come into the Devil's land, she wanders about possessed by fear and anxiety until the preacher is able to persuade her that God is here, too.
Thus she becomes competent again, but obsessively religious. Every non-solemn word and act, from drinking liquor to mild profanity to joking becomes a sign that the originator of such things is doomed to hellfire.
In this way, she becomes a nuisance for the men in the community - but it gets much worse. Norwegian worse. She persuades a man who has come down with a harsh cough that he is going to die, and if a preacher is not brought to him, that he will go to Satan's lair. The man worsens and pleads continually that someone bring him the preacher, although they are in the midst of the worst winter ever experienced there. Finally, the pressure of the women, especially Beret, forces her husband Per Hanson to ski out into the deep snow toward a distant town as another blizzard comes. What becomes of him can be guessed.
There may be a dark side to every religion. In the current Catholic Church, we are told both to rejoice and be glad, for we are saved, and to hang our heads in shame over our many, many inevitable sins. It is for this reason that many have left organized religion, and why many religions, including Catholicism, have become softer. Still, the sting remains. And it is not only the Christian religions that demand a certain sacrifice - even the free-wheeling Dakota peoples of the old Plains would offer themselves to torture in the Sun Dance, would starve themselves to find favor with the gods, and would even offer themselves to death to serve the tribal spirit. As Beret felt, the wild nature of the frontier seemed to demand suffering as well as life itself from all who sought to live there.
So we run from these dark philosophies of the past, and, as Rolvaag shows, often for good reason. However, when we stop our running, we are caught short. Either we are left with no representation of the greater reality to help us make sense of things, or we are left with an ersatz religion that gives us candy and hugs but does not prepare us for what is inevitable - for, just as it is a waste to not enjoy the good things of life, so it is a grand mistake to not accept its realities. We do suffer and die and there is nothing we can do about it. That must be figured into any reality system. It also seems necessary that we offer some form of sacrifice - not for the thirst of the gods, but to prepare ourselves for the troubles that will come. To be spoiled and pampered does not serve us well when inevitable pain, loss and death find us.
In the book, however, most of the Norwegians had found a suitable balance - and that is why Beret was seen as such a pest. Common sense does seem to come into play when juggling the sacred and the profane in equal measure. But many people, and societies, have erred on one side or the other. Muslim fanaticism today shows us the dark side - but American pop culture shows us the candy-cane fairy tale side. A sense of proportion should bring us all around, but it seems to be moving very, very slowly. Heads continue to roll in the name of Allah, and every day in AMerica, we are introduced to another Caitlin Jenner-like frivolity that passes for real life. Lord, give us wisdom. FK
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