Areas of Unrest

20 October 2000 - The Stewardship of Stuff

QOTD: "You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus." -Mark Twain

Reading: Susan Strasser, Waste and Want

Listening to: Fire On the Mountain: Reggae Celebrates The Grateful Dead

In my previous entry, I mentioned Jane Langton's The Thief of Venice as having given me something to think about with respect to religion. It fits in nicely with my current reading, since one of the key points of Strasser's social history of trash is the transformation in the way objects have been treated. In pre-industrial America, there was a concept of the stewardship of objects, of a responsibility to maintain and reuse and care for things. When they could no longer be used, recycling (such as rag collection) was a patriotic duty. Consumerism replaced this, led us to the idea that convenience and modernity are all important. I was particularly interested in reading about how technological obsolescence was a feature of marketing of radios. I suppose if I thought hard enough about it, I might have realized that the problem of modern electronics being obsolete by the time we can buy them did have some precedent. I deal with it by ignoring the obsolescence as long as things more or less work for me. Which has saved me from more than one dead-end technology, but that's another matter.

Langton was talking about something rather different, though. One of her characters is examining relics in order to determine whether they might be authentic. He starts out determined to debunk the relics, possibly even hoping to embarrass Catholicism. So he's pleased to find proof that the objects that are claimed to be pieces of the true cross are of several different types of wood, none of which would have grown in the Middle East during the right period.

I'm not going to say much more about the story, since it would be hard to do so without major spoilers. But I want to write about the fundamental question Langton hints at. Namely, does it matter whether or not the relics are authentic? People give objects power by what they believe about them and, if a splinter of the wrong wood can empower or inspire somebody, is there any harm in that?

I say that while fully admitting that I find relics to be one of the more bizarre aspects of Christianity. That's particularly true of bones of saints and vials of their blood. As an outsider, the whole concept seems creepy. In addition, the veneration of these objects reeks of idolatry to me. (So do icons. And, yes, I've heard plenty of people explain to me that they don't worship these objects, so you needn't argue the point again. I'm also well aware that there are things in Judaism that could easily be misinterpreted by outsiders, e.g. kissing of Torah scrolls. Not to mention the famous urban legend about the non-Jew who moves into a largely Jewish building in New York and concludes that the mezzuzahs he sees on doorposts are some sort of alarm system.)

Anyway, where I was going with this is that I don't think I'm thoughtful enough about most of the objects I own. I do feel a sense of connectedness to the past by using my grandmother's candlesticks, but that was the only example I could think of easily of something giving me that sense of stewardship. There are books I feel attached to, but if one of them were to start shedding pages, I'd probably toss it, rather than taking it to a bindery. (Which reminds me that non-Jews probably think the Jewish practice of burying religious books that can't be repaired is pretty bizarre.) There are odds and ends I've picked up while traveling that I value for the memories they invoke, but my photos and journals feel more powerful to me.

All of which bothers me because I think I should take my belongings more seriously. I appreciate how privileged I am to have as much stuff as I do. Which is why my casual disregard of most of my stuff is an issue. I don't really want to live in a completely minimalistic manner, but what good is it to have shoes I wear twice a year or a pie pan I use less than once a month? I know the answer - those shoes are my good boots and it would be very hard to rent an equivalent and expensive to get new ones each time I use them. Similarly, disposable pie pans add to solid waste disposal problems. But there are probably things I own I could make less of a case for.

I'm not really talking about getting rid of a lot of stuff, or at least not beyond my ongoing decluttering efforts. What I want to do is change my attitude towards the things I use, to appreciate more fully my boots and my pie plates and my knitting needles and my felt tip pens and so on. Or, to go a step further, to be reverent towards every day things.

Of course, if I'm too successful at transforming my attitude, I may never be able to shop happily again.

Special Offer:

Ever wonder about the music I say I'm listening to? Can't hear Snakefarm or Old Blind Dogs or Pierre Bensusan on your local radio station? Well, here's your chance. In the spirit of musical evangelism I've made a mix tape of music I referred to in my margin notes over the past year. I also happen to have another mix tape handy, mostly of World Beat stuff, that I'd made for another purpose. All you have to do is send me email with your address, telling me if you want the AOU41 tape or the Worlds of Unrest tape (or both) before the end of October 2000. (The links are to playlists.) Nothing is required in return, beyond your willingness to listen. If I decide this was a successful experiment, I'll make it an annual event.