on the
seven deadly sins, the careless reader might think I'm playing devil's advocate -- or, even worse, that I've pumped up my ego to the point where I think I can compete with C. S. Lewis. In fact, the only Lewis I'm hoping to emulate is Jerry. (Stay tuned for my YouTube hagiography of St. Jerome,
The Nutty Confessor.)
No, I'm not channeling Screwtape. In admitting to a certain wistfulness about each of the deadly sins, I speak on behalf of natural man -- let's call him
Mr. Natural -- who chafes at the burden of grace, who learns that his moral choices have eternal repercussions, and mutters about it into his Michelob. And who can blame him?
Consider the Four Last Things: death, judgment, hell, heaven. Three out of four are creepy, and the fourth is unimaginable -- so your mind tends to linger on the others. I mean, we've all seen horror movies, and can picture
those kinds of things happening to our souls, and then our resurrected bodies . . .
forever. Conversely, I've seen just a few Beatitude movies, and most of those involved Robin Williams in some capacity.
The first time the truth about hell and judgment sank in, I remember exactly how I felt: like a tourist at Vegas, who'd sat in on what he thought was a "friendly game" of poker -- then it dawned on him he was playing at the high-stakes table against a bunch of hit men for the Mob.
Having stuck up, successively, for
Sloth,
Lust, and
Wrath, I've been agonizing over what comes next. This close to our nation's elections, I don't want to look partisan. If I rise in defense of Greed, it might seem I'm endorsing a straight Republican ticket. If I stick up for Envy -- well, that just helps the Democrats. I could take up the cudgels for Pride, but that would only cater to third-party cranks like me, who sniffily stand above petty constructs like "reality."
