KD and Bud and Sex

Kraft Dinner is an abomination.  I’m not kidding; it disgusts me.  It didn’t used to. When we first moved off campus, my college roommates and I didn’t mind eating it, frequently.  The convenience of the stuff eclipsed all other considerations—taste for instance. We did eventually tire of it, so we changed it up a little. We added a dollop of mustard or diced onions and, of course, hotdogs cut in little pink hockey pucks. These attempts did not really redeem the meal because the core element didn’t change; it was still Kraft Dinner.

A grade 10 student told a colleague of mine that he expected to become a Christian one of these days, but he wanted to have fun first—to enjoy the pleasures of life.  The idea here is, of course, that God is anti-pleasure, and this naive child is not alone in his misundertanding.

C. S. Lewis explores the demonic view of pleasure in The Screwtape Letters.  An experienced demon, Screwtape, offers advice to his nephew, a novice demon, on the use of pleasure to ensnare a human soul.  Screwtape laments that despite their best efforts, the demons have not been able to produce a single pleasure, but pleasure can still be useful if properly degraded.  He tells his nephew, “You must always try to work away from the natural condition of any pleasure, to that in which it is least natural, least redolent of its Maker, and least pleasurable” for when dealing with any pleasure in its “healthy and normal and satisfying form we are, in a sense, on the Enemy’s ground.”

I wouldn’t call a can of Budweiser an abomination, but it certainly is incapable of delivering the pleasure of  that any selection for your local microbrewery would.

Still, the mass produced lagers are the beer of choice for those who want to want to express their freedom through the “fun” afforded by alcohol.  They don’t drink one or even two, but many.  So they move through the stages from being animated to the fool and on to the pathetic.

One of the best beers I ever had was in Rennes, France. The label said it was Picon Biere and it tasted like oranges.  I was sitting outdoors in the warm sun at around 3 o’clock in the afternoon.  I had nowhere to go and nothing to do.  The street was cobbled. Across the street was a row of 16th century buildings. It was one of those incredible moments of joy.  I think this experience was close to what God had in mind, when he invented hops and barley and yeast (and oranges).

It was the constraints of Christian morality that drove Aldous Huxley to atheism.  He says this of his decision:

For myself, as, no doubt, for most of my contemporaries, the philosophy of meaninglessness was essentially an instrument of liberation. The liberation we desired was simultaneously liberation from a certain political and economic system and liberation from a certain system of morality. We objected to the morality because it interfered with our sexual freedom; we objected to the political and economic system because it was unjust. The supporters of these systems claimed that in some way they embodied the meaning (a Christian meaning, they insisted) of the world. There was one admirably simple method of confuting these people and at the same time justifying ourselves in our political and erotical revolt: we could deny that the world had any meaning whatsoever.

But how containing is Christian morality?

In his book, Orthodoxy, C. K. Chesterton is puzzled by “the common murmur . . . against monogamy.”  Baffled he asks why people would gripe over the restriction of “keeping to one woman” and overlook the privilege of being able to love even one.

.  .  . crossing the line between freedom and law

I’m not sure exactly where I heard this story. Perhaps it actually occurred in a colleague’s class. Anyway, there was an open an honest discussion of sexuality in one of his classes. One student wondered how long it took . . . how long it took to make love. The teacher wisely responded, “About 50 or 60 years.”

Is Biblical morality really opposed to pleasure?
Is one Picon Biere really inferior to a dozen Buds?
Is the long love to one marriage partner really inferior to many shorter term relationships?

The ingredients for Seafood Macaroni and Cheese are:

  • olive oil
  • large shrimp
  • chopped onion
  • chopped peeled carrots
  • chopped celery
  • garlic cloves, peeled, flattened
  • Turkish bay leaf
  • tomato paste
  • Cognac or brandy
  • butter
  • flour
  • whipping cream
  • Fontina cheese
  • gemelli pasta
  • fresh crabmeat
  • chopped fresh chives

These, properly blended and prepared, have echoes of heaven.

4 Replies to “KD and Bud and Sex”

  1. All religions wrestle with this issue, of course. To my mind, there’s a lot of “compression starting” being attempted out there; the fact is, the more enlightened we get, the more “wholesome” (warning: smarmy word) our pleasures become. So then you get pious types who say you can get there by forcing “unwholesome” pleasures out of your life.

    ‘Course that’s bunk. You end up like your Grade 10er: craving the unwholesome instead of the wholesome.

    As my monastic practice has deepened, I find I genuinely prefer stuff that turns out to be better for me anyway. Even the food I eat is now accidentally healthier. When you look deeply into the true nature of reality, fat and salt and sugar are kind of disappointing; this is a world of ten thousand flavours, where even a bowl of rice is freakin’ sumptuous, if you, like, taste it.

    So that’s my conclusion: shaking KD, however unCanadian a desire that may be, is more about craving better, than seeking Godliness in aversion. It isn’t that macaroni junkies are sinful; it’s more that they’re missing out.

    Fair warning: you’re sounding more Buddhist every day, old friend.


    Rusty Ring: Reflections of an Old-Timey Hermit

  2. I love the phrase “seeking Godliness in aversion” and “ten thousand flavours” is pretty good too.

    I am not at all averse to sounding a little Buddhist now and then. I have also been accused of sounding existentialist. Maybe they will balance out.

    Keep on zenning.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *