In the robes of a false Priesthood

Yesterday I attended the inauguration of the 12th President of Cornell University, David J. Skorton. I did not attend out of a fondness for administrative speeches, nor do I particularly enjoy the pomp and circumstance of such events (though I can't lie -- I think the Cornell robes look pretty cool.) I went because I was obliged to sing with the choir. If I'd known that it would mean three hours of sitting in the hot sun, in stifling performance dress, I might have found an excuse to skip it. But, since I was trapped in a seat not ten yards behind the main podium, I made the most of having a bird's-eye view of the event by making observations to share with all of you.

The first thing was, of course, the processional, in which the faculty, other university delegates, and the trustees filed in solemnly in their colorful academic robes. As backdrop to this display, we were treated to an original piece performed by the wind ensemble and composed specifically for the occasion, I think by someone in the music department. It was a strange piece, very, er, contemporary, and mostly seemed to consist of higher, shrill notes wandering about without forming much of a melody and with no serious rhythmic pattern. It sounded like something you'd hear on The Twilight Zone or The X-Files, and watching the faculty marching to such obviously inappropriate music was highly entertaining. They did switch to a horn piece when the man of the hour arrived at the end, and that was a bit grander. Immediately before him marched four others in single file, carrying before them the Symbolic Objects of Cornell: the original Cornell Charter (carefully framed), the Cornell Seal (in a special little box), the Cornell Baton and the Cornell Mace. All bearers of Symbolic Objects held their treasures up proudly as they marched, displaying them prominently so that the people could all see and admire. You, our Catholic readers, will have no trouble guessing what disturbing comparison was going through my mind as I witnessed this.

There's a story in Mormon lore about Mormon intellectual Hugh Nibley, who was once asked to give a prayer to open a BYU graduation. "We are gathered here," Nibley intoned gravely, "in the robes of a false priesthood." I never heard how things went on from there, but I'll bet it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Anyway, Nibley's words kept coming back to me as the event unfolded.

The most jarring thing was perhaps the Christian references. The most outrageous of these was in a little piece that someone read, which seemed to be a kind of ode to The Universities. The greatness of institutions of higher learning was extolled from many angles: their promotion of knowledge, their fostering of intelligent dialogue, their wonderful contirbutions to the human race, "And of their Kingdom," the piece concluded, "there will be no end." Yes, that's right, they meant the Kingdom of the Universities. The hair on the back of my neck certainly pricked up, but I wondered how many of the others in the crowd recognized what blasphemy they were hearing? Later on, in a somewhat less overt but still absurd reference, faculty speaker David Feldshuh told us that the Cornell community is for everyone because, in some small way, "we each remake it in our own image." Great, so we're all gods now.

And then there was a reference by provost Biddy Martin which, while perhaps not so offensive in itself, deserves mention because her entire speech was such a humdinger that it must be described. She declared that Cornell could not be "all things to all people." Why not? She elaborated on this point with a description of the dark and terrible state of the world today, in which free and rational thought are stymied and dialogue shunned. Thinly veiled references to various groups of conservatives were made, and she promised that Cornell would stand proud against the storm. The school's important contribution to the world, she claimed, would be (among many other things), to teach young people to mistrust "anyone who thinks they know the difference between good and evil." Nice. I wonder, were we meant to conclude that Biddy Martin doesn't know the difference between good and evil, or that we should not trust her?

The inaugurating itself was short but packed a punch. Some words were pronounced over the new leader. Then the bearers of the Symbolic Objects each came forward one by one and presented their artifact to the president while it was described by the Chairman. And then the president bowed to it! No, dear readers, I know what you're thinking, but I'm not talking about a slight nod of the head, which might have been intended as a thanks to the bearer. The newly minted President Skorton made a low from-the-waist bow to first the Charter, then the Seal, then the Baton and finally the Mace. This was just plain spooky.

But the spooky returned to the merely silly with Skorton's own speech. Entitled "Dance", he described the way in which different disciplines and groups of people work towards truth (at least, I assume that's what they were supposed to work towards, though I don't think he ever quite made it clear) in different ways. Different people take different paths, he said, in answering cosmic questions. Some do this by trusting in a higher power, and submitting to love. And, on that note, he did something utterly unexpected. He stopped speaking, and cued a space off to his left, where a gospel choir from one of the local churches was waiting to sing a peppy song called, "Just a Little More Love."

I thought things could hardly get any crazier at that point, but Skorton proved me wrong. He next talked about the path of those who, "not necessarily believing in a deity", looked back to an "older tradition" in following the ways of their ancestors. In case anybody was confused as to what he was talking about, he now cued a group to his right, which performed an obviously Jewish song in their skullcaps. So, the Jews are ancestor-worshippers whose faith predates God. Got it.

What came next? You guessed it: the bridge-building Muslims! We heard a few words about the people who bring other cultures together, etc., followed by a song actually entitled "Bridge" (the Arabic word, of course) performed by Arab musician Simon Shaheen. The ridiculous set ended with some commendation for the secular humanists, who courageously soldier ahead to build a better world without God. No music for the secular humanists, though. Somebody should complain.

The irony of multiculturalism is familiar by now. I even recall writing an editorial about it for my high school newspaper in 1998; multiculturalists claim to respect all cultures, but the best they can aspire to is an even distribution of their disrespect. Skorton probably thought his speech supremely sensitive, but was there any seriously religious person who should not have been offended by it?

What kept coming home to me, though, were the religious parallels. Pronouncing words intended to invest authority. Venerating special objects. And then the parallels in speech, assuring us that unity and truth will be found through The University, all things will be judged by its all-seeing eyes, and of its Kingdom there will be no end!

Men have a longing for the infinite, which no amount of perversion can erase. As Augustine famously observed, our hearts will have no rest until they can rest in the bosom of the Everlasting God. Those who have lost sight of their highest good, because they are still driven by these insatiable appetites, will inevitably substitute other gods. And Lucifer was the first, but not the last, to consider himself an excellent candidate to fill the vacancy. In that sense, Cornell really is following in a long and distinguished tradition.

Congratulations, President Skorton! And may God have mercy on us all.

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