Duke of Windsor: “Now we come to the anointing: the single
most holy, most solemn, most sacred part of the entire service”
Male Spectator: “Why don’t we get to see it?”
Duke: “Because we are mortals.”
This excerpt from Peter Morgan’s Netflix series The Crown
(2016) episode five “Smoke and Mirrors” comments on the anointing of Great
Britain’s current matriarch, Queen Elizabeth II. Hers was the first televised anointing in
British history. But even in agreeing
and inviting the public to attend most of this sacred ceremony, there was one
part that the monarchy left enshrouded: the actual anointing itself. And why?
Was it because they wanted to show the common folk that the royalty was
still in control of their lives?
No. The reason was to preserve
the mystery, the sacredness, and the importance of that rite. The clergy does not get anointed, neither
parliament, nor the people. It is the
monarch herself. The ceremony was for
her, not everyone else. Total transparency would have ruined that moment and I argue
that it will ruin our world as well.
In today’s information-laden world, transparency is heralded
as one of several things being increasingly claimed as a right in the cyberworld. We believe that we should be able to do a
Google search and come upon any information we deem necessary—and not just for
education, but also to satisfy a whimsical thought, a wondering of how x, y, or
z works, looks, behaves, sounds. But we
must ask ourselves: is total transparency and total access to information something
that will help or damage our societies?
How do you respond when a religious sect wants to keep hidden their holy
rites not because they have something to hide, but that they want to preserve
that rite’s sacredness? When do we
decide that we have gone from seeking transparency to total invasion of an
individual’s or culture’s most cherished customs?
Invasion of traditions cannot come without consequence. Almost exactly two years ago, Paris suffered
under the fallout of the Charlie Hebdo
shooting. Why? Because a satirical newspaper
decided that it’s right to comment and make transparent anything it deemed
worthy, threw mockery in the face of Muslims.
And despite warnings, lawsuits, and other threats, Charlie Hebdo kept at it.
The result? A massacre. Why?
Because it is illegal—in a religious sense—for some sects in Islam to
depict the prophet Mohammed. And Charlie Hebdo didn’t just depict the sacred
prophet, they satirized him. As much as we wish the shooting hadn't happened, the question must be asked: where is
respect in our demand for transparency and distribution of information? It is apparent that today’s world needs a reminder: just because something is exclusive does not mean that it must
be exhibited.
In exhibiting all things, we must also look at whether
making transparent whatever we like is actually making our world a better
place. Sure, one could argue that transparency
would cause people, businesses, governments, societies to be more moral, more
accountable. Jeffrey Pfeffer in his
article “Openness and transparency will not solve our problems”, speaks to the
fact that although the innards of certain ‘conspiracies’ have been exposed,
change is still far behind. He argues
that even though it is right in front of us, the majority of people still don’t
care to take a look at it.
Why is it, then, that when we finally get our golden egg, we—instead
of cracking it open--simply put it back on the shelf? In his article entitled “Egg McNothin’”, Ian
Bogost argues that when something that used to be a luxury—an unattainable or
elusive commodity, and in his case the egg McMuffin—becomes commonplace, we
lose all allure for it and its value becomes zero. Why? Because, according to Bogost, humans are
sold on the principle of anticipation, of ideas of unattained indulgence. That
when we narrowly miss our opportunity for luxury, we desire another chance to
claim it. To elaborate on this fact, Bogost
quotes Adam Chandler’s lament about McDonald’s violation of well-established
ritual:
“The 24/7 work world turns
“morning” into “that time after whenever you woke up,” and all-day breakfast at
McDonald’s only spreads a new layer of oil atop an already greasy period of
precarity and overwork. “In demanding eternal breakfast,” Chandler mourns,
“America is reverting to its adolescence”.
Adam Chandler may be on to something more than just
begrudging the addition of breakfast to our list of instantly gratifying
options. It is often the character of
adolescents to act without acknowledgment of consequences. Indeed it could be argued that in our demand
for transparency and total access, we are actually reverting to more juvenile
ways of thinking. We want to know what
that CEO did with his last paycheck. We
want breakfast no matter when we get out of bed. We want to crucify that woman for her
insensitive tweet. We don’t think that what
the CEO does with his own money is none of our concern, so long as it’s
legal. We don’t comprehend that the
suffering tweeter is now unable to get work, couldn’t pay her rent, and is now
homeless. But we should.
Is total transparency something to be sought after? Perhaps, but probably not. Security cameras are great tools that can
reveal the identity robbers when they thought they were hidden. But people still don’t put security cameras
in their bathroom. Total transparency in
all things robs mankind of the respect, ritual, and private matters that make
life interesting and livable.
Toward the end of the Crown episode Smoke and Mirrors, the
Duke of Windsor says it all:
“Who wants transparency when you can have magic?”
“Who wants prose when you can have poetry?”
“Pull away the veil and what are you left with? An ordinary
young woman of modest ability and little imagination. But wrap her up like
this, anoint her with oil, and hey presto what do you have?”
“A goddess.”
Who would want to rob the world of magic, poetry, and
deity? Those who desire total
transparency.
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