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In 1959 aired this episode of The Twilight Zone — The Obsolete Man. Watch it.
It’s the story of Romney Wordsworth. He lives in a Serling dystopia, an inelegant, fascist dictatorship overseen by the charismatic, vibrant, speechifying Chancellor. Wordsworth, an older man, has been declared obsolete, and therefore sentenced to death.
Serling sets the stage with his opening narration.
You walk into this room at your own risk, because it leads to the future; not a future that will be, but one that might be. This is not a new world: It is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every dictator who has ever planted the ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of history since the beginning of time. It has refinements, technological advancements, and a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of human freedom. But like every one of the super states that preceded it, it has one iron rule: Logic is an enemy, and truth is a menace. This is Mr. Romney Wordsworth, in his last forty-eight hours on Earth. He’s a citizen of the State, but will soon have to be eliminated, because he’s built out of flesh and because he has a mind. Mr. Romney Wordsworth, who will draw his last breaths in the Twilight Zone.
Wordsworth, you see, is a librarian, and that devotion to the work and dignity of man is the very reason for his obsolescence. The Chancellor declares that this poor man has no function — there are no books, and without books, there can be no libraries, and without libraries, there can certainly be no librarians. Wordsworth protests; how can he be obsolete? There is no man who is obsolete, no human life bereft of dignity and purpose, and the state cannot take that from him. The state has no such power. The State counters that it has disproven the existence of God, and Wordswoth again protests with fire on his tongue. But his words are unpersuasive, and find no welcome with the Chancellor, who sentences him to die.
Given the right to choose his own execution, Wordsworth devises a plan, and the next day, meets with the Chancellor in his room. The Chancellor is smug and condescending. But the librarian, his room full of books, is the one in control of the situation; there is a bomb in the room, and the door is locked. Supremely confident in his faith, he has no fear of the death to come. But let the world see (for this is being televised) how the steel man faces his end. Wordsworth calmly reads from the Psalms, and the Chancellor sweats into his cigarette, before breaking down and begging, in the name of God, to be released. Wordsworth accedes, and the Chancellor leaves as the bomb explodes.
Returning to his stark and terrifying chamber, he finds himself removed from office, and declared obsolete for humiliating the state. The very thing he has dedicated his entire life to has no affection for him at all; no longer functional, it spits him out, and murders him all the same.
The chancellor, the late chancellor, was only partly correct. He was obsolete, but so is the State, the entity he worshipped. Any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of man, that state is obsolete. A case to be filed under “M” for mankind—in the Twilight Zone.
This episode is positively overflowing with John Paul II’s thought, years before he became an international figure. The entire story rests on the idea that man is made in the image of God and is possesed of value and meaning apart from his utility. The oppressive, atheistic state exists for itself, and not for its people, and orients itself toward murder of the useless, because the useless are a threat. Nobody will stand being entirely devalued; people must always find their place, their vocation.
I believe that the state cannot oppress, because the freedom we have in Christ is the greatest freedom, and it is the truest vocation of man. The government cannot stop men from being kind or charitable, from praying or worshipping (although it may seek to co-opt both of those), The state cannot prevent man from living a life of dignity, because those decisions belong to each and every person, and every situation can be met in the image and likeness of Christ, and all can be met in love and service.
Rather than armed resistance, though, both Wordsworth and John Paul II engaged in cultural resistance, clandestinely asserting the good of man’s work, preserving it for the future, and making it their profession, their vocation, to do the work of keeping civilization and memory alive. And for both of them, these actions are spurred by their devotion to God; for both, their actions are holy. They have set themselves apart and taken lives certain to get them arrested and killed, because it must be done.
If one Pole remembers how to whistle Chopin, Poland remains alive.
Circa 1994
Well, last night was a late night. The hours marched their way through the evening on the bottom-right of my computer screen while I worked. I had been tired earlier, and was sure I’d be sleeping earlier than normal. Surely, I’d sleep no later than one in the morning. But until three AM I worked, with an energy and excitement I had never seen coming. My TV blared in the background, providing more with company than entertainment. I was too occupied to watch The Emperor’s New School at two.
I am my family’s historian, but since I’m still new at the whole thing, I get help from my dad’s friend Billy DiLiberto, a professional genealogist. He’s a wonderful and generous guy, and answers my questions really quickly, finding in seconds information for which I’d been looking for months, and with his help, I’ve been able to trace back my dad’s family to the mid-nineteenth century, to my ancestors Giuseppe Visaggio and Anna Maria de Maso in Matera. Of course, this doesn’t compare to my mother’s family, particularly my maternal grandmother’s, which can be traced back to the late fourteenth century and a Johannis Duncan in Scotland.
The find that really got me, though, was a simple date: 1917. In 1917, my great-grandfather Prospero was naturalized a US citizen, abandoning his Italian citizenship, and forever embracing his new home on the far side of the Atlantic. Any children he would have from then on would have only American citizenship, because Prospero had renounced any allegiance to Italy when he took his oath at the naturalization office.
My grandfather Michael, though, was born in 1915, two years before that, while Prospero was still an Italian citizen. By the United States’ principle of jus soli (citizenship by location of birth) and Italy’s principle of jus sanguinus (citizenship by descent of blood), Michael was born with citizenship in both countries. He remained an Italian citizen his entire life, as far as I know never renouncing it (for which there is likely no record), and conferred it upon his children.
Which means that my dad is an Italian citizen, and I am as well, as is my sister, and all my cousins. We just need to get the documents together to prove it.
Your paternal great grandfather’s birth certificate from Italy‘ Your paternal great grandmother’s birth certificate Your great grandparents’ marriage certificate (If married outside of Italy, you will need an apostille and a translation into Italian.) Your paternal great grandfather’s certificate of naturalizationOR statement of “No Records” Your paternal grandfather’s birth certificate (with apostille and translation) Your paternal grandmother’s birth certificate Your grandparents’ marriage certificate (with apostille and translation) Your father’s birth certificate (with apostille and translation) Your mother’s birth certificate Your parents’ marriage certificate (with apostille and translation) Your birth certificate (with apostille and translation) Your marriage certificate, if applicable (with apostille and translation) Your spouse’s birth certificate, if applicable Birth certificates for all your children under the age of eighteen, if applicable (with apostille and translation) Any applicable divorce decrees/certificates (with apostille and translation) Death certificates for anyone listed above (with apostille and translation, if for your father, grandfather or great grandfather).
Of course, I’m going to begin this process. Having dual citizenship with an EU country is going to be very beneficial, as well as making it easier for me to move about parts of the world where the US isn’t very popular. Just talk with my hands and show my Italian passport and move on.
However, this presents me with an issue more theological than you might think. You see, I’m not very nationalistic. I tend to place more value on my membership in the Church than in my nationality. I don’t appreciate it when we confer on our country messianic language and expectations because it’s nothing more than a construct of man and not something given or established by God. Sure, like everything, he can use it for real good, but the corruption of man seems to demand it won’t always be moral in its conduct. The attitudes that go alongside patriotism in my experience have soured me on the whole concept.
This, now, is in star contrast to JPII’s thoughts on patriotism, and it constitutes on the my principal areas of disagreement with him. For John Paul, the nation was a community that fostered the spiritual growth of man, a natural community for a people made for community, and valuable of itself. Not the politics, the established institutions of government, not even necessarily the state, but the people and the land are deserving if love, allegiance, and respect.
The question is, if that’s all true, how does my procurement of Italian citizenship fit into that? Is it a rejection of my American identity and community, which is where God has placed me, or is it an embrace of a larger world according to God’s own will?
