Dante and the Office – The Catholic Thing

Some people have trouble reading Dante’s Commedia.  For a “comedy,” it doesn’t seem all that funny. Teachers will tell you it is a “comedy” in the sense that it has a happy ending in Heaven.  Some people might chuckle at some of the punishments Dante envisions for certain souls in the Inferno, but others would consider this callous. Who would be so heartless as to laugh at the misfortune of others? It’s so medieval.  And yet, I wonder whether we are as self-aware as we often assume.

Let’s say you were in Dante’s place, and you were trekking with your guide through the Inferno. You happen upon a dark space illuminated solely by a dull blue glow.  As your eyes get accustomed to the dim light, you realize that the dull blue glow is radiating from box-shaped computer monitors, each of which is sitting on top of what looks like a combination human body and old telephone operator’s plug board, with wires running in and out of various holes. 

“Where are we?” you ask your spirit guide, Mike Judge, writer and director of the movie Office Space.  “This is the dark valley where pitiless, unhelpful IT technicians and bureaucrats go who have not repented for their crimes against humanity.”  At that moment, you hear voices saying to each poor soul as he tries to put the right plug into the right hole to “connect” his system: “I’m sorry, sir, but the system is currently unavailable.” Or “We’re sorry, but you don’t have the correct software to connect to that port.”  Now, be honest. Tell me there wouldn’t be part of you that would have to stifle a chuckle. 

And then let’s say you go on, and in another valley, brightly lit with incandescent light, you find an intellectual-looking white woman with glasses in a business suit sitting in a chair marked “safe space” being poked by demons on each side. One says, “not those pronouns, these.” 

Another shouts, “minorities are enslaved because of you, and if you don’t say you’re sorry, you’re as guilty as a slave owner, and if say you’re sorry, you’re worse.” 

A third pokes with another sharp stick and says, “You’re a woman, so you are a disadvantaged minority. But don’t claim to be a disadvantaged minority because that would be insensitive to real disadvantaged minorities.”

A fourth pokes her and says: “Children are disgusting. But aren’t you feeling ashamed because you don’t have any children?” The woman in the chair seems determined to please each demon that pokes her, saying, “Yes, that’s right. No, absolutely.”  Flying above her head are harpies that swoop and scream repeatedly “racist, racist, racist!” She screams, “Not me, them!” But the harpies take no notice of her.  

When your spirit guide turns to you as if to tell you about the woman, you just shake your head and say: “No need. I know who this is.”  Now, in this instance, you might not laugh, but by the same token, would you not say to yourself: “That’s unfortunate, but it kind of makes sense.”  When you ask your guide, “Isn’t there something that can be done?” he merely looks away into the distance and says: “We must be moving on.”

Lower down, you find the CEO of the company who put thousands of your fellow workers out of a job (“reduction in force” is what they called it). Though he nearly bankrupted the company, he walked away with $40 million in a “golden parachute.” He is pushing an expensive BMW out of gas up a steep hill to what looks like a gas station at the top. But when he gets to the top, the car rolls down the other side, and he must start over.  Now again, tell me you wouldn’t have a moment of glee. “Oh my, I’m sorry. Did I just let out a laugh?  That’s very wrong.”  

So then you end up on Mount Purgatory where you see a lot of your old friends, all of whom were basically great people but each of whom had one or more serious character defects. The guy whose anger got the better of him occasionally; the woman who was so kind and friendly but like Ado Annie in the musical Oklahoma, “was a girl who just couldn’t say no” to all the wrong guys; the nice manager who couldn’t drum up the courage to challenge dumb policies or confront wicked employees.  

The usual sort.  Good people, but each of whom needs just a bit of something to squeeze out that last bit of cancerous growth killing their joy.  And you say to yourself, “Yeah, this seems about right. I love these people, but they can’t keep killing themselves like this.”

And then, up at the top of Mount Purgatory, you meet that wonderful elderly secretary, Alice, the one who was always kind and generous and knew everything and could actually get things done.  She is sitting at a desk with that same welcoming smile you remember, and she says: “How was your tour?” And you say: “Fine, thank you. I suspect you may have had something to do with it.”  And she says: “Well, yes, but not me, really. The Boss is the one who is really in charge. But we talk regularly. As I’ve often told you, He is such a great Boss.”  

And this is the moment you realize that, after all the muck of the office politics, the fact that she is here and the others down below are not still making life hellish for themselves and others, makes this kind of a happy ending.  There weren’t a lot of belly laughs on the journey, but things seem to have turned out okay. 

At that moment, however, Alice turns to you and says: “Did you recognize yourself in any of those people below?” And though she says it with that cheerful, supportive look she always had, like a loving grandmother, it makes a little shudder go down your back.