Lead us not into Sleaziness
Process Theology & The Charlatan
For though myself be a very vicious man,
Yet I can tell you a moral tale.
The Pardoner, Canterbury Tales
My topic is the charlatan as understood in process philosophy. The charlatan is an archetype, an image. He (and forgive me for using masculine pronouns) is not an eternal object. He is not a pure potentiality that exists in a timeless realm, like the square root of four. Nor is he an actual entity or even a series of entities, as is a human being. He is instead what Whitehead calls a proposition: that is, an inwardly felt "lure for feeling" which can be actualized in different degrees and ways, consciously or unconsciously, by different people in different circumstances. By politicians, for example, or by salesmen, or by preachers. He is a real possibility for how a person might live in the world: the "way I can be" among the many ways available to people.
Charlatans do not become charlatans by conscious choice. They do not sit in a chair by a fire on a wintry night and say "I think I'll be a charlatan." Instead they grow into their charlatanism, by responding to situations in clever ways and finding that it works. It gives them a sense of satisfaction. Sometimes, strangely, they may have parents who encourage them to be charlatans: to do what they need to do in order to be "successful." Their parents teach them to take advantage of people. "It's a tough world," their parents say, "and you must fend for yourself."
In process philosophy nobody is only a charlatan. We are complex human beings. We are always more than any archetype we may embody. And yet some archetypes may take control of our lives, some lures. The charlatan is one such lure. Usually those who succumb to the lure do not know they are succumbing, They simply think they are doing their best to take advantage of whatever circumstances present. And yet, over time, they embody the charlatan archetype. They grow into it,
*
Considered abstractly and in the extreme, the charlatan is a deceptive and cunning figure who uses charm, persuasion, and cleverness to convince others of their false expertise or intentions. He is skilled at creating illusions, whether through speech, theatrics, or other means. He presents himself as knowledgeable but lacks substance behind his claims.
The charlatan is also charismatic. He possesses an innate ability to captivate and influence others. His charm is essential to winning trust and masking true intentions. He can shift personas and stories to suit his audience. Above all, he is motivated by self-interest, using half-truths and believable lies to play into the hopes, fears, and desires of his targets.
Surprisingly, he may also be something of a lonely figure. To be sure, his effectiveness depends on relationships with others. His targets are part of his ecosystem, and he cannot flourish without them. And yet, there may be very few, if any, who know him intimately and with whom he can share, unless, of course, he is on pilgrimage with them, as in the case of the Pardoner.
*
The Pardoner in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is a paradigmatic charlatan. He describes himself as "a very vicious man." He boasts of duping his victims: selling them shabby replicas of religious objects which, they believe, will 'pardon' them of their sins. He uses his knowledge of scripture and storytelling skills not as tools for salvation but as weapons to deceive and enrich himself. It might be surprising that he is so effective. With greasy, stringy hair and a pleading, droning voice, he is not the most attractive of men. And yet, he is a good storyteller. He can tell stories that capture the imaginations of listeners.
After describing himself a very vicious man in the Prologue, the Pardoner tells a tale to the fellow pilgrims that he also tells to the people he dupes. His tale is that of three riotous young men in a tavern, consumed by wine, pleasure, and recklessness. They revel in debauchery until they hear of a grim truth: Death has claimed a friend of theirs, taken him in the blink of an eye. Fueled by a mix of grief, bravado, and drunken outrage, they vow to find Death and destroy it, as if it were a tangible foe that could be slain.
Their journey leads them to an old man shrouded in tattered rags, a figure whose age clings to him like a curse. He speaks of yearning for death’s embrace yet finding it elusive. When the young men rudely demand to know where Death is, he points them to a great tree in the distance. They rush to the tree and, rather than finding Death, they discover a heap of golden coins, shining with promise and corruption. Their loyalty fractures under the glimmer of wealth. They plot against each other, driven by the very avarice that fuels the Pardoner himself. One is sent to town for food and wine, and while he is gone, the others conspire to kill him upon his return, splitting the treasure between themselves.
Meanwhile, the third poisons the wine, ensuring that he alone will reap the riches. The plan unfolds with brutal precision: the two murder the third, then toast to their spoils, only to perish moments later from the poisoned drink. Thus, all three meet the fate they sought to conquer, the gold turning into a silent witness to their doom.
In telling this tale, the Pardoner preaches eloquently against the very sin that defines him. The story concludes with an impassioned moral: Radix malorum est cupiditas—the root of evil is greed. The irony is that the Pardoner's life contradicts this lesson.
God and the Charlatan
In process theology, God is a lure within the human heart to become wise, compassionate, and loving. This divine lure is in conflict with the lure of becoming a charlatan. God is a lure beyond greed, deception, and trickery. Yet, in the multiplicity of human experience, the charlatan’s presence serves as a reminder of the choices available to each individual—choices between integrity and manipulation, between genuine connection and exploitation.
While the divine lure invites us toward honesty, empathy, and authentic living, the charlatan’s lure is compelling precisely because it often offers immediate rewards: admiration, power, and wealth. The archetype of the charlatan, as seen in figures like Chaucer’s Pardoner, reveals how deeply intertwined human desires and vulnerabilities can be. It exposes the ease with which noble aims can be overshadowed by cunning self-interest.
However, process philosophy, with its emphasis on the ongoing nature of becoming, leaves room for transformation. No person is permanently bound to an archetype. Just as one can grow into the lure of the charlatan, one can also turn toward the divine lure, experiencing a shift in purpose and character. Redemption is not a singular act but a series of moments—a process—through which one may choose differently, align with deeper values, and cultivate sincerity over artifice.
Even the charlatan, in all his guises and deceptions, is not beyond the reach of divine persuasion. God’s lure remains, whispering invitations to turn away from superficial charm and toward genuine depth, from self-serving cunning to communal well-being. This dynamic interplay of lures within the human heart underscores the complexity of moral life and the potential for renewal inherent in every moment.
In this light, the figure of the charlatan is not only an image of caution but also a testament to the freedom and responsibility that come with human existence. We are more than our worst inclinations; we are beings capable of reorientation and growth. The charlatan’s tale reminds us that, amidst the many lures that life presents, there is always the possibility of listening more closely to the quiet, persistent call of God—a call that seeks to guide us toward a richer, more loving way of being
- Jay McDaniel.
Charlatans do not become charlatans by conscious choice. They do not sit in a chair by a fire on a wintry night and say "I think I'll be a charlatan." Instead they grow into their charlatanism, by responding to situations in clever ways and finding that it works. It gives them a sense of satisfaction. Sometimes, strangely, they may have parents who encourage them to be charlatans: to do what they need to do in order to be "successful." Their parents teach them to take advantage of people. "It's a tough world," their parents say, "and you must fend for yourself."
In process philosophy nobody is only a charlatan. We are complex human beings. We are always more than any archetype we may embody. And yet some archetypes may take control of our lives, some lures. The charlatan is one such lure. Usually those who succumb to the lure do not know they are succumbing, They simply think they are doing their best to take advantage of whatever circumstances present. And yet, over time, they embody the charlatan archetype. They grow into it,
*
Considered abstractly and in the extreme, the charlatan is a deceptive and cunning figure who uses charm, persuasion, and cleverness to convince others of their false expertise or intentions. He is skilled at creating illusions, whether through speech, theatrics, or other means. He presents himself as knowledgeable but lacks substance behind his claims.
The charlatan is also charismatic. He possesses an innate ability to captivate and influence others. His charm is essential to winning trust and masking true intentions. He can shift personas and stories to suit his audience. Above all, he is motivated by self-interest, using half-truths and believable lies to play into the hopes, fears, and desires of his targets.
Surprisingly, he may also be something of a lonely figure. To be sure, his effectiveness depends on relationships with others. His targets are part of his ecosystem, and he cannot flourish without them. And yet, there may be very few, if any, who know him intimately and with whom he can share, unless, of course, he is on pilgrimage with them, as in the case of the Pardoner.
*
The Pardoner in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is a paradigmatic charlatan. He describes himself as "a very vicious man." He boasts of duping his victims: selling them shabby replicas of religious objects which, they believe, will 'pardon' them of their sins. He uses his knowledge of scripture and storytelling skills not as tools for salvation but as weapons to deceive and enrich himself. It might be surprising that he is so effective. With greasy, stringy hair and a pleading, droning voice, he is not the most attractive of men. And yet, he is a good storyteller. He can tell stories that capture the imaginations of listeners.
After describing himself a very vicious man in the Prologue, the Pardoner tells a tale to the fellow pilgrims that he also tells to the people he dupes. His tale is that of three riotous young men in a tavern, consumed by wine, pleasure, and recklessness. They revel in debauchery until they hear of a grim truth: Death has claimed a friend of theirs, taken him in the blink of an eye. Fueled by a mix of grief, bravado, and drunken outrage, they vow to find Death and destroy it, as if it were a tangible foe that could be slain.
Their journey leads them to an old man shrouded in tattered rags, a figure whose age clings to him like a curse. He speaks of yearning for death’s embrace yet finding it elusive. When the young men rudely demand to know where Death is, he points them to a great tree in the distance. They rush to the tree and, rather than finding Death, they discover a heap of golden coins, shining with promise and corruption. Their loyalty fractures under the glimmer of wealth. They plot against each other, driven by the very avarice that fuels the Pardoner himself. One is sent to town for food and wine, and while he is gone, the others conspire to kill him upon his return, splitting the treasure between themselves.
Meanwhile, the third poisons the wine, ensuring that he alone will reap the riches. The plan unfolds with brutal precision: the two murder the third, then toast to their spoils, only to perish moments later from the poisoned drink. Thus, all three meet the fate they sought to conquer, the gold turning into a silent witness to their doom.
In telling this tale, the Pardoner preaches eloquently against the very sin that defines him. The story concludes with an impassioned moral: Radix malorum est cupiditas—the root of evil is greed. The irony is that the Pardoner's life contradicts this lesson.
God and the Charlatan
In process theology, God is a lure within the human heart to become wise, compassionate, and loving. This divine lure is in conflict with the lure of becoming a charlatan. God is a lure beyond greed, deception, and trickery. Yet, in the multiplicity of human experience, the charlatan’s presence serves as a reminder of the choices available to each individual—choices between integrity and manipulation, between genuine connection and exploitation.
While the divine lure invites us toward honesty, empathy, and authentic living, the charlatan’s lure is compelling precisely because it often offers immediate rewards: admiration, power, and wealth. The archetype of the charlatan, as seen in figures like Chaucer’s Pardoner, reveals how deeply intertwined human desires and vulnerabilities can be. It exposes the ease with which noble aims can be overshadowed by cunning self-interest.
However, process philosophy, with its emphasis on the ongoing nature of becoming, leaves room for transformation. No person is permanently bound to an archetype. Just as one can grow into the lure of the charlatan, one can also turn toward the divine lure, experiencing a shift in purpose and character. Redemption is not a singular act but a series of moments—a process—through which one may choose differently, align with deeper values, and cultivate sincerity over artifice.
Even the charlatan, in all his guises and deceptions, is not beyond the reach of divine persuasion. God’s lure remains, whispering invitations to turn away from superficial charm and toward genuine depth, from self-serving cunning to communal well-being. This dynamic interplay of lures within the human heart underscores the complexity of moral life and the potential for renewal inherent in every moment.
In this light, the figure of the charlatan is not only an image of caution but also a testament to the freedom and responsibility that come with human existence. We are more than our worst inclinations; we are beings capable of reorientation and growth. The charlatan’s tale reminds us that, amidst the many lures that life presents, there is always the possibility of listening more closely to the quiet, persistent call of God—a call that seeks to guide us toward a richer, more loving way of being
- Jay McDaniel.