Once again, I find myself too busy to be able to post full reviews of these books. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back to one or two of them (the book by Kelly Johnson was especially good, and the book by Milton Friedman was especially bad [Friedman may not be the devil but his version of capitalism may very well be “the devil’s wet dream,” as Ani DiFranco once said]) but I’m not holding my breath — for now, I’ve just selected one quote from each book that I found especially gripping or definitive of the piece. Not surprisingly, given that I am taking a seminar on “Christianity and Capitalism” a lot of my reading is based upon that topic.
1. The Fear of Beggars: Stewardship and Poverty in Christian Ethics by Kelly S. Johnson.
“[V]oluntary begging is not merely about an individual’s pursuit of holiness, but rather concerns the possibility of a Christian social order… The beggar instigates an order of gift-giving, searching out those who will join in a cycle of gift which does note exclude work or exchange, but orders them to serve the good of proclaiming Christ… a steward may practice her craft without a church, but the beggar must have one.”
2. Mandate to Difference: An Invitation to the Contemporary Church by Walter Brueggemann.
This is a collection of essays/sermons by Brueggemann, and the last one “Some Theses on the Bible in the Church” was especially concise. I’ll just quote Brueggemann’s theses:
1. Everybody has a script.
2. We are scripted by the process of nurture, formation, and socialization that may go under the large rubric of liturgy.
3. The dominant scripting of both selves and communities in our society, for both liberals and conservatives, is the script of therapeutic, technological, consumer militarism that permeates every dimension of our common life.
4. That script promises to make us safe and happy.
5. That script has failed.
6. Health depends, for society and for members of it, on disengagement from and relinquishment of that script.
7. It is the task of the church and its ministry to de-script from that powerful script.
8. That task is undertaken through the steady, patient, intentional articulation of an alternative script that we testify will indeed make us safe and joyous.
9. That alternative script as an offer of a counter-metanarrative is rooted in the Bible and enacted through the tradition of the church.
10. That alternative script has as its defining factor the Key Character in all holiness, the God of the Bible who is variously Lord and Savior of Israel, Creator of heaven and earth, and is fleshed in Jesus, we name as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
11. That script of this God of power and life is not monolithic, one-dimensional, or seamless, and we should not pretend that we have such an easy case to make.
12. The ragged disjunctive quality of the counter-script to which we testify cannot be smoothed out and made seamless, as both historical-critical study and doctoral reductionism have tried to do.
13. The ragged disputatious character of the counter-script to which we testify is so disputed and polyvalent that its adherents are always tempted to quarrel among themselves.
14. The entry point into the counter-script is baptism.
15. The nurture, formation and socialization into the counter-script with this elusive, irascible Key Character at its center constitute the work of ministry.
16. Ministry is conducted in the awareness that most of us are deeply ambiguous about this alternative script.
17. The good news, I judge, is that our ambivalence as we stand between scripts is precisely the primal venue for the work of God’s spirit.
18. Ministry, and the mission beyond ministry, is to manage that inescapable ambivalence that is the human predicament in faithful, generative ways.
19. IF what I have said is true, then it follows that the work of ministry is crucial, pivotal, and indispensable; as in every society, so in our society.
3. The Worldly Philosophers: The Lives, Times & Ideas of the Great Economic Thinkers by Robert L. Heilbroner.
“A man who thinks that economics is only a matter for professors forgets that this is the science that has sent men to the barricades.”
4. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism by Max Weber.
“A specifically bourgeois economic ethic had grown up. With the consciousness of standing in the fullness of God’s grace and being visibly blessed by Him, the bourgeois business man, as long as he remained within the bounds of formal correctness, as long as his moral conduct was spotless and the use to which he put his wealth was not objectionable, could follow his pecuniary interests as he would and feel that he was fulfilling a duty in doing so.”
5. Capitalism and Freedom by Milton Friedman.
“Historical evidence speaks with a single voice on the relation between political freedom and a free market. I know of no example in time or place of a society that has been marked by a large measure of political freedom, and that has not also used something comparable to a free market.”
6. Utilitarianism by John Stuart Mill.
“[T]he ‘greatest happiness principle’ holds that actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness; wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure and the absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain and the privation of pleasure.”
7. The Manifesto of the Communist Party by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels.
“Let the ruling classes tremble at the Communist revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win. Workingmen, of all countries, unite!”
8. Marxism and Literary Criticism by Terry Eagleton.
“[W]hat perished in the Soviet Union was Marxist only in the sense that the Inquisition was Christian… The Marxist critical heritage is a superlatively rich, fertile one… We do not dismiss, say, feminist criticism just because patriarchy has not yet been dislodged. On the contrary, it is all the more reason to embrace it.”

Well, I had intended to write more detailed reviews of some of the books that I read in July. Unfortunately, I have had little time for reviews (or blogging) over the last month and now I find myself at a place where August has come and gone and I am only just finishing July’s reviews. Therefore, I am posting my reading list in an incomplete state as I don’t know when I’ll have time to get to writing my “reviews” of the books I read in August. I might try to poke away at them, but if there is one book in particular that appears on August’s list that folks would like me to review, then I would be willing to do that. Anyway, these are the books that I read this summer (most of which were read in preparation for a seminar I am taking on “Christianity and Capitalism” — say what you want about “postmodern” philosophy and theory, it is still an important tool for answering the question: “What time is it?”).
July Books
1. Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration by Joseph Ratzinger.
I have already reviewed this book in some detail in a separate post (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/117003.html) so I’ll say no more about it here.
2. Man on His Own: Essays in the Philosophy of Religion by Ernst Bloch.
This book is a collection of pieces selected from Bloch’s oeuvre. By and large, the essays were incredibly stimulating and provocative. Despite the fact that Bloch is an atheist and (gasp!) a Marxist, I think that he has an excellent grasp on some of the major themes within the biblical narrative (his reflections on the exodus, on the prophets, and on Jesus and the kingdom of God reminded my of both Walter Brueggemann and N. T. Wright) although he does seem to go wrong with Paul (i.e. he sets Paul over and against Jesus). In fact, having read their books together, I almost wonder if Bloch has a better understanding of Christianity than Ratzinger! With that in mind, let me quote from what Moltmann says in the introduction to this collection:
God’s defenders are not necessarily closer to God than God’s accusers. It is not Job’s theological friends who are justified, but Job is. In the Psalms, protest and jubilation ring out in the same voice. Wherever in history the combination ceased to work, the theologians would learn as much about God from atheists as the atheists could perhaps learn from the theologians.
3. Forget Foucault by Jean Baudrillard.
Because I think so highly of Foucault, I thought it might be worthwhile to read what some of his detractors have to say. Consequently, I thought I would pick up this piece by Baudrillard (which also includes an interview Sylvere Lotringer conducted with Baudrillard entitled “Forget Baudrillard”). To be honest, I have some rather mixed feelings about this book.
Essentially Baudrillard argues that Foucault, far from engaging in a “discourse of truth,” is actually engaging in a “mythic discourse” that simply mirrors the power Foucault describes. Furthermore, Baudrillard goes on to argue that Foucault is able to speak so compelling of power, only because power is dead. Baudrillard pushes Foucault’s thinking “over the edge” and argues that power hasn’t simply been disseminated, rather, it has completely dissolved. He then spends the bulk of this essay making the same argument in relation to what Foucault has to say about sexuality. Essentially, according to Baudrillard, Foucault’s work is “magisterial but obsolete.”
Over against Foucault, Baudrillard (at least as far as I can tell — I’ll admit that I found this essay somewhat dense) argues that it is better to think through the contemporary situation through the lenses of production and seduction. He argues that “production” should be understood not as material manufacture but as a “rendering visible” or a causing to appear (pro-ducere). “Seduction,” therefore, “withdraws something from the visible order and so runs counter to production.” Furthermore, Baudrillard understands reality as essentially fluid and devoid of meaning and so Foucault’s discourse on sex and power is then understood as a form of seduction (and the mirror of the powers Foucault assaults). Thus, because he understands reality as “the locus of simulacrum of accumulation against death,” and “no more than a stockpile of dead matter, dead bodies, and dead language,” Baudrillard argues that it is seduction that is stronger than both power and sexuality (which are caught up in illusions about the real and, consequently, fall into the realm of the imaginary).
Thus, the true secret of power, and sexuality, is that they don’t exist (indeed, the secret of the great politicians was knowing that power did not exist). Consequently, Baudrillard argues that the way to respond to power is not to resist it but to “dare” those who hold power to push it to its limit. He writes:
A challenge to power to be power, power of the sort that is total, irreversible, without scruple, and with no limit to its violence. No form of power dares to go that far… And so it is in facing this unanswerable challenge that power starts to break up.
What does Baudrillard mean by this sort of challenge? I’m not entirely sure, but I think that he means that, rather than acknowledging power and struggling with it, we should simply choose to disregard it… and in this way we force its hand. This form of action, perhaps, can be seen in the early Christians who said, “Caesar may tell us not to call Jesus ‘Lord,’ and he may threaten to kill us if we do, but we will continue to call Jesus ‘Lord,’ regardless.” In this way power was pushed to its limit, and broken up.
So, what is one to do with all this? To begin with, I don’t entirely buy Baudrillard’s critique of Foucault, rooted as it is in nihilism. If our discourse is somehow related to truth (and not simply to myth), if our concepts and structures are somehow related to reality (and are not just simulacra) then I think that Baudrillard’s case is undermined. Indeed, part of the reason why I am so attracted to Foucault is because of the way in which his discourse on power parallels what the Pauline (and deutero-Pauline) literature has to say about the Powers (cf. Walter Wink’s trilogy).
Furthermore, I think that I was being rather gracious to Baudrillard when I used the example of the early Christians to illustrate his case. Rather than leading to that sort of “radical” lifestyle, Baudrillard seems to live a life that says, “Look, none of this is worth anything anyway, so why waste your time fighting anything.” Ultimately, Baudrillard engages in philosophy because he finds it amusing. And so he lives a rather comfortable life, plays with words, and waits for death.
4. The System of Objects by Jean Baudrillard.
I found this book to be so exciting that I immediately went out and picked up two more by Baudrillard (who, in this work anyway, reminded my a great deal of both Barthes and McLuhan — indeed, unless one is not at least a little familiar with these authors, adjusting to Baudrillard’s topics of discussion may take some work).
This book, as the title suggests, is Baudrillard’s attempt to provide a “system of objects” — i.e. to classify objects the same way that we have classified flora or fauna. However, rather than simply classifying objects by their function, Baudrillard is especially concerned to provide a system of meanings, thereby exploring the process whereby people relate to objects, and the ways in which those objects impact human behaviour and relationships. “In sum,” Baudrillard argues, “the description of the system of objects cannot be divorced from a critique of that system’s practical ideology.”
Consequently, Baudrillard goes on to explore the system of objects in four ways — he explores the “functional” system, the “non-functional” system, the “metafunctional and dysfunctional” system, and the “socio-ideological” system.
In his exploration of the “functional” system (also called “objective discourse”), Baudrillard examines things like interior design, furniture arrangements and materials, colours, lighting, clocks, mirrors, wood, glass, and atmosphere. In the premodern period, Baudrillard argues that the arrangement and use of these things perpetuate a certain ideology. That is to say: “[t]he real dimension they occupy is captive to the moral dimension which it is their job to signify.” Consequently, in the modern period, with the increasing drive for “mobility, flexibility and convenience,” what we see is a form of liberation of the object, as the object is no longer required to signify old moral categories. However, Baudrillard emphasises that what is liberated is the function of the object, and not the object itself. As he says: “[Objects] are thus indeed free as functional objects — that is they have the freedom to function and… that is practically the only freedom they have.” Of course, the corollary of this is that “just so long as the object is liberated only in its function, man equally is liberated only as user of that object.” Consequently, whereas the premodern obsession was moral, the obsession today is functional. People have become “interior designers” living in a world that is no longer given; it is a world that they themselves construct.
If this is the case, if there is a technical need for design, then Baudrillard argues that the functional system is only completed when a cultural need for “atmosphere” is also considered. In particular, in his study of colours, “hot” and “cold” tones, “natural” and “cultural” wood, and other objects, Baudrillard examines the way in which atmosphere is created by a nostalgic echoing of the state of nature, resulting in a (contradictory, and therefore illusory) “naturalness.” What we end up with is “simulacrum of nature… thriving not on nature but on the Idea of Nature.” Of course, the key thing to realise is that all the values being ascribed here (from the way in which we value “warm” colours, to the way in which we value a wooden table more than a synthetic table) are all entirely abstract. Consequently, Baudrillard concludes that “the consistency here is not the natural consistency of a unified taste but the consistency of a cultural system of signs.” Therefore, “‘man the interior designer’ is always coupled with ‘man of relationship and atmosphere’, and the two together give us ‘functional man’.”
Consequently, in concluding this section, Baudrillard argues that the key thing to realise is that functionality has ceased to be about attaining a certain end or goal and is not about the ability to be integrated into an overall scheme. This leaves us with a fundamentally ambiguous system that is, one the one hand, about organization and calculation, and, on the other hand, about connotation and disavowal.
From discussing the “functional” system, Baudrillard turns to discussing the “nonfunctional” system (subjective discourse”) by focusing on “marginal objects” that seem to fall outside of the system he has just described — objects like antiques, for example. However, the central point Baudrillard makes here is that these marginal objects are not an anomaly relative to this system because “the functionality of modern objects becomes historicalness in teh case of the antique object… without this implying that the object ceases to function as a sign within the system.” Thus, the role of the antique is to signify — specifically, to signify time. Just as with “naturalness,” so also with time: history is simultaneously invoked and denied. Essentially, the antique provides the functional system with its myth of origins, for whereas the functional object is efficient, the mythical antique is fully realised — it is “authentic.” Thus, Baudrillard concludes: “Fundamentally, the imperialism that subjugates nature with technical objects and the one that domesticates cultures with antiques are one and the same.”
This signification of time and authenticity within marginal objects also explains the passion that many people have for collecting. Objects that are collected exist, not to function, but to be possessed. Such collections are endowed with the abstraction that is necessary for possession (i.e. they are abstracted from their function and brought into a direct relationship with the collecting subject). Of course, “rare” or “unique” objects are especially prized in collections and the possession of an absolutely singular object is prized because it allows to possessor to recognise herself in the object as an absolutely singular being. This is so because, Baudrillard argues, “what you really collect is always yourself.” However, this form of possession is a tempered mode of perversion: rather than apprehending the object qua object, one transforms the object into the paradigm of various other things which are then seen as referring back to the perverting subject. Ultimately, Baudrillard concludes, “the collector strives to reoconstitute a discourse that is transparent to him, a discourse whose signifiers he controls and whose reference par excellence is himself.”
Having now considered objects from the point of view of their “objective systematization” and their “subjective systematization,” Baudrillard now turns to the “metafunctional and dysfunctional” system and the issue of connotation. In particular, Baudrillard argues that technical connotation is epitomised by the notion of automatism — which grants the object, in its function, “the connotation of an absolute.” Now there is some irony here: because the degree of perfection in a machine is considered to be proportional to its automatism, functionality is increasingly sacrificed and, consequently, risking the arrest of technical advance. The reason why we are so interested in automatism relates back to the ways in which we relate to objects as images of ourselves and objects are increasingly invested with the autonomy of human consciousness, power, control, and personhood (which is why this section is subtitled, “Gadgets and Robots”). Furthermore, this pursuit of automatism explains the category of objects that Baudrillard calls “gadgets,” “gizmos,” and “thingummyjigs.” These are objects that exist without any operational value — they simply function in an automated way. Thus, functionality with this objects is not merely their function, but also their mystery, a mystery that “mystifies man by submerging him in a functional dream, but it equally well mystifies the object.” All of this, then, leads to the “superobject” of science fiction: the (metafunctional) robot. Baudrillard writes: “The robot is the symbolic microcosm of both man and the world… it simultaneously replaces both man and the world, synthesizing absolute functionality and absolute anthropomorphism.” Consequently, we can see a concomitant dysfunctionality running throughout this system of projection which refers all real conflicts to the technical sphere. It appears as though a “short circuit” has occurred wherein, automatism and projection, threaten to end any actual functionality.
This finally leads Baudrillard to reflect upon the socio-ideological system of objects, which relates to consumption. Here Baudrillard notes the use of a “model/series” scheme (wherein the privileged few enjoy the “models” and the less privileged majority consume from “series” that reference the “models”) that is not premised upon an object’s practical functionality but is premised upon the ways in which an object can be “personalized.” Through a proliferation of choices, the consumer is able to transcend the “strict necessity” of a purchase in order to be personally committed the object that is purchased. However, the elements that personalize an object are what Baudrillard calls “inessential differences” (differences in colour, in cut, etc.). Consequently, because these differences are inessential, personalization and integration end up going hand in hand, as our choosing places us squarely within the socio-economic order. This combination is “the miracle of the system” — a miracle that causes people, in their insistence on being subjects, success only be becoming objects of economic demand.
Further, these differences aren’t only inessential, they can also become parasitic as they begin to proliferate in ways that run counter to an object’s technical purpose. For example, Baudrillard mentions how objects are deliberately manufactured in order to become obsolescent. This occurs in three ways: an object can be made obsolescent because a better object replaces it (“obsolescence of function”); an object can be made obsolescent because it is designed to break down or wear out (“obsolescence of quality”); or an other object can be marketed in such a way that the previous object is no longer desirable (“obsolescence of desirability”). Consequently, Baudrillard asserts that: “In a world of (relative) affluence, the shoddiness of objects replaces the scarcity of objects as the expression of poverty.”
Baudrillard then turns to the idea of “credit” and asserts that credit causes a new system of ethics to arise. Because credit allows for the precedence of consumption over accumulation, because it allows for us to possess that which we have not earned, society is returned to a sort of complicit feudalism, wherein consumers embrace an allocation of their labour in advance to the feudal lord (the lords of credit). Hence, that which is taken as a “right” and a basic “freedom” (i.e. credit) is actually form of social colonization.
Finally, Baudrillard concludes his discourse of objects, by exploring discourse about objects — advertising. Advertising, he argues, is not only about objects, but it has, itself, become an object of consumption. Thus, although we may become better at resisting advertising in the imperative, we tend to miss this point and become more susceptible to consuming advertising in the indicative. Hence, it is our ceaseless consumption of advertising that forcibly socially conditions us. Hence Baudrillard writes that advertising ensures “the spontaneous absorption of ambient social values and the regression of the individual into the social consensus…. advertising tells you, in effect, that ‘society adapts itself totally to you, so integrate yourself totally into society’.” But this is a scam because, whereas it is only an imaginary agency that adapts to you, you adapt to an agency that is distinctly real. In this way, advertising creates a “reign of a freedom of desire,” but it is a desire that is co-opted by social controls. Therefore, the message that we are “free to be ourselves” really means that we are “free to project our desires onto commodities.”
Therefore, in his conclusion, Baudrillard provides this definition of consumption: “consumption is an active form of relationship (not only to objects, but also to the world)… consumption is the virtual totality of all objects and messages ready-constituted as a more or less coherent discourse… consumption means an activity consisting of the systematic manipulation of signs.” Hence, the reason why consumption has no limits is because it no longer has anything to do with the satisfaction of needs or with reality.
An intriguing read, no? This book certainly had my wheels turning in all sorts of different directions. It was my favourite book of the summer.
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowlings.
To be honest, I’m sort of glad that this series is over. A few years ago, I decided to see what the hype was about, so I picked up the first few books of this series and, because I’m rather obsessive about finishing what I start reading, I’ve stuck with Harry right until the end. All in all, I found the books to be mostly fun, but neither especially well-written (in fact, Rowling’s presentation of Harry’s character often annoyed me a great deal), nor nearly as “profound” as people seem to want to make them out to be. Unfortunately, in commenting on this final volume, several people seem to be eager to point out “Christian” themes and motifs that run through the story but I fail to see why those things should catapult a fairly average piece of children’s literature into something great. We can find Christian themes in most everything, if we look hard enough.
Granted, due to the brisk pace of the plot, I read the book rapidly (and wanted to do so) but I think that most pulp fiction is written in a similar manner. Reality television is also capable of drawing me in like this (“I just couldn’t put the book down!” and “I just couldn’t change the channel!”), but I’m not about to suggest that this makes reality television great. However, watching reality television sure is good for letting a person “space out” and have a little fun at the end of a hard day, and this, too, is what Harry Potter is good for.
Ultimately, at the end of the day, I’m a little concerned that this is what popular reading amounts to these days. Similarly, I’m a little bothered by the observation that, even for those who are given to more academic reading, this is all the fiction that a lot of them are reading these days. How about, instead of going on about the “Christian” undertones in Harry Potter, we simply start reading something else? How about Hardy, or Dostoevsky? Steinbeck, or Hugo?
So, please, have fun with Harry, but if you want substance, look elsewhere.
August Books
1. A Better Hope: Resources for a Church Confronting Capitalism, Democracy, and Postmodernity by Stanley Hauerwas.
2. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (Vol 1), by Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari.
3. A user’s guide to Capitalism and Schizophrenia: Deviations from Deleuze and Guatarri by Brian Massumi.
4. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews & Other Writings, 1972-1977 by Michel Foucault (edited by Colin Gordon).
5. The Puppet and the Dwarf: The Perverse Core of Christianity by Slavoj Zizek.
6. Fragments: Cool Memories III, 1990-1995 by Jean Baudrillard.

I had originally planned to include this review in a post on my “July Books” but, given its length, I thought I would post this separately. This review, like all my reviews, doesn’t claim to be comprehensive (or even adequate).
Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration by Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Benedict XVI (part one of a two volume series).
If I were to boil this review down to one sentence, I would say this: what Ratzinger has always gotten wrong, he continues to get wrong, and what he gets right has been done much better elsewhere. (To be honest, I can’t help but wonder if this book was such a big hit simply because most people haven’t read anything at all about the “historical Jesus” — a term I need to put into quotes, given that Ratzinger’s criteria for historicity are different than those generally accepted by Jesus scholars.) Of course, there is a two-edged sword to all of this. Because he is the current Pope, Ratzinger is guaranteed a much larger audience than pretty much all other Jesus scholars. So, even if what he gets right has been better explored and expressed elsewhere, chances are many of those who read this book wouldn’t bother reading any of the other (better) volumes on Jesus, and in this way Ratzinger’s book accomplishes some good. The problem with this is that this larger audience is also just as likely to swallow all of Ratzinger’s mistakes because they are not reading any of the other (better) volumes on Jesus.
So what was good about this book? First, Ratzinger’s ongoing emphasis on Jesus as the prophet that is like Moses and greater than Moses is excellent. This is really the leitmotif of the book — Jesus is the prophet who sees God face-to-face (whereas Moses only saw God’s back) and Jesus therefore makes God and God’s word known to us. Indeed, Ratzinger pushes this idea to its end-point, asserting that Jesus sees God face-to-face because he himself is God — the divine Son of the Father — and thus, as God, he himself is the fullest revelation of God. This, I think, will cause a bit of an uproar amongst historical Jesus scholars, even though, conversely, I think that this is also a major part of the reason why this book has been so praised in Christian circles (especially since other Christian Jesus scholars — even ‘evangelicals’ like Tom Wright — have been much more circumspect in how they have approached the issue of Jesus’ divinity). The scholars will argue that Ratzinger has imported “confession” into “history,” and they may be right (however, I wonder if all our attempts at doing history are confessional!). Regardless of the divinity debate, I found Ratzinger’s ongoing Moses/Jesus comparison to be insightful and worthwhile.
Secondly, I appreciated the way in which Ratzinger included the Gospel of John in his study of the historical Jesus. Most studies focus entirely on the Synoptics and reject John’s Gospel from the get-go, seeing it as a theological, and not an historical, portrait of Jesus. Similarly, Johannine scholars tend to neglect or ignore the Synoptics. I like the idea of reading the two together and bringing them into a much closer dialogue than they generally receive.
Thirdly, many of Ratzinger’s topical reflections on things like prayer, forgiveness, and suffering are quite insightful, and well-written. There is much of substance and much that is good to be found here.
So, what got me so frustrated while reading this book? First, I was very annoyed by Ratzinger’s incredibly shallow portrait of Marxism (this has always been one of his faults). in his discussion of Jesus’ first temptation in the wilderness (“turn stones into bread!”), Ratzinger argues that this is the core of Marxism’s promise of salvation — that no one should go hungry; that all should have bread. This, Ratzinger argues, ends up placing our focus on the wrong thing (i.e. one should focus on God who supplies us with bread that we should share with one another) and so “the result is not justice or concern for human suffering. The result is rather ruin and destruction even of material goods themselves.” The problem here is that Ratzinger is painting all Marxists with the same brush. To assert that all Marxism results in ruin, destruction, and the absence of concern for human suffering is about as absurd as asserting that all Christianity results in patriarchy, colonialism, and homophobia. Sure, some strands of Marxism ended disastrously (like the strands found in much of Eastern Europe) but other strands were destroyed before they had a chance to flourish (i.e. the reason why most of the strands of Marxism and socialism in Latin America resulted in ruin and destruction was because they were destroyed by fascist and totalitarian forces that were armed, funded, and protected by Western democratic States and their business interests). The fact is, there is much that we can learn from Marxism, and few other political philosophies exhibit the concern for human suffering that is found in Marxism.
Ratzinger’s reductionistic understanding of Marxism leads him to make absurd comments. For example, when commenting on the appeal for God’s kingdom to come (in the Lord’s Prayer), he writes the following:
This is not an automatic formula for a well-functioning world, not a utopian vision of a classless society in which everything works out well of its own accord, simply because there is no private property. Jesus does not give us such simple recipes.
Well, Marxism, socialism, and anarchism, also don’t give us such simple recipes. That Ratzinger thinks he can present such a caricature (in my line of work we would call this a “cheap shot”) as a real picture of any of these movements is ridiculous. That Christians reading this book might be nodding their heads to all this just shows how ignorant we are.
Secondly, I was bothered by Ratzinger’s seemingly arbitrary selection of passages to highlight or neglect. Of course, I use the word “arbitrarily” to suggest that Ratzinger has no good historical or textual reason to pick and choose passages the way that he does; Ratzinger’s choices seem to be motivated by an underlying ideology. Consequently, in his discussion on the “good news” proclaimed by Jesus — the good news that “the kingdom of God is at hand” — he focuses on inaugural passages in Mark (Mk 1.14-15) and in Matthew (Mt 4.23, 9.35) but completely neglects Jesus’ inaugural speech in Luke (Lk 4.14-20) which is full of socio-political language and implications, and chooses to skip on to Jesus’ much more enigmatic statement in Lk 17.20-21. Why does Ratzinger neglect Lk 4? Probably because it does not fit as comfortably with the highly Christological understanding he applies to the kingdom, and because it seems to support a political application of religion — just the sort of application that Ratzinger opposes and calls “utopian dreaming without an real content.”
Thirdly, Ratzinger’s apolitical (i.e. conservative) and anti-material stance continues to surface in his exegesis of the passages that he does select. Thus, he makes it clear that the poverty that is praised in the Sermon on the Mount is not for everyone, but is for the “great ascetics” who are called to “radicalism” as they journey alongside of the Church (i.e. the important thing is not for you to be poor but for you to have a friend that is poor). Thus, he makes sure to emphasise the the Sermon on the Mount is “not a social program” and goes on to say that “discipleship of Jesus offers no politically concrete program for structuring society. The Sermon on the Mount cannot serve as a foundation for a state and a social order.” Of course, on the one hand, Ratzinger is correct to question the idea of a State imposing the Sermon on the Mount as a social program for society (lest we go down the road of Christendom). However, on the other hand, what Ratzinger altogether misses, or fails to mention, is that the Sermon on the Mount is precisely the social program of an alternate social order — the Church. Instead of grasping this point, Ratzinger prefers to go the road of Christian conservatism and thus he asserts: “The concrete political and social order is released from the directly sacred realm, from theocratic legislation, and is transferred to the freedom of man.” In this way, he continues to push the old divide between “Church” and “State” — a divide that inevitably leads to the defeat of the Church. What Ratzinger fails to realise is that his apolitical theology is really a conservative political theology and so he contradicts himself when he argues that: “political theologies… theologize one particular formula in a way that contradicts the novelty and breadth of Jesus’ message.” What Ratzinger is really saying here is that “political theologies” (i.e. liberation theologies) contradict the conservative political theology that he has attached to Jesus. Consequently, when Ratzinger concludes that “Jesus stands before us neither as a rebel nor as a liberal” one can’t help but wonder: but does Jesus stand before us as a conservative? Why bracket out those two political categories and not this third one as well?
Indeed, it is the opposition to liberation theology that I suspect underlies Ratzinger’s comments on the fact that the Apostles are commissioned to preach, excorcise demons, and heal the sick (Mt 10.1). Ratzinger rushes to make it known that healing is “a subordinate element within the overall range of [Jesus’] activity, which is concerned with something deeper, with nothing less than the ‘Kingdom of God’: his becoming Lord in us and in the world.” Why healing is necessarily subordinated, why healing seems to have nothing to do with the Kingdom of God, with Jesus becoming Lord, I don’t know. At this point, Ratzinger is performing eisegesis, not exegesis.
Ratzinger’s conservatism also comes through in the reassurance he provides the reader by taking the edge off of Jesus’ more “radical” statements. Thus, while discussing the passages wherein Jesus assaults the traditional family unit (passages where Jesus calls his followers to “hate” their parents, to abandon their families, and to redefine their families around those who follow him), Ratzinger begins his discussion by quoting Ex 20.12 (“Honour your father and mother”) and quickly goes on to assure us that “from her very inception, the Church that emerged and continues to emerge, has attached fundamental importance to defending the family as the core of all social order.” Somehow, Ratzinger puts a “family values” spin on Jesus’ statements.
Furthermore, Raztinger’s conservatism also leads him, in his discussion of the “Our Father,” to reject the idea of referring to God as “Mother.” “Mother,” he argues, is used sometimes as an image for God in the bible, but never is it used as a title. The language of Father “was and is” far more appropriate to the biblical context and so he concludes: “the prayer language of the entire Bible remains normative for us.” Such a conclusion, from Ratzinger, is not surprising, even if it is disappointing. After all, this is the man who accused feminism of “imposing an ideology of gender” onto God, never realising the ways in which the patriarchal structure and theology of Roman Catholicism have already imposed an ideology of gender onto God (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/27191.html for further comments on that).
Fourthly, I was somewhat bothered by Ratzinger’s ever-present Christological focus. It seems that everything Jesus did, or said, was really all about Jesus. Hence, as I mentioned above, talk of the kingdom of God is overwhelmingly Christological. Furthermore, all of the parables are to be understood Christologically — they are “hidden and multilayered invitations to faith in Jesus”! Such an understanding of the kingdom, and of the parables, is too simplistic, too reductionistic. Sure, Christ is an element of these things, and often plays an important, even central, role in them, but there is more to them than that. Some parables are really about Israel (the parable of the vineyard’s wicked tenants) some parables are about the imminent fall of Jerusalem (the parable of the of the green tree that becomes dry) some parables are about the return from exile (the parable of the prodigal son), and so on and so forth. As for the kingdom, well, sometimes the kingdom really does come in feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and healing the sick.
Finally, I also don’t think that Ratzinger spends enough time addressing, or wrestling with, the Jewishness of Jesus. Because he relies so much on the Christian tradition, and even John’s Gospel, he never really asks the question of how Jesus’ divinity can be placed within first-century Jewish monotheism. Furthermore, in his chapter on Jesus’ identity wherein he explores “three fundamental titles” (Christ, Lord, Son) he only devotes one paragraph to the first title — the most Jewish title — because it “ceased to function as a title and was joined with the name of Jesus… therein lies a deeper message: He is completely one with his office.” Now that’s all well and good, as far as it goes; it just doesn’t go very far, and leaves us with many unanswered questions.
So what do we get from all this? A half decent book about Jesus. Not great, not terrible, just so-so. There are some very stimulating passages but, not surprisingly, Ratzinger has also used this book to grind some old axes. His book about Jesus also becomes a part of his ongoing attack on anything hinting of marxism, socialism, feminism, or liberation theology.

Hmmm, it seems like these “reviews” are taking more and more time to write. I might have to start making them even more inadequate than they already are.
1. Church Dogmatics I.2: The Doctrine of the Word of God by Karl Barth.
Well, I’ve been poking away at this 900pp monster for the last few months and, now that I’ve finally finished it, I’ve got no clue how I can possibly summarise it here. Within this volume, Barth continues to address the topic of the revelation of God (begun in Vol. 1), through the incarnation of the Word (within this section he explores God’s freedom for man, the time of revelation and the mystery of revelation) and through the outpouring of the Holy Spirit (and in this section Barth explores the freedom of man for God, the revelation of God as the abolition of religion and the life of the children of God). Barth then goes on to explore the topics of “Holy Scripture” (as the Word of God for the Church, as authority in the Church, and as freedom in the Church) and the “Proclamation of the Church” (here, Barth explores the mission of the Church, dogmatics as a function of the hearing Church, and dogmatics as the function of the teaching church).
There were times when I found this book to be very exciting, and other times when I found it to be very, well, boring. I think the main reason why it took me so long to work through this book is because Barth spends a great deal of time addressing issues that I’m not altogether that interested in addressing. While Barth goes on about “subjectivity” and “objectivity,” I am reminded of a famous saying from Wittgenstein: “Don’t think. Look!”
2. With the Grain of the Universe: The Church’s Witness and Natural Theology by Stanley Hauerwas.
It had been awhile since I picked up anything by Hauerwas so I finally got around to reading this publication of his Gifford lectures. I’m glad that I did; this is an excellent book and one that is much more comprehensive than many other things Hauerwas has written (I’m slowly working my way through Hauerwas and, if my count is correct, this the 9th book that I have read by him).
Within this book, Hauerwas traces the development of twentieth century theology by examining the “natural” theologies of William James, Reinhold Niebuhr, and Karl Barth (all previous Gifford lecturers). Barth, Hauerwas argues, succeeds where James and Niebuhr fail, because Barth recognises that any sort of “natural” theology must be rooted within the doctrine of God. Therefore, such a theology cannot be developed by rational arguments; rather, it is developed by bearing witness to God’s activity within the world. Hence, Hauerwas’ central thesis is that:
natural theology divorced from a full doctrine of God cannot help but distort the character of God and, accordingly of the world in which we find ourselves. The metaphysical and existential projects to make a ‘place’ for such a god cannot help but ‘prove’ the existence of a god that is not worthy of worship.
Therefore, in summarising the differences between James, Niebuhr, and Barth, Hauewas argues that:
James was committed to the criticism of criticism for the sake of living well. Alternatively, Reinhold Niebuhr’s life was a political life in which all convictions were tested in terms of their significance for sustaining the democratic enterprise. In contrast, Barth’s convictions were tested by their ability to sustain service to God.
Hauerwas argues that both James an Niebuhr remove both the cross (i.e. christology) and the Church (i.e. ecclesiology) from the centre of theology. Consequently, he concludes that Barth must be seen as the greatest “natural” theologian of the three because Barth understands that “people who bear crosses are working with the grain of the universe” (a line Hauerwas takes from Yoder). Is it any wonder I enjoyed this book so much?
3. Honor, Patronage, Kinship & Purity: Unlocking New Testament Culture by David A. deSilva.
This book is probably the best introduction to NT culture that I have read. It is a scholarly work, and deSilva spends a lot of time exploring the cultural values of both Greco-Roman culture, and the Jewish subculture in NT times. However, he does this in order to bring a new perspective on a much of the NT writings themselves (thus, each theme [honor, patronage, kinship & purity] receives a chapter on how those values operated within ancient culture, and then a separate chapter exploring how our understanding of these themes impacts our reading of the NT). Furthermore, this book is easy to read and understand (i.e. you don’t have to be a biblical studies student to understand what deSilva is talking about) and it also also a pastoral focus; deSilva points to some of the ways in which the insight he provides impacts how we live as Christians today. The method deSilva employs is one that I think a great deal of biblical scholars should learn to use. I highly recommend this book.
4. In Search of Paul: How Jesus’s Apostle Opposed Rome’s Empire with God’s Kingdom by John Dominic Crossan and Jonathan L. Reed.
Within this book an NT scholar (Crossan) and an archaeologist (Reed) team-up to see what new insights might be brought to bear on Paul if we are more aware of the context in which he lived (although you don’t see any mention of this, I think that Crossan and Reed were led to to this approach [and to some of their conclusions?] by the work co-authored by Horsley and Silberman in ’97).
Essentially, Crossan and Reed argue that a proper understanding of Paul’s context should lead us to conclude that Paul was engaged in a highly subversive mission — on that directly opposed the values and reign of Rome, with the values and reign of Jesus. Although the text is rather meandering (Crossan prefers to write for popular audiences), I think that this central thesis is valid. Unfortunately, there are other places where the argumentation is sloppy and completely unsubstantiated, and it becomes clear that much of Crossan’s writing is motivated by other agendas that end up restricting his picture of Paul. Thus, Crossan’s “radical Paul” ends up looking strikingly similar to a 21st-century American Liberal.
5. God & Empire: Jesus Against Rome, Then and Now by John Dominic Crossan.
This book is largely a summary and synthesis of Crossan’s earlier books on Jesus and Paul and it thus continues to argue that Christianity originated as a non-violent, counter-cultural movement that focuses on the kingdom of God and the equality of people. However, in this work Crossan wants to engage with the Christian canon more fully, and so he traces a fundamental tension/ambiguity that he sees running through the biblical narrative. This is the tension between the portrayal of sanctioned, divine violence, and the portrayal of sanctioned, divine non-violence (Crossan also describes this as the tension between God’s distributive and God’s retributive justice). Essentially, Crossan is asking: is God violent or nonviolent? His answer to this is as follows: “My proposal is that the Christian Bible presents the radicality of a just and nonviolent God repeatedly and relentless confronting the normalcy of an unjust and violent civilization.” Furthermore, this is the conclusion Crossan comes to because, despite tensions within the canon, this is the answer that is incarnated “by and in” the historical Jesus.
Now, that’s all well and good but, despite my sympathy for Crossan’s basic conclusion, I find his argument is often too simplistic, many passages (and even whole books — like the Apocalpse of John) seem to be discarded a priori, and there are other areas that Crossan just doesn’t seem to understand at all (his perspective on the resurrection, well known it a lot of circles because of his ongoing debates with N. T. Wright on this topic, is a prime example of one of those areas). I guess I find Crossan so frustrating because, although I agree with a lot of what he has to say about Jesus and Paul as people who were “against” empire (then and now!), I think that he ends up discrediting himself precisely in that key area because of his sketchy scholarship in other areas.
6. A Long Way From Tipperary: A Memoir by John Dominic Crossan.
So, because I was working through Crossan’s material on Paul (part of my thesis research), I decided to read through Crossan’s memoir (after all, scholarship reminds us, over and over again, of the importance of reading a person’s work in context). In this book, Crossan tries to explore how his own life and experiences may have impacted his research on Jesus (he hadn’t started writing about Paul when this book was published). What I find most interesting about this is not what Crossan discusses but what he leaves out. For example, Crossan spends some time talking about how he grew up in Ireland, in a family that was inspired by the violent Irish resistance to the British Empire, and notes how many people have argued he was reading his own experiences in Ireland into his interpretation of Jesus as a Galilean peasant, who engaged in non-violent resistance to the Roman Empire. Thus, he spends some time showing why (or at least asserting that) he thinks his upbringing in Ireland, didn’t warp his scholarship. However, apart from one throw-away comment, Crossan spends no time at all questioning how his academic rootedness in a twentieth-century American Liberal environment may have impacted his scholarship. However, the impact of this environment is one that concerns me far more than Crossan’s upbringing.
I suppose what I found most interesting about this book is Crossan’s explanation of his own language. In this memoir, Crossan makes it clear that when it talks about things like “resurrection” he doesn’t literally mean “resurrection” as it has traditionally been understood; nor, when he talks about the “trinity” is he actually referring to the “trinity” in any sort of orthodox manner; nor when he talks about the “second coming” does he actually believe in any sort of literal “second coming.” And, finally, when he calls himself a “Catholic” it also becomes obvious that no Catholic would agree with his understanding of membership within the Catholic community. Of course, where his appropriation of biblical language and themes is concerned, Crossan would argue that he is simply being faithful to the biblical authors who never intended for things like the “resurrection” or the “second coming” to be taken literally (indeed, Crossan suggests that we would be “dummies” if that was the way we read the texts).
To be honest, I can’t help but find Crossan to be somewhat obnoxious. Although he argues that he is now more “polite” than “nasty” when arguing with orthodox Christian, it seems to me that he is now more condescending than crass. That is to say, it seems to me that Crossan’s “nastiness” is now simply more polished.
7. How to Read Lacan by Slavoj Zizek.
This was an exceptional book. I have found Zizek to be a very stimulating writer but, in part due to his writing style (the flow of his argument is often non-existent), and in part due to the fact that I have no academic training in the realm of psychoanalysis (Zizek is a psychoanalyst — among many other things!), I have strugged with some of his writings. However, this book (an introduction to Lacan, which ends up serving as an excellent introduction to Zizek as well), flows very well, carefully defines all the technical language it uses, and offers very helpful illustration. Indeed, I find Zizek’s reading of Lacan’s language of “the Big Other” (i.e. the symbolic order; i.e. society’s “unwritten constitution) coheres very well with Walter Wink’s reading of Paul’s language of “the Powers that be.” Add to this, Zizek’s understanding of Lacan’s take on the way in which desire is conditioned and alienated, as well as with the role fantasy plays in sustaining our (fake) “reality,” in combination with Paul’s understanding of the impact of Sin and Death, and you’ve got some incredibly provocative results. Oh, and the book is also very short — highly recommended.
8. Culture and Value by Ludwig Wittgenstein.
This book contains a number of disconnected aphorisms and observations that were recorded as asides by Wittgenstein in his various journals and notebooks. Here Wittgenstein explores themes of music, ethics, pedagogy, faith, and the existence of God. There is a great deal of insight in some of these comments, although a familiarity with Wittgenstein’s main works is probably helpful for understanding a number of the remarks. Here is are a few remarks I found particularly interesting.
On Christianity:
A theology which insists on the use of certain particular words and phrases, and outlaws others, does not make anything clearer (Karl Barth). It gesticulates with words, as one might say, because it wants to say something and does not know how to express it. Practice gives the words their sense.belief, it’s really a way of living.life. (Or the direction of your life.)
It seems to me that a religious belief could only be something like a passionate commitment to a system of reference. Hence, although it’s
I believe that one of the things Christianity says is that sound doctrines are all useless. That you have to change your
On Philosophy:
This is how philosopher’s should salute each other: “Take your time!”for heaven’s sake, be afraid of talking nonsense! But you must pay attention to your nonsense.
Don’t
On Science:
Man has to awaken to wonder — and so perhaps do peoples. Science is a way of sending him to sleep again.
[P]erhaps science and industry, having caused infinite misery in the process, will unite the world — I mean condense it into a single unit, though one in which peace is the last thing that will find a home.
9. Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins.
Maybe my expectations were too high, but I was pretty disappointed with this book — which is too bad because I’m sympathetic to Perkins’ cause. You see, in this book, Perkins describes how he worked as an “Economic Hitman” (EHM). As an EHM, Perkins worked for multinational corporations that would give false statistics to nations in the two-thirds world, thereby inspiring those nations to receive massive loans from the IMF or the World Bank, or the USA. This would then drive these nations into an ever-increasing debt and dependence upon the ones who granted the loans. Thus, the USA, for example, could then manipulate those nations, using that debt to garner their votes at the UN, to build military bases on their territory, or to plunder their natural resources.
That this sort of thing has been going on for the last fifty or so years should come as no surprised to the informed reader. However, Perkins’ book, because of his insider perspective, left me with the impression that we would get a lot of the nitty-gritty details of the parties involved, the transactions that occurred, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, this is almost no supporting documentation for what Perkins says, and most of his anecdotes are incredibly vague. Instead we get the ramblings of a guilty conscience (Perkins has since tried to expiate himself by working for an environmental organization, supporting other non-profits and, of course, writing this book). So why does this bother me so much? Well, it bothers me so much because I think Perkins writes a book that is too easily discredited. If I compare Perkins to Chomsky, for example, I find that both reach very similar conclusions, but Chomsky has a long track record, a vast collection of sources to which one can be referred, and an equally vast collection of specific examples to which he can appeal. However, despite these things, Chomsky is often blown-off, so my question is: what chance does Perkins have of being taken seriously by those who are immersed into the system as it is?
10. Batman: Year One written by Frank Miller and illustrated by David Mazzucchelli.
Okay, if I’m not nerd enough reading all these books, I’ve recently taken to reading comics. Stumbling onto the whole genre of “illustrated novels” a few years back introduced me to some really excellent pieces, and this process has now led me back to some acclaimed comics (like Watchmen which I read a few months ago). I never read Miller’s most famous collection of graphic novels (the “Sin City” collection — a collection that overlaps sex, violence, and glory in ways that make me uncomfortable) but I thought that I’d give his take on Batman a go. And it’s a good take. This comic was a lot of fun and a pleasant distraction from all the reading I’ve been doing for my thesis.

Well, I’m hoping to write one or two more entries before I take off for my wedding/honeymoon. Apart from this book update, I’m hoping to write a post on the topic of “losing perspective” and might post a copy of a sermon I preached on Lk 24.1-12 last weekend (if I find the time). Then I’ll be heading away to Toronto and then Fiji and Australia for the next month, so don’t expect too many more entries before the end of March (when I get back to Vancouver). Anyway, here are February’s books:
1. Jesus, the Tribulation, and the End of Exile: Restoration Eschatology and the Origin of the Atonement by Brant Pitre.
This is easily one of the most exciting books I have read in some time. Within this book, Pitre argues that Jesus spoke and acted on the basis of Jewish expectation regarding the (two-stage) eschatological tribulation and the (inextricably) connected expectation of the end of exile and the restoration of all twelve tribes of Israel (thus, Pitre follows Wright in exploring the motif of the “end of exile,” but he thinks Wright is wrong to argue that the Babylonian exile is still ongoing at the time of Jesus; rather, it is the Assyrian exile that is still ongoing, as the ten northern tribes have still not returned and Israel as a whole as not been restored). Pitre summarizes his conclusions in this way:
In short, Jesus taught that the tribulation had in some way begun with the death of John the Baptist as “Elijah” and that it was Jesus’ own mission to set in motion the “Great Tribulation” that would precede the coming of the Messiah and the restoration of Israel. In fact, he even taught that he would die in this tribulation, and that his death would function as an act of atonement that would bring about the End of the Exile, the return of the dispersed tribes from among the nations, and the coming of the kingdom of God.
There is a whole lot that could be said about this book — and I actually intend to write a series about this book in conjunction with another blogger — so for now I’ll just say that this book is highly recommended reading for all those who are interested in the historical Jesus.
2. Religion and Empire: People, Power, and the Life of the Spirit by Richard A. Horsley.
This short book is vintage Horsley (although I will say that that subtitle is a little deceptive, since Horsley doesn’t spend a lot of time talking about “life in the Spirit”). It is an exploration of the (often suppressed or ignored) relationship between religion and imperial power. Horsley explores three patterns of relations by examining a contemporary and ancient example of each pattern: (1) cultural elites who construct subject people’s religion for their own purposes (i.e. modern and postmodern approaches to “classical” and “Tibetan” Buddhism, and Rome’s approach to the Isis cult); (2) people subjected to foreign imperial rule mount serious resistance by renewing their own traditional way of life (i.e. the revival of Islam in the Iranian revolution, and Jewish and Christian resistance movements in ancient Judea); and (3) those situated at the apex of imperial power relations develop an imperial religion that expresses and eventually constitutes those imperial power relations (i.e. Christmas and the festival of Consumer Capitalism, and the Roman Emperor Cult). I found the essays on Buddhism and Christmas to be particularly interesting and provocative. Recommended (and quite easy!) reading.
3. Matthew by Stanley Hauerwas (Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible).
This book doesn’t read much like a traditional commentary. Rather, Hauerwas sort of rambles his way through Matthew and highlight themes and narrative trajectories along the way, in order to springboard into pastoral and theological implications for Christian discipleship today. In fact, this commentary is a “commentary” in the same way that Colossians Remixed (by Walsh and Keesmaat) is a “commentary.” Those who enjoyed Colossians Remixed will probably enjoy this work as well. It is, for me, very exciting to see the boundaries between “theology” and “biblical studies” blurring more and more these days. This theological commentary series could very well spark some much needed discussion.
4. From Beirut to Jerusalem by Thomas L. Friedman.
This book was pretty disappointing. A friend of mine told me that this was, in his/her opinion, the best book s/he had read on the topic of politics in the Middle East, and so I came to it with high expectations. Unfortunately, the author is, well, quite biased, as he himself admits:
when people ask me, “So, Friedman, where do you come out on Israel after this journey from Beirut to Jerusalem?” my answer is that I have learned to identify with and feel affection toward an imperfect Jerusalem. Mine is the story of a young man who fell in love with the Jewish state back in the post-1967 era, experienced a period of disillusionment in Lebanon, and finally came back out of Jerusalem saying, “Well, she ain’t perfect. I’ll always want her to be the country I imagined in my youth. But what the hell, she’s mine, and for a forty-year-old, she ain’t too shabby.”
I suppose the fact that Friedman wrote for the New York Times should have tipped me off to the fact that this would hardly be an objective piece. Of course, it’s not all bad — the section written in/on Beirut is quite good. It’s just that the section written in/on Israel/Palestine is biased at best, and condescending and/or obnoxious at worst.
5. Watchmen by Alan Moore (illustrated by Dave Gibbons).
At the suggestion of Eric Lee, I thought I would try to take another stab at the whole “illustrated novel” genre. And I wasn’t disappointed. Watchmen is a great multi-layered story that is hard to describe in my oh-so-inadequate “reviews.” This book, by the way, is the only illustrated novel to be listed in Time Magazine as one of the 100 best English novels written in the last 100 years, and it has garnered many other awards — including an Hugo Award. Essentially, Moore reworks the whole idea of “superheroes,” and the genre hasn’t been the same since. Within the novel Moore explores key themes like engaging in violence to assure peace, social authority, what happens to a person who does evil in the pursuit of good, determinism, nostalgia, and so on and so forth. I’ll be reading this one again sometime soon.