November Books

I had been feeling a little uninspired in my reading lately and then realized that, apart from research for my Paul book, I hadn’t really been engaging biblical studies too much. I did some reading in that area this month and remembered how much I love it. For whatever reason, I just really enjoy that genre. Some good reading this month. Reviews are also longer this month, but that’s not a bad thing, in my opinion.
1. Jesus, Paul, and Power: Rhetoric, Ritual, and Metaphor in Ancient Mediterranean Christianity by Rick F. Talbott (2010).
Many thanks to the kind folks at Wipf and Stock for this review copy.
Within this book, Rick Talbott “explores how Jesus and Paul responded to and used power to address various issues of conflict in their own communities” (p2). Over against prior scholars, that have tended to defend one of two poles — on one side arguing that Jesus and Paul exercised a dominating form of “power-over” others and, on the other side, that Jesus and Paul empowered others by sharing “power-with,” Talbott proposes a more nuanced third alternative. In order to engage in such a study, Talbott employs an interdisciplinary, cross-cultural methodology that relies especially upon social-scientific, feminist, rhetorical, and postcolonial criticisms. All of this is explained in the first chapter. The next two chapters are devoted to Jesus, the fourth and fifth chapters focus on Paul, and the final section is a conclusion that highlights some of the similarities and differences regarding the ways in which Jesus and Paul responded to and used power.
Within the section about Jesus, Talbott pushes back against, and enriches, multiple streams of scholarship. First of all, Talbott pushes back against the now dated form of Conservative or traditional Jesus scholarship that sees Jesus as divorced from any economic or political interests or actions. Jesus, as has now been firmly established in New Testament scholarship, was a member of an oppressed minority who embraced the interests of other oppressed people and gave his life in a struggle against the death-dealing powers and institutions of his day — notably the imperial colonizing force of Rome and the base of Jewish power that was rooted at the Jerusalem temple, which was working hand-in-glove with Rome to profit themselves and oppress the people.
Secondly, however, over against historical critical scholars who tend to stress the positive and life-giving side of the movement that gathered around Jesus (notably, Richard Horsley), Talbott emphasizes the difficulties Jesus would have caused, not only for those who chose to participate in the fictive kinship he helped to establish but also for any who were related to those Jesus-followers (from relatives to other members of the local community. This is largely the focus of Chapter Two (entitled, “Nazareth’s Rebellious Son”). Precisely because Jesus was instrumental in the organization of an alternative group that was “antikyriarchal”– that is to say, a movement that resisted the various networks of power, control, and domination that were inscribed in Jesus’ context through everything from gender relationships, to one’s economic status, to one’s state of physical and religious health and purity, to cultural conceptions of honour, shame, and kinship, and to the all pervasive pyramids of patronage and benefaction — those who gathered around Jesus were bound to suffer. By challenging the inscribed social order, Jesus and his companions would have suffered shame, economic losses, and potentially death (given that economic losses would be devastating to folks who were living at or near the subsistence level, which is where Jesus and most of his companions would have been situated). This is what occurs in Nazareth in the story told in Lk 4.16-29, which Talbott links to the Torah’s prescription for dealing with rebellious children, as described in Deut 21.18-21. Therefore, against the sometimes overly optimistic visions presented of the new family and new economy that was formed in the Jesus movement, Talbott stresses that Jesus did not simply “rescue peasants from economic hardship” but actually brought further economic hardships onto those who were already poor (p39). What is interesting about Talbott’s presentation here is that he highlights the ways in which this may have also devastated the families of those who left to follow Jesus. Not only would those families lose honour in a community wherein honour was everything but a family living at or near the subsistence level may have been unable to survive if it lost a son who was capable of working and assisting in the provision of food. Hence, Talbott asks a fascinating question: “why did Jesus appear to be so callously insouciant towards the plight of Zebedee and other families, including his own, left to endure such losses in honor and economic status?” (p54).
Thirdly, in the next chapter, dealing with the eunuch pericope in Mt 19.3-12, Talbott argues against some feminist counterimperial scholars who have postulated that Jesus (subtly and perhaps unintentionally) reinscribed kyriarchal and patriarchal power dynamics into the fictive kinship he helped to create. Talbott notes a number of antikyriarchal teachings and practices both as described in Jesus’ ministry and as emphasized in the Matthean narrative — from downplaying the significance of Jesus’ birth father, to emphasizing that only God is the father in the new community, to connecting Jesus to Sophia, to supporting the establishment of antikyriarchal meals, to teaching against standard gender hierarchies in marriage (cf. pp74-79, 87-88). Talbott sees this as supporting a consistent antikyriarchal/antipatriarchal ethic in the Jesus community. Hence, he see the eunuch teaching in Mt 19 — the assertion that men must become like eunuchs in the kingdom of God — to mean that men must give up the authority and status that society has granted them in relation to women if they are to participate in the new family of God.
Turning to Paul, Talbott first spends one chapter summarizing various scholarly perspectives on Paul and power, before turning to examining Paul’s approach “in [Paul’s] own words” by doing a brief case study of some of the issues that come to the fore in 1 Cor. In his survey of scholarly approaches to Paul, Talbott pays especial attention to those who have employed Foucauldian lenses to reading and analyzing Paul’s letters (cf. esp. p102-118). These critics have the advantage of being more nuanced and careful readers than earlier scholars who tended to read Paul in more black or white terms (i.e. Paul as a kyriarchal misogynist or Paul as a proto-feminist). However, Talbott feels that these critics have still not adequately captured the “bifurcated” and “vacillating” approach Paul takes to power, nor do they pay sufficient attention to the circumstances that prompt Paul’s vacillations. Therefore, Talbott proposes a reading of Paul wherein kyriarchy and “kyridoularchy” coexist in a contentious dynamic wherein neither one eviscerates the other (p118). “Kyridoularchy” is a term Talbott creates in order to describe a way of utilizing power in order to serve and elevate those within the fictive kinship of the body of Christ who have less status or honour (cf. pp99-100). Thus, while Paul was striving to create a community of equals, wherein everybody was ascribed equal honour and value, he would still employ kyriarchal power and rhetoric in order to fight against any who did not share that goal and who challenged him and sought to reinscribe other hierarchies into the body of Christ (cf. pp126-27).
In the subsequent chapter, Talbott looks at some representative conflicts in 1 Cor in order to demonstrate how this plays out in Paul’s own words. Specifically he looks at matters related to marriage and sexuality (1 Cor 7), matters related to Paul’s own representation of his authority (1 Cor 9) and Paul’s words on how table fellowship was being practiced in Corinth (1 Cor 11). One of the central points Talbott makes here is that, because Paul employs kyriarchal methods and rhetoric in order to support kyridoularchy, the signs of kyriarchy that we see in Paul’s letter cannot be used to justify any kyriachal practices today (cf. p161).
By way of conclusion Talbott summarizes the similarities and differences between the ways Jesus and Paul responded to and handled power within their communities and the conflicts they negotiated there. The fundamental difference, Talbott argues, is that Paul still sought to redeploy (kyriarchal) power as kyridoularchy, and so is somewhat bifurcated and vacillating in his approach, whereas Jesus was much more thoroughgoing in his rejection of any kyriarchal structures or practices (cf. pp167-68).
All in all, this was a really excellent book. I appreciated Talbott’s nuanced approach and feel that he did a better job of making sense of Paul and power than a lot of prior efforts. My only (substantial) objection to Talbott’s presentation is his understanding of the relationship of material loss of poverty to membership within the community that gathered with Jesus and Paul. On multiple occasions, Talbott feels that it is necessary to stress the observation that neither Jesus nor Paul “seems to have required those who served as patrons to relinquish their means and become poor as a standard requirement” (p164). Or, again: “Jesus did not require all disciples to become wandering, itinerant disciples who left their families to follow him in an ascetic life of poverty” (p49); and “patrons like Zacchaeus would suffer some depletion of their holdings but would not have necessarily become poor, let alone destitute” (p59). While this may be true, and while Talbott mitigates some of what he is saying by pointing out the ways in which even patrons like Zacchaeus may have been drawn into a threatening trajectory of downward mobility by giving to the Jesus movement (cf.p63), I still feel that Talbott doesn’t adequately grasp what is occurring in this regard.
In order to explain this, it is worth comparing the Jesus Movement to the Occupy Movement. Who are the members of the Occupy movement? Well, at one level, any member of the “99%” is represented by the movement. However, within that 99% of our general population, different people participate to varying degrees. Some people will only attend the major rallies. Some people will go to a General Assembly five days a week. Some people will actually set up a tent at an occupied site and dedicate most of their time and their energy to the movement. They key point to realize here has two sides: first, that all of the groups of people mentioned are, in fact, members of the Occupy movement but, second, the goal of the movement is for people to become ever more involved in the struggle and in participation at ground level.
A similar thing is happening with the Jesus movement. Who are the members of the Jesus movement? Well, at one level, Jesus is claiming that all of Israel is represented in the movement (the “99%”). On another level, there were those who would participate when the movement passed through their locality. On still another level, there were those who chose to leave their villages and families behind to live and travel with the Jesus movement. All, of course, are members of the Jesus movement, but, just as with the Occupy movement, the goal was for people to become ever more involved in the struggle and in participation at ground level.
With this in mind, we can see how Talbott’s observation is accurate — yes, not all the people involved in the movement participated, gave or risked to the same extent — but misses the intention of the movement (which was for all to participate fully so that all could have full and abundant life).
Finally, in relation to this matter of Jesus and poverty, Talbott states that Jesus did not “concentrate on the marginalized or the destitute in general to make up the bulk of his movement” (p49). This is an odd assertion to make, within the context of Talbott’s book because, apart from a few people, like Zacchaeus or some wealthy women mentioned by Luke, everybody else mentioned in the Jesus movement appears to be precisely from that socioeconomic location. It seems to me that Jesus does concentrate on precisely that group of people, as examplified in his “mission statement” in Lk 4, and so when Talbott makes this sort of assertion, without seriously backing it up and then going on to assert things that appear to disprove it, I’m left a little puzzled.
However, don’t let these few criticisms take away from any of the strengths of this book. I enjoyed reading it very much and recommend it to others.
2. From Patmos to the Barrio: Subverting Imperial Myths by David A. Sánchez.
In this award-winning book, David A. Sánchez explores the ways in which those who ave been subjugated by the myths of the dominant, take those myths and reshape them in a manner that subtly subverts them in order to meet the interests of the subjugated while simultaneously producing the illusion of acquiescence. He does this by look at the story of the woman and the dragon deployed in Rev 12, which then becomes the foundation for myths that rise about the Virgin of Guadalupe in 17th century Mexico, which in turn is the foundation for the prominence of images of the same Virgin in Chican@ art that appeared in East L.A. in the 1960s and ’70s (where Sánchez was born and raised). Thus, the book is divided into three main sections. First, Sánchez examines the ways in which John’s narrative subverts imperial Roman ideology by redeploying the story of Apollo slaying Python (which had been incorporated into a pro-Augustan myth), by telling a similar story in a manner that undercuts Roman imperialism in order to push the messianism of the early Jesus movement.
Second, this passage from John’s Apocalypse then becomes the foundation for the stories of the Virgin of Guadalupe that arose in Mexico in the 17th century, especially amongst the Creoles (who were considered second-class, and potentially dangerous, citizens by Spaniards born in Spain). Although the Virgin was originally deployed as an advocate of Spanish nationalism, imperialism, and conquest, the Creoles (and some indigenous Mexicans) redeploy that myth in a manner that undercuts the Spanish ideology and promotes an ideology that favours the oppressed.
Finally, Sánchez argues that something similar occurs in the deployment of images of the Virgin which were deployed by members of the Chican@ movement that appeared in East L.A. in the 1960s and ’70s. Over against American nationalism, imperialism, and conquest — especially buttressed by a mythology of manifest destiny (well exemplified in the painting, “American Progress,” by John Gast, which Sánchez deploys in his text — and which is interesting to compare with other stories of American Progress as told in, for example, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee or Stolen Continents), Sánchez argues that the Chican@ movement utilized images of the Virgin of Guadalupe to support an Mexican ideology of independence, nationalism, and chosenness.
Sánchez then concludes by offering some remarks upon postcolonial theories — especially as developed by Homi Bhabha and James C. Scott — and stresses the importance of creating antimythologies in a counterimperial project of resistance and liberation.
I enjoyed reading this book. It is always good to see scholars who critically engage both the biblical texts and our own histories and moments within history. Would that more scholars were engaging in this sort of endeavour, especially with some of the postcolonial and counterimperial lenses and tactics that Sánchez deploys. I do, however, have a few critical questions I would like to raise.
First of all, I want to question Sánchez approach to the creation of antimythologies and the kind of subversive work that he encourages, especially by means of (what Bhabha terms) hybridity and mimicry. It seems to me that is is overly optimistic about what this sort of project and and what it can accomplish. Some representative quotes should help bring this out. In describing Jewish and Christian adaptations of the Apollo/Python dragon-slayer myth, Sánchez writes that “[t]he genius of these two adaptations is that they both employ important aspects of imperial propoganda in a completelysubversive way” (p46; emph. added). This isn’t the only time that Sánchez describes this approach as “genius” and he thinks that it is not only genius in and of itself but also in relation to other tactics employed in resistance. Thus, he writes that “resistance is most commonly accomplished with subtle acts of subversion, rather than outright rebellion or revolt” and to the important thing to do is to “undermine not the structures of oppression but the ideologies that stood behind those structures” (p74; emph. added). This is why Sánchez stresses that one should engage in a counterimperialism rather than an anti-imperialism (cf. p120). He writes: “To create an antimythology is as futile as armed resistance, so instead, they choose to create a countermythology… This form of resistance is realistic and brilliant. It has proved so effective historically, that it is a phenomenon that has transcended time and cultures” (p122). Therefore, in his concluding remarks about Bhabha’s notions of hybridity and mimicry, Sánchez presents an overwhelming positive perspective: one that sees hybridity and mimicry and unambiguously good and brilliant forms of subversion, for, quoting Aschroft et al., in their reader on postcolonialism, mimicry can “locate a crack in the certainty of colonial discourse” and is “always potentially destabilizing to colonial discourse” (p118). While for Ashcroft et al. the world “potentially” operates as an important modifier of the destabilization that mimicry might produce, for Sánchez it is almost as though the word “potentially” is removed and mimicry becomes “always ~~potentially~~ destabilizing to colonial discourse.”
The problem here is twofold: first, Sánchez is overly optimistic about subversion by means of the production of countermythologies in and of itself, and Sánchez is too pessimistic about other means of resistance or subversion that involve more direct action.
Beginning with Sánchez’s overly optimistic view of countermythologies and subversion by means of hybridity and mimicry it must be emphasized that, by utilizing the discourse, images, and tools of the dominant, oppressed people often carry forward violent, discriminatory, and exclusionary views and practices into their countermythologies. Redeploying, albeit in a subverted or warped manner, the myths of the dominant still ends up producing domination. Often this redeployment simply changes up who are to be dominant and who are to be dominated — it does not challenged the fundamental context of domination itself. So, yes, there may be exploitable “cracks” in the discourse of colonial domination, but that may not point to a crack in overall context of domination. This is part of the reason why, for example, so many liberatory revolutionary movements end up reinscribing violence, terror and oppression after they overthrow the previously dominant powers (so, for example, the legacies of the French revolution, wherein the bourgeois sell-out the proletariat — and fight against the Haitians who revolted based upon the belief in “liberté, égalité, fraternité”, which the French clearly believed only belonged to those who were white and not below the bourgeois class — the American revolution — which led to American imperialism both now and (for example) against the indigenous people from the moment of its inception — or the Russain revolution — wherein a push for freedom from the dictatorial power of the Tsar quickly leads to Lenin’s incarceration of the Anarchists or the famous Stalinist purges — and so on).
Now there are at least two things intrinsic to Sánchez’s project that should have brought this challenge to his attention, so I find it somewhat perplexing that he is as optimistic as he is. First of all, studies of the New Testament, and especially of John’s Apocalypse, have increasingly raised the questions of how folks like the author of the Apocalypse (or of the letters penned in the name of Paul) may be trying to work in a subversive manner but may still, despite their best intentions, be replicating oppressive structures and expressions of power, even as they try to work against the death-dealing imperialism of their day. Elizabeth Schüssler Fiorenza has done a lot of work to bring this project into focus in her rhetorical analysis of the New Testament and with her emphasis upon the notion of kyriarchy, which seeks to extend feminist analyses of patriarchy into the broader webs of power, control, and domination that operate within a given milieu (Schüssler Fiorenza has also written explicitly on John’s Apocalypse so I find it odd that Sánchez did not engage her). Thus, for example, while claiming to be participants within a movement wherein life triumphs over death and those in bondage are liberated, John’s Apocalypse still seems to require God to violently overthrew, destroy, and massacre, the enemies of the movement. So, sure, mimicry and hybridity may be at work here, but it is pure, genius, unadulterated subversion? No.
The second thing that should bring this to the attention of Sánchez is his study of the ways in which the Creoles deployed the Virgin of Guadalupe in the 17th century. The Creoles, so Sánchez tells us, created a countermythology that not only combated the dominant ideology of the Spaniards but also sought to undercut any indigenous claims to the apparition tradition (cf. pp75-76). Now, the Creoles (Spaniards born in Mexico) were marginalized and lacked some of the power and authority granted to those who were born in Spain but were not nearly as decimated or oppressed as the indigenous people themselves were. So, what you see is the redeployment of the Virgin tradition not in order to bring liberation to the oppressed (like the indigenous people) but in order to favour the interests of a relatively marginalized subset of the elite — and the tradition is redeployed in a way that explicitly tries to negate the myth from being appropriated by oppressed people (cf. pp75-76). Sánchez never explains how this observation fits into his optimistic reading of this form of subversion (thus, while Sánchez identifies himself as a postcolonial critic over against some liberation theologians who may not be sufficiently critical of oppressive power structures that are perpetuated within the biblical texts [cf. p125], it seems that he is not sufficiently critical of his own sources).
Thus, in and of itself, subversion through the production of countermythologies does not seem to be the glorious agent of salvation that Sánchez takes it to be. Is it “completely subversive”? No. Is its historical track record as brilliant and glorious as Sánchez suggests? No (as our revolutionary examples make clear).
Similarly, I am unsure as to why Sánchez is so critical of other tactics that may be employed to pursue life-giving change. Why should one attack the ideologies of oppression but not the structures of oppression? Why is armed resistance futile? Seems to me that Sánchez is picking and choosing what he wants to see in the historical record. Armed resistance has often been successful — in fact, as Todd Gordon suggests in Imperialist Canada, the First Nations people in Canada have pretty much only and exclusively been successful in defending their land claims when they have engaged in armed resistance. Furthermore, Sánchez also ignores the ways in which a diversity of tactics, employed by various groups at the same moment, actually tend to produce greater success for a common goal. Thus, for example, the civil rights movement in the United States achieved what limited success it was able to achieve in part because the Black Panthers were simultaneously trying to arm the ghettos.
Additionally, shouldn’t assaults upon ideologies ultimately lead to assaults upon structures? Shouldn’t we cross that line at some point? Or does Sánchez think that structures will simply crumble and disappear (structures that exist in order to buttress the already massive wealth and power of some people–people who will kill to maintain that wealth and power, regardless of what others believe) once some people start espousing a different ideology? That strikes me as naive. Doesn’t ideological criticism seek to inspire new actions and doesn’t an ideology of resistance seek to inspire actions of resistance?
Furthermore, isn’t is suspiciously self-serving for a person rooted in the Academy — i.e. a person situated in a place of (relatively) high status and wealth — to suggest that the way things are overthrown is by producing texts (which the academic is paid to produce) and not be acting to massively overhaul the system? Doesn’t this ideology permit an academic to say any sort of radical text, while simultaneously benefiting from the death-dealing status quo? Thus, the academic does not need to change his or her socioeconomic location, but can continue to benefit from the way things are while believing that s/he is on the cutting-edge of producing life-giving change. Like I said, this strikes me as suspicious and so assertions like those Sánchez makes about fighting ideologies versus fighting structures need to be supported by a sustained argument. Here, perhaps Sánchez’s inability to recognize the compromised nature of most countermythologies makes it difficult for him to recognize the compromised nature of his own context (or vice versa… or both).
This, then, leads me to my final critical question for Sánchez. Sánchez writes that he chooses to employ postcolonial criticism because it is practical, praxis-oriented, and liberative (p8). What is unclear to me is how exactly this book meets those criteria. Perhaps Sánchez would respond by saying it meets those criteria in that it encourages people to subversively engage the mythologies of the dominant on behalf of the dominated… but all of that practical, liberative praxis remains on the domain of the word or letter — the sign and symbol. What I do not see, is much cross over into concrete action (I am reminded of the following exchange in Camus’ Les Justes, a play about a group of Russian conspirators planning to blow up a member of the Tsar’s family. The first character states that one of the conspirators “dit que la poésie est révolutionnaire” to which another conspirator responds: “La bombe seule est révolutoinnaire”).
Anyway, lest my criticisms lead the reader to conclude I did not enjoy this book, let me be clear: I very much enjoyed this book, in part, because it prompted these thoughts in me. I would be curious to see what Sánchez might say in response (and we were exchanging emails about a possible exchange), so perhaps this conversation will continue.
3. The Prostitute and the Prophet: Hosea in Literary-Theoretical Perspective by Yvonne Sherwood.
This book was a lot of fun to read. Sherwood has a strong grasp on both the Old Testament text and contemporary approaches to deconstruction and literary theory. Thus, she reads folks like Jamison, Eco, Rorty, Fish, Barthes, Saussure, Peirce, Kristeva and (most especially) Derrida, alongside of those who have commented on Hosea — from ancient Jewish sources, to contemporary biblical scholars, to modern playwrights. There are a lot of riches to be found here and one of the strengths of Sherwood’s approach is the way in which she is able to explain complex notions or systems of thought in a manner that is both substantial and accessible to the uninitiated (I think).
Sherwood’s goal in this book is to explore why Hosea is seen as a problematic text. In particular, she wants to know why readers react to this text in the ways that they have and why (some) readers highlight some elements of the — often confusing or contradictory — passages in Hos 1-3 and why they neglect other passages. Of course, reading as a feminist critic, Sherwood is particularly interested in what these readings communicate about the ways in which gender and patriarchal hierarchies are inscribed within the story of the prophet and the “woman of harlotry” — a text produced and analyzed by men. As an ideological critic, Sherwood is also interested in the ways in which readers of the text often wish to protect (one understanding of) God against another (possible) understanding of God communicated by Hos 1-3.
All in all, good reading. I remember reading some of Sherwood’s essays a few years back in a book she co-edited called Derrida and Religion. At that time I wasn’t too impressed with the whole endeavour, but it may have been because I didn’t understand nearly as much on that matter as I do now. Maybe it just went over my head.
4. Essex County (a trilogy) by Jeff Lemire.
I have sometimes felt that I spoiled the graphic novel genre from the beginning by reading the very best book first. Granted, it was the right book for the right time, but every since I read Craig Thompson’s Blankets, most graphic novels, including the most highly rated ones (likes Maus, or Epileptic, or Black Hole) have seemed at least a little disappointing (by the way, Thompson’s newest, and largest, offering, Habibi, has now been published!). Then I stumbled onto Jeff Lemire’s Essex County Trilogy and finally, at long last, I discovered a book that at least rivals Blankets. Lemire’s artistic style is quite different than Thompson’s — much less ornate, much more stripped down and bare — but he is able to do what Thompson does — convey very powerful emotions in very few words. Lemire is particularly good at drawing out feelings of loneliness and longing and the desire to love others and be loved one’s self (a desire that often goes unmet because of circumstances beyond our control or flaws in our own characters that we don’t know how to overcome).
Part of what made this graphic novel interesting to me is that it is set in Essex County in southwestern Ontario, not too far from where I now live and where I once lived as a child. The places, themes, and kinds of characters are familiar to me, on a personal level, so I’m sure that helped me to connect with the story.
That said, this is highly recommended reading. Definitely one of the best books I’ve read this year and I will read it again before the year is out.
5. Septuagenarian Stew: Stories and Poems by Charles Bukowski.
My wife recently surprised me with this book — she found it in a bargain bin somewhere and pulled it out for me I (given that I flirt with some of Bukowski’s character traits and given that my wife would like me to go in a somewhat different direction, that was pretty generous of her). I’ve kind of gone back and forth on what I think of him over the years, but I think I’ve gradually made my piece with enjoying his writing and I enjoyed this volume more than some of the others I’ve read. Additionally, I actually quite enjoyed some of the poems contained here, and that was another pleasant surprise, given that I usually struggle to enjoy any poetry (apart from Rilke… see below). Part of what I enjoyed here was the way in which Bukowski is able to capture the beauty of the things which other people see as destructive or immoral or disgusting. When he writes about being an alcoholic, for example, one gets a glimpse of why people are alcoholics. He doesn’t romanticize it — the poverty, and squalor, and hangovers, and sickness, all of that comes through — but he doesn’t demonize it either. Hell, booze becomes like any close friend in your life — sometimes a cause of great grief, sometimes a cause of great joy, but mostly a faithful companion whom you wouldn’t trade for the world.
It seems to me that Bukowski understands brokenness, he understands that people are often overwhelmed by things greater than themselves, things outside of their control — like an abusive father, or an unfaithful spouse — and so we all bears up in our own ways, finds a way to survive and make it through til the next day, sometimes just getting by, sometimes breaking down, sometimes being able to forget everything and laugh for awhile, and sometimes choosing to end it all because it has become unbearable. Bukowski seems to get all this, and seems to also get this: all the things that people do, as they try to struggle on or as they give up the fight completely, are okay.
Recommended reading.
6. Uncollected Poems by Rainer Maria Rilke.
After rereading the Duino Elegies and being struck by the amount of different material that jumped out at me (compared to the material that jumped out at me in my first readings), I thought I would reread this collection of poems. I’m glad that I did. It would be hard to tire of Rilke’s writings. Here’s just one example:

Do you remember: falling stars, how
they leapt slantwise through the sky
like horses over suddenly held-out hurdles
of our wishes–had we so many?–
for stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere;
almost every look upward was wedded
to the swift hazard of their play,
and the heart felt itself a single thing
beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance–
and was whole, as though it would survive them!

Assumptions about "Utopianism" in Conservative Christian Ideologies

One of the truisms at work within certain Conservative Christian circles is the assertion that things like socialism or even anarchy (properly understood) are fine and noble ideals but are far too “utopian” to be worth applying within a world defined by things like “sin” and “fallenness.” I say that this functions as a truism, and not as any sort of rigourous argument, because it is the sort of thing that is simply repeated ad nauseum and never really critically engaged or sustained. Additionally, the word “utopian” is always taken to be a bad word, with negative implications. Christians who utilize this language against their (perceived) opponents are claiming to be more “realistic” than others.
Craig Carter’s recent post on socialism, pacifism and sex illustrates all of this rather well. While writing about socialism, Carter asserts that “socialism is in many ways a high and noble ideal” but then goes on to write that:

Socialism is utopian in the sense that it is incompatible with the fact of original sin. The reason that socialism always leads to tyranny, poverty and atheism in this world is because of the tragic flaw in human nature – not because of the idea of socialism itself. As an idea, it is wonderful. But when implemented in a society of fallen sinners, it becomes horribly destructive.

There are a few responses one can make to this. On the one hand, some Christian anarchists have responded to this line of thought by arguing that it is Conservative Christians who are hopelessly utopian and who fail to fully consider human fallenness and sin. So, for example, some Christian anarchists would say that it is mad utopianism that leads some to think that you can give guns, pepper spray, handcuffs, zip batons and badges to some people — and then tell those same people that they are only accountable to their own internal chain of command — and expect those people to act in a manner that is just and compassionate. Thus, these Christian anarchists would argue that they are opposed to armed police forces precisely because they take human sin and fallenness more seriously than others (of course, any who have had any sustained experience with the police quickly learn that the evidence favours the anarchist position; however, those who have learned this have usually been minorities and folks without any voice in the broader social discourse, which is why one of the benefits of the Occupy movement have been a partial revelation of the true nature and purpose of the police to the general public as members of the middle-class have now been on the receiving end of the force of the law).
On another hand, however, and this is more to the point regarding my opening sentences, Conservative Christians like Carter are extremely selective with the evidence — essentially they see what they want to see, regardless of what else is available to be seen — and so they term some things (like socialism) utopian but then advocate for other things that the evidence would suggest are equally utopian. The evidence for this is in Carter’s earlier paragraph on sex. He writes:

sex is easy. Natural reason tells us that sexual activity is oriented to and leads to procreation and that marriage naturally is the best context for procreation to occur… Sex belongs in marriage and every serious form of natural law or religious morality affirms this conclusion. But sex outside marriage is destructive of personal communion, social stability and children.

There are a few things worth observing here. First, and somewhat tangentially, “natural reason” and “natural law,” within the context of this argument are not actually rooted in anything we observe in nature. In nature, we see sexual activity that goes on in all sorts of ways outside of the realm of procreation — we see animals engaging in homosexual relationships and in masturbation (in the Toronto Zoo, not far from Carter, you can find examples of both in the penguin and monkey sections, respectively). It’s also somewhat anomalous to talk about “marriage” within the context of the kind of relationships other animals enact. Most species have multiple sexual partners, and a lot of animals seem to enjoy having sex just for the sake of having sex. So, when Carter grounds his argument in “nature” he is really just grounding his argument in a few verses of the Bible that tell him what nature teaches us (regardless of what we actually observe in nature).
Second, and more to the point, it is easy to charge Carter with being utopian in his observations about sex and marriage. What about people who are gay? What about people who can’t have kids? What about all the violence that has taken place within traditional family settings? What about all the kids beaten and abandoned by their biological parents? What about all the wives raped by their husbands? What about all the affairs? What about all the failed relationships? This list of questions could be expanded almost endlessly, but the point is that Carter’s position on sex and marriage is at least as susceptible (of not more so) to the charge of utopianism as the picture he paints of socialism. His view of sex and marriage could be called “a high and noble ideal” (if we’re being generous) but it surely is “incompatible with the fact of original sin” (to borrow Carter’s language).
The same argument, of course, could be made about the institution of the Church as it has manifested itself throughout history and up to the present day Roman Catholic Church, which Carter seems to particularly admire (despite the evidence that such things as systemic cover-ups of the sexual abuse of children extended all the way up to the level of the current Pope… just to pick one of a million possible examples). Surely the institution of the Church could be described as a high and noble ideal but one that is far too utopian to play out well in practice…
Anyway, Carter’s approach is true of many of those who hold views like his. The opposing position is said to be noble but too unrealistic, while the speaker’s position is held without any sort of compromise and without any recognition of the presence of the same criteria that were employed to attack the supposedly utopian position they just rejected.
Carter lays out no criteria as to why one view (his position on sex) should be treated as an ideal that is held realistically and without compromise, while another view (the socialist position) should be treated as an ideal that is too utopian and so should be compromised in the world of realpolitik. All of this then suggests that Carter is simply making assertions about what he wants to believe and is not actually building any sort of sustained, consistent or compelling argument. Of course, for any person with half a brain this is painfully obvious (which is why nobody usually bothers responding to Carter) but it bears mentioning for the sake of those kids who may mistake what Carter is saying for some sort of critical thinking.

An Aside…

The other day an old friend — a former roommate and colleague, and one of the few women in the world I would agree to walk with in the alleys of Vancouver’s downtown eastside at one in the morning — was visiting and discovered that I have a very small, “secret” facebook account. She was appalled that I had not “friended” her online, and took this to mean that we were not actually “real” friends — despite the fact that we do things like actually hang-out in person, or talk about pretty much everything from our sex lives to our most private struggles. We’ve had each others’ backs a number of times in a number of situations (including two where people were at risk of dying imminently), but what really mattered to her was that we were not “friends” on facebook — i.e. within an online community wherein personal brand images relate to other personal brand images (i.e. Second Life by another name).
Sure gives substance to Baudrillard’s claims about the triumph of the simulacrum (or Zizek’s remarks about the rise of the internet as the rise of a new form of gnostic disembodiment).

Dancing Towards Nihilism: Third Sketch

To say that something is fictional is not to say that it lacks any significance. Money is a good example of a significant fiction. The material employed in money — metal, paper, or most recently here in Canada, plastic — has no intrinsic value in relationship to other objects (as far as I can tell — actually, as far as I can tell, nothing has any intrinsic value in relationship to anything else). So why can I trade two pieces of paper for one piece of wooden furniture? Because we, as a group, choose to participate within a fictional understanding of that which we call “money.” Money is like the Emperor–clothed in incomparably beautiful robes… as long as we all pretend that he is not naked.

Other examples abound: nation-states are also fictions, as are all political boundaries, but our choice to participate in those fictions has serious ramifications for our actions. As I stated before, we are all creating the world in which we live, and when we create a (fictional) world that has (fictional) components like money and nation-states, how we act in that (fictional) world will be significantly modified.

Language, itself, may be the most powerful example of this. Non-sense, or fiction, that we take as “sensible” or “real” based upon the games that we play with it.

That said, to say that something is a game is not to say that it is not serious. Some games, of course, are more serious than others–usually, what is risked in a game of Scrabble amongst friends is significantly different than what is risked in a game of Russian Roulette and the same spectrum of significance applies, I think, to the different language games we play as we construct meaning and value and, literally, make sense of our lives. Yes, all language is game playing, yes, all definitions are tautologies as worked out within the rules of a particular game, but that game can be deathly serious. Again, what matters is the way in which the game impacts one’s actions.

Of course, all of this assumes that game-playing and participating in fictional constructions of the world do, in fact, impact a person’s actions. This assumption could be reversed — we could argue that one’s beliefs and values are determined by one’s actions and not vice versa. In fact, I believe that this is the case far more often than we care to think — we do what we want to do and only then find ways to narrate those actions so that we are good people within the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves and within the stories others tell about us. However, I don’t think this has to be a strict either/or. Actions (more often? ) influence beliefs; but beliefs (less often?) can influence actions.

The other assumption operating here is that, while appearing to try to objectively describe things as they are, there is still a system of valorisation operating within this post. That is to say, I believe that things are significant to the extent that they impact what we do and make our actions more or less life-giving or death-dealing. I am not just saying that fictions impact action, nor am I saying that game-playing can have repercussions for a person’s lived existence, I am saying those things are significant because of that.

Dancing Towards Nihilism: Second Sketch

Everything we believe is fictional. This does not mean that (some of it) is not also “true” but it means that any belief or system of meaning is true in the same way that The Brothers Karamazov, or the Res Gestae Divi Augusti, or the Bible are true. All truths are fictions — which is not the same thing as saying all truths are insignificant (to me), or all truths of equal value (to me).

By saying that all truths are fictions, I mean that we all actively participate in the construction of anything we take to be true. We choose what we will believe as true and what we will believe is false. We choose what we will value and what we will disparage. We choose what is good and what is evil. We choose how we will construct our understanding of our own selves and of others (“nobody knows who I really am…” more on that in a moment). We participate not only in the embodiment of our truths (which is what makes them significant), but also in their creation. Each one of us, recreates the world anew every morning. For there is no “world” apart from the one we choose to create when we awaken.

However, because all of us do this, and because all of us do this in different ways, some will say one thing is true, others will say the opposite is true, and some will propose mediating positions or speak entirely different languages.

Because this has been going on since we first created the world, we inherit many of the truth-full fictions of others. Some are more susceptible to accepting these than others. Some will take these truth-full fictions to be “absolute truths” and others will take them to be “objective descriptions” of the “real world”. So it goes. Many seem to find it scary to think that “reality” (one of the oldest truth-full fictions ever created and pass on) may be nothing more (nor less!) than a fiction, or an ideological construct… I’m not sure why… so people prefer to hold on to what they receive and find ways to assert that their truth-full fictions are the Truth.

Perhaps an illustration of this would be useful. Let us take myself — who I am — as our object of study. You could ask many people who I am (who I really am) and you would receive a host of different answers. Some would blatantly contradict each other. In the story each person is telling him- or herself about the world, I would be interpreted as very different characters, and in the story I am telling myself about the world, I play another kind of character than many of those other descriptions of me and my role. Of course, it is at this point that many people give priority to the story that they tell themselves about themselves, but why should we think that our story about our selves is any better or more accurate than the story others tell about us? Maybe you know yourself better than others because you know a lot of what you think and do that others don’t know… but maybe you’re far too close to yourself, and far too personally involved with yourself, to have any more of an accurate read of yourself than any other person. Or maybe, and this is what makes the most sense to me these days, I am all of the people I am taken to be by myself and others. Of course, because those people are often the polar opposite of each other, I cannot simply be some compilation of all those people — there is no core, single true, single real, me. I am a multitude. I am Legion.

Of course, this conclusion is no more and no less fictional and truth-full than any other conclusion. It is simply the one that is the most compelling (to me).

Dancing Towards Nihilism: First Sketch

To do right is to do that which is admirable (to me). That which I find admirable is sharing abundant life with others. Thus, being life-giving is right in my eyes.

To do wrong is to do that which is despicable (to me). That which I find despicable is taking life from others or barring others from abundant life. Thus, being death-dealing is wrong in my eyes.

Apart from these two things, nothing else matters (i.e. is of significance to me). Or, rather, it is only in the context of these two things, that anything matters (i.e. is of significance to me). Any belief, any value, any moral, any law, any story or text, any ideology, any construction of meaning or of identity–none of these things have any intrinsic significance (in my eyes). They are only significant as far as they are life-giving or death-dealing and their significance carries no farther than that (but it does carry that far).

Here, what is of foremost importance (to me), are one’s actions. Again: beliefs, values, constructions of meaning–these are only significant to the extent they they impact one’s actions in relation to that which is life-giving or death-dealing. Beliefs, values, and constructions of meaning, do not matter (to me) in and of themselves. Their sole significance (to me) is the way in which they influence what we do.

A Response to Viewing "Beyond the Blues: Child and Youth Depression"

[Tonight, I sat on a panel of three respondents at the (ongoing) Sarnia Justice Film Festival. The film being discussed was Beyond the Blues: Child and Youth Depression. The other two speakers were psychiatrists, pretty firmly rooted in the medical model of care, and so I was a bit of the odd-person-out. This is an extended version of what I said.]
Within his history of madness, Michel Foucault argues that madness, or mental illness, is not a natural and constant phenomenon throughout human history but is, instead, a construct that arises within a given society based upon various cultural, socioeconomic, political, and intellectual structures. Countering political, scientific and psychiatric narrative that posit an ongoing history of discovery and progress – a narrative which assert that we have simply gotten better and better at diagnosing and treating an unchanging historical constant – Foucault argues that societies construct their own unique experiences of madness.
I was thinking about Foucault’s analysis while watching this documentary.
Continue reading →

October Books

Kinda busy… proofreading to follow later… hopefully… apologies for sparse reviews.
1-2. The Plains of Aamjiwnaang and Ways of Our Grandfathers: Our Traditions and Culture by David D. Plain.
These two short books were written by a member of the Ahnishenahbek at Aamjiwnaang. That is to say, they were written by a member of the First Nations people who live on the land where I now also live. Given that I am keen to become involved with the First Nations community here, I was very pleased to discover these educational texts by a local author. In fact, I’m not just keen to become involved, what is going on in their community — essentially, they are being murdered, especially their children, by chemical pollutants released from industrial plants that surround them; a few documentaries like Toxic Trespass, The Beloved Community, The Disappearing Male, and Waterlife cover this in some detail and I highly recommend them, not only for locals, but for any who want to get a sense for both the environmental destruction and the colonial project of genocide against indigenous people that continues to occur not just in the two-thirds world, but here in Canada. Just to get a sense for the damage the pollutants cause the community, while male to female birth rates are generally sitting at 51% males born to 49% females, the birth rate in the community is 67% female and the rates at which pregnancies are lost are about three times higher than the national average. This is because pollutants related to the plants here disrupt the endocrine system. Speaking of pollutants, 21% of the greenhouse gas emissions in Ontario come from these plants. According to the World Health Organization, this town has the worst air quality in Canada. The folks who live close to the hazardous waste processing plant, called “Clean Harbors” (the largest in North America) have to be evacuated from their homes on a semi-regular basis. Think something along the lines of Delillo’s “airborne toxic event” (people usually know it’s time to go when nausea, migraines and fainting spells set in, although this also happens elsewhere in the city depending on what and how much the plants are releasing)… only that has occurred more than half a dozen times over the last two months. This is just the tip of the iceberg, I could go on and on… apparently something like 80% of the oil-based products used in the industrial world are somehow connected with this chemical valley (all the oil giants are here or were here)… maybe in a future post…
Anyway, back to the books. In the first book, The Plains of Aamjiwnaang, David Plain recounts the history of the Ahnishenahbek in the Aaamjiwnaang region and beyond from the late fifteenth century til the mid-twentieth century. He focuses upon his own lineage, the Plain family, who include a number of historical chiefs (both civil and war chiefs). Personally, I found the history to be both fascinating and useful. I never knew the historical significance of this region, nor did I know of the battles fought in this area (one hears a lot about battle grounds in Europe but we don’t know the history of our own regions). Not surprisingly, one of the things that comes through pretty clearly is just how dishonest and brutal the Settlers were in their actions toward First Nations people. Broken promises, theft of lands, betrayals, manipulation of peoples by trying to create internal divides and create powerful parties who are interested more in themselves than in the good of the community… all that happened in this location, just as it happened everywhere else colonialism goes.
The second book, Ways of Our Grandfathers, was also a useful read for me as I get situated here. While the first book explores events and people, this book examines cultural practices, religious beliefs, political and economic structures, and healing practices (including a list of regional plants, how they were prepared, and what they were used to heal). All in all, recommended reading for any local folks.
3. A Second Birthday: A Personal Confrontation with Illness, Pain, and Death by William Stringfellow.
Many thanks to the folks at Wipf and Stock for this complimentary copy.
This is the second book in Stringfellow’s autobiographical trilogy (my review of the first volume is here). I can’t say that I enjoyed it as much as the first. Having witnessed some very close friends and family members deal with serious illnesses or lifelong pain, I was hoping for a more sustained reflection upon that subject (as the book is roughly structured around the time in Stringfellow’s life when he became very sick and almost died until a last-ditch-effort surgery saved his life). However, the book was more of a rambling series of tangents about a wide variety of subjects. Much of it did not seem as exciting as some of his other reflections, although some of the sections were quite good — his criticisms of nostalgic American family television shows and his reflection on the dangers of simply going with the “default” option one has in society were especially good (but too short!). Also, his section on why he despised being relegated to the role of a “theological gadfly” and why he began to cease given lectures in contexts where he was perceived that way is worth quoting:

Too often the difficulty with that task, I found, was that the ecclesiastical authorities, bureaucrats, and flunkies whom I addressed actually relished criticism as a means of further avoiding reformation or renewal. They were flagellants, morbidly enjoying punishment for misbehavior in which they fully intended to persevere. My involvement as “gadfly” or whatever-you-call-it was becoming a charade.
I would drop out of it. And I did.

I have had very similar experiences when it comes to speaking in Christian contexts (from churches, to universities, to conferences) about matters related to poverty, restitution, and oppression, and these experiences have also made me question the whole process and look to other angles of action beyond the written word (I’m beginning to wonder if the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that the pen is mightier than the sword).
Anyway, all that to say, this book was quick and easy and mostly pleasant reading with a few bright moments but not nearly as inspiring as other things written by Stringfellow. The groupies will like it, the others could skip it without much loss.
4. The Epic of Gilgamesh (Penguin Classics edition).
Found this in an old box of books my wife brought from her mom’s farm and thought I would give it a read. I reckon that I’ve probably read the whole epic in bits and pieces over the years but it was good to sit down and read the whole thing. I find it absolutely fascinating to read literature that was written thousands of years ago… I love reading old stories (even if they’re not all that exciting on the surface). It blows my mind to think that such things have endured over the years and that I am now reading, in the year 2011, a text that was originally recited in ancient Mesopotamia. I definitely want to prioritize other such texts as I look for reading material next year
5. Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke.
I had read a number of beautiful quotations from these letters, so when I saw the collection in a used book shop for a few bucks, I was happy to pick it up. The letters are enjoyable — some good reflections on creativity, writing, love, and loneliness — but don’t come close to matching some of Rilke’s poetry.
6. Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison.
Some time back, Brad Johnson recommended this book when I asked him to list some of his favourite novels, and so I finally got around to reading it. I’m very glad that I did. It’s a great story about how one person — in this case, an unnamed black male who moves from the South to New York in the early twentieth century — constructs his own identity in light, especially, of the ways in which a wide variety of others, construct his identity in other ways (i.e. in ways that don’t really see him, hence the title). Recommended reading.
Bonus Crazy Christian Book: Love and Sex Are Not Enough by Charles P. de Santo.
So, I was visiting with a friend who passed this book onto me. I sort of have a thing for reading wacko Christian books from previous decades. I think they offer a different way of reading a lot of contemporary Christian books — i.e. they may be just as wacko — and I think this is particularly true in relation to the subjects at hand in this work: love, sex, and marriage (also, reading books like these is an amusing way of killing time on the can). Of course, like most Conservative Christian books about how to live life, this one is full of lines about how we cannot permit our culture to dictate our values (Christians need to espouse to traditional, universal values) and then it goes on to embrace a slew of culturally-conditioned values from hetero-normativity to patriarchy to the Protestant work ethic and the spirit of capitalism. Now, what makes this particular book stand out, is the way in which it employs an appeal to sociology in order to affirm both racism and classism. Essentially, the authors central point boils down to the fact that “love and sex are not enough” to make a good marriage. Furthermore, it’s not enough to also share the same religious outlook as a prospective partner. Rather, one has the best odds of producing a good marriage if one also dates within one’s class (poor people are especially bad marriage prospects, according to De Santo, as are atheists), and within one’s race (I quote: “While it is not immoral to marry outside one’s race, it probably is unwise). Again, it bears repeating that it may be easy to unveil the absurdity of pretty much all of this book, but the point then is to turn the critical lenses on any present day Christian texts that address these matters and ask if they will not be considered equally absurd in a few years.

The Poverty Industry and the Early Assemblies of Jesus-Followers: Seven Provocative Contrasts

[What follows is a transcript of a lecture I presented at a course a friend of mine is teaching to Christian Social Service workers in Toronto’s Yonge Street Mission (YSM) — one of the most respected and oldest Christian charities engaging homeless and street-involved folks in that city (and also a former employer of mine). It was interesting that, immediately prior to me delivering this lecture, the President of GM Canada spoke in the room next door to a group of homeless and street-involved teens. He presented a tale of how he worked his way up from nothing and spoke about North America as the land of the free. In such a free space, all that limits what a person can be (according to this fellow’s talk) is how hard a person is willing to work and what choices they make. He spoke about how he chose to be a businessman because he knew they were important people who could do a lot of good things. Basically, what he presented was the ideology of freedom, choice, and capitalism-with-a-human-face… thereby providing a perfect illustration of the sort of things I criticize in my own presentation. I would love feedback from any who take the time to read this (sadly, I didn’t find the time to make this as tight, polished and as well-argued at points, as I wanted it to be), as I will be revising this lecture for a course I’m helping to teach next summer.]

The Poverty Industry and the Early Assemblies of Jesus-Followers: Seven Provocative Contrasts

Introduction: Questioning the Relationship of “Charity” to “Justice”
Continue reading →

#OccupyCorinth

I was talking with Gallio the other day about some of the latest rumours that are spreading throughout the Empire. Strangely enough, there seems to be some sort of “movement” establishing occupations in various central cities in the Eastern provinces. However, it seems that some of the members of the movement are objecting to the language of “occupation” – they seem to think that the land is already undergoing an occupation by us, the Roman people, which is pretty laughable left-wing nutbar material if you ask me – we are the agents of peace and security, salvation, civilization, prosperity and the Golden Age, how can we be viewed as some sort of negative occupation?
Anyway, as far as I can tell, this “movment” started in the Middle East in the Spring with #OccupyJerusalem, and then spread to all sorts of other places – #OccupyAntioch, #OccupyTessalonika, #OccupyGalatia (although people are uncertain if that is happening in the North or South of the province) and so on. There are even rumours that one of the more active members of this movement is hoping to set up an occupation (or perhaps help develop an occupation that has already taken place unbeknownst to us?) in Rome itself before moving on to the Western provinces.
Anyway, my curiosity got the better of me and so I thought I would go and check out the occupation that is taking place here in Corinth. After all, the rumours suggest that these people want some sort of “revolution” and they seem to be claiming that some fellow who died as a state-executed terrorist is actually the agent of peace and security and salvation—they seem to want to refer to this person in the same way as we refer to our Lord, Caesar (blessed be) and they seem to think this fellow established some sort of economy that runs counter to our own. How mad… and maddening, really. Don’t these people know what a gift we have given them with our law and order? For, as the divine Augustus once said: the slave-based economy of Roman imperialism is the worst of all the possible options… except for all the other ones! Besides, our economists know that slavery is a necessary growing pain of any recently developed economy and, really, its a far better option than a good many of the choices available to those barbarians. Ungrateful bastards—when the tide rises, all boats rise (and the divine Caesars are, of course, lords of the sea, ever since Pompey liberated the world from pirates).
So, perhaps there would be some money in it for me if I went to visit #OccupyCorinth. If there really was anything seditious going on there, I might make some money by being the first to turn them over to the authorities.
You can’t imagine my disappointment when I got there. What a joke of a “movement.” I couldn’t even make out what their objectives are. They are incoherent and divided. Various factions have arisen. I could identify those of Paul, of Apollos, of Cephas, and of someone called Christ, and, as far as I can tell, they all have different models by which they seek to pursue some sort of change.
This is all pretty humourous for a movement that claims to be leaderless – or, rather, claims that their leader is some immaterial Spirit and some poor dead, uneducated Jew who they think underwent an apotheosis (more like an apocolocyntosis… I should tell Seneca about that play on words, he would appreciate it, I think). Of course, even these supposed “leaders” of “the leaderless” appear to be the dregs of all things. I saw one of them speaking at their General Assembly (they meet weekly for this and so for the civic administration has turned a blind eye to this, even though it is illegal for them to assemble in this way). He was poorly clothed, apparently homeless, seemed to have marks from beatings, coarse hands from hard work (how shameful!) and appeared to be hungry, foolish, weak, disreputable and altogether rubbish. I mean, who can take people who look like this seriously?
They make their own clothes (if you even want to call those eclectic rags “clothes”)? Egad. What do they have to tell us about anything?
Not only that, but they appear to be a profoundly immoral group. While visiting the occupation, I learned that one fellow is having sex with his father’s wife! Can you imagine! Even the most licentious of us Romans would never consider such a thing. Of course, the supporters of #OccupyCorinth have tried to tell me that such a person is a rare exception to the rule – and that we should not judge a whole movement based upon one bad apple – but I think we all know that they are just trying to hide the fact that they are all probably incestuous.
Not only incestuous, but also atheists. They reject our gods – the very same gods who gave us our economic values, who raised the standard of living of all throughout the empire, and provided us with the family values we admire and protect (the divine Augustus worked harder than any other to restore the dignity of the family, did he not?). So, while they claim to talk in some sort of religious language, we should not be fooled: these are atheists and, literally, motherfuckers.
Things only became even more of a joke, when I learned that some of the occupiers were using our legal and judicial system in order to resolve conflicts that occurred within the occupation. These people claim to be embodying some sort of alternative kingdom, centred around the Spirit of new life and the revaluation of values but as soon as the going gets tough, they appeal right back to systems that any true revolutionary would see as opposed to their goals. What a bunch of poseurs and hypocrites.
I could go on and on, but I’ll just mention three more things. First, the occupation can’t even figure out their eating arrangements. Some are meat-eaters, some are vegans, some only eat “free range” meat or something like that (is that what “kosher” means?), and they can’t sort out how to address everybody’s needs without getting into fights with each other. How pathetic. Not only that, but for all their talk about being a new society of brothers and sisters, when they do get together to eat, it seems like those who have higher status (which, let’s be honest, is only relatively higher status, since they are all a bunch of beggars and inbreds) appear to be taking the better portions of food and eating more than others. So much for loving one another in new ways. This isn’t the sort of concrete and material mutualism that we Romans practice with our siblings.
Second, they seem to be permitting women to run around acting in roles that should only be reserved for men. I would feel entirely emasculated if a woman told me what to do, yet there are some women who seem to be acting as “leaders” (in a “leaderless” movement). Now, obviously we Romans value women, but everybody knows that they are to play a different role in society. I would never follow a leader I could beat in a fight (something Senator Marcus Driscolius once said about those barbarians who were revolting up north under the authority of a woman). Women, obviously, are made to bear children and care for the home. This does not mean they are any less human than men, but it means their role is different.
Third, a good portion of those at #OccupyCorinth appear to be either high or in psychosis. Some are walking around speaking in tongues that nobody can recognize, some claim to be able to heal the sick with alternative medicine (or simply by touching them while speaking certain words!), some claim to be able to prophesy the future, and some even claim to be able perform vaguely defined “works of power.” What a bunch of crazies. Seriously, I would expect this sort of madness from the Gauls and other barbarians (damn tribal people, they would probably have drum circles… yuck!) but I expect more from Greeks.
That said, despite their obvious beggarly nature, despite their juvenile behaviour, despite their immorality, incompetence, and incoherence, there still were some very troubling and destructive messages being proclaimed. If anybody started taking them seriously, we could be in trouble – indeed, given the way this Occupy Together thing is spreading, the Empire itself could be in trouble. Not because something better is coming along, but because these people seem to proponents of chaos and anarchy and ways of structuring life together that are proven failures.
For example, one of their leaders-but-not-really-leaders, is trying to encourage them to share their resources and money with one another in some sort of “Collection,” and is trying to network the occupations throughout the Empire so that, even though they are all poor, there will always be enough for everybody. This sort of utopian economic theory is the sort of thing we might expect from the barbarians in East Germania and beyond, but it has obviously proven false and was thoroughly refuted at the fall of wall of Alesia (and the defeat of Vercingetorix). Not only is it wrong from an economic angle, it is wrong from a moral angle. It refuses to respect the divine laws of private property and disregards the fact that people have earned what they have and deserve to keep it (whether that be a little or a lot). Yet, these atheists refer to these divine laws as idolatry. Perhaps we have spoiled our colonies a little too much and now some are responding by acting like ungrateful children. Spare the fasces, spoil the child.
Not only that but, as an aside, we should note that it probably isn’t good for the Empire to have various members of vanquished nations interacting with each other in this way, apart from some sort of Roman intermediary. Given that this movement likes to imitate our political ways of structuring life together – both by forming local assemblies (“occupations”), establishing its own law courts (and claiming that they are beyond or above the law because of grace and love – a fuller expression of anarchy has never been heard before!), and using political metaphors (referring to their groups as a single body, when really we know that the political community is the true body) – we should note how this might end up creating a transnational alternative to what we offer… that is, if these incompetent, immoral fools can get their act together.
There are other heretical and seditious views proclaimed by some members of this “movement.” Thus, perhaps in a moment of megalomania, I heard one of them proclaim that: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are.” I might be tempted to respond: “Okay, buddy. Keep telling yourself that and living in your fantasy land,” but this is a dangerous fantasy. I heard the same person say, that the “rulers of this age are doomed to perish,” in part, I think, because they are said to have “crucified the Lord of glory.” This same Lord will, supposedly, hand our empire over to his God who will “destroy every ruler and every authority and every power” and will put “all his enemies [including us, I suppose, since we crucified their “Lord”] under his feet.”
This is rebellious talk and should not be tolerated. We all know that crucifixion is a form of death reserved only for the worst members of society. Thus, to say that some crucified person is Lord, while proclaiming doom upon the rulers, is an offense that should not go unpunished… and should be punished severely. Of course, this same fellow who said those words, also described our judicial system as “unrighteous” and “unjust” so there may be no hope of reforming him (given the scars on his body, he may not have been hyperbolic when he described himself as “sentenced to death” and being “in danger every hour”).
I went back to Gallio and told him about these things but he said I’m getting a little worked up over nothing. Obviously, we are dealing with a bunch of juvenile, immoral (probably high), ignorant, and hypocritical wannabes who like to throw around some provocative rhetoric but who won’t make it through the first winter. Gallio assured me that, while they are monitoring the situation, the main thing to do is to present a benevolent face to the public. Lord Caesar knows, it wasn’t that long ago that we completely destroyed Corinth so, even though these people are beyond ungrateful for the grace we have shown them since then, violence might not be the answer yet. These people will implode upon themselves or fall apart before they can offer anything serious to the city. In a year, I reckon that this “movement” will be completely dead and gone.
Yours,
A Roman Citizen and friend of Liberty, Property, and the Rule of Law