Heaven and How to Get There

Revival Movement Association

revivalmovement.org 

 

 

I. 

 

One of the ironic consequences of mass migration from sub-Saharan Africa is that there are suddenly lots of evangelical Christians on the street corners, preaching the gospel and reaching out as missionaries. 

 

In other words, having been colonised and converted by bible-bashing Europeans in the nineteenth-century, they are now attempting to undo secular modernity and effectively plunge us back into a world of religious mania.   

 

Thus it was I was given a little leaflet this morning, encouraging me to turn away from sin and put my faith and trust in Lord Jesus Christ, Saviour, as well as promising to reveal not only what Heaven is like, but, more importantly, how to get there.  

 

 

II. 

 

According to the leaflet, Heaven is a wonderful place whose beauty is incomparable:

 

The God of the Bible is a God of beauty, and this is why Heaven will be perfectly beautiful. It will be so beautiful that it cannot be compared to anywhere here on earth.   

 

Note how Heaven is capitalised, but earth is not: Nietzsche would argue that this provides a crucial insight into the Christian mindset; to the fact that Christianity prioritises that which comes after life whilst, at the same time, devaluing material (mortal) existence and is therefore profoundly nihilistic [1]. 

 

But let's leave aside the anti-Christian case against Heaven until later and continue with our reading of the leaflet ... 

 

Interestingly, no sooner are we told about the beauty of Heaven than we are informed that this is its least important aspect. What matters far more is the fact that Heaven is the place where all the purest, humblest, most unselfish people the world has ever known finally come together as one flock. 

 

And, to top it off, Jesus Christ Himself is there - as well as God in all His glory! Thus, in Heaven, we will finally have the opportunity to see God with our own eyes! 

 

I find the emphasis on this selling point a little perplexing; I'm no bible scholar, but didn't Jesus say somewhere or other that blessed are those who who have not looked upon the face of God and yet still believe in his majesty? Are we not encouraged to doubt our own eyes on the grounds that the senses can deceive us? [2]  

 

 

III. 

Moving on ... The little leaflet also tells us that Heaven is a place of happy reunions - i.e., a place where the dead and the living can catch up and renew relations, reminisce about old times, etc. 

 

There's no consideration of the fact that not everyone wants to meet with their former friends, partners, and family members - and certainly not if we are then never more to part. For as Larry David (mistakenly) reveals to his wife Cheryl in an episode of Curb, the great attraction of an afterlife is the thought of being free and single once more and able to make a fresh start: click here [3].  

 

 

IV. 

    

Clearly, as much as those who long for Heaven hate earthly life, the thing that really motivates their faith is fear of death, as this (inadvertently hilarious) passage makes abundantly clear:

 

Another great truth about Heaven is that there will be no death there. We will never have to endure the heartbreak of watching a loved one passing away. We will never again have to watch the undertaker as he screws down the coffin lid on the one we loved, there will be no black ties, no funerals passing through the streets, no standing by an open grave and watching a coffin lowered into it, no listening to the clods of earth as they fall remorselessly on the box that contains the remains of the one we love so much and whose death has left us so sad and broken. Thank God there is no death in Heaven!

 

Now, experiencing Angst - as Heidegger was at pains to explain - is a fundamental aspect of being human. Angst isn't merely a form of anxiety born of thanatophobia; rather, it is how Dasein grasps the idea of finitude and confronts the void at the core of existence [4].

 

In other words, angst allows us to understand that being-in-the-world rests upon non-being. An unsettling thought, perhaps, but ultimately a liberating one that dares us to live and become who we are (or find authenticity and accept responsibility for our own choices, as Heidegger would say).    

 

And those who would deny us this - and who would, in effect, rob us even of our own deaths - deserve our contempt.  

 

V. 

 

Finally, as to how to get to Heaven ... 

 

There is, apparently, only ONE way: and that is by accepting Jesus as your Lord and Saviour:  

 

Jesus is the only way, and no man can come to the Father except through HIM. If you reject Him you shut the door to heaven on yourself. 

 

Well, that's unfortunate, perhaps, because I do reject Jesus - and I don't even think, like Lawrence, that there are many saviours and that man can secure himself a spot in paradise via a number of paths leading to God [5]. 

 

And - just to be clear - I wouldn't want to go to a Heaven in which the purest, humblest, most unselfish people are all gathered; because these people are very often nothing of the kind and they seem to spend a good deal of their time revelling in the misfortune and torment of those burning in that other place, which, let us remind ourselves, has a sign above its gates declaring: Built in the name of eternal Love [6].  

 

Ultimately, I stand with the naked and damned and not the smug and saved in their new white garments; and I choose to be amongst the scarlet poppies of Hell rather than in a Heaven "where the flowers never fade, but stand in everlasting sameness" [7].   

  

 

Notes

 

[1] Nietzsche speaks of afterworldsmen who create a vision of paradise born of suffering, impotence, and an impoversished form of weariness: "It was the sick and dying who despised the body and the earth and invented the things of heaven [...] They wanted to escape from their misery and the stars were too far for them." See Thus Spoke Zarathustra, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Penguin Books, 1969), p. 60. 

 

[2] See John 20:29. The KJV reads: "Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." 

 

[3] Curb Your Enthusiasm season 4, episode 9: 'The Survivor' (2004), dir. Larry Charles, written by Larry David, starring Larry David and Cheryl Hines.    

 

[4] See Heidegger, Being and Time, Division I, Chapter 6, where Heidegger not only discusses Angst as a fundamental mood, but relates it to his important notion of Sorge (usually translated into English as care and which provides the basis for Heideggerian ethics).   

 

[5] See the fragment of text written by Lawrence given the title 'There is no real battle ...' in Appendix I of Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 385. 

      In this piece, Lawrence argues that "the great Church of the future will know other saviours" and that the reason he hates Christianity is because it declares there is only one way to God: "'I am the way' - Not even Jesus can declare this to all men. To very many men, Jesus is no longer the way. He is no longer the way for me." 

 

[6] This idea of the sign is found in Dante's Inferno Canto III. Lines 5 and 6 of which read: Fecemi la divina podestate / somma sapïenza e ’l primo amore (My maker was divine authority / the highest wisdom and the primal love). But note that Nietzsche says it displays a certain philosophical naivety on the part of the Italian poet and that if there is a sign it is placed rather above the entrance to Heaven, with an inscription reading: Built in the name of everlasting Hate. See my post - 'A Brief Note on Heaven and Hell' (18 October 2014): click here. 

 

[7] D. H. Lawrence, Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation, ed. Mara Kalnins (Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 144.   

 

On the Loving of Enemies

Liebe deine Feinde, 

denn sie bringen das Beste in dir zum Vorschein ...

 

 

I. 

 

As we all know, Jesus famously taught we should love our enemies (and not only our neighbours):

 

"Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you." 

- Matthew 5:43-44 (KJV)

 

Many Christians like to believe that this, one of the most widely quoted sections of the Sermon on the Mount, is what separates their faith from all earlier religious doctrines; i.e., that it's a distinctive moral innovation. 

 

But that's not quite true and there are, in fact, a number of ethical precedents, as scholars familiar with the writings of the ancient Babylonians and Egyptians have pointed out. Indeed, similar teachings can also be found in the works of Jewish, Greek, and Roman authors [1].   

 

Still, it remains an interesting and important idea; albeit one that requires careful consideration of its terms; the word love, for example - ἀγαπάω (agapan) in the original Greek - refers to a kind of universal affection that is spiritual rather than sexual in origin. We are encouraged to be charitable and forgive those who trespass against us, not sleep with the enemy or become erotically fixated on them. 

 

And yet, arguably, there is something a bit perverse (and paradoxical) about developing positive feelings towards those who curse, hate, and persecute you; is loving one's enemy not simply a passive-aggressive attempt by the despised and victimised to bond with those who are in a superior and more powerful position? 

In other words, is it not a type of coping mechanism disguised as morality? Nietzsche certainly seemed to think so ...

 

 

II. 

 

Writing in the first essay of the Genealogy, Nietzsche argues that love of enemies is a possibility only for the truly strong and noble individual, who can view his enemy with a high degree of respect (and even admiration); essentially seeing them as worthy opponents that elevate his own status. 

 

This is in stark contrast to the resentment-driven love of enemies preached by slave moralists who often use this concept to mask underlying hostility and their desire for the downfall of those whom they regard as the evil ones (even whilst secretly envying them).  

It takes something special to truly love one's enemies (and not merely forgive, but forget their misdeeds); it requires a generosity of spirit to not be consumed by hatred for those whom we blame for our suffering and misfortune [2].    

But the philosopher must go even further says Zarathustra and be able not only to love his enemies, but also to hate his friends ... [3] 

Notes

 

[1] I refer readers to John Nolland's The Gospel of Matthew (William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2005), which provides an extensive commentary on the Greek text of this work.

        

[2] See Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morality, I. 10.  

[3] Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 'Of the Bestowing Virtue' (3). 

A Reflection on the Jean Cocteau Murals at the Church of Notre Dame de France

Jean Cocteau: detail from his Crucifxion scene mural
Notre Dame de France (London, 1960)

ndfchurch.org

 

I. 

 

I am not what you would call a Jean Cocteau specialist: I haven't read of any his poetry, fiction, or criticism; nor seen any of his works for stage and screen, with the exception of La Belle et la Bête (1946), which I watched as a child at school; nor am I familiar with his work as a visual artist, again with a single exception to this, namely, the murals he executed for the Church of Notre Dame de France ...

 

 

II. 

 

 

I'm not French, nor am I Catholic or a Christian of any description, but I do love to enter the church of Notre Dame de France, based in Soho, London - just off Leicester Square - which was consecrated in 1868 (although the original building prior to its redevelopment into a place of worship is somewhat older). 

 

Badly damaged by German bombs during the Blitz, the church had to have extensive structural repairs that were not completed until several years after the War ended.

 

The French Ambassador, Jean Chauval, promoted the idea of creating a sacred space with a uniquely French feel and so, during the 1950s, the French Cultural Attaché René Varin was tasked with commisioning eminent artists of the time to work on the decoration of the rebuilt church.

 

One of these artists was Jean Cocteau who, in November 1959 [1], completed three murals in the Lady Chapel depicting the Annunciation, Crucifixion, and Assumption ... 

 

 

III. 

 

In the first of these, located on the wall to the left of the altar, Cocteau shows the angel Gabriel appearing to the Virgin Mary to inform her that she is to conceive the Son of God - with or without her consent [2]. 

 

The second mural, depicting the Crucifixion of Christ beneath a black sun and adorning the central wall, is arguably the most powerful, even though only Jesus's lower legs and feet - complete with bloody puncture wounds - are visible. Mary is shown alongside, united in grief with two other female figures; Marys Magdalene and Clopas [3]. 

 

There is also another small group of figures, amidst which Cocteau has placed himself and he turns to gaze at the viewer with a look upon his face of an unbeliever who nevertheless possesses a spirit that is deeply religious in nature (see image above).

 

Finally, we see the Assumption of Mary - regarded by Cocteau as the most beautiful of all God's creatures - as she is taken up into heaven, accompanied by an angelic fanfare; something which, to my way of thinking - as a Lawrentian - is literally a fate worse than death [4]. 

 

IV. 

 

Having been restored in 2012, these lovely works can still be freely viewed in the church today (although now placed behind glass for security reasons) and I would encourage readers who may find themselves passing through central London with time on their hands to go and do so.  

For even if you don't much like Cocteau or care for his art - and even if you are a passionate anti-theist - Notre Dame de France is a genuine place of sanctuary from the noise, ugliness, and vulgarity of the world outside its walls.   

Jean Cocteau looking dapper as he sets to work at the 

church of Notre Dame de France (London, 1959)

Photo by Gary Heiss

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Although painted between November 3rd and 11th, Cocteau signs and dates the work 1960.

 

[2] Some readers may recall that I have discussed the Annunciation and spectral rape of Mary in a post published on Torpedo the Ark back in March 2014: click here. 

      I still find the story of how a 13-year-old girl was selected by God as a broodmare (and doubtless groomed by him and his angelic servants throughout her childhood) somewhat shocking.

 

[3] The presence of a group of female disciples at the Crucifixion is confirmed in all four Gospels of the New Testament. However, parallel accounts have led to uncertainty as to their number and identity. I'm following the Gospel of John and sticking with the idea that the Three Marys are the Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene, and Mary of Clopas.

 

[4] Regardless of what I might think, the Assumption of Mary is one of the four Marian dogmas of the Catholic Church - albeit one that leaves open the question of whether Mary died first, or whether she was raised to eternal life without bodily death (theologians refer to a mortalistic versus an immortalistic interpretation). The Feast of the Assumption is held on 15 August, though it's not something that all Protestants choose to celebrate.  

Is the Pope Lawrentian (or Merely a Heretic)?

Pope Francis wearing a large 

D. H. Lawrence pendant necklace

 

D. H. Lawrence famously declared that there was no real battle between himself and the Catholic Church because, when it came to the religious fundamentals, he was in close accord. Thus, for example, he believes in a single almighty God, in esoteric doctrine, and in the power of a priest who has been initiated into the latter to grant absolution [1].    

 

Having said that, Lawrence also believes that whilst Jesus is undoubtedly a Son of God, he is not, however, the only Son of God - and this, actually, does put him in in direct conflict with the central Christian teaching that acceptance of Christ is the sole means of salvation and knowing God. For as Jesus himself said (according to the Gospel of John):

 

I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me [2].

 

Or at least, this used to be the central teaching - but no longer for Pope Francis, it seems ... For yesterday, the Bishop of Rome concluded his three-day visit to Singapore by declaring that All religions are a path to God [3].

 

Such pluralism makes one wonder whether the Pope is actually a Lawrentian: for like Lawrence, he seems to believe that there are many saviours (with others still to come), so that "the great Church of the future" will recognise that men "are saved variously, in various lands, in various climes, in various centuries" [4]. 

 

I'm not a Catholic, but, if I were, I'd find this pretty outrageous; for here is the visible head of the Church not only calling for interfaith dialogue but essentially saying that not even Jesus can declare himself to be the way for all men and that - to paraphrase Lawrence - it is disastrous for any religion to assert itself above all others. 

 

That's heresy, is it not? 

 

Of course, the present Pope has a record for this kind of thing; even lending his support in 2019 to the placing of a South American pagan idol inside a church in Rome [5], and so I suppose nothing should surprise us. 

 

As I'm not a Catholic or a Christian of any other kind, however, this isn't really a great concern to me. Indeed, as a reader of Lawrence, I'm inclined to agree with Ramón, that every people should "'substantiate their own mysteries'" [6] and "'speak with the tongues of their own blood'" [7].

     

 

Notes

 

[1] See D. H. Lawrence, 'There is no real battle ...', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert (Cambridge University Press, 1988), Appendix I: Fragmentary writings, p. 385.

 

[2] John 14:6 (KJV). 

 

[3]  The Pope was quoted in the article 'All faiths lead to God: New controversy as Pope preaches religious pluralism on final day of tour', in The Catholic Herald (13 September 13, 2024): click here. 

[4] D. H. Lawrence, 'There is no real battle ...', Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, p. 385.

 

[5] See the post entitled 'On the Desecration of Altars and the Return of Strange Idols' (25 October 2019): click here.  

[6] D. H. Lawrence, The Plumed Serpent, ed. L. D. Clark (Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 427.

[7] Ibid., p. 248.

 

 

Birthday Reflections

 

 

I. 

 

February 13th is a day of quiet reflection for me now: the day I was born (1963) and the day my mother died (2023).

 

In the Bhagavad Gita it is written: Learned is he to whom the mystery of birth and death is revealed. [1]

 

But I'm not a Hindu and don't particularly wish to be learned in the religious sense indicated here. For I remain sceptical of the idea that there is a mystery to be revealed. And even if there is, I prefer that Isis remain veiled and keep her secrets. 

 

 

II. 

 

Not that the idea of reincarnation is much of a mystery any longer. For it's common knowledge that Hindus believe that the salvational goal is to fully realise the self as some kind of pure, unchanging spiritual essence following a series of material and transient incarnations.

 

Birth and death are facts of little real importance, according to Hindu teaching. What matters is liberating the soul from this cycle so that it may achieve lasting perfection in the great sea of Being that lies beyond life and death.   

 

Thus we can say of the great Hindu gurus what Lawrence says of Buddha, Plato, and Jesus; namely, that these grand idealists were utter pessimists, teaching that Truth lay in "abstracting oneself from the daily, yearly, seasonal life of birth and death and fruition, and in living in the 'immutable' or eternal spirit" [2]. 

 

Personally, I don't want to move from the known world to the unknown world; from the visible to the invisible; from the seen to the unseen. I know, as Lawrence knew, that such abstraction brings "neither bliss nor liberation, but nullity" [3].

 

I'm happy to live and die and be endlessly reincarnated in the flesh like a karma chameleon forever changing colour, shape, form, etc., and I don't want to lose myself in the infinite completeness of the Whole thank you very much. 

 

If that means never being free from desire, pain, anxiety, and delusion - never obtaining supreme wisdom or eternal peace - well, again, that's fine with me. 

 

When holy fools tell me I must learn not to identify with the objects of the world I immediately wish to bring one of these objects crashing down on their heads; when they tell me not to become attached to my body I want to give them a kick up the arse. 

To conclude, if I may, with another quotation from Lawrence: 

 

"For man, the vast marvel is to be alive. For man, as for flower and beast and bird, the supreme triumph is to be most vividly, most perfectly alive. Whatever the unborn and the dead may know, they cannot know the beauty, the marvel of being alive in the flesh." [4] 

Notes 

 

[1] The Bhagavad Gita ('Song of God') is a 700-verse Hindu scripture, which forms chapters 23-40 of Book 6 of the epic Mahabharata called the Bhishma Parva. The work is dated to the second half of the first millennium BC.

 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, A Propos of 'Lady Chatterley's Lover', published together with Lady Chatterley's Lover, ed. Michael Squires, (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 330.

 

[3] Ibid., p. 331.

 

[4] D. H. Lawrence, Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation, ed. Mara Kalnins, (Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 149. 

 

 

This post is for all those who were born (like me and Kim Novak) or who died (like my mother and Richard Wagner) on this day. 

Winter Solstice with D. H. Lawrence

Winter Solstice by the Sea (SA/2023)

 

"Now in December nearer comes the sun

down the abandoned heaven ..."

 

I. 

 

I am always happy when the shortest day and longest night of the year have come and gone.  

 

Several cold months may still lie ahead, but it triggers a genuine transformation of mood to know that the sun has reached its lowest point in the sky and, having stood still for the briefest of moments, thereafter begins its slow ascent; that, no matter what happens, it can't get any darker. 

 

I know the birth of baby Jesus around this time of year excites the imagination of many, but it means nothing compared to the symbolic rebirth of the invincible sun and I understand why the winter solstice has been marked by ritual celebrations within many cultures for millennnia. 

 

The prehistoric pagans who erected Stonehenge - and even the modern day Druids who still meet there now - aren't idiots and Yule means more to me than the Nativity.     

 

 

II. 

 

As one might guess, D. H. Lawrence was another fan of the winter solstice, as he was of all events on the solar calendar that chart the movements of the sun and the wheeling of the year. In a poem written in November 1928, he speaks of how "As the dark closes round him" the sun "draws nearer as if for our company".

 

Interestingly, Lawrence also claims that there exists a tiny sun within him - situated at "the base of the lower brain" - that communes with the great star above, exchanging "a few gold rays" [1]. 

 

III.

 

It would appear, reading this verse, that for Lawrence - as for many others who share his predilection for philosophical vitalism - the sun is more than a material object that can be adequately described and understood by physicists and astronomers. 

 

And if, primarily, Lawrence is concerned with the relationships between men and women, he nevertheless insists on the crucial importance of the relation between humanity and the sun. Perhaps the term that best describes this relation is correlation. For there is clearly a notion of mutual interdependence between the sun and humankind in Lawrence's work; i.e., we can't think one without thinking the other. 

 

And yet, correlation doesn't sound a very Lawrentian term and I think he would be happier speaking about correspondence. For correspondence implies a far closer level of intimate proximity between terms; they become not merely interdependent, but analogous at a certain level:

 

"There certainly does exist a subtle and complex sympathy, correspondence, between the plasm of the human body, which is identical with the primary human psyche, and the material elements outside. The primary human psyche is a complex plasm, which quivers, sense-conscious, in contact with the circumambient cosmos." [2] 

 

What Lawrence really wishes to do is reverse the idea that life evolves from matter and argue instead that the material universe results from the breakdown of primary organic tissue. Unfortunately, as much as I love Lawrence's work, I cannot share his anti-scientific thinking. Thus, I don't believe, for example, that: "If it be the supreme will of the living that the sun should stand still in heaven, then the sun will stand still." [3] 

 

This is simply an occult conceit; the frankly preposterous fantasy that there can be a magical suspension of the laws of physics at the behest of human will power. It's one thing wishing to project oneself into the "the great sky with its meaningful stars and its profoundly meaningful motions" [4] in order to release the poetic imagination, but it's something else believing the astrological heavens revolve around the figure of Man.  

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See D. H. Lawrence, 'November by the sea', in The Poems, Vol. I, ed. Christopher Pollnitz, (Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 394-95. This poem can be found also in the LiederNet Archive: click here.

 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, 'The Two Principles', (First Version, 1918-19), Studies in Classic American Literature, ed. Ezra Greenspan, Lindeth Vasey, and John Worthen, (Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 260.

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence, 'Nathaniel Hawthorne's Blithedale Romance' (1920-1), Appendix IV: Studies in Classic American Literature, p. 395. 

 

[4] D. H. Lawrence, 'Introduction to The Dragon of the Apocalypse, by Frederick Carter', in Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation, ed. Mara Kalnins, (Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 46. 

 

 

Some of the material in section III of this post is revised from the essay 'Sun-Struck: On the Question of Solar Sexuality and Speculative Realism in D. H. Lawrence', which can be found on James Walker's Digital Pilgrimage website: click here. 

 

Dancing Jesus

 

 

I. 

 

'Lord of the Dance' is one of those hymns we were expected to sing when I was a young child at school which I truly hated.

 

The problem was, I had a difficult time accepting such a groovy Jesus; even as a six-year-old, I could sense that Our Lord and Saviour, weighed down as he was by the sins of mankind - not to mention a heavy wooden cross - wasn't likely to be light on his feet.

 

The song was thus revisionist at best; fraudulent at worst. 

 

For the fact is, there is no record in scripture of Jesus laughing and I'm pretty sure he didn't dance (or sing) a great deal (if at all) either; he wept, he prayed, he agonised over things, but the Man of Sorrows didn't get down and boogie nor strut his funky stuff. 

 

And I'm sure Sydney Carter, who wrote the lyrics to the hymn - having adapted the melody from an old Shaker song - knew this perfectly well. 

 

Indeed, according his own account, 'Lord of the Dance' was only partly written with Jesus in mind; a statue of the Hindu deity Shiva that sat on his desk also inspired him; as did the idea of Jesus as some kind of Pied Piper; as did the possibility of a cosmic Christ who inspired alien races in far away galaxies to dance the shape and pattern which is at the heart of reality. 

      

It is astonishing, when one considers this, that the song became such a huge and immediate hit with Christians all over the English-speaking world: I mean, the tune is quite catchy and it has an optimistic message at its heart - as well as an antisemitic verse [1] - but as at least one commentator has pointed out the underlying theology is unorthodox to say the very least.

 

Even Carter was surprised by the hymn's success. He later confessed: "I did not think the churches would like it at all. I thought many people would find it pretty far flown, probably heretical and anyway dubiously Christian." [2] 

 

 

II. 

 

In some ways, thinking about the hymn now, Carter's dancing Jesus reminds me of the resurrected figure in Lawrence's The Escaped Cock (1929) and there's the same interesting mix of Christianity and paganism in the lines "I danced in the morning / When the world begun / And I danced in the moon / And the stars and the sun" [3] which one finds in the latter. 

 

Thus, although the song still irritates the hell out of me - it's just so impossibly upbeat - I acknowledge its heretical character and the fact that it counters the puritanism of those who would reject song and dance as a vital part of religious worship.    

 

To paraphrase Emma Goldman: If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your religion. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The third verse of Carter's hymn implies collective Jewish responsibility for the death of Jesus. This dangerous idea of Jewish deicide - which conflicts with Catholic doctrine - is central to much religious antisemitism. 

 

[2] Sydney Carter quoted in his obituary in The Telegraph (16 March 2004): click here. 

     

[3] Sydney Carter, opening four lines of the first verse of 'Lord of the Dance' (1963). For full lyrics and further information visit the Stainer & Bell website: click here.  

 

On the Daughters of God

Portrait of Tammi of Nazareth

the onion.com

 

"And I sayeth unto thee: Look upon mine eyes, which rest within mine head; 

not upon mine bosom, wherein no wisdom dwells."

 

 

I. Truth, Justice, Mercy, and Peace

 

A friend of mine, who happens to be a specialist in medieval religious art and literature, recently gave birth to her third daughter and joked: 'I just need one more and God's people can be restored!' I sort of smiled at this, but, at the time, had no idea what on earth she meant by this.

 

However, after thinking about it - and doing a bit of biblical research - I realised that she was referring to Psalm 85 - and the so-called Four Daughters of God who loved nothing better than meeting up and exchanging kisses [1].

 

Of course, these four daughters were allegorical; they personified the virtues of Truth, Justice, Mercy, and Peace and their uniting in Love signified the triumph of God and the fact that mankind was forgiven its sins and redeemed by the sacrifice of Christ. 

 

Attempts to pornify the motif - which was extremely popular in medieval Europe - by imagining scenes of incestuous lesbianism, are uncalled for, as the kisses were given in innocence [2]. At any rate, most people had become thoroughly bored with the idea by the end of the 17th-century, though some, like William Blake, remained fascinated by the Four Daughters. 

    

II. Tammi of Nazareth

  

In September 2010, The Onion published a piece under the headline 'New Evidence Suggests God Also Had Incredibly Busty Daughter' [3], according to which:

 

"In a discovery that biblical scholars say could alter our most fundamental understanding of Christianity, recently unearthed manuscripts suggest that in addition to His Son, Jesus Christ, God also had a daughter with absolutely humongous breasts." 

The article goes on:

"The documents, found in a cave near the Jordanian-Israeli border and estimated to have been composed circa A.D. 200, recount the life, teachings, and death of Jesus' well-endowed twin sister, Tammi of Nazareth."

And it continues in much the same comic-blasphemous (breast-obsessed) vein throughout. 

 

It's juvenile, certainly, but it is also amusing to read that whilst Tammi "promulgated similar ideas as her sibling, and appeared to possess the same miraculous powers", she found it difficult to preach the gospel as followers were only interested in gaining "a better vantage point from which to observe her 'heavenly radiance'" hidden beneath a thin linen vestment. 

 

 

III. Jane

 

Funny enough, Larry David anticipated this idea of a comely daughter born of God in a season 5 episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, first broadcast in October 2005 ... [4]

 

In a now classic scene, Larry's Christian father-in-law (played by Paul Dooley) has purchased a nail used in the movie The Passion of the Christ (Mel Gibson, 2004) - not a film that Larry much cares for, wishes to watch, or discuss. And so he quickly changes the subject and takes the conversation in an irreverent (some might say sacrilegious) direction:

 

Larry David: 'You're nuts about this Jesus guy, aren't you?'

 

Cheryl's Father: 'Yeah. Well, I have a personal relationship with Christ.'

 

Larry David: 'Really? See, I could see worshipping Jesus if he were a girl, like if God had a daughter ... Jane. I'll worship a Jane. But, you know, to worship a guy ... like a little kinda, you know, it's a little gay, isn't it?'

 

Although his wife, Cheryl, attempts to shut him up at this point, Larry is determined to expand upon the idea:

 

Larry David: 'I would worship Jane, if he had a daughter Jane, I could have a relationship with a Jane.'

 

Cheryl's Father: [Increasingly annoyed and irritated] 'He didn't have a daughter!'

 

Larry David: 'It's a shame it wasn't a girl. That's all I have to say.'

 

Cheryl's Father: [Disgusted] 'Ugh!'

 

Larry David: 'Good looking woman ... Zaftig ... Good sense of humor ...'

 

Cheryl David: [Exasperated] 'Okay, that's fine.'

 

Larry David: 'If he had a daughter, everybody - everybody - would worship Jane. That's all I'm saying.'

It's an interesting point, as Jules would say. 

 

And I think Larry is on to something: we don't need a pale and sickly looking Jesus with his crown of thorns - or even a weeping Virgin - for our saviour; we need a voluptuous woman who knows how to laugh (and make laugh) - more Marilyn than Mary [5].          

 

 

Notes

 

[1] See Psalm 85:10 (KJV): "Mercy and Truth are met together; Righteousness and Peace have kissed each other." 

      This psalm is a community lament, probably written during the period of Israel's return from Babylonian exile. The people seek forgiveness from God for their unfaithfulness and restoration of their former status and power. The closing section expresses confidence that salvation will come.

 

[2] The Hebrew word for kiss in Psalm 85 doesn't refer to an erotic act per se, but, rather, to something exchanged by near relatives when greeting one another. In medieval Europe, where the visual motif of Justice and Peace kissing was first introduced, such an act was even more widespread than in the ancient Jewish world. However, because (male) artists have a penchant for nude (female) figures, renditions of Justice and Peace kissing were often (inappropriately) sexualised.

 

[3] 'New Evidence Suggests God Also Had Incredibly Busty Daughter', The Onion, (23 September, 2010): click here to read online. 

 

[4] Curb Your Enthusiasm, S5/E3, 'The Christ Nail' (2005), dir. Robert B. Weide, written by Larry David. Click here to watch the scene on YouTube.

 

[5] Thanks to the season 5 finale of Curb, we know that not only does Larry look forward to meeting Monroe in heaven, but that the latter is also a big fan of Seinfeld. See 'The End', S5/E10, dir. Larry Charles, written by Larry David, (2005). Marilyn is played in the episode by Susan Griffiths. 

 

Easter with the Anti-Christ: In Praise of Pontius Pilate

"I was born and came into the world to testify to the truth. 

All who love the truth recognise that what I say is true."

      "What is truth?" Pilate asked. [1] 

 

 

Of all the many characters named in the New Testament, there is only one whom Nietzsche deems worthy of honour; Pontius Pilate, the man who governed Judea by the authority of Rome and held ultimate responsibility for determining that Jesus should be crucified.

 

It is, of course, a provocative choice; one that is guaranteed to delight some and offend others. But it's not simply designed to amuse or outrage his readers; Nietzsche has good reasons why Pilate captures his respect.

 

For one thing, Pilate displays noble indifference when confronted with the case of Jesus; he simply refuses to care about what is essentially a squabble amongst religious fanatics: "To regard a Jewish affair seriously - he cannot persuade himself to do that." [2]

 

In addition - and this is perhaps the key thing - Pilate is scornful of the concept of truth being advanced (or attested to) by Jesus. 

 

For Nietzsche, the question: Quid est veritas? not only dismisses but destroys the entire basis of what will come to be known as Christianity as well as revealing Pilate to be a man who is unconcerned with the details of the matter brought before him (including the question of whether Jesus is guilty or not guilty of the charges made against him; whether he does or does not deserve to die).

 

Pilate may make a pretty poor governor, but he has an ironic and philosophical disposition and that's why Nietzsche admires him - he's disdainful of the very idea of Truth with a capital T (of truth as something one might not only live by but die for). 

 

This is further revealed, of course, in his symbolic handwashing and the fact that, many years later, when asked about the case he has no memory of the Nazarene [3].

 

Mark Bauerlein provides the perfect paragraph with which to close:

 

"Nietzsche's Pilate, then, isn't a weak administrator trying to finesse a tricky adjudication. He is a cosmopolitan showing his superiority to parochial bickering. His question reduces Christianity from the truth of the world to a partisan contention. He doesn't attack Christianity; he transcends it. [...] His entrance into the theater of the Passion is a virtuous and vigorous interruption of the Christian narrowing of life in all its energy and variety into a single, universal mode of being. Pilate's irony dissolves the historic reality before him into a show. While everyone else in the drama is committed to the outcome, Pilate stands apart, a disinterested observer, an anti-dogmatist wary of truth-seekers and religious types." [4]

 

 

Notes

[1] John 18: 37-38

 

[2] Nietzsche, The Anti-Christ, trans. R. J. Hollingdale, (Penguin Books, 1990), §46.

[3] I'm referring here to a fictional account given by Anatole France in his short story "Le Procurateur de Judée" (1892), which portrays an elderly Pilate who has been banished to Sicily.  When asked by a friend if he remembers the trial of Jesus, Pilate thinks for a moment and then replies that he cannot recall the case. An English translation of this tale by Michael Wooff is available as an ebook on Project Gutenberg: click here to read online. 

 

[4] Mark Bauerlein, 'Nietzsche's Pilate', in First Things (August 2019): click here. 

      It is important to note that this most certainly isn't Bauerlein's own position. In fact, he no sooner says this than he slams on the brakes and fully reverses, dismissing modes of philosophical irony - be they pre-Nietzschean like Pilate's, or post-Nietzschean, like Richard Rorty's - as ultimately just sophisticated word games played by those who daren't make the leap into faith.

      There's nothing ironic about Jesus, says Bauerlein, and his Passion makes Pilate's skepticism and cleverness simply appear glib. Those who pride themselves on their curbed enthusiasm and insincerity might mock, but, says Bauerlein, we need to rediscover "forces deeper than words" - forces such as devotion, conviction, and sacrifice ...

 

 

Readers interested in the first Easter post spent with the Anti-Christ, should click here. 

 

For the 2019 version, click here. 

 

And for the 2020 version, click here.     

Brief Notes on the History of the Human Flock 2: The Judeo-Christian Era

The Good Shepherd

Bernhard Plockhorst (1825-1907)

 

 

I. 

 

Whilst the ancient Greeks - even Plato - ultimately found the idea of a kindly shepherd inadequate for conceptualising political power, the Jews were still very much smitten with it. And among them the thematic of the pastorate is developed into something far more complex:

"It covers a large part of the relations between the Eternal One and his people. Yahweh governs by leading: he walks at the head of the Hebrews [...] and by his strength, he 'guides them toward the pastures of his holiness'. The Eternal One is the shepherd par excellence." [1]

 

Foucault continues:

 

"The shepherd reference characterizes the monarchy of David, in that his reign was legitimized by having been given responsibility for the flock by God [...] It also marks the messianic promise; the one who is to come will be the new David; as against all the bad shepherds who have scattered the sheep, the one to come will be the unique pastor, designated to bring the flock back to him." [2]

 

Of course, we all know whom those designated as Christians identify as this new David and their Messiah: Jesus; he who styles himself on more than one occasion as the good shepherd - i.e. one who not only knows and cares for his sheep, but is prepared to lay down his life for them [3].

 

This old idea, circulating widely in the Hellenistic and Roman world, was one the early Christians recognised as possessing great power; namley, the power to convert non-believers and corrupt even the noblest soul. 

 

And so they not only latched on to it, but, "for the first time in the history of the West" [4], they gave it an institutional form; i.e. they developed a herd morality upon the human herd instinct [5] and organised themselves into a Church: 

 

"And that Church defines the power that it exercises over the faithful - over each and all of them - as a pastoral power." [6] 

 

This was a decisive move: a vital development in what Nietzsche terms the slave revolt in morality; an ongoing process that originated in Judaism but radically extended under Christianity; a way in which the spirit of ressentiment becomes a driving force in history, negating power in the old sense by turning all active forces reactive [7].

 

 

II. 

 

Foucault offers some very interesting remarks on the figure of the shepherd-lord and the charismatic power he exercises in the name of Love ...

 

Firstly, he exercises his power not over a place, but directly on the people. Whereas others look to build an earthly kingdom or powerful state with solid foundations, he gathers a crowd whom he subjects to his unique will. It is he alone who creates the "unity of the sheep" and forms "the flock out of the multitude" [8].

Secondly, he does not set himself above the flock, so much as at their head; he's the one out in front, the leader whose example they must follow and his power "locates its purpose in an elsewhere and a later" [9]. In other words, his power has the form of a mission.  

Thirdly, the shepherd nourishes his flock. He's not acting in his own self-interest. Rather, his role is to make sure his followers prosper; that they are spiritually enriched. If he ensures the plumpness of his flock, then this justifies his authority. 

   

Fourthly, whilst his attention extends over the flock as a whole, he has a duty to watch over each individual as an individual; not view them as "indifferently subjugated subjects" [10]. Even today, Christians like to believe they have a personal relation with Jesus.  

Finally, the essential task of the shepherd is to ensure the safety of his flock; he is their saviour first and foremost: "The good shepherd must save the whole world, but also the least of the sheep that might be in danger." [11] 

 

Or, indeed, save the soul of even the blackest sheep, who has strayed far from the flock.

 

Thus, it isn't easy to be a shepherd; they have to assume total responsibility for their flock and Christianity in particular "demands of the pastor a form of knowledge which goes well beyond the skill or experience that tradition attributed to the shepherds of men" [12].

 

In conclusion ...

 

Whilst Jesus wasn't the first shepherd of men, he was undoubtedly the most successful in the role and the Church established in his name has brilliantly set in place "institutions and procedures designed to regulate the 'conduct' of men" [13], so as to transform the whole of humanity into one giant flock.

 

How one views this will depend of course on what extent one identifies as homo ovis ...  

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] Michel Foucault, Confessions of the Flesh, trans. Robert Hurley, (Penguin Books, 2021), Appendix 2, p. 303. 

      Foucault is referring to Exodus 15:13. The King James Version of this line reads: "Thou in thy mercy hast led forth the people which thou hast redeemed: thou hast guided them in thy strength unto thy holy habitation."

 

[2] Michel Foucault, Confessions of the Flesh, p. 303.

[3] See John 10:11-15, where Jesus twice calls himself the good shepherd. 

[4] Michel Foucault, Confessions of the Flesh, p. 305.

[5] These terms - herd morality and herd instinct - are Nietzsche's. Obviously, he's not a fan of such and whilst conceding that herd animal morality has triumphed in modern Europe, he hopes to demonstrate that many other forms of higher morality are (or ought to be) possible in a post-Christian era, just as they were prior to such. 

      See Beyond Good and Evil, V. 202. And for Nietzsche's analogy of lambs and eagles, in which he examines how each arrives at its own definition of what constitutes the good, see On the Genealogy of Morality, I. 13.    

 

[6] Michel Foucault, Confessions of the Flesh, p. 310.

 

[7] See sections 10-12 of the first essay in Nietzsche's Genealogy.  

 

[8] Michel Foucault, Confessions of the Flesh, p. 305.

 

[9] Ibid., pp. 305-06.

 

[10] Ibid., p. 307.

 

[11] Ibid., p. 310.   

 

[12] Ibid., p. 313.

 

[13] Ibid., p. 310. 

 

 

To read part one of this post - on the human flock in the pagan era - click here.  

Brief Notes on the History of the Human Flock 1: The Pagan Era

Late Roman marble copy of a Kriophoros

by the ancient Greek sculptor Kalamis 

(5th-century BC)

 

 

Many of us have what might be termed an Animal Farm moment of revelation when we look from A to B, and from B to A, and from A to B again, but are unable to tell which is which [1].

For example, at a certain point it becomes clear that there is no real difference between a punk and a hippie and that you should never trust either. Similarly, the distinction between pagan and Christian is impossible to maintain as soon as one reads a little religious history.

 

Take, for example, the idea of a human flock ... 

 

This is something I believed to be an exclusively Christian concept, referring to the followers of Jesus who styles himself as the good shepherd - i.e., one who not only knows and cares for his sheep, but is prepared to lay down his life for them [2]. 

But, thanks to Michel Foucault, I now discover: 

 

"The idea of a power that would be exercised on men in the same way as the shepherd's authority over his flock appeared long before Christianity. A whole series of very ancient texts and rites make reference to the shepherd and his animals to evoke the power of the gods or the prophets over the peoples they have the task of guiding." [3].

 

In ancient Egypt, for example, pharaohs received the emblems of the shepherd during their coronation ceremony; Babylonian and Assyrian kings were also awarded the title of shepherd, signifying their duty to safeguard the people over whom they ruled on behalf of the gods. 

 

By contrast, the ancient Greeks weren't so keen on thinking of themselves as a flock of sheep (or their rulers as shepherds) and the theme of pastoral power seems to have occupied only a minor place in their cultural imagination - even whilst it was customary amongst sculptors to produce figures known as Kriophoroi [4].

 

Foucault writes:

 

"The Homeric sovereigns were indeed designated as 'shepherds of the peoples', but without there being much more than a trace of ancient titulature. But later the Greeks don't seem to have been inclined to make the relation between the shepherd and his sheep the model of relation that must obtain between the citizens and those who command them." [5]

 

Of course, there were exceptions to this: Plato, for example - whom Nietzsche regards as a proto-Christian, preparing the ground for a slave revolt in morals - discussed pastoral power at some length in the Statesman, when he determines to define what the royal art of commanding consists in. 

 

However, it's important to note that Plato qualifies the idea and argues that, ultimately, the modern political leader must be more weaver than herdsman; i.e., one who who is able to pull together all the complex social elements and different classes of people into a single fabric. 

 

As we will see in part two of this post, it will take "the spread of oriental themes in Hellenistic and Roman culture for the pastorate to appear as the adequate image for representing the highest forms of power" [6]. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm referring here to the famous ending of George Orwell's 1945 novel, in which it becomes impossible to distinguish between pigs and humans around the card table.   

 

[2] See John 10:11-15: click here. 

 

[3] Michel Foucault, Confessions of the Flesh, trans. Robert Hurley, (Penguin Books, 2021), Appendix 2, p. 302. 

 

[4] Often intended as representations of the god Hermes, Kriophoroi were figures bearing a sacrificial ram upon their shoulders. However, the figure of a shepherd carrying a lamb, simply as a pastoral vignette, was also common in ancient Greece and known by the same term. 

      The Christians adopted the image and made it their own; the Good Shepherd being the most common symbolic representation of Christ found in early Christian art in the Catacombs of Rome (before such imagery could be made explicit), and it continued to be used in the centuries after Christianity was legalized in 313. Initially, it was probably not understood to be a portrait of Jesus. However, by the 5th century the figure had taken on the conventional appearance of Christ in Christian art; the robes, the halo, the long flowing hair, etc.

 

[5] Foucault, Confessions of the Flesh, p. 303.

 

[6] Ibid., p. 304.      

    

 

To read part two of this post - on the human flock in the Judeo-Christian era - click here.