Year of Mysteries, Part 9: The Name of the Rose

I’m honestly a bit shocked at how resistant I’ve been to this book the whole year. I knew it would be “hard,” so I kept putting it off. But I love Infinite Jest and Gravity’s Rainbow and a bunch of hard books.

This book has a reputation it doesn’t deserve. I didn’t think it was hard at all in the same way those other ones are. It’s actually written in a very similar way to the way I write. There are so many interesting layers to this book that it will be hard to discuss the “mystery novel” aspect, because that was only one piece (and kind of the least interesting).

Early on, we get one of my favorite characters. He can’t speak any known language, but he’s lived in so many places that he’s developed his own. It takes from all the common languages and merges into a strange thing anyone can understand.

Eco doesn’t do this in the abstract, either. The speech is written out fully. This character is a synechdoche for the book itself. The Name of the Rose isn’t a historical work or pure fiction or a mystery novel or postmodernist metafiction or theology. It draws on a bunch of sources and amalgamates them to a strange hybrid a reader from any of these backgrounds could appreciate on a different level.

Eco doesn’t hide the pieces. They are all in plain sight through the characters. We have Jorge de Burgos representing Jorge Luis Borges. We get William of Baskerville representing Sherlock Holmes. And the title itself is obviously a reference to Romeo and Juliet.

…Or is it? Eco actually tells us the true inspiration is a Latin verse by a Benedictine monk named Bernard of Cluny. Since Eco was a semiotician, I have to believe he also had Wittgenstein in the back of his head, too.

What is the mystery?

The narrator travels to a monastery, and upon arrival there is a mysterious death of one of the monks. He appears to have thrown himself from the window of a library. Over the next few days, many more deaths occur.

This occupies the main narrative momentum, but I basically want to not discuss this further. Anyone who reads this book for the mystery is in for a shock. Let’s get back to the references.

Everyone sees some of the obvious Borges references here from his famous stories. But if you’ve read Labyrinths, you might start to think every single story in the collection gets referenced.

Much of the early part of The Name of the Rose has to do with navigating a complicated labyrinth (Labyrinths, The Garden of Forking Paths) to get to the library (The Library of Babel). They must crack a code (Death and the Compass, The God’s Script). They speak theology to each other (The Theologeans, The Three Versions of Judas). Issues of authorship with the narrator (Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote). Strange language spoken by the characters (Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius).

I think I’ve made my point. It’s not just “The Library of Babel,” like many people believe. It’s almost a transformation of the themes of the full collection of stories into a novel.

Another fascinating, easy to overlook aspect of the book is the chapter summary at the start of each chapter. At first, I thought they were mere summaries. But they got long and weird and pretty humorous as they went on.

Most people probably skip them thinking they offer nothing but a summary. Here’s one:

In which, though the chapter is short, old Alinardo says very interesting things about the labyrinth and about the way to enter it.

It doesn’t say much, but it teaches you something important: these summaries will provide commentary in addition to the summary. Here’s another:

In which the labyrinth is finally broached, and the intruders have strange visions and, as happens in labyrinths, lose their way.

If these were just summaries it shouldn’t provide commentary on the length of the chapter or how “interesting” a certain conversation is or remark “as happens in labyrinths.” I grew to love these summaries as much as the chapters themselves.

I’m not sure what else to say. I’m excited to re-read this. I think it will be as exciting as the first time through as I catch more and more references and understand the themes better.

I must caution that this is absolutely not for everyone, but if you find any of this post interesting, I can’t recommend this book enough. It is brilliant and well-deserved of the praise it has received over the years.

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Mother! is Awesome

There haven’t been a lot of movies I’ve seen in the past year or so that I thought were great. Last month I saw Mother!, and it was awesome.

Now, I’m not going to spoil the more disturbing things in this movie, so I don’t think I need a “trigger warning” for this post. In fact, I tend to think they aren’t necessary in most cases.

But in this case, there is a seriously disturbing thing that happens near the end of the movie in pretty graphic visuals, so if you are at all queasy watching gruesome things, you might want to skip this movie.

It’s trendy to say things like: this book/movie can’t be described in words. It defies genre and expectation. It’s wildly inventive. Blah, blah, blah.

But in this case, it’s really true. I can’t even guess at a genre that would make sense. Some call it a psychological thriller. It might be closer to allegorical magical realism.

Around ten years ago, I wrote a blog post about one of the best things that can happen in a work of art (talking about Joanna Newsom’s album Ys). It’s when the art is based on very concrete, clear events that have high emotional resonance, but then it is all abstracted into something more universal.

Honestly, this isn’t a groundbreaking idea. That’s essentially the argument of Campbell’s “monomyth” theory.

Darren Aronofsky has done exactly this in Mother!

Interpretation Spoilers. I don’t plan to spoil plot things (if this movie even has a “plot” to be spoiled). But I’m going to give my interpretation of the movie as a way to describe it.

Here we go. You’re warned a second time.

Mother! is a history of the world as described in the Bible, but it’s done symbolically in a single house. The character known as Mother is Mother Earth. The house is her domain/Earth. The character known as Him is God.

To give you a feel for how the symbolism plays out, I’ll try to describe some stuff in the beginning. Mother and Him are living in the house. Then a man shows up. This is Adam. Then his wife shows up. This is Eve. Him gives free reign of the house to them except they can’t touch his crystal thing (Tree of Knowledge), which has the power to let him write his profound poetry (the Word/Bible).

Mother doesn’t really understand why Him is letting these humans run amok without consulting her first. Eventually, they touch and break the crystal thing, so he banishes them from his office (the Garden of Eden). The couple’s children come, and they play out the Cain and Abel story symbolically.

This goes on and on. It’s all very obvious–even on a first viewing.

At this point you might be thinking: that sounds terrible. And if that was it, it would be terrible. Here’s where it gets awesome.

The whole thing is filmed in this claustrophobic framing of Mother. Jennifer Lawrence’s performance is insanely good. She might be in every second of this movie. As people start to fill up the house/Earth and the people start to break things and overpopulate and pollute, she gets more and more upset and confused and scared.

Mother has no idea why any of this is happening, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. One of the most chilling parts of the movie is when she asks one of the people who is breaking something, “Why are you doing this?” He replies, “Because He gave it to us.” (Or something like that. I don’t have the movie in front of me and it’s been a while to recall exact wording).

How many times have you heard this from certain politicized Christians when asked why they aren’t concerned about climate change and destroying the Earth?

To me, this is the point of the movie. It personifies the Earth and then puts the viewer inside of her mental state. It’s a terrible experience, but that’s the point. It’s supposed to make you think about your own actions in the world from a different perspective.

I do have some problems with it. For example, this obviously isn’t a great way to make the rational argument, because it basically boils down to: how would you feel if you were the Earth? The symbolism and message are so overt and strong, it leaves a bit of a sour taste at the end.

It’s quite interesting to see what most other people have written as problems with the movie. The first type of hater thinks the more disturbing aspects of the movie serve no purpose other than shock value. They think the movie is a pretentious and pointless “arty” film. Then they go on to point out: it’s not even that shocking or gruesome.

Of course it isn’t! That fact alone should make one consider: this isn’t what the movie is intending to do.

As I’ve pointed out already, this criticism can be dismissed as complete nonsense. The opposite is true. It’s too obvious what the movie is about, and hence it cannot be the case that the movie is about nothing and a pure shockfest.

The more interesting criticism can be summarized by this comment: “Jennifer Lawrence’s character infuriated me. She kept making reasonable requests, and everyone ignored them. It was like she had no agency. She spends the entirety of the film in a state of traumatized bewilderment. It made me deeply uncomfortable and annoyed.”

Well, yeah! That’s literally what the movie set out to do. The fact that it succeeded in its goal shouldn’t be seen as some sort of negative criticism and a reason to hate the movie.

The real question is: were you annoyed enough to look at your own actions and make some changes, or are you going to continue to be the people you despised in the movie, wrecking the house of someone with no agency to stop you?

That’s what makes Mother! awesome. Not only does it evoke visceral reactions in those that watch it, but it asks the viewer to bring those reactions back to the real world and do something about it.

Maybe Infinite Jest is About Addiction

And so but I’ve been re-reading Infinite Jest in this strange, almost purely subconscious way, where I take on just a few pages (seriously, like 2-3 pages) every night right before sleeping. I’ve done the calculations, and so you don’t have to tell me it will literally take years to finish it this way.

I’m in no rush. I’ve read it before.

If you’ve never read it, you really must. It’s terrifying how prescient it is. How could someone in the mid 90’s have seen the coming technology that would be so entertaining it would totally consume our lives? I’m thinking Twitter and Facebook and our phones and the games on them. But DFW actually has a Netflix-like system where people can watch any TV they want at any time. That was unthinkable back then.

It also predicts that we’d come to live in an opioid epidemic.

And all of the below, etc.

Anyway, I digress.

This weird thought occurred to me around page 300 (yes, I’ve been doing this for 100+ days already):

Maybe Infinite Jest is about addiction.

Hear me out. This is one of those things that’s so obvious it requires justification.

I know, Don Gately is in a halfway house for Demerol addiction, and the opening scene is of Hal’s (supposed) reaction to taking DMZ destroying his life, and the kids at the Tennis Academy do pot and alcohol and amphetamines and have tricks to pass urine tests.

I know, the title refers to entertainment so infinitely addicting you pee and poop yourself and then die rather than pull yourself away, and that one character, whose name I can’t remember, holed up in the bathroom stall of a library and drank cough syrup every day to avoid withdrawal but had to go out at some point and ends up having a massive DT withdrawal on a train and probably dies.

I know DFW, himself, had addiction problems and was in AA.

Etc, etc.

But hear me out. It’s not as obvious as it seems. Addiction is everywhere in the novel, but what is the novel about?

What if someone said to you: Breaking Bad is about addiction.

You’d say: Whoa! Hang on. Addiction is everywhere in that series, sure, but that’s not at all what the show is about. Not. Even. Close.

DFW is famous for complaining about the reviews (even (especially) the positive ones!!) when it came out, because no one could possibly have read it in the two-week window (or whatever it was) and actually understood what it was about.

I owed it to him to understand what the book was about if he would rather have crappy reviews than positive reviews by people too intimidated by it to admit they were clueless as to what the book was even about.

I took his comments to heart.

Infinite Jest wasn’t about addiction. That was too obvious. Everyone would immediately understand the book if that’s what it was about.

DFW was also obsessed with literary theorists and philosophy and Wittgenstein and psychiatry and math and semiotics and postmodernism and irony, etc. I looked to these for answers, and I found a treasure trove of ideas.

I won’t try to go into depth on what I came up with. You can see early thoughts in some other posts I’ve done: Westward and Preparation for Infinite Jest among others.

Basically, one can read Infinite Jest as a critique of the psychological theories of Jacques Lacan. The “Entertainment,” at least as much as we can see in the novel, is an on-the-nose manifestation of his ideas.

Language is central to our subconscious, and Saussure’s signifier/signified distinction live on different layers. Wallace thought these poststructuralists were brilliant but flawed. Infinite Jest wants to use postmodernism to show why they were flawed.

Now we’re on to what the novel might actually be about!

Many scenes support this reading, mostly having to do with the various recovery methods. Wallace wants to say: how do we break free of our addictions? Well, it’s obviously not what these theorists were saying! Look what that would look like.

DFW presents a parody as refutation.

This view is also supported by all the circumstances under which characters literally lose their ability to speak. Sure, drugs are the proximate cause, but think through the other circumstances of their lives at that time. Think about Hal’s encounter with the therapist after finding his father having committed suicide.

Why was Wallace upset at people calling the novel funny?

Maybe it’s that things that were supposed to be deep references to Lacan were seen as surface-level jokes.

Corporations subsidize years in the future. Most of Infinite Jest takes place in the Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment (YDAU). We laugh, thinking about what it would be like to have to sign checks with the year being the name of an incontinence product.

No!

It’s more than that. The year wasn’t chosen purely for humor. It’s saying that when our society progresses to this point, adults will have regressed back to babies. All we think of is: want, want, want. We rage at the TV like a baby when Netflix goes out for, heaven forbid, 30 seconds.

In Wallace’s version of the future, terrorists use this entertainment as a tool of both terror and placation. In our reality, we entertain ourselves to death with Facebook while our adversaries use it to elect our presidents for us.

And so but then we don’t care. We want reality stars to be our leaders. It keeps us entertained.

What in the world was this post even about anymore? How did I start talking about real life when this is supposed to be about a book published over 20 years ago?

Focus.

I thought Infinite Jest was about this brilliant refutation of heady philosophers. It cleverly uses addiction to get these points across in multiple ways. It invents its own language to poke at the signifier/signified hypothesis.

Then I woke up in the middle of the night with cold sweats, heart pounding, disoriented (probably withdrawal), and I thought to myself:

Maybe Infinite Jest is about addiction.

Then I realized it doesn’t matter.

Your phone notified you of 10 more interesting things since you started reading this. You haven’t made it this far, and we can’t progress. Our eyes are stuck to the screen. We won’t be able to pull ourselves away. We will poop and pee ourselves and wish we had put on our Depends until it doesn’t matter, because we’ll all be dead.

The thought brought me comfort, and I went back to sleep.

Critical Postmodern Readings, Part 2: Finishing Lyotard

Last time we looked at the introduction to Lyotard’s The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. That introduction already contained much of what gets fleshed out in the rest of the short book, so I’m going to mostly summarize stuff until we hit anything that requires serious critical thought.

The first chapter goes into how computers have changed the way we view knowledge. It was probably an excellent insight that required argument at the time. Now it’s obvious to everyone. Humans used to gain knowledge by reading books and talking to each other. It was a somewhat qualitative experience. The nature of knowledge has shifted with (big) data and machine learning. It’s very quantitative. It’s also a commodity to be bought and sold (think Facebook/Google).

It is a little creepy to understand Lyotard’s prescience. He basically predicts that multinational corporations will have the money to buy this data, and owning the data gives them real-world power. He predicts knowledge “circulation” in a similar way to money circulation.  Here’s a part of the prediction:

The reopening of the world market, a return to vigorous economic competition, the breakdown of the hegemony of American capitalism, the decline of the socialist alternative, a probable opening of the Chinese markets …

Other than the decline of the socialist alternative (which seems to have had a recent surge), Lyotard has a perfect prediction of how computerization of knowledge actually affected the world in the 40 years since he wrote this.

Chapter two reiterates the idea that scientific knowledge (i.e. the type discussed above) is different than, and in conflict with, “narrative” knowledge.

There is also a legitimation “problem” in science. The community as a whole must choose gatekeepers seen as legitimate who decide what counts as scientific knowledge.

I’ve written about why I don’t see this as a problem like Lyotard does, but I’ll concede the point that there is a legitimation that happens, and it could be a problem if those gatekeepers change the narrative to influence what is thought of as true. There are even known instances of political biases making their way into schools of scientific thought (see my review of Galileo’s Middle Finger by Alice Dreger).

Next Lyotard sets up the framework for thinking about this. He uses Wittgenstein’s “language game” concept. The rules of the game can never legitmate themselves. Even small modifications of the rules can greatly alter meaning. And lastly (I think this is where he differs from Wittgenstein), each speech act is an attempt to alter the rules. Since agreeing upon the current set of rules is a social contract, it is necessary to understand the “nature of social bonds.”

This part gets a little weird to me. He claims that classically society has been seen either as a unified whole or divided in two. The rules of the language games in a unified whole follow standard entropy (they get more complicated and chaotic and degenerate). The divided in two conception is classic Marxism (bourgeoisie/proletariat).

Even if it gets a bit on the mumbo-jumbo side through this part, I think his main point is summarized by this quote:

For it is impossible to know what the state of knowledge is—in other words, the problems its development and distribution are facing today—without knowing something of the society within which it is situated.

This doesn’t seem that controversial to me considering I’ve already admitted that certain powers can control the language and flow of knowledge. Being as generous as possible here, I think he’s just saying we have to know how many of these powers there are and who has the power and who legitimated that power before we can truly understand who’s forming these narratives and why.

In the postmodern world, we have a ton of different institutions all competing for their metanarrative to be heard.

Society is more fractured than just the two divisions of the modern world. But each of these institutions also has a set of rules for their language games that constrains them.  For example, the language of prayer has a different set of rules from an academic discussion at a university.

Chapters 7-9 seem to me to be where the most confusion on both the part of Lyotard and the reader can occur. He dives into the concept of narrative truth and scientific truth. You can already feel Lyotard try to position scientific truth to be less valuable than it is and narrative truth more valuable.

flight sky earth space
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Lyotard brings up the classic objections to verification and falsification (namely a variant on Hume’s Problem of Induction). How does one prove ones proof and evidence of a theory is true? How does one know the laws of nature are consistent across time and space? How can one say that a (scientific) theory is true merely because it cannot be falsified?

These were much more powerful objections in Lyotard’s time, but much of science now takes a Bayesian epistemology (even if they don’t admit to this terminology). We believe what is most probable, and we’re open to changing our minds if the evidence leads in that direction. I addressed this more fully a few years ago in my post: Does Bayesian Epistemology Suffer Foundational Problems?

… drawing a parallel between science and nonscientific (narrative) knowledge helps us understand, or at least sense, that the former’s existence is no more—and no less—necessary than the latter’s.

These sorts of statements are where things get tricky for me. I buy the argument that narrative knowledge is important. One can read James Baldwin and gain knowledge and empathy of a gay black man’s perspective that changes your life and the way you see the world.

Or maybe you read Butler’s performative theory of gender and suddenly understand your own gender expression in a new way. Both of these types of narrative knowledge could even be argued to be a “necessary” and vital part of humanity.

I also agree science is a separate type of knowledge, but I also see science as clearly more necessary than narrative knowledge.

If we lost all of James Baldwin’s writings tomorrow, it would be a tragedy. If we lost the polio vaccine tomorrow, it would be potentially catastrophic.

It’s too easy to philosophize science into this abstract pursuit and forget just how many aspects of your life it touches (your computer, the electricity in your house, the way you cook, the way you get your food, the way you clean yourself). Probably 80% of the developed world would literally die off in a few months if scientific knowledge disappeared.

I’ll reiterate that Lyotard thinks science is vastly important. He is in no way saying the problems of science are crippling. The above quote is more in raising narrative knowledge to the same importance of science than the devaluing of science (Lyotard might point to the disastrous consequences that happened as a result of convincing a nation of the narrative that the Aryan race is superior). For example, he says:

Today the problem of legitimation is no longer considered a failing of the language game of science. It would be more accurate to say that it has itself been legitimated as a problem, that is, as a heuristic driving force.

Anyway, getting back to the main point. Lyotard points out that problems of legitimating knowledge is essentially modern, and though we should be aware of the difficulties, we shouldn’t be too concerned with it. The postmodern problem is the grand delegitimation of various narratives (and one can’t help but hear Trump yell “Fake News” while reading this section of Lyotard).

Lyotard spends several sections developing a theory of how humans do science, and he develops the language of “performativity.”

It all seems pretty accurate to me, and not really worth commenting on (i.e. it’s just a description). He goes into the issues Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem caused for positivists. He talks about the Bourbaki group. He talks about the seeming paradox of having to look for counterexamples while simultaneously trying to prove the statement to be true.

I’d say the most surprising thing is that he gets this stuff right. You often hear about postmodernists hijacking math/science to make their mumbo-jumbo sound more rigorous. He brings up Brownian motion and modeling discontinuous phenomena with differentiable functions to ease analysis and how the Koch curve has a non-whole number dimension. These were all explained without error and without claiming they imply things they don’t imply.

Lyotard wants to call these unintuitive and bizarre narratives about the world that come from weird scientific and mathematical facts “postmodern science.” Maybe it’s because we’ve had over forty more years to digest this, but I say: why bother? To me, this is the power of science. The best summary I can come up with is this:

Narrative knowledge must be convincing as a narrative; science is convincing despite the unconvincing narrative it suggests (think of the EPR paradox in quantum mechanics or even the germ theory of disease when it was first suggested).

I know I riffed a bit harder on the science stuff than a graduate seminar on the book would. Overall, I thought this was an excellent read. It seems more relevant now than when it was written, because it cautions about the dangers of powerful organizations buying a bunch of data and using that to craft narratives we want to hear while deligitimating narratives that hurt them (but which might be true).

We know now that this shouldn’t be a futuristic, dystopian fear (as it was in Lyotard’s time). It’s really happening with targeted advertising and the rise of government propaganda and illegitimate news sources propagating our social media feeds. We believe what the people with money want us to believe, and it’s impossible to free ourselves from it until we understand the situation with the same level of clarity that Lyotard did.

Thoughts on Barker’s Imajica

I believe I read a Clive Barker novel about fifteen years ago, but I have no idea what it was. A few years ago, I read some of his short stories, and this reinforced the conception I had of Barker as a horror writer, which isn’t really my thing. Still, Imajica came up on my radar for some reason, and I decided to give it a go.

Wow. I’m so glad I did. It’s going to be fairly difficult to describe anything about this book. It’s very weird, but in a wildly inventive and wonderful way. There are some gory images here and there, but I’d most certainly not classify it as horror. It’s more of a surrealist examination of spirituality? So kind of like The Holy Mountain.

I’ll try to set up the premise to give you an idea of the bizarre-ness, though, the whole point of the novel shifts by about 1/10 of the way through it. There’s Five Dominions. Earth, as we humans know it, is the Fifth Dominion. We’ve never seen these other magical places.

There’s a longtime conspiracy of people (I use this term lightly) making up a secret society to keep the Fifth Dominion separate from the other four. There is a way in though.

The novel begins with a man who is so in love with a woman, Judith, that he hires an assassin to kill her after she breaks up with him (obviously so she can’t be with anyone else). He has second thoughts and contacts Judith’s ex, Gentle, to stop the assassin. He succeeds. The assassin, Pie, is a being from one of these other dominions that doesn’t really have a gender. It becomes basically whatever it’s lover wants to see in it.

Pie seduces Gentle by appearing to be Judith. Gentle learns of what it did, and Pie takes Gentle into the other dominions. They gradually fall in love. Also, a billion other things are going on by this point, so don’t think that’s “really” the story. It’s about revelation, separation, unity, isolation, love, sex, power, God, redemption, finding meaning, culture, and on and on.

Don’t panic. It’s not done in a way that tries to be about everything and ends up being about nothing. This novel really tackles the big questions in a focused and metaphorical way. It just so happens that these big questions encompass all those other things.

Here’s some things I think the book does really well. There is a gigantic amount of information hidden to the reader: the conspiracy, how these other dominions run, the cultures there, the background on the conflicts, why the Fifth is separated, and so on.

Barker manages to slip this information to the reader in gradual and subtle doses over 600 pages or more. This means the novel stays story centric and engaging with almost no information dumps. It’s actually kind of brilliant how he does this. Often, you will hear things that make no sense. This causes you to reconcile your view of what’s going on with your existing theory. It’s only after you’ve done this many times that the full picture comes into focus.

Another thing I didn’t expect was how good the prose was. I expected genre horror writing full of stock prose: nothing bad but nothing great either. Instead, I found excellent execution of register shifting (often thought to be the most advanced and subtle techniques of prose style).

Register shifts refer to changing the type of language used to adapt to a situation. For example, if you’re hanging out with some friends, you might say, “‘Sup?” This is an informal register. If you’re at a job interview, you might say, “Hello. How are you doing? It is very good to meet you.” This is a formal register.

The thing that makes this so difficult in prose writing is that the context of scene must determine the proper register. When you first try to do this, it will probably be overdone, and this will change the voice. It must be done with enough subtlety so the voice remains consistent and only the register of the voice changes.

Most people will never notice if a writer has done this well. It is usually obvious when a writer doesn’t do it or overdoes it. We tend to say the writing fell “flat” in an absence of register shifts (a great term because there weren’t any up or down shifts in register).

The register tends to reflect the dominion we’re in. This is because as the dominions get closer to the First, the people get closer to God. The register shifts up to indicate the formality and ritualistic nature of religion. Take an early scene.

Gentle took off his heavy coat and laid it on the chair by the door, knowing when he returned it would be warm and covered with cat hairs. Klein was already in the living room, pouring wine. Always red.

This is quite low. There’s even a sentence fragment. The sentences are simple and to the point. The descriptors are common.

Now take a midway scene in a different dominion.

Like the theater districts of so many great cities across the Imajica, whether in Reconciled Dominions or in the Fifth, the neighborhood in which the Ipse stood had been a place of some notoriety in earlier times, when actors of both sexes had supplemented their wages with the old five-acter—hiring, retiring, seduction, conjunction, and remittance—all played hourly, night and day.

This single sentence is almost double the length of the entire three sentences above. The structure is quite complicated: subordinate clause, appositive, etc. This is an elevated register. The same sentence in a lower register would be “Whores could be found on the streets of the city in which the Ipse stood.” We could lower it even more or raise it to more formal levels than what was written. But it strikes a delicate balance of beautiful description in elevated voice.

I know it’s kind of mind-boggling to think that Barker did all this, but I noticed it early and then paid close attention. It is consistent throughout, which makes me think it is not some accident or coincidence.

Lastly, the symbolism is amazing. It draws on and reinterprets many famous Biblical stories. I can’t get into it, because I don’t want to give anything away if you haven’t read the book. It is some of the best of this type of writing I’ve seen. It isn’t so direct as to be cringe-worthy, and it is all done in an inventive re-imagining.

It’s kind of sad I didn’t read this during my Year of Giant Novels. It possibly would have been the Number 1 book of the year.

Arguments on Religious Exemptions to Nondiscrimination Law

[This post is a day late. Excuses: I got bogged down looking these laws up. I accidentally had “insert” on, and I deleted large chunks without realizing it.]

It’s been in the news recently that a few states have (re)issued “Religious Freedom Laws.” The most recent being Mississippi’s Protecting Freedom of Conscience from Government Discrimination Act. I won’t get into the details on this particular act but instead try to present some arguments from both sides of this debate that I think are good and bad.

Like most liberals, I tend to react from my gut and conclude these things are horrible. This is mostly an attempt to take a step back and figure out  the actual arguments. I’ll take a philosophical approach and assume for the sake of argument that the laws are written in a reasonable way to achieve their intended goal rather than pick apart the specific language of any one of them.

This means we’ll assume that there is a (local) law that says public accommodations must serve people regardless of race, sex, sexual orientation, etc, and that the newer religious freedom law exempts people from following the nondiscrimination policy based on a “deeply held religious belief.”

Good pro argument: It’s not a big deal for people who are denied service for any reason to go somewhere else. I actually think this is a pretty good argument. When I was planning my wedding, I think back to how I would have felt if someone would have said, “You know, we’re family owned, and we prefer not to do gay weddings for religious reasons. We can put you in contact with several other local bakeries that do them instead if you don’t mind.”

Wedding plans have lots of setbacks. This one would be the least of my worries. I find it hard to care that much. I’d think they were homophobic jerks, but if the laws were written in a way that said: if you deny service for a religious reason, you must provide contact information for a service of equal quality within a reasonable distance, that seems to be a good trade-off. In order to discriminate, they have to advertise for their main competition. If there isn’t competition, they wouldn’t be allowed the exception.

Good anti argument: It’s not a big deal for the provider to just provide the service. Part of being an adult who engages the public is to deal with people you don’t like or who make you uncomfortable.

Let’s take two examples. The first is the clerk who hands the documentation to the gay couple. This should be easy. It’s just a piece of paper. I don’t even think that clerk has to sign it. They literally just hand it to you. That person isn’t condoning anything or celebrating anything or participating in anything. In other words, it’s just not a big deal to provide that service regardless of religious belief.

A slightly trickier example is baking a cake for a wedding that “goes against your religion.” Let’s remove the gay wedding from the example. This becomes a question of whether the person has developed the normal adult cognitive faculty of separating a pure business transaction from their personal life. It’s childish to care so much about how a cake is going to be used.

I’m sure there are Catholic bakers who believe getting remarried without an annulment is a sin. Or heck, they probably believe all marriages should be through the Catholic Church. Yet they manage to provide cakes for all sorts of weddings that aren’t a part of their religion.

My guess is that they have the ability to forget about it once it is baked. If it bothers you so much, stop thinking about it so much. The cake baker is not “participating” in the wedding. They are not “condoning” or “approving” of the wedding. They won’t even be attending. The ego needed to think so highly of their service is staggering.

I maintain that this is true for every scenario the law is intended to cover. Grow up. It’s not a big deal to provide the service. Sometimes, in real life, you have to deal with people you don’t like. That’s just part of running a business. It’s special pleading to get a law to shield you from these people.

Consistent libertarian pro argument: All services should be allowed to discriminate however they want. It’s 2016! The market will weed out the discriminatory services fairly quickly, because everyone will boycott them for discriminating. Then, without any government intervention, we will be in the same situation that the anti side wanted.

I have no idea whether this is empirically true, but I respect the consistency of the argument. This brings up a bad argument on the pro side. Some people say the law is okay because it has “targeted language.” This is a horrible argument. It is an attempt to get around the slippery slope of allowing all people exemptions to all things based on vague “religious beliefs.” But being targeted is admitting that the law is specifically designed to legally discriminate against one targeted group. That is unacceptable. Religious bigotry cannot be written into law. The consistent libertarian pro argument is much better.

Slippery slope anti argument: Allowing religious exemptions will lead to chaos. The language of “deeply held religious belief” is too vague. That could mean anything. Maybe it’s my deeply held religious belief that it’s a sin for Asians to eat pork. Am I allowed to deny them service at my all-pork restaurant based on that?

This gets back to the libertarian argument. I think if the pro side wants to be consistent, they have to say this is allowed. The fact that they won’t go this far is a sign that their argument isn’t very good if made in this way. So ultimately I think I have to come down on the anti side unless there was solid empirical evidence that the libertarian argument would work.

 

Christmas: The Nativity Story as Presented in Matthew and Luke

Since one of my most read posts this year was my analysis of the passion narrative around Easter time, I thought I’d do another one of these for Christmas. I’m not going to present much historical analysis that the events depicted are fiction (it is well-known that there was no census, no slaughter of innocent children, Narazeth probably wasn’t even a town at the time of Jesus, etc).

This will again be a textual analysis. It will look at what the stories are and why they were invented based on internal evidence.

First, I’d like to get this out of the way. As I pointed out in the last analysis, most people who grow up in a Christian house don’t realize there are differences between the passion narratives or why they exist.

This is somewhat forgivable because they are roughly the same story told in different ways. For the nativity, there are two different birth narratives in the Gospels, and it seems to me a much more devious and intentionally malicious act that churches try to keep this from people.

The birth narratives in Matthew and Luke are not at all the same story told in different ways.

They are radically different and cannot be reconciled. One or both must be fiction (as we will see, we have good reason to believe both are fiction). A game gets played in churches on Christmas eve where a quote from Matthew gets said here, a quote from Luke here, and deceptively one consistent story is carefully crafted.

All the usual caveats apply. The Gospels were written by anonymous authors, but for ease of reference I’ll use the phrase “Matthew says” etc to mean “the author of the book of Matthew.”

opened bible on wooden surfaca
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Before beginning, let’s first talk about why Mark doesn’t have a birth narrative. In the early days of Christianity there were all sorts of competing sects with different views trying to make their beliefs the orthodox view. One of these competing views was called “adoptionism.” This means that they believed that Jesus was born human by normal human means and only later (during his baptism by John the Baptist) became “adopted by” God as his son.

If you read Mark’s account of the baptism, it is pretty clear this is what is happening. So Mark probably omitted a birth narrative because he held this opinion and thought there was nothing special about it.

Matthew and Luke are the only two Gospels with a birth narrative.

So let’s start by just stating what their accounts are. In Matthew, Joseph wants to divorce Mary because she is pregnant, but is convinced not to in a dream. They already live in Bethlehem, so without travelling Mary has the child, and “wise men” come to investigate for Herod. The wise men decide not to return to Herod, and then because he is suspicious he orders all male children to be killed. Luckily, Mary and Joseph flee to Egypt in time. Once Herod dies they want to go back, but because Herod’s son is ruler they instead go to Nazareth.

In Luke, an angel appears to Mary to inform her of her pregnancy. Then emperor Augustus orders an empire wide census and people need to return to their ancestral home to register. Mary and Joseph live in Nazareth in this story. Thus Joseph needs to go to Bethlehem, his father’s father’s father’s … (13 times) father David’s birthplace. Here Mary gives birth in a stable because there is no room in the inn. Nearby shepherds come and worship him (note: no wise men in this story). Jesus is taken to the Temple for the standard Jewish rites and is recognized as the Messiah there. Once finished, they return to Nazareth.

Essentially no part of the stories match up:

The place they are living at the start is different. Joseph gets informed by a dream vs Mary gets informed by an angel. Staying in place vs travelling before the birth. Born at their home (surprising?) vs born in a manager. Wise men travelling vs nearby shepherds. Fleeing to Egypt vs immediately returning to Nazareth. Herod ordering the murder of children vs Augustus ordering a census. Travelling to Nazareth for the first time vs returning to Nazareth.

In fact, in most cases these just can’t be harmonized at all. If one happened, then the other must be fiction. If these details aren’t enough to convince you, consider that Matthew’s mention of Herod places Jesus’ birth before 4 BC and Luke’s mention of Quirinius places Jesus’ birth after 6 AD. It is a true impossibility that both these scenarios happened.

Let’s look at how the stories are told to figure out why they might be making them up. Just like in the Easter post, the text itself provides clues to what the theological points they are trying to make are. Matthew is the easy one, because he is quite explicit about what he is doing. He bangs the reader over the head with it over and over throughout the story by saying, “To fulfill what the prophet had said…”

Aha. Now we have a hypothesis for why these strange stories were made up.

Matthew needs Jesus to fulfill a bunch of prophecies from the Jewish scriptures to make his theological point that Jesus was the Messiah.

Thus our hypothesis is that Matthew looked at what the prophecies were and then made up a story to fit them. Wait, I hear you protesting. You say there is no way for us to tell the difference between Matthew writing what he thought was true and just happened to fulfill prophecy versus Matthew making up a story after the fact to fit it.

Here’s the interesting thing. We actually can tell, because Matthew was using the Greek translation of the Old Testament called the Septuagint. It turns out that there were some mistranslations and misinterpretations coming from this version that are not in the actual scriptures. Thus either Jesus was fulfilling mistranslated prophecy (and hence not the real prophecy) or Matthew was making up a story based on the mistranslation. I’ll let you decide.

Here are two examples of that.

In the original Hebrew version of Isaiah, the word “alma” is used to indicate that a “young woman” would give birth (“and they shall call him Immanuel.”). Strangely, even though Hebrew has a different word for “virgin,” (as opposed to “young woman”) the Septuagint mistranslates it to “parthenos” meaning virgin. Thus Matthew needs Mary to give birth to Jesus as a virgin in order to fulfill a mistranslated prophecy.

Let’s take this same part of the story in Luke. Luke makes no mention of a prophecy that Jesus would be born of a virgin. Instead, he makes it pretty clear through the words of the angel Gabriel, “He will be called the Son of God” what theological point he is trying to make. Jesus is born of a virgin not to fulfill prophecy, but to be clear that Jesus is the literal son of God and no human created him in the natural way. Thus we start to see that even ignoring historical evidence there is internal textual evidence that Matthew and Luke were advancing certain theological concerns in constructing their narratives.

The key strangeness of Matthew’s story is that Mary and Joseph live in Bethlehem, so why make up this thing about Herod which forces them to flee and eventually end up in Nazareth? Well, like the rest of the story, Matthew is trying to pull all of his details from prophecy. He has to reconcile two seemingly contradictory prophecies. The first is Micah 5:2 which seemingly predicts the birthplace of the Messiah to be Bethlehem, but also there is an unspecified reference to a prophecy that says “He shall be called a Nazarene.”

It is interesting that again, both of these interpretations are wholly unfounded and the effort to reconcile them seems for naught. The Micah prophecy is really just a description of where the Davidic dynasty originated. The Christian interpretation as a prophecy didn’t appear until much later. The prophecy about being a Nazarene appears nowhere in prophecy. There are several theories on where it came from. One of which is again just a mistranslation error of Judges 13:5, “The boy shall be a Nazarite to God.” But the word nazarite has nothing to do with Nazareth. It merely means one consecrated by taking vows and is in reference to Samson.

One can go on and on showing how Matthew not only pulled his details from prophecies, but how we know that he did so based on mistranslations or interpretations from the Septuagint. In fact, if you want to see a more thorough analysis along these lines check out chapter III of Randel Helms’ Gospel Fictions. Some scholars even propose the hypothesis that Matthew’s account is an example of Jewish Midrash (note he chooses to have Jesus flee to Egypt which is essentially retracing the steps of Moses’ flight out of Egypt).

Well, we could go on like this forever because entire bookcases have been filled with writings on this one topic, but hopefully this was interesting and new to some people. I didn’t give many references, because essentially every single New Testament scholar and ancient historian will tell you the above (and most of them are Christian!). If this sounds like some fringe atheist analysis, I challenge you to find a single respected (and doesn’t have a major source of income coming from evangelical apologetics) New Testament scholar that doesn’t hold this view.

In fact, these exact things are taught in most seminaries, so your pastor/minister is fully aware of these types of analyses. I would imagine most mainline protestant pastors would tell you behind closed doors that they also believe the birth narratives to be fiction for the above reasons. Any introductory text on the subject would go through all of this. For example, Jesus, Interrupted by Bart Ehrman probably covers this (though I’m not committing to that since I don’t have it with me).