We are, at present, in the midst of a transitional season and a vacation, so I haven’t had the time to post new content. Instead, since I’ve been on a Wendell Berry kick, I thought I would share a short excerpt from his poem “Boone.”
Death is a conjecture of the seed / and the seasons bear it out; / the wild plum achieves its bloom, / perfects the yellow center of each flower, / submits to violence— / extravagance too grievous for praise; / there are no culminations, no / requitals.
Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein
Odysseus and Penelope, 1802
Oil on canvas
In a much-studied sequence of Homer’s Odyssey, the old maid Eurýkleia bathes a beggar’s feet only to discover the precise scar that she knows to be of her lord, Odysseus. She responds, in a loud whisper:
“Oh yes! You are Odysseus! Ah, dear child! I could not see you until now — not till I knew my master’s very body with my hands!” (Homer, The Odyssey; trans. Robert Fitzgerald)
Famously, this passage has been discussed by the literary scholar Erich Auerbach as an example of proto-realism in Western literature, of the relationship between historicity, psychology, and text. This, of course, is in contrast (in Auerbach’s argument) to the Old Testament narrative, which has a different sort of relationship with history, psychology, and text. For Auerbach, Homer’s narrative forms the type of literature that aims at “mimesis,” the description of life in all its varied forms, whereas the Old Testament narrative forms the type of literature that aims at transformative truth. Continue reading “Proof”
Cicero Denouncing Catiline, 1888
A few months ago, I found myself reading (for no explicit purpose other than reading leisure) some of the speeches of Marcus Tullius Cicero, the famous Roman orator. There I discovered a surprising turn-of-phrase in one of his famous denunciations of Catiline. Cicero is here referring to how they were able to uncover the Catilinian conspiracy:
… not on the basis of intelligence or of any human wisdom, but as a result of many unambiguous signs from the immortal gods… (Cicero, In Catilinam II)
Continue reading “The Apostle and the Rhetorician”
The Dark Tower of Mordor (detail), 1979
As Frodo and Sam cross the Dead Marches, lead by the converted Smeagol, Sam observes that his master is feeling a heavier weight. The Ring is a heavy, terrible burden, and the closer it is brought to its maker, the heavier it weighs upon the Ring-Bearer. But even moreso than the Ring, Frodo begins to feel the weight of the Eye: Continue reading “The Eye of Mordor”
Nero’s Torches, 1876
Oil on canvas
In approximately 94-95 A.D., an elderly man exiled to Patmos wrote a vision that he had received from God. How we ought to be interlocutors with his mode of composition (i.e. whether the written text is all visionary or partially visionary and partially literary) is unimportant for observing the heaviness of the content of his work: that is, the Book of Revelation as a text primarily concerned with the critique of Imperial power and the Christian answer to the problem of Empire. For the purposes of this post, I will be using the academic definition of Empire, as a political-social order that aims for hegemony over its subjects. Continue reading “The Kingdom against Hegemony”
The Adoration of the Golden Calf, 1634
Oil on canvas
The precise understanding of what constitutes an idol has been a matter of intense discussion for a long time. For some, an idol is any image that represents or stands on the behalf of God or gods. For others, for instance most modern evangelicals, an idol is any thing (broadly considered) that replaces or supplants the Lord God in a hierarchy of values, beliefs, or desires. Still others hold more nuanced views, such that the Eastern Orthodox do not hold icons of Christ to be either idols or transgressions of the Second Commandment, while most Presbyterians, on the other hand, would hold that images of Christ are transgressions of that commandment and, thus, also idols.
Continue reading “Idols: An Introduction”
Baby on Mother’s Arm, 1891
Oil on canvas
“Reconsidering” is a series of posts written in the spirit of the Magic: the Gathering Time Spiral block. If you don’t get the reference, that’s okay. Some of the special cards in Time Spiral were just reprints of old cards packaged with the new ones. Some of them were old cards with new twists (mainly color changes). And some were cards that represented where the game was going in the future, with fun references to the game’s past. Here I’ll resurrect my old posts and ideas from my previous blogs, my MAPH notebooks, and various other collections from my past. Some I’ll leave as they are, others I’ll breathe new life into, and yet others I’ll reconfigure as future engagements that still touch on the old notions. This practice is both an act of remembrance — engaging with my own intellectual past — and an act of growing — learning to learn from old mistakes, or rediscover old masterpieces.
From an original post on my old blog dated April 4th, 2017.
Words arise without any history. One does not need to be an anthropologist-linguist to chart this particular mystery. One simply needs to be a parent, or an older sibling, or an aunt or uncle. Watch a child fumble with sounds that have no meaning, and he will begin to communicate whole lines of thought that are wholly and utterly incoherent yet not pointless. Every tumble of the lip, every tremble of the tongue, every throated yell, every “bah” on the mouth is the fundamental elements from whence speech comes. And, at some juncture, to the parents’ delight, that “bah” becomes “Dah dah dah,” “Mah mah mah,” sometimes “Bah bah bah” or “Kah kah kah,” which soon transforms into “Dadda,” Mamma,” “Babba” (bottle), and “Kaakaa” (kitty-cat). Continue reading “Reconsidering: Untamable Words”
Thomas Satterwhite Noble
The Modern Medea, 1867
Oil on canvas
Spoiler warning ahead. I am going to discuss central plot details of the Toni Morrison novel Beloved, including information that the reader is not made aware of until the end of the first major division of the story. To be fair, in my edition of Beloved, Morrison herself spoils the plot detail in her Foreword, and she gives no spoiler warning. But she is the master, and I am not.
In her masterpiece Beloved, Toni Morrison depicts for us the complex reality of motherhood amidst freed (and escaped) slaves in antebellum America. Time and again, for instance, Baby Suggs — the mother-in-law of the main character, Sethe — wonders if she truly had any children beside the one she herself raised. We are told that she birthed many children, of course, but in her mind only Halle (Sethe’s husband) really counts as her son. There’s something about the structure of chattel slavery that not only dehumanizes and destroys individuals but also dehumanizes and destroys family units, societies, and cultures. Drawing upon Morrison’s language (though expanding it using the work of Frantz Fanon and the like) Hortense Spillers, in her essay “Mama’s Baby, Papa’s Maybe,” observes that chattel slavery did more than transform people into bodies, but, even further, it deformed bodies into flesh. Bodies could, perhaps, have familial relations with one another, but pieces of flesh, ripped at will, cannot.
Continue reading “Terrible Love”
Death of Jezebel, 1880
Charcoal on tan wove paper
In view of various types of bombs and military actions, of the ever-increasing militarization of the police forces, and even of the rapacious bloodthirsty-ness of certain Christians and Christian leaders, it strikes me as necessary to address the term “violence.”
The problem is, of course, that unlike Peter Leithart’s assertion in his work on the topic, there are no clear-cut descriptions in the Bible regarding the lines between Violence, that chaos of suffering that humans unleash upon humans, and what Leithart glosses as “godly retribution,” such as when the Lord brings a siege upon Jerusalem such that women are eating their children.
Continue reading “(Not) Defining Violence”
Daniel’s Answer to the King, 1890
Oil on canvas
Not too long ago, I put together a blog dedicated to “Christian mythopoetics.” The work I had aimed to do was to write in the spirit of the Christian humanists of the mid-20th Century (Lewis, Tolkien, Williams, Barfield, Sayers, Underhill, even their forebears: Eliot, MacDonald, and Chesterton), engaging literature from the view of Christianity. I wrote about Cormac MacCarthy’s Blood Meridian and the problem of power, about Ridley Scott’s Prometheus and the terror of knowledge, and about Mark Z. Danielewski’s House of Leaves and the crisis of the modern family. Continue reading “Introduction: The Poet in Babylon”