It’s the holiday season. The people I overheard at the bus stop the other day were discussing shopping on the bus. It can be a long trip from here, and evening traffic out of New York (ironically) is quite heavy this time of year. Bored commuters, sitting on the bus with their phones, shop. I couldn’t help but notice that I was the only one with the overhead light on during the fully dark ride home this week. At one point the driver seemed to think it was a mistake on my part and snapped it off. I carry a book light with me for just such eventualities, but I had that odd feeling one gets when everyone else got the memo but you didn’t. In any case, I was reading a physical book, not shopping.
Then I read about a book I need for my research. Problem is, I don’t have an institution, or a wealthy sponsor, so I often buy books used. Back in my teaching days Amazon was new, and the idea of buying books online foreign and unfamiliar. Now you can’t find a bookstore when you want one. In any case, this particular book was on offer on eBay. Now, I haven’t used eBay for quite a while. I never think of it as a place to find reading material, but there it was. Who would’ve thought research would ever lead in this direction? The price was reasonable, so I signed in as a guest and placed my order. With out of print books like this you run the risk of price-gouging or sudden unavailability—the independent researcher’s nightmare.
When the confirmation page came up, I couldn’t help but notice that the header was in Russian. I wondered if Trump’s dream had really finally come true, or if the eBay on which I ordered an out-of-print book was really a trap. How do you find out? Who do you tell when your current government is completely at the beck and call of the Russian government? I was in a brown study for a while. The book, used, on Amazon was listed at over a thousand dollars, and this for a paperback published in 2009. People will pay quite a lot for certain books, even if they don’t retain their resale value. Ideas, it seems, are worth more than money. But we no longer have a government to protect our interests. Not even research, it seems, is safe any more.
If you squint, he could be St. Nick
I had to make one of my periodic treks into New York City this week. Unlike most years when a warm spell comes after the onset of winter, we’ve kind of fallen straight to the heart of the season this year and those of us standing in line for the bus were experiencing it via wind chill. The cold got some regulars to talking about Christmas. Although I’m not the oldest one who makes this long trip, the majority of the commuters this far out have yet to attain my years. Those chatting at the stop had kids at home that still believe in Santa Claus. It made me recall how we trick our kids with all kinds of quasi-religious folkloric figures, but also how seriously some adults participate in the mythology as well.
Among those chatting, the leaving out of cookies and carrots was almost canonical. The cookies are for Santa, of course, and the carrots for the reindeer. The more I pondered this, the more it became clear that this is a form of thank offering. The story of Bel and the Dragon, in the Apocrypha additions to Daniel, tell of how priests leave out food for an idol. The offering is gone in the morning and the credulous worshippers assume the statue has eaten it. Religious offerings, except those entirely burnt up, were often used to support priesthoods. Santa has his elfly acolytes, of course, but the priesthood for his cult is that of parents eager to make Christmas a special time for their children. Capitalism’s big pay-off.
Then one of the commuters mentioned how she had her husband leave a footprint in the fireplace ash to add verisimilitude to the ruse. We never had a fireplace when I was growing up, and I often wondered how Santa got in when we had no chimney to come down. In any case, my hazy morning mind thought once again of Daniel and Bel. The way that wily Daniel exposed the fraudulent priests was by sprinkling—you guessed it—a fine layer of ash around the offering after the priests had “left” for the night. In the morning he showed the people the footprints of the deceptive heathens to the people. The statue hadn’t eaten the food after all! Serious consequences followed. Christmas, despite its commercialization, brings fond childhood memories to many of us, and we’re reluctant to let that go. The one man in on the discussion (it wasn’t me) said that when he was growing up they had a somewhat different offering. “My dad,” he said, “told us to leave Santa a beer and a sandwich.” This guy’s name might’ve been Daniel.
Posted in American Religion, Bible, Current Events, Holidays, Memoirs, Posts, Religious Origins, Sects
Tagged Apocrypha, Bel and the Dragon, Christmas, commuting, Daniel, New York City, Santa Claus
Stephen King was still a fairly new writer when I first read “Lawnmower Man” for an English class in high school. Carrie had been published by then, but I didn’t read any more Stephen King until after my academic job ended. (There is, for those who are curious, a correlation between that traumatic change and my interest in horror.) Like many, I suspect, I saw some of the movies before reading the King books behind them. With a writer as prolific as King there’s always the issue of where to start, and I’m often subject to the selections independent bookstore owners make. I seldom buy fiction through Amazon—I have to see the book for it to grab me (a kind of King thing to happen).
A used copy of Carrie recently came my way. Now, I’ve seen the movie (both versions) many times; it is discussed at some length in Holy Horror. I’d not read the novel until now. Obviously there are differences between book and movie, but as this was Stephen King’s debut novel it struck me just how central religion was to the fearful scenario he paints. That’s pretty clear in the film, I know, but it’s even more so in the novel. Carrie is made into a monster by religion. One could argue that she was born that way—telekinesis as a genetic marker is also a theme in the book, although absent from the films. Still, it is Carrie’s rejection by others, largely because of her religion, that leads her to use her powers to destroy Chamberlain, Maine.
In a strange way, Carrie is a coming-of-age story from a girl’s perspective. Strange because King is a man and some literary magazines won’t even accept stories written from the point-of-view of someone of the opposite gender. Men can’t know what women go through. Indeed, most of the male characters in the story are less than admirable, while some are downright wicked. The real question is whether religion saves from wickedness or causes it. There’s not much ambiguity here on the part of Mr. King. Holy Horror, although it deals with movies and not novels, makes the point that films based King don’t infrequently use religion as a source of horror. Long-time readers of this blog know that I frequently make the point that this genre, more so than most, relies on religion as an engine to drive it. And religion also has a role in repressing women. Coincidence? Ask Carrie.
Posted in American Religion, Books, Feminism, Literature, Memoirs, Monsters, Movies, Popular Culture, Posts, Religious Violence
Tagged Carrie, Feminism, Holy Horror, horror films, Stephen King, telekinesis
“Myth embodies the nearest approach to absolute truth that can be stated in words.” I recently came across this quote from Ananda K. Coomaraswamy. Coomaraswamy was a philosopher and metapmhysist from Ceylon, and like many eastern thinkers had a more holistic view of the world than western rationalism. We’re taught from a young age that myth is something false, not true. This colloquial use of the word is so common that those of us who’ve specialized in myth slip into it during everyday conversation. Words, however, have uses rather than meanings. Coomaraswamy was engaging this reality in the quote above. Words can take us only so far in exploring reality when we have to break into either formulas or poetry. Although they are under-appreciated poets are the purveyors of truth.
Having studied ancient mythology in some detail, it became clear to me as a student that these tales weren’t meant to be taken literally. Instead, they were known to be true. It takes a supple mind to parse being true from “really happened,” as we are taught in the western world that on what “really happened” is true. In other words, historicism is our myth. Meaning may not inhere in words, but when we use words to explore it we run up against lexical limits. Is it any wonder that lovers resort to poetry? On those occasions when I’ve been brave enough to venture to write some, I walk away feeling as if I’ve been the receiver of some cosmic radio signal. We have been taught to trust the reality of what our senses perceive. Myth, and poetry, remind us that there’s much more.
The Fundamentalist myth is that the Bible is literally true. If they’d stop and think about it, they’d realize the mockery such thinking makes of Holy Writ. The Good Book doesn’t look at itself that way. In fact, it doesn’t even look at itself as a book—an idea that developed in later times. The time and the cultures that produced the Bible were cool with myth. They may not have called it that but the signs are unmistakable. Ananda Coomaraswamy knew whereof he wrote. The closest to absolute truth we can come takes us to the end of declarative, factual writing. Scientists writing about the Big Bang devolve into complex mathematical formulas to explain what mere words can. Myth is much more eloquent, even if we as a society, dismiss it along with other non-factual truth.
Posted in American Religion, Bible, Classical Mythology, Consciousness, Memoirs, Posts
Tagged Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, Bible, Ceylon, Fundamentalism, myth, philosophy, poetry
Finally! I have sent my proofs and the index for Holy Horror back to McFarland and I find myself in that state following intensive concentration on one thing. Well, as much as work will allow such concentration. Those who write books know how difficult it is to switch gears from fifth back to first while driving at highway speeds. As soon as the email arrived stating that the proofs were ready, I dropped everything to get them read, outside work hours, of course. With mind focused on a single goal—get the job done—I’ve managed to forget where I was before being interrupted by my own work. I recall it had something to do with demons, though.
Perhaps the most taxing part of trying to write while employed full time is keeping track of where you are. The luxury of spending hours outside of class doing the index, for example, is compressed into the little free time I have between writing for this blog and work—between a blog and a hard place, as it were. Indexing, which can be quite pricey when a professional does it, is much easier with a searchable PDF than it ever was going through a printout page-by-page to find obscure references you forgot you ever wrote. It reminded me of the time I had Owen Chadwick over for dinner at Nashotah House. I recalled someone asking him about something he’d once written and he looked puzzled for a moment and then replied, “One writes so many things.” Indeed. Millions and million of words in electrons, if not on paper, mark the status of a life. And indexing will prove it to you somehow.
This morning I awoke with the proofs and index safely emailed back to the publisher. What was I doing before that? I know that work is looming just a short hour or two ahead, and I need to accomplish part of my life’s work before going to work. I can’t afford to waste this time. Nightmares with the Bible is coming along nicely. A very drafty draft of the book exists. I have some more research to do, however, and the annotated bibliography—ah, that’s where I left off!—is still a shambles. Not only that, but I’ve got a stack of reading on the topic next to my chair. Time to put on a pot of coffee and warm up those typing fingers. I’ve got real work to do.
Posted in American Religion, Bible, Books, Memoirs, Monsters, Movies, Posts
Tagged Holy Horror, indexing, McFarland Books, Nashotah House, Nightmares with the Bible, Owen Chadwick