• The Cross and Violence - Part I
• The Cross and Violence - Part II
• The Cross and Violence - Part III
• The Cross and Violence - Part IV
• The Cross and Violence - Part V
• The Cross and Violence - Part VI

* Drop the arrogance and face a painful truth: The troops in Afghanistan and Iraq are not fighting for our freedom or for justice. Whatever the individuals who serve in the military believe or do — and I realize that many believe they are defending us, and I know that many regularly act in compassionate and humane ways in the field — the U.S. military is not a defensive force or a humanitarian institution. It is an offensive force that destroys vulnerable people in other societies to entrench the power of a small U.S. elite and deliver the short-term material benefits that come to middle- and working-class people in the empire.

* Reject the ignorance and face a disturbing truth: The institutions that claim to help us understand the world (schools, universities, and the corporate commercial media) are key components of a propaganda system that encourages ignorance on these vital matters. Whatever the individuals in these institutions believe or do — and I realize that many believe they are part of a noble tradition, and I know many do challenge the conventional wisdom — these institutions are not fundamentally educational in nature. They are ideological factories that the elite use to undermine critical thinking about how power operates.

* Find the courage to resist and face some obvious truths: The crises we face in this country and the world — economic, political, cultural, ecological — will not be fixed by electing a new president, nor will the culture be turned around by traditional progressive political strategies. I will vote, and I will continue organizing. But I do not believe that the oppressive systems that structure our world can be dismantled through those methods. We need to think creatively, and we need to come to terms with the likelihood that until those in power believe that those of us who want to challenge power are willing to take serious risks, the machine will continue grinding. (Robert Jensen)

I like this analysis, and find some sense of the overwhelming feeling all those seeking social justice probably feel at one time or another. It's not a few bad men, but the system.

I don't think social justice or peace is something any guru and his/her movement can bring to our culture, because anyone with the power to influence followers is part of a system that breathes hierarchy, celebrity, and the means to create "insiders" and "outsiders", thereby becoming part of the problem but under a different name. As Rene Girard and those who follow his anthropology of religion so clearly show, creating a morally-superior group -- no matter what the issue -- creates the conditions for escalating violence. The humble beginnings of doing the morally better thing are what lead, afterall, to things like murder and genocide, where "patriots" or "saints" sacrifice themselves to stop "enemies" and "evil" men in order to save the thing of value to the movement. Think of the insanity of pro-lifers who murdered doctors in the 1990's.

Perfect justice will not come through groups but individuals, each person choosing the self-interest of peace over plenty. That can happen only as we evolve, because very few of us today would agree that peace is more valuable than, say, food and comfort and the security of having more in reserve.

I don't think it's merely a matter of culture that the Romans laughed at men torn apart by lions and that medieval French theater-goers delighted at cats that were burned alive. I think human nature has evolved (in a small way, at least) from what it was 2000 years ago. We're more aware of our own responsibility in making victims and we're more compassionate for those victims. Perhaps 2000 years from now, our descendants will see our phrase "collateral damage" as a barbaric euphemism and they will know, as we do not, that an enemy is defined not by some Other and what he does to us but by how we define ourselves.

And by "enemy," I mean not just the Islamic Jihadists as seen by neocons, but also the neocons as seen by the peace movement. 

These problems we face are not the result of an idiosyncratic moment in history or of one particularly thuggish group of politicians in power at that moment. We are dealing with the predictable consequences of a world shaped by patriarchy, white supremacy, nationalism, and capitalism — systems of coercion and control that are at odds with goals of justice and sustainability. That’s not easy to face, but it can help us break out of the insular self-indulgence that is so tempting when one lives in the most affluent society in the history of the world. (Robert Jensen)

The Dark Knight is a semiological masterpiece. Like Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose, Christopher Nolan's second installment in the Batman franchise is a series of symbols; and, also like Eco's work, The Dark Knight blurs the lines between the traditional binaries of good/evil, light/dark, and friend/foe. Nolan's film is at once a deconstruction of the superhero ethos, as well as a sociological study along the lines of the work of Giorgio Agamben. But let us start with the most immediately interesting aspect of this film, Heath Ledger's performance as the Joker.

Joel and Ethan Coen's recent Oscar winner, No Country for Old Men, featured an antagonist by the name of Anton Chigurh. Chigurh represented the best in villainy, for he did not exemplify the evil that seems to lie dormant in each one of us, but instead embodied the symbolic position of infinite evil within our social matrix. Chigurh was dispassionately evil. He simply followed the rules of the universe. Much like the Coen's award-winning character, the Nolan's Joker is a symbolic whirlwind of prudent nihilism.

The Joker's semiotic status is upheld by the fact that he has no name, no history, and no identity. When he is finally captured by the police, he is found to be untraceable; unidentifiable (e.g. no dental records, no fingerprints, etc.). The best example of this feature in the film is when the Joker gives two completely different narrative explanations for the existence of his scars (one an Oedipal narrative, and the other a representation of a sort of guilt complex). In fact, when Batman finally seems to have discovered his enemy's true identity, it is simply revealed to be a trap set by the Joker himself (a philosophical lesson in naming). In this sense, the Joker has become a sort of Deleuzean figure. He represents a rhizomatic figure in that he continually shakes up the arborescent territorializations of the dominant social order. He relates this very idea in a dialogue with the District Attorney, Harvey Dent, when he claims that, unlike the police, "I'm a dog chasing cars. I don't have plans. I just do things. I'm not a schemer." He is a deterrirotialized force of will. He is one side of Nietzsche's Overman, having achieved the transvaluation of all values, and having rejected the current power structure of the Gotham elite. Much like Jorge, the blind monk in Eco's novel, the Joker finds his insanity reified in insatiable comedy, a love for the breaking and blurring of semiotic/structural rules. In fact, the two most salient components of the Joker's personality are two of the most despised components of every society: low-brow humor (bordering on sadism) and madness. And these are representatives of salvation in Eco's novel and Deleuze's conceptual work, respectively. It is no coincidence that the Joker's henchmen consist mainly of schizos.

In contrast to the Joker we have our hero, Batman. In the first film, Bruce Wayne took on the symbolic status of Batman in order to become eternal (as he remarks in The Dark Knight, "Batman has no limits"). In becoming a figure of infinite justice, Batman was supposed to be able to suppress all finite forms of evil (and most superheroes achieve this end). But when faced with infinite evil, a dilemma arises, as the two become caught up in a dialectical struggle ("This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object").

The relationship between Batman and the Joker is purely differential. They need each other (even though only the Joker realizes this), and are unable to destroy each other without annihilating themselves in the process (at one point the Joker states, "I don't want to kill you. What would I do without you?"). Both are representatives of the "state of exception" in Agamben's sociology. Early in the film, a though-provoking conversation between Wayne, Dawes, and Dent mentions the notion of the state of exception in a discussion of the merits of the Batman experiment. Dent believes that Batman represents the ancient Roman figure that would defend the city unilaterally while democracy was temporarily suspended. However, Dawes points out that Caesar was the last of these ancient heroes, and he never gave up his position, becoming a despot in the process. In agreement, Dent claims that "You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

While Batman uses his excepted status to forcefully extradite criminals, the Joker correctly explains to the mob that they cannot defeat Batman because his jurisdiction knows no bounds. Therefore, they must find a hired gun, a Kurosawan mercenary who is also excepted from the rules of the game. This Man with No Name must kill the Batman, and restore the criminals to their rightful place in the driver's seat of the city (although the Joker has other plans once his goals are achieved). What the Joker truly desires to do is to fully deterritorialize Batman (and later, Harvey Dent).

In a scene where Batman and the Joker face-off in an interrogation room, the madman reveals his plot to make an analysand out of his nemesis. The Joker understands that Batman is still structured according to a notion of true justice; one that he believes is based on lies and deceit. Therefore, he will give our protagonist an impossible decision: choose between the true object of your desire (the lack/negation represented by Rachel Dawes) and your hope for a non-excepted hero figure (the symbolic order represented by the Harvey Dent). "And tonight, you're gonna break your one rule", he says.

In a confusing portion of the film (this is my own interpretation), Batman chooses the object of his desire over the symbolic order, thereby breaking his one rule (an exception to his utilitarianism). However, the Joker knew this, and so he skillfully tricks Batman into simultaneously choosing the negation (destroying his identity as a hero) while actually saving Dent instead. In this way, the Joker reveals the existence of the social order as being based upon a lie (or a trick, in this instance), while also keeping Dent alive for further deterritorialization. A commanding feat, indeed.

In the denouement of the film, the Joker sets out to prove his nihilistic point to the masses (a "social experiment", as he calls it). His desire is to fully deterritorialize the people of Gotham by showing them that humanity, at its base, is a war of all against all. When the people do not fulfill his demands, and he is captured by Batman once again, it seems as though, as Batman claims, the people of Gotham have proven their faith. They have found hope in the figure of Harvey Dent, and this will finally lead them to utopia. However, the Joker has an "ace-in-the-hole". Transformed by the death of Dawes, Dent has become Two-Face, a hero of the people become a vengeful outlaw. In Joker's own explanation to Batman, "I've brought him down to our level." In this manner, the Joker has proven his point: "Introduce a little anarchy... Upset the established order... Well then everyone loses their minds!" Again, the Joker has proven that the hope of the demos is based on a lie (Harvey Dent is not a true hero). Therefore, Batman must become a sort of Girardian scapegoat, taking on the sins of Dent (literally) and the masses (figuratively) in order to maintain the good faith of the people. Wayne eventually excuses this decision by saying that "sometimes truth isn't good enough, sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded." Like a true Girardian messianic figure, Batman has decided to uphold the lie in order to save the people from the truth. If, as Lacan has stated, the love of truth is the love of castration, then Batman has chosen to reject the truth.

Batman's stated goal is to see a day when Gotham no longer needs a Promethean figure (the exception/cyclical messiah), but this can never be achieved, for Nolan has correctly shown that all heroes eventually become villains. My own ruminations on the film have led me to theorize that, because the Batman saga lacks a proper Trinitarian structure, there is no end besides what the Nolan's have revealed. Any symbolic messianic character like Batman will continue to be plagued by infinite evil ceaselessly. Dialectical synthesis will only ever be met by another antithesis. Batman will never achieve his goals ("to see a day when Gotham no longer needs Batman", and, coincidentally, he and Dawes can finally be together, a face-to-face with the Real that Dawes explains to Wayne is impossible) because he has no way of empowering the demos pneumatologically. The relationship between Batman and Gotham, despite his good intentions, ultimately falls into the Master/Slave dialectic. As Robert Jenson has argued in On Thinking the Human, it is the Spirit that breaks this struggle. As the Spirit is the One who both freely creates and freely is the love between the Father and the Son, so is he the One who binds together the broken bonds of humanity through His Church. The gospel according to Batman, though provided through a dark negation, is that "We need not hurt the one we love. Indeed we will not. For there is the Spirit."[1]

The sacrifice of the human heart, a feature inherent in all forms of paganism, is unacceptable to the Christian God because it is a sacrifice that mimics a guilty divinity – an Oedipus who has blood on his hands.   The religious ceremony itself is a picture of heaven, or of the dwelling of the pagan god.  Shakespeare said that the world is a stage.  In Girard’s terms, this is true because it is the home of humanity, a troupe of mimics.  This world is a picture of the next.  The world is a stage because religious worship is essentially a play.

                “Conversion is resurrection” he said.[3]  The truth of the “novelistic grace” that concludes with a grand death (and therefore, resurrection) is so much more true in his critique because it was true in his own life.  His gift of translating his own conversion into his work was “born of that supreme moment and return[s] to it the way a church radiates from the chancel and returns to it.”  This is nowhere so apparent as in his A Little Princess-ish statement of Proustian heroines that “they are not operetta princes; they are true princes disguised as operetta princes.”[4]  In a truly Girardian situation, his personal transformation was like the conclusion of a good book and he identified the reason that this conclusion is so potent because of his own experience.  Girard’s mental metamorphosis, like the journey of a great novel, reveals layers.

The Romantic ideal is a dedication to Death.  It is a devotion to hell, the antithesis of the revelatory moment of conversion that leads to Heaven.  This is most clear that verse in Paradise Lost that encapsulates Satan, who, by the way, was Lord Byron’s hero, which is something of a dogmatic principle of the theory that devotion to an idol, however flawed, must be unswerving.  The line is something like this: better to reign in Hell than to rule in Heaven.  It is better to die as a bitter and pitiless old miser, as many do, than to rejoice in the truth that keeps so many elderly people “young at heart.”

This truth is so clear in our society, which we self-termed “post-modern” to distance ourselves from the Romantic age that we have fenced safely between the years 1750 and 1815.  Are we deceiving ourselves and flattering our individuality – a characteristic personality trait of the Romantic – by calling ourselves something other than what we are, Romantics of the twenty-first century?

Our Romantic worship of and enslavery to Death is demonstrated by the vampire sub-culture, by the deaths-heads on tee-shirts and by our adoration of suicidal, homicidal fanatics like Che Guavera who died for his devotion to a deadly life.  Our so-called “post-modernism” is Romanticism that has not awakened from its death-like sleep through a revelation of Reality, which is the real ascent to magnificence as revealed by Girard.

                The Empedoclean world is a globe bound by the friction of strife and love.  Girard’s cosmos is an atom of violence-love as well.  Love is the nucleus which violence surrounds and conceals like an electron cloud but both are inexplicably and inescapably bound, dependent on each other.  Girard’s atom breaks the pre-Socratic mold by the eventual triumph of love through the example of Christ.  In Girard’s eyes, Jesus does not shatter the violent world like a shooting star, however, but through a long, hard, and nearly par arm-war. 

                Girard’s belief in a strife-frought cosmos becomes more apparent in other essays such as “Satan,” which concludes that Love Incarnate carries a blade.  “The Gospels present the
Christian future as full of division and strife.  Far from announcing a peaceful world, Christ says that He brings a sword” (209).  Like most of Girard’s unorthodoxy, his near equation of strife and love is based on a truism that is carried too far. 

                The “world” is “held together” by the union of harmony and discord.  The reality of this is that Love’s sword defeated the powers of the world with a word and that malice has no union with love.  The truth is that figurative connections between love and strife, its reversal, continues to ensnare philosophers and Girard fell into this trap with a line of predecessors going back to Empedocles.

Little girls show it very easily, both because that is what I identify with personally, and because they are stereotyped for it.  Every episode of Lizzy McGuire or any other chick flick is a witch trial.  There are the cool kids, who are jerks.  They seduce the heroine into their midst and, as jerks together, they persecute a nerd or a prairie-muffin, their victim.  Since Americans are well intuned to the victim’s plea, Lizzy is most often the heroine, and is guilt-ridden (and thus a victim as well) after she has taken part in the stoning of the witch.  She is the victim of just as many trials.  The most sub-conscious use of the phenomena, however, is when Lizzie is the first persecutor.  Her victim might be the Annoying Geek, the Wanna-Be Diva, the Persistent Jock, or any other outsider.  The main point is that the victim is never to be sympathized with.

This is caused by the sin of pride, the sin of vanity, but over-archingly it is the mimetic desire to be cool, to be looked at as the girl-next-door that every girl should be, and should want to be.  It is improbable that a non-American will be hung upside down from a bridge by a crowd, but it is more than likely that you will run into a social witch-trial at the next gathering you attend. 

Girard’s treatment of society’s necessity for sacrifice, sacral violence and substitution is compellingly akin to his treatment of the characteristics of a great novel.  This is a natural subsequent since literature reflects reality.  The perfect victim is a parallel of the persecutor, reminiscent but not identical.  The victim is sacrificed so that this parallel, the persecutor, can live.  This pattern is suspiciously close to the obligations for a great Story.

The noble hero is the individual who suffers.  He has a period of reminiscence, of revelation.  The sacrificial victim also suffers and undergoes a moment where the surrounding characters undergo a revelation recognize that he is the chosen one.  The fictional hero dies after the revelation – either physically or metaphorically through a change in life or behavior – and his memory perpetuates a good life or his transformed self leads a new life.  The sacrificial victim dies following the moment of reminiscence as well, and Society lives on with a fresh slate that has been cleansed with his blood.

The plot is often confused with a mistaken identity, which always precedes a crisis and either resolution or total destruction.  Both Shakespearean plots and modern comedy thrive on these deceptions, and the unraveling of the errors brings either a wedding or a mass suicide.  The mistaken sacrificial victim also precedes a bloodbath, and this is Girard’s sacrificial crisis.

Girard has noted our admiration for the victim, the underdog.  The crucial point of this comparison is the moment of revelation followed by death and resurrection of the hero in relation to the identification of a sacrificial victim with the victim’s subsequent death and the resurrection of society, the remodel of post-crucifixion literature.

CEO, CFO women are the Wall Street ritual lambs: Zoe last November, now Erin. But theory tells: beware! The blood of your victims will fall upon you, in the next bank run (from René Girard anthropological model of the lamb).

Washington. Ms Clinton has used the imaginative metaphor of  BREAKING THE GLASS CEILING. As the excellent Guglielmo Zucconi (La Repubblica correspondent, June 8th) has explained:

"la barriera trasparente eppure infrangibile che impedisce alle donne di volare" 

"the transparent though unbreakable barrier, not allowing women to fly".

A nice interpretation is that Barack, by being no macho in his family gyneceum, is dealing at the same time with gender and race, trying hard to  break 2 ceilings at the same time (Susan Faludi, NYT op-ed).

The metaphor has already entered our language. Here is an example.

Wall St. is again under the pressure of a subcrime impact on finance, that - without an emergency State aid - would have already degenerated in a systemic meltdown 3 months ago. When the game is tough, women are kicked off from CEO and CFO roles. Actually not just them: in a Sunday meeting, insurance giant under subcrime fever AIG, replaced its CEO, a Martin J. Sullivan - a half an hour ago breaking news. But they are so few, that after Zoe and Erin, we are close to 0%.

From the FT's chief business commentator blog:

June 12, 2008

The lowering of Wall Street’s glass ceiling

The abrupt removal of Erin Callan as Lehman’s CFO yesterday (along with Joe Gregory as Lehman’s chief administrative officer) is first and foremost a sign of Lehman’s fight to regain credibility among investors. But it also means that Ms Callan, who was dubbed “Wall Street’s most powerful woman” in the April issue of Portfolio magazine is powerful no more. She is being unceremoniously bumped down to “a senior position” in the investment banking division. Ms Callan’s move follows the firing of Zoe Cruz, the previous holder of the “most powerful woman on Wall Street” title. She was dismissed as president of Morgan Stanley last November by John Mack, its chairman and chief executive.

One morning last November, Zoe Cruz walked the length of hallway from her executive suite at Morgan Stanley to the office of her boss, chairman and CEO John Mack, who’d called her in for an impromptu meeting. The distance, roughly 50 feet, represented the final leg of her journey to the highest echelons of Wall Street: Three weeks earlier, the 63-year-old Mack had signaled that Cruz was his first choice to replace him as the head of Morgan Stanley when he retired.

portfolio.com, March 17 - April issue

The most promising female candidate, Morgan Stanley co-president Zoe Cruz, was pushed out last fall after the firm posted a $3.7 billion loss from mortgage-related securities. Merrill Lynch, Bear Stearns, and Citigroup underwent C.E.O. searches in recent months, and no women appeared on any of their short lists. (Read more about the workplace battle of the sexes.) 

A handful of women have achieved C.F.O. status at major Wall Street firms. The select group includes Sallie Krawcheck (briefly) and Heidi Miller before her at Citigroup, as well as Dina Dublon at J.P. Morgan Chase and Barbara Yastine at Credit Suisse First Boston. None of them have moved to the top job at their firm or even to an obvious precursor position.

L’espressione ‘capro espiatorio’ ha poi assunto un senso figurato e precisamente indica un individuo o un gruppo sociale che viene selezionato per portare la colpa di una calamità e la cui espulsione rappresenta l’espiazione della colpa stessa. In realtà, la ricerca del capro espiatorio è qualcosa che trascende il concetto di giustizia e la cui origine va identificata piuttosto nell’atto irrazionale di ritenere una o più persone responsabili di una determinata situazione problematica, che può essere di qualsiasi genere.

In questo scritto tratterò unicamente le versioni che ne hanno dato gli antropologi James George Frazer ne ‘Il Ramo d’oro’ e René Girard ne ‘Il capro espiatorio’.

Prima di tutto va sottolineata una differenza fondamentale nella trattazione di questo argomento da parte dei due celebri antropologi: il Frazer esamina il capro espiatorio in una dimensione prettamente religiosa e rituale, limitandosi ad elencarne i principali esempi nel mondo antico e primitivo, senza indagare la cosa in termini etnologici. Per intenderci, il Frazer non analizza l’espressione ‘capro espiatorio’ in base al significato che tutti intendiamo quando affermiamo di un individuo o di una minoranza che essi servono da capro espiatorio a una maggioranza, ma interpreta questo fenomeno esclusivamente come una categoria religiosa a cui in passato corrispondevano determinati riti.

René Girard studia invece l’argomento da una prospettiva diversa, discutendo attorno al meccanismo inconscio della rappresentazione e dell’azione persecutoria e ragionando unicamente sul senso figurato dell’espressione.

James George Frazer

James George Frazer ( Glasgow 1854 – Cambridge 1941) fu un antropologo inglese le cui teorie fornirono un contributo di fondamentale importanza nel suo campo. L’opera che lo rese famoso e per quale tuttora è ricordato è ‘Il Ramo d’Oro’ ( 1925), in cui trattò la storia e l’origine della religione, della magia e di diverse pratiche comuni all’umanità intera ripercorrendo miti, costumi e tradizioni popolari provenienti da tutto il mondo e di differenti epoche storiche.

Tra gli usi e le categorie religiose che egli passò in rassegna vi fu anche quella del capro espiatorio, la cui trattazione tuttavia rappresenta solo una minima parte dell’opera.

Il Frazer afferma la presenza non rara nell’antichità di tentativi di sbarazzarsi d’un colpo di tutti i mali che affliggevano la comunità. Tali tentativi nella fase più arcaica dell’umanità assumevano varie forme, come l’espulsione periodica o occasionale di presunti spiriti maligni che a parere del selvaggio governavano la natura a seconda dei loro capricci influenzando spesso negativamente la vita della comunità. Avveniva così che lo sforzo dei popoli primitivi per far piazza pulita di tutti i guai si concretizzasse in una grande caccia ed espulsione di questi spiriti, attraverso riti che consistevano principalmente nel battere l’aria vuota e nell’innalzare un frastuono tale da spaventare questi fantasmi e metterli in fuga.

“Nell’isola di Rook tra la Nuova Guinea e la nuova Britannia quando accade una disgrazia, tutti gli abitanti si radunano, urlando, imprecando, gridando e battendo l’aria coi bastoni per cacciar via il demonio che si suppone responsabile della sciagura. Dal luogo dove la disgrazia è accaduta lo cacciano passo passo verso il mare e giunti alla spiaggia raddoppiano le grida e i colpi per cacciarlo da tutta l’isola.” Oppure: “Quando infuria una epidemia sulla Costa d’Oro dell’Africa Occidentale, gli abitanti escono di casa armati di clavi e di torce per cacciar via gli spiriti maligni. A un dato segnale, tutta la popolazione comincia con urla spaventose a battere ogni angolo nelle case, poi tutti si gettano come matti per le strade, agitando torce e tirando gran colpi nell’aria. Il tumulto continua finchè qualcuno annunzia che i demoni intimiditi e spaventati son scappati dalla porta della città o del villaggio; il popolo gli corre allora dietro, li insegue per qualche distanza nella foresta e li ammonisce a non tornare più.”

Il Frazer tratta anche un secondo tipo di espulsione, in cui gli influssi malefici venivano incarnati in forme visibili o in cui almeno si credeva di trasmetterli a un intermediario materiale che agisse da veicolo per allontanarli dalla gente e dal villaggio. Tali intermediari materiali potevano essere animali (come capre, polli…) o cose.

“Il veicolo che porta via i demoni può essere di varie specie. Molto comunemente è una barchetta. Così, nel distretto meridionale dell’Isola di Ceram, quando un intero villaggio soffre di una data malattia, fabbricano una piccola nave, la riempiono di riso, tabacco, uova etc., offerto da tutto il popolo. Si attacca sulla barchetta una piccola vela e quando tutto è pronto un uomo chiama con voce stentorea: « O voi malattie tutte che ci avete visitato per tanto tempo e ci avete portato tanto male, ma che ora cessate di tormentarci, noi vi abbiamo preparato questa bella nave fornita di provviste sufficienti per il viaggio. Salpate e partite senza indugio; non tornate mai più e andate piuttosto in qualche terra lontana da questa». Allora dieci o dodici uomini portano la barca alla spiaggia e la fanno andare alla deriva, convinti di essersi liberati dalla malattia.”

L’antropologo inglese a questo punto analizza il fenomeno del capro espiatorio umano elencando una serie di riti che per quanto possa apparire strano trovavano luogo anche nella civilissima Grecia, nonché a Roma.

“Ogni anno, il 14 marzo si portava in processione per le vie di Roma un uomo vestito di pelli, il quale, dopo essere stato battuto con lunghi bastoni, si cacciava via dalla città. Quest’uomo si chiamava Mamurio Veturio, ossia ‘il vecchio Marte’, e poiché la cerimonia aveva luogo il giorno avanti il primo plenilunio di marzo nell’antico anno romano (che cominciava il primo marzo) l’uomo vestito di pelli doveva rappresentare il marzo dell’anno vecchio che veniva cacciato via al principio dell’anno nuovo” . In questo caso un uomo, rappresentante del dio Marte nella sua antica e romana accezione di divinità della vegetazione, veniva cacciato dalla città con la convinzione che portasse sulle sue spalle il fardello di sofferenze del popolo e nella speranza che lo ‘trasmettesse’ ad altre terre. Non a caso infatti questo Mamurio Veturio veniva allontanato nel paese degli Osci, i nemici di Roma.

Ma come affermato in precedenza, anche gli antichi Greci eseguivano riti di questo genere. A tale proposito il Frazer scrive:

“Ogni volta che Marsiglia, una tra le più antiche e splendide città greche, era infestata da una pestilenza, un uomo delle classi povere si offriva come capro espiatorio. Per tutto un anno veniva mantenuto a spese pubbliche. Allo spirar dell’anno, veniva vestito con abiti sacri, ornato di sacri rami e condotto per tutta la città, mentre si innalzavano preghiere perché tutti i mali del popolo ricadessero sulla sua testa. Alla fine lo cacciavano dalla città oppure il popolo fuori delle mura lo lapidava a morte.” Una storia simile rappresenta l’incipit del famoso ‘Satyricon’ di Petronio, dove il protagonista Encolpio viene allontanato proprio dalla città di Marsiglia per scacciare una pestilenza dal suo popolo, fungendo dunque da capro espiatorio.

Ma si parla di capri espiatori anche ad Atene:

“Gli Ateniesi mantenevano regolarmente un certo numero di creature degradate e inutili alle spese dello Stato, e quando cadeva sulla città qualche calamità, come pestilenze, siccità o carestie, sacrificavano come capri espiatori due di questi infelici. Ma tali sacrifici non erano limitati a straordinarie occasioni di pubbliche calamità; sembra che ogni anno alla festa delle Targelie, a maggio, si portassero fuori di Atene e si uccidessero per lapidazione due vittime, una per gli uomini e una per le donne’’.

Infine il Frazer cita alcuni riti simili che trovavano luogo in territori extra-europei, durante l’imperialismo ottocentesco:

“Tra i negri Yoruba dell’Africa Occidentale la vittima umana scelta per il sacrificio può essere tanto un uomo libero quanto uno schiavo, una persona ricca e nobile quanto di umile origine; dopo essere stata scelta e bollata per questo scopo prende il nome di Oluwo. Per tutto il tempo della prigionia può avere tutto quello che desidera ed è ben nutrita. Quando arriva il momento di essere sacrificata viene di solito portata in processione per le strade della città del sovrano che la sacrifica per il benessere del suo governo e per quello di tutte le famiglie e di tutti gli individui suoi sottoposti, perché possa portar via i peccati, le colpe, le disgrazie e la morte di tutti quanti senza eccezione. La gente si precipita fuori di casa per mettere le mani sopra la vittima e trasmetterle così i suoi peccati. Finita questa sfilata, si porta la vittima all’interno di un santuario e le si taglia la testa.”

Quando un rito o una pratica di qualsiasi genere si rivela chiaramente uguale nelle sue linee principali pur essendo in uso presso popolazioni diverse, nell’analizzare i motivi di questa somiglianza ci si trova di fronte a due alternative: o si suppone che tra i popoli nei quali è in vigore tale costume vi sia stato, in un qualsiasi periodo storico, un contatto, o si deve concludere che la pratica in questione sia semplicemente la manifestazione di un meccanismo mentale, nonché inconscio, comune a tutti gli uomini. Esaminando i riti di capro espiatorio riportatici dal Frazer constatiamo immediatamente che, per evidenti ragioni storiche, essi non possono essere simili tra loro in virtù di un contatto tra le civiltà che vi hanno fatto ricorso; siamo costretti dunque ad affermare l’esistenza universale di una vera e propria rappresentazione sacrificale, di cui purtroppo il Frazer manca di esporre le cause inconsce e psicologiche.

René Girard

René Girard ( nato ad Avignone nel 1923 e tuttora in vita) è un celebre antropologo e critico letterario. Autore di diversi testi appartenenti al campo dell’antropologia filosofica ( “Delle cose nascoste sin dalla fondazione del mondo”, “ La violenza e il sacro”, etc.) la sua opera ha avuto ripercussioni su studi di psicologia, storia, teologia e sociologia. La sua teoria principale è quella che vede nel sacrificio la via d’uscita dalla violenza ‘mimetica’, ovvero imitativa. Girard analizza principalmente le origini della violenza e il legame strettissimo che congiunge quest’ultima al sacro, e concepisce l’Uomo come il più mimetico di tutti gli animali, ovvero il più portato in assoluto all’imitazione. La sua è una prospettiva cristiana, cosa che gli è valsa numerose critiche, nonostante egli abbia più volte affermato che la sua opera va letta esclusivamente per il suo contenuto antropologico e considerata come una qualsiasi teoria scientifica.

Ne ‘Il capro espiatorio’ (1982) prende in esame il meccanismo persecutorio che si cela dietro il fenomeno del capro espiatorio, dandone infine un’originale interpretazione.

Girard afferma che tutto l’ordinamento culturale trova le sue radici nel sacrificio, il quale implica una vittima scelta per caso o che magari non ha nulla a che vedere con l’evento accaduto. Condizione di base per la ricerca di un capro espiatorio è uno stato di crisi, che comporta l’indebolimento delle istituzioni normali e favorisce l’istituzione di folle, cioè di assembramenti popolari spontanei, che finiscono col sostituirsi interamente a istituzioni indebolite o con l’esercitare su di esse una pressione decisiva. Le circostanze che danno vita a queste crisi sono cause esterne come epidemie, inondazioni, carestie, oppure cause interne, come discordie politiche o conflitti religiosi. In casi di tal genere si verifica una radicale rovina del sociale stesso, la fine delle regole e delle differenze che definiscono gli ordini culturali, dal momento che il crollo delle istituzioni cancella o comprime le differenze gerarchiche. La crisi dunque, comporta una indifferenziazione generalizzata: infatti la confusione produce l’insorgere delle folle e gli uomini in questo stato si assomigliano in maniera disordinata in un solo luogo, nello stesso momento. La folla tende sempre alla persecuzione in questi casi perché le cause naturali di ciò che la sconvolge non possono interessarla. La folla, per definizione, cerca l’azione, ma non può agire sulle cause naturali. Dunque cerca una causa accessibile che sazi la sua brama di violenza; i suoi membri quindi sono sempre dei persecutori in partenza, perché pensano di purgare la comunità dagli elementi impuri che, secondo loro, la corrompono. Essi arrivano sempre a convincersi che un piccolo numero di individui, spesso uno solo, possa rendersi estremamente nocivo all’intera comunità, malgrado la sua debolezza relativa.

Girard sostiene la presenza di accuse caratteristiche nelle persecuzioni collettive. Quest’ultime riguardano: crimini di violenza che hanno per oggetto gli esseri verso i quali la violenza è più criminale (come re, padri, individui inermi, bambini…), crimini sessuali (incesti, stupri, bestialità) e crimini religiosi (profanazione di templi o edifici religiosi, mancata osservazione di un dettame religioso, etc.). Tutti questi crimini, a guardar bene, si rivolgono contro le fondamenta stesse dell’ordine culturale, le differenze familiari e gerarchiche senza le quali non vi sarebbe ordine sociale.

In altri casi, succede spesso che nella scelta delle vittime non siano determinanti dei crimini, quanto piuttosto l’appartenenza a certe categorie particolarmente esposte alla persecuzione. Queste categorie sono sempre minoranze etniche o religiose, le quali tendono a polarizzare contro di sé l’odio delle maggioranze. Nella società occidentale ad esempio gli Ebrei sono stati frequentemente perseguitati; lo stesso è accaduto ai musulmani in India e, caso ancor più celebre, ai cristiani durante l’Impero Romano.

Esiste anche un terzo criterio di selezione vittimaria: accanto a criteri religiosi ed etnici infatti ve ne sono anche di puramente fisici. La malattia, l’instabilità mentale, le deformità genetiche e le mutilazioni accidentali tendono anch’esse a polarizzare i persecutori.

In generale, più ci si allontana dallo stato sociale comune, più aumentano i rischi di persecuzione, e lo si vede facilmente non solo nel caso di coloro che stanno in fondo alla scala sociale, ma anche di quelli che la presiedono: i ricchi, i potenti, i sovrani, i detentori del potere. La storia dell’umanità infatti è piena di monarchi e governatori uccisi dalle folle in periodi di crisi, nella speranza e nella convinzione che con l’eliminazione fisica di quest’ultimi si potesse tornare a uno stato di normalità.

Infine, ultimo criterio di selezione vittimaria è quello che colpisce gli stranieri: nell’ottica degli indigeni essi sono incapaci di rispettare le vere differenze e il più delle volte o non hanno gusto o sono privi di buoni costumi. In realtà, a far paura dello straniero non è tanto l’altro νόμος, una cultura differente, ma l’anomalia, l’anormalità. Per tutti gli individui scorgere la differenza fuori dal sistema è terrificante perché fa capire la verità del sistema, la sua relatività e la sua fragilità, nonché la sua mortalità.

Questi sono i vari stereotipi della persecuzione e, secondo Girard, essi sono tutti riscontrabili nel mito greco, il quale tra l’altro ha la caratteristica di partire molto spesso da una situazione di crisi per concludersi poi con un vero e proprio ritorno all’ordine. Il caso più eclatante è il mito di Edipo trattato nell’ “Edipo re” da Sofocle. La peste devasta Tebe; ed ecco il primo segnale. Edipo è responsabile perché si è macchiato di parricidio e di incesto con sua madre, crimini che appartengono alle categorie prima esposte: ed ecco il secondo stereotipo. Per mettere fine all’epidemia, il responso dell’oracolo esige che si cacci via da Tebe l’abominevole criminale. Altro stereotipo: Edipo, come dice il nome stesso, zoppica; è dunque fisicamente deforme. Infine, è straniero e non è uno qualsiasi, ma il re, categoria altamente esposta alla persecuzione.

Chiaramente, quanto maggiore è il numero di segni vittimari che un individuo possiede, tanto più maggiori sono le possibilità che egli attiri su di sé l’odio della massa, e alla luce di quanto appena detto Edipo è un vero e proprio agglomerato di segni vittimari.

L’argomentazione di Girard si fa ancora più interessante nel momento in cui prende in esame anche la Bibbia, in particolare il Nuovo Testamento. Il capro espiatorio nei Vangeli è ovviamente il Cristo, vittima innanzitutto di una profonda crisi della società ebraica, che sfocerà nella distruzione totale dello Stato meno di mezzo secolo dopo per mano del futuro imperatore romano Tito.

I Vangeli non si servono certo dell’espressione ‘capro espiatorio’ per designare il Messia ma ne usano un’altra: agnello di Dio. Essa esprime, come capro espiatorio, la sostituzione di una vittima a tutte le altre. Ma scambiando i connotati sgradevoli e ripugnanti del capro con quelli interamente positivi dell’agnello, quest’espressione indica con maggior efficacia l’innocenza della vittima e l’ingiustizia della sua condanna, oltre che l’assenza di causa dell’odio che subisce.

L’antropologo francese afferma che i Vangeli respingono la persecuzione, e tale rifiuto risulterebbe chiaro specialmente nel racconto della passione del Cristo, in cui è più volte messa in evidenza la non colpevolezza di Gesù e l’irrazionalità dei sentimenti negativi che egli ha finito col catalizzare contro di sé. Pilato ad esempio, dopo aver interrogato Gesù, afferma: Io non trovo in lui alcun capo d’accusa. (Giovanni-18, 38). Giovanni riporta anche questa frase (15, 25): Essi mi hanno odiato senza una causa. Nella sua apparente banalità, questa sentenza enuncia il rifiuto delle accuse stereotipate e di tutto quello che le folle persecutorie accettano ad occhi chiusi. Gesù inoltre è continuamente ricollegato a tutti i capri espiatori dell’Antico Testamento; egli è la pietra scartata dai costruttori che diverrà testata d’angolo.

I persecutori di Cristo, come tutti i persecutori del resto, credono sempre nell’eccellenza della loro causa ma in realtà odiano senza causa; e soprattutto, non sanno quello che fanno: Padre mio, perdonali, perché essi non sanno quello che fanno (Luca-23, 34), affermazione che non mette in risalto solo la bontà del Cristo, ma la natura irrazionale della rappresentazione persecutoria.

Girard si serve poi di due episodi evangelici per mettere nuovamente in luce l’importanza della massa nella persecuzione di un individuo: la decisione finale di Pilato sulla sorte di Gesù e il rinnegamento di Pietro.

Nel momento in cui sentenzia l’innocenza del Cristo, Pilato non è ancora dominato dall’influsso della folla. Egli è colui che detiene veramente il potere, ma al di sopra di lui vi è la folla che, una volta mobilitata, ha la vittoria assoluta, trascina dietro di sé le istituzioni e le costringe a dissolversi in se stessa. Questa folla è “il gruppo in fusione, la comunità che si dissolve e non può più rinsaldarsi se non a spese della sua vittima, del suo capro espiatorio. Non si tratta di studiare la psicologia di Pilato, bensì si sottolineare l’onnipotenza della folla, a cui, malgrado le sue velleità di resistenza, l’autorità sovrana è costretta a inchinarsi”. Nella visione di Girard dunque, il famoso gesto del lavarsi le mani del governatore romano non è né il paradigma della codardia né uno dei più grandi esempi di democrazia del mondo antico (Pilato decide di lasciare l’ultima parola al popolo), ma piuttosto la dimostrazione del meccanismo mimetico (nella fattispecie vittimario) che la massa innesca, in situazioni come queste, su qualsiasi individuo.

L’episodio del rinnegamento di Pietro ne è un'ulteriore riprova: nemmeno i discepoli più cari in realtà possono resistere all’effetto di capro espiatorio, il che rivela l’onnipotenza della folla e della rappresentazione persecutoria sull’Uomo.

A tal proposito, Girard scrive: “All’origine del rinnegamento c’è forse una certa paura ma c’è soprattutto vergogna. La vergogna è un sentimento mimetico, è senz’altro il sentimento mimetico per eccellenza. Per provarlo, bisogna che io mi guardi con gli stessi occhi di chi mi fa vergogna. Pietro ha vergogna di quel Gesù che tutti disprezzano, vergogna del modello che si è dato, vergogna quindi di ciò che lui stesso è. Per non farsi crocifiggere il modo migliore è fare come tutti gli altri e partecipare alla crocifissione. Il rinnegamento è dunque un episodio della passione, una specie di risucchio, un breve vortice nella vasta corrente del mimetismo vittimario che spinge tutti verso il Golgota.”

Secondo Girard infine i Vangeli e la rivelazione cristiana hanno svolto un ruolo decisivo nella storia occidentale: il crollo dell’intera rappresentazione persecutoria. Respingendo quest’ultima, ne hanno smontato gli ingranaggi, mettendoli così allo scoperto. La riprova di tutto ciò starebbe nel fatto che al giorno d’oggi, più che nei secoli scorsi, crediamo sempre meno alla colpevolezza delle vittime che i meccanismi persecutori esigono. Nel mondo antico era diverso, e Girard si serve anche dell’etimologia per dimostrarlo: nel latino classico ad esempio non c’è alcuna implicazione d’ingiustizia nei termini persequi e persecutio. Anche in greco, martyr significa soltanto testimone, e sarà solo l’influenza cristiana a fare evolvere la parola verso il significato attuale di innocente perseguitato, di vittima eroica di una violenza ingiusta.

Solo i testi evangelici hanno saputo compiere il “miracolo” (così lo definisce Girard) di distogliere gli uomini dalle loro vittime, di dimostrare loro che chi perseguita lo fa senza un motivo. Hanno insegnato loro inoltre ad esplorare pazientemente le cause naturali di una crisi, senza buttarsi a capofitto su presunte cause sociali, ossia vittime.

“È in corso una rivoluzione formidabile. - scrive Girard - Gli uomini, o almeno certi uomini, non si lasciano più sedurre dalle persecuzioni, nemmeno da quelle che fanno appello alle loro credenze. Lungo tutta la storia occidentale le rappresentazioni persecutorie si indeboliscono e crollano. Questo non sempre significa che le violenze diminuiscono di quantità e di intensità. Significa tuttavia che i persecutori non possono più imporre durevolmente il loro modo di vedere agli uomini che li circondano. Ci vollero secoli per demistificare le persecuzioni medievali, bastano pochi anni per screditare i persecutori contemporanei. Responsabile di tutto ciò è la rivelazione di Cristo”.

This belief is why I write a blog. It’s why I write fiction and erotica, too. It’s why I draw – another form of conversing. Which brings up the point that there are many forms of conversing. Which brings me to the title of this post.

Crimson and Clover Over and Over

My own life has taught me the most honest conversation comes from the body. Many people will disagree with that statement on the face of it, but consider how easy it is to lie with words and hard to lie with your body. Have you ever been with someone who said they weren’t shy, but at a party, you knew they were? Have you ever slept with someone who said they loved you, but in bed, you knew they didn’t?

Things like lie detectors rely on the fact that it’s much harder to make your skin lie than your mouth. Those adept at reading body language discern the truth from lies for this very reason, and do you realize how many different interest groups are seeking better understanding of body language, even a science of it? From police and psychologists to fiction writers. Don't I love the author who can get across this sort of complexity.

Sure, the body can be overcome. Not altered but managed, which seems to be the essence of a great deal of religious morality, from Christians to Buddhists. Overcoming the body? I’ve never been clear on the rationale: you mean, avoiding pain by avoiding pleasure? What's the point?

Nevertheless, the ability to overcome the body has become so identified as the mark of spiritual athletes that religions believe the failure to achieve it, and certainly a lack of interest in achieving it, is virtually a modern disease.

Where You Begin is Where You End

But it seems to me, if you pursue the goal of overcoming your body, you’re pursuing self-creation rather than self-discovery. Isn’t that more like hubris than humility? I mean, it challenges Creation as somehow deficient, as potentially made better by you.

I know, you want to mention something here. I can see your shoulders tightening, see you leaning forward, your eyebrows flexing with thought. I'm pretty good at reading body language. Wait, you say, what about the Fall? Isn't trying to overcome yourself only about a return to the real creation, God’s Creation, since we made such a bad show of it the first time?

Don't know, but I'm beginning to doubt it because, true or not, that myth had to be made, you see. If we each looked to our own bodies for what seemed most true and valuable and desirable, we’d risk anarchy. We’d risk conflict on a Girardian scale (see my posts on Rene Girard for more), where everyone’s fighting for his right to party. That leaves culture bereft of the self-sacrificers it needs for unity.

Culture is built on religion and religion is built on self-sacrifice. Some few or many must accept the limitations others don’t. Those who don’t sacrifice offer palatable reasons to the self-sacrificers, whatever works given the religion’s mindset: you’re heroic, you’ll be rewarded later, you’ll avoid pain, you’re evil and have all you deserve.

If you think this sounds a little Nietzschean, well yeah, a little. I’ve always liked his questions. His answers leave a lot to be desired.

The Sound of Silence

These thoughts came to me recently as I wrestled with the Catholic Church’s many imposed silences.

For example, you won’t see Catholic leaders discussing women’s ordination anymore. Pope John Paul II silenced debate on that. He didn’t just disagree and say his decision was final and let the chatter go on. He told Catholics the world over they must not mention it again on pain of discipline. Did the same with certain voices calling for sacramental inclusion of committed gays and lesbians. No Jesits for the sodomites.

And there are other silences occurring in my life -- with family members, with fellow bloggers who don’t like my words, with friends who expect more compromise from me.

I'm guilty of many things, but I've never been guilty of silence. I've poked a few bears and hope you will, too. I hope you'll go make some noise. 

«Mais si l’on vous entend bien, au travers de tout ce que vous décrivez, de ces évolutions catastrophiques, provoquées et accélérées par les pratiques de notre système, si l’on vous entend bien c’est tout notre système qui est en cause?»

Un autre auditeur s’exclame «Eh oui!», puis un des membres du panel répondit d’un seul mot: «Oui.» Il y eut un lourd silence de bien plus d’une minute, ce qui paraît fort long, comme si l’on attendait soit une contradiction-miracle, soit un développement explicatif, soit un débat inévitable, – mais rien ne vint.

Lu chez dedefensa.org - hat-tip: Sanaa.

In excusing god, bluegrassrambling (David H.) writes

If I go to the Bible looking for answers, I am doomed. What I will find are excuses for God. If I go to the Bible looking for inspiration from others who have wrestled with my own questions (and not found answers), then I am saved. Then, I might encounter God.

Why Catholic?

People who are not Catholic make certain assumptions about my beliefs and lifestyle. Depending on how informed they are, they may expect, since I'm Catholic, I pray to the saints. They may expect I attend Mass and confession every week. They may expect I don't use birth control and that I excoriate premarital sex, homosexuality, and any sort of sex that doesn't allow for the possibility of procreation. They may expect I attend bingo and craft fairs and send my children to a Catholic school.

Well, some of that is true. Okay, none of it is. Wait...I do attend craft fairs. But the point is, there are many kinds of Catholics, and no one knows that better than another Catholic.

If you ask a group of Catholics what makes them Catholic, you'll get a variety of answers. Most will mention participation in the sacraments and their attachment to the culture (family, a lifetime of habit). A man once emphasized his profession rested only on the Nicene Creed! I have yet to meet a Catholic who claims to read the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Except me. But then, I read the Bible, too. No, not very Catholic of me.

Because of this divergence within the religion, parishes are always looking for new programs to educate their adults in the faith. Locally, we've had the program "Why Catholic?", which is a seasonal exploration of the Catechism in a small group format.

I attended one session when these started, and found little of interest. That may have been more because I joined a group whose members seemed incapable of introspection and analysis. A process for examining one's faith became little more than the adult version of the Baltimore Catechism. In other words, the chance to develop personally significant questions about faith and religion became merely a new venue for uninspired answers -- Catechism Lite.

The Old Question: Why Do We Suffer?

I'm not the only Catholic I know so disenchanted with the Church as it is. As I mentioned above, there are a great variety of practicing Catholics. The sexual abuse scandal and, more importantly, the bishops' cover-up have taken their toll on believers. The attempt by every Pope in the forty years since Vatican II to roll the Church back to its medieval disposition has also had its effects. 

It wasn't a century ago that "Americanism" -- that is, democracy -- was considered a heresy by the Church, despite how Pope Benedict XVI now compliments the U.S. on it's freedom of religion. As with everything said by the Pope, that compliment is a veiled criticism. After all, freedom of religion has also come to mean freedom from religion.

But I started this meandering post with a reflection on the difference between people who want answers and people who want questions. I agree with the Cross Left post that the Bible is a sorry place to find answers. Maybe that's why my more traditional Christian friends seem to be more hostile, more blamers. There's a lot of blaming going on in the Bible, especially of disappointed believers blaming God for something they should have gotten or should have been spared.

The lesson there, so Rene Girard suggests, is that Jesus came and died for the very purpose of showing us the result of all that blaming. To get us to see that blaming is a sort of violence that can escalate to things like murder and war, though God never commands such harm.

In "excusing god", David H. mentions a book that says the Bible never tells us why God allows suffering in the world. Bart Ehrman, author of God's Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question -- Why We Suffer, "found his faith unraveling" as he looked for answers in the Bible but found only excuses for God's failure. This question is one I've asked, too. From a previous post of mine:

The best part of Love Your Enemy: Within a Divided Self is the way [James] Alison has answered one of the hardest questions put to any theist: why does God allow good people to suffer? Until reading this, I was settling for the old answer that it’s all because God allows free will, so, like a reality television show, God’s constrained from interfering in 'real life.' A gameshow run by a sadist.

Alison acknowledges that God seems detached from judgments, sending 'the sun to rise on the evil and on the good' and the 'rain on the just and on the unjust.' But this indifference, Alison says, isn’t the kind we suppose it is. It’s not that he’s left us on our own until Judgment Day, nor that we’ll get our due in the next life, nor that the best among us will be revealed by their suffering (all the Sunday School answers I remember). God isn’t responding to our morality. God doesn’t react to what we do. God doesn’t react at all.

'On the contrary,' [writes Alison,] 'God is able to be towards each one of us without ever being over-against any one of us. God is in no sort of rivalry at all with any one of us, is not part of the same order of being as us, which is how God can create and move us without displacing us. Whereas we who are on the same level as each other can only move each other by displacing each other.' (Mirror Neurons Don't Mean a Girardian Revolution)

James Alison is a Catholic priest and theologian, and perhaps the best interpreter of Rene Girard's anthropology of religion. His answer to suffering is that God doesn't allow suffering because God doesn't participate in that kind of relationship. When I first read this, I had a sense of God's remoteness and felt a loss of that personal God who had always companioned me. But over time, she returned and, when she did, she brought better questions.

The New Question: How Do We Interact Without Reacting?

If there is this grand divide between human life and divine life, a difference so profound that God can interact without reacting, what must the New Creation be like? I mean, how can anyone possibly interact without reacting? It's a strange thing to imagine being towards your friends and family -- let alone strangers -- without a sense of competition, envy, or rivalry; without a need for fairness, justice, or payback. How would it look to simply be towards someone?

The closest I could think of was that of a mother for her children. Yet, there's no lack of reaction in that! So, not an answer. A better question, one about Heaven that might have an answer right here. Better questions, not better answers, always energize my faith. If you find your faith dwindling or dead, maybe it's just because you've been given too many answers and need to find a few questions instead.

La chanson de John Lennon est une ode à la paix, au partage, à la fraternité. C'est pourquoi elle plait tant. Elle rejoint le coeur des hommes qui aspirent à l'amour. Elle évoque le paradis, lieu d'harmonie entre les êtres : "le loup habitera avec l'agneau, la panthère se couchera avec le chevreau, le veau, le lionceau et la bête grasse iront ensemble" (Isaïe chap.11, verset 6). Mais c'est aussi une chanson militante.

La religion facteur de guerre ?

John Lennon accuse la religion d'être une cause de conflits armés entre les hommes. Il en appelle donc à se dégager de ces systèmes de croyance pour vivre enfin en paix. Bien entendu, il suffit de jeter un coup d'œil sur l'histoire des hommes pour voir que les guerres de religions ont été nombreuses. Et l'actualité la plus récente, nous montre que des hommes sont prêts à sacrifier leur vie pour tuer et anéantir l'ennemi, le "mécréant" ou "l'hérétique", au nom de Dieu. Voltaire montrait déjà l'absurdité de ceux qui utilisent la religion pour s'entretuer : "chaque chef des meurtriers fait bénir ses drapeaux et invoque Dieu solennellement avant d’aller exterminer son prochain." (Dictionnaire philosophique, 1764). Pourtant, ce n'est pas la religion qui est la cause de la guerre mais le pouvoir. Les seigneurs, les rois, les peuples s'opposent pour des raisons économiques ou politiques. Les différences de culture, donc de religions, ne sont qu'un moyen d'unir les combattants sous un même drapeau et de donner une justification plus noble à l'ignoble combat mené. Par exemple, le conflit entre catholique et protestant en Irlande du Nord trouvait sa source non dans la foi des belligérants, mais dans la question de la souveraineté du peuple et la politique colonialiste de l'Angleterre. La religion n'était qu'une manière de distinguer ces deux cultures et ces deux volontés politiques divergentes entre ceux qui voulaient l'autonomie de l'Irlande du Nord et les partisans du rattachement à la Grande-Bretagne. Les conflits sociaux ne sont pas du à la religion. C'est la religion qui est utilisée comme étendard par ceux qui ont ou veulent le pouvoir. La religion est utilisée pour unifier les combattants autour d'un idéal souvent patriotique.

Dans l'histoire, les guerres de religion sont peu nombreuses. Les guerres les plus meurtrières, que ce soient celles menées par Napoléon Bonaparte au XIXe siècle ou les guerres mondiales du XXe siècle, que ce soient les guerres de décolonisation en Afrique ou les guerres civiles en Espagne ou en Amérique du Sud, n'ont rien de religieux. Les guerres menées par les romains ou celles menées par les vickings n'ont pas eu pour objet la conversion des peuples conquis.

La religion n'est pas en soi un facteur de division et de guerre. Elle peut être dévoyée par les autorités politiques pour servir leurs intérêts, pour cacher leurs buts aux peuples. Mais elles ne sont pas toutes intrinsèquement mauvaises. Si la guerre est encouragée par certains textes dits sacrés, ce n'est pas une généralité. Il y a, dans chaque religion, des artisans de paix et des artisans de guerre. Il y a, comme dans toute institution, des personnes qui ont un zèle destructeur et d'autres qui portent le souci du respect. On ne peut pas jeter le discrédit sur l'ensemble des croyants. Lennon est donc injuste.

Au rêve de Lennon, il faut opposer celui d'un vrai croyant engagé. Martin Luther-King ( 1929-1968 ) était un pasteur profondément croyant en Jésus-Christ. Il n'a pas prôné la guerre des races - comme l'ont fait les Blacks Panthers avec leur volonté de faire advenir le "Black power" (pouvoir noir) - mais la fraternité entre les hommes. C'est lui qui a obtenu un "prix Nobel" (en 1964) pour son action en faveur de la paix, non Lennon. Lui aussi a milité contre la guerre du Vietnam, mais pas en se moquant des militaires et de l'Amérique. Il fait le choix de la non violence, au nom même de sa foi, en imitant l'exemple d'un autre croyant, d'une autre religion : Gandhi. Alors que Lennon écrivait des chansons qui lui apportaient la fortune, King écrivait des discours qui ne lui rapportaient rien. Alors que Lennon fait le rêve d'une humanité sans Dieu et sans dieux, King espère que Dieu sera reconnu comme Père des hommes : « Je fais le rêve qu'un jour chaque vallée soit glorifiée, que chaque colline et chaque montagne soit aplanie, que les endroits rudes soient transformées en plaines, que les endroits tortueux soient redressés, que la gloire du Seigneur soit révélée et que tous les vivants le voient tous ensemble. » (extrait du discours fait le 23 août 1963 à Washington) Lennon croit que la fraternité provient de la négation de Dieu, du meurtre du Père comme dirait Freud, alors que King voit en Dieu la seule source de paix, le véritable sens de la fraternité, l'origine de la communion. Lequel de ces deux rêves est le plus convainquant ?

Rappelons que la paix en Europe est due à des croyants. Ce sont l'italien Alcide de Gasperi, le français Robert Schuman, l'allemand Konrad Adenauer, tous trois leaders de partis démocrates chrétiens, qui ont fondé la communauté européenne, facteur d'union et de paix entre des peuples déchirés par plusieurs guerres. Ces croyants ont changé la face du monde, pas Lennon.

L'origine des conflits

La guerre n'est pas le propre des religions. C'est que le conflit est inhérent à la vie sociale. Au niveau des couples, il y a des conflits qui peuvent être importants. Les disputes montrent les difficultés de se mettre d'accord avec celui que l'on aime ou que l'on a aimé. Des hommes sont capables de violence contre leur femme. L'amour peut se transformer en haine lors du divorce au point que des femmes accusent l'homme de pédophilie pour avoir la garde exclusive des enfants. Et cela peut même conduire au meurtre passionnel quand son conjoint décide de tout quitter. La religion n'a rien a voir là dedans. Comme elle n'a rien a voir avec les conflits de voisinage qui dégénèrent et font le bonheur des émissions de télévision qui attirent une forte audience avec certaines histoires personnelles. Au Moyen Age, les différents entre gentilshommes se réglaient par le duel, contre l'Église a lutté pour obtenir son interdiction. Aujourd'hui, les règlements de compte et vendettas, ces vengeances meurtrières entre familles se poursuivent dans certaines régions. Les mafias tuent, mais jamais au nom de la religion. Les révolutionnaires ont tué, au nom de l'athéisme. En Espagne, en 1936, les anarchistes et les gauchistes ont tués des religieux et incendiés des églises. C'est donc une erreur de croire que la religion est l'ennemie de la paix et que l'absence de religion suffit à obtenir la paix. Si la religion était le seul motif de guerre et de violence nous ne connaitrions pas tant de malheurs et de déchirements.

Bien sûr, John Lennon mentionne d'autres causes de conflits, en particulier les inégalités économiques, l'avoir, les possessions. Il a raison. L'apôtre Jacques écrivait au Ier siècle de notre ère que les guerres viennent des passions : « vous convoitez, et vous n'avez pas ; vous êtes meurtrier, vous êtes jaloux et vous n'arrivez pas à obtenir ; vous êtes dans un état de lutte et de guerre » (épitre de Jacques chap.4, verset 1-2). René Girard a montré comment le "désir mimétique", la volonté d'obtenir ce que l'autre possède, est une source de violence. Il suffit de regarder les enfants jouer ensemble pour constater que ce besoin d'obtenir ce que l'autre a est profond. Très tôt, l'enfant s'approprie certains jouets et convoite celui de l'autre, n'hésitant pas à le prendre de force ou à crier pour le posséder. Partager s'apprend. Le rêve de Lennon d'un monde sans possession est donc complètement utopique, irréel. On peut même s'étonner de cette proposition dans sa chanson : lui qui possédait une grande fortune, qui était très attaché à Yoko Ono, le voilà qui dit aux autres de ne pas s'attacher aux choses... Serait-il donc communiste ? Non, sinon il aurait donné une partie de sa fortune au Parti... Serait-il donc bouddhiste ? Comment rouler en limousine en étant bouddhiste... Lennon lance des mots en l'air, mais ça ne le concerne pas. Il rêve d'un monde sans inégalité, mais il n'agit pas pour les réduire, il parle de fraternité mais il ne fait pas de geste concret de partage. Il semble que cette chanson soit juste un idéal imaginaire. Coluche, lui, a appelé les gens à le rejoindre pour combattre la pauvreté, pour partager le pain avec les nécessiteux, pour tendre la main aux démunis. Il a fondé les "restaurants du cœurs" qui œuvrent encore après sa mort. Mais à quoi sert la chanson de John Lennon si ce n'est nier Dieu pour faire de lui une idole ?

John Lennon est un peu rousseauiste : il pense que l'homme est bon mais que la société, à travers ses institutions, ses structures, le corrompt, le dénature, lui inculque le mauvais. Pourtant le mal de l'homme vient de son coeur, pas uniquement de son éducation. C'est Thomas Hobbes qui a raison : l'homme est un loup pour l'homme. On règle nos comptes avec les autres, on fait justice. Et Lennon n'échappe pas à la règle. Après la séparation des Beatles, il a tenu à dire ce qui lui revenait dans la création des chansons et bien distinguer l'apport de chacun. Dans ce même album "Imagine" où il parle de fraternité, il lance des flèches assassine à Paul McCartney : « Ces ragots qui disaient que tu étais mort étaient vrais », « Le son que tu produis est de la musique d'ascenseur à mes oreilles », « Le seul truc que t’aies fait, c’est "Yesterday"/Depuis, tu n’es qu’"Another Day" » (extraits traduit de la chanson « How Do You Sleep »). John n'est pas si cool qu'il le montre. Il a du ressentiment et il l'exprime.

Conclusion

"Imagine" n'est qu'un mensonge d'un chanteur qui s'enrichit en faisant plaisir à son public hippie. Mais le message n'a pas de sens. La paix ne se décrète pas et ce n'est pas en essayant de gommer tout ce qui est source de différence que l'on a la paix. Les guerres de famille, entre générations, entre parents et enfants, entre frères et sœurs, entre cousins, montrent assez que la paix se cultive par des efforts, par le dialogue, par des marques d'estime et de reconnaissances, elle ne tombe pas du ciel. Ce n'est pas en rêvant à la paix qu'on la fait advenir, mais en agissant, comme l'a fait le pape Jean-Paul II et comme le fait le pape Benoît XVI : en appelant les religions à travailler pour la paix. Les papes ont plus fait pour la paix réelle que John Lennon et tous ses adeptes.

A "Imagine" de Lennon, je préfère "Oh happy day", chanson de joie, d'amour, de fraternité, de louange à Jésus-Christ. Écoutez la version de Florent Pagny et Carole Fredericks :

[vodpod id=Groupvideo.1448021&w=425&h=350&fv=]

For Girard human selves and human desire are structured by what he calls mimesis, which means that we learn to want things by seeing other people want them. The problem is that mimesis all to often takes a rivalrous form: I want what you want which creates competition and potentially conflict.

This conflict can threaten to unravel the fabric of human society, but societies have found a way to defuse that conflict, at least in the short run. They do this by means of what Girard calls the scapegoat mechanism. When rivalrous conflict gets out of hand, the members of a group will settle on someone who becomes the focus of the group's "wrath." This someone - the scapegoat - is "expelled," often murderously, and this expulsion restores harmony by creating the feeling that the source of conflict has been banished.

What Girard argues is that the history of myth and religion repeatedly display attempts to cover over these expulsions of the innocent. The myths and rituals of sacrifice to appease god or the gods invest the scapegoat mechanism with sacred legitimacy. Thus we invest the victim with sacred power and authority, since the expulsion is that which reestablishes harmony. We cover up our crime of killing the innocent by turning it into a "necessary" part of a divinely ordained order.

However, says Girard, the Bible "unmasks" this sacred lie by presenting the victim as unambiguously innocent. The death of Jesus, as recorded in the gospels, most clearly reveals the mendacity of the scapegoat mechanism. When the Roman and Jewish authorities come together to kill Jesus the gospels leave no doubt that it's an act of murder, even though it's rationalized by various parties as a means of restoring order (see especially Girard's excellent I See Satan Fall Like Lightning).

Alison elaborates Girard's line of thought in more explicitly theological terms. He contends that Jesus' death and resurrection defeat the powers of violence and scapegoating by displaying those powers' ultimate impotence. God, who comes to us in Jesus, is completely "other than" the death and violence according to which we have structured our life together. Jesus' death, for Alison, doesn't satisfy God's wrath, but shows a God of unconditional love who is willing to occupy the place of utmost shame and weakness in order to break down our stony hearts. He absorbs our wrath.

One of the reasons I find Alison's approach is so appealing is that it shows the gospel as something genuinely new and radical. God isn't caught up in the same economy of payback and tit-for-tat that we seem to be. He has nothing to do with that retributive scheme. The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus are an intrusion of a fundamentally different order into the one we have built for ourselves. And this intrusion, which is followed by the gifting of the Spirit, allows us to learn to participate in this new way of being.

Jesus, who comes to us as the "forgiving victim," enables us to live in a way that doesn't depend on defining ourselves over against others. And doesn't depend on sacrificing others to our desire for security. When we live with the understanding that God is unconditionally for us, we can gradually learn to let go of the fear that makes violence and sacrifice seem necessary in the first place.

As an anthropologist and student of texts, Girard seems to see the implications of his theory being primarily for human society, ethics, and politics. And Alison more or less follows him here; the "new creation" that we're being invitied to participate in seems chiefly characterized by transformed relationships between human beings. As a gay Catholic, Alison deploys these insights to powerful effect in thinking about how the church has victimized gay people but also about how all Christians can begin to live together in ways that don't depend on defining "in" and "out" groups.

Important as this work is, I'd also like to see this line of thought developed in a way that takes into account our relationship with the non-human world. After all, if God is the creator of all that is, his redemptive action presumably has implications for the entire world, not just us. Moreover, it's no secret that the victims of sacrifice have often been our non-human fellow creatures. The scapegoat was originally, after all, a goat. Is there good news for him here too? And for us with respect to our felt need to dominate the non-human world?

It's more than a little ironic that we in the "enlightened" modern world subject animals to suffering and death on a scale that might well have made priests of the most blood-soaked cults of the ancient world blush. For us, animals have long represented both the "base" part of our nature (instinct, lust, violence) and, paradoxically, pure unspoiled nature. Consequently, we project both our fears and desires onto them, investing them with a kind of mythical power. At the same time we reduce them to commodities in our industrial systems of food, entertainment, and science. On a Girardian reading, we inflict violence on them because it's what we think we have to do to get by in this world, to suppress our fears of our own violence and to assuage our fears of death and of being victimized.

But if Girard and Alison are right, then the death of Jesus shows us that there is no "necessary" violence. Because God loves us unconditionally, and because that love has the last word in a universe seemingly characterized by confict, enmity, and the struggle to get ahead and be on top, we can learn to let go of the need to secure our place in this world by means of violence. We don't need to sacrifice animals to the "gods" of appetite, safety, health, and science. We can trust that God will hold us in being and that we can even occupy the "place of shame" without losing ourselves. Moreover, as the theologian Stephen Webb has argued, we can be free to make friends with the animals. Just as Jeus is the agent of reconciliation among humans, he is the agent of reconciliation between humans and the rest of creation.

On a blog titled Flesh & Spirit, you might expect some thoughts on how religion resolves the conflicts between beauty and ugliness, virtue and shame. Yes, you might expect that, if the title referred to the traditional dichotomy of body and soul. But that’s a manipulative and unnatural dichotomy that I reject. [see Why Sex Matters]

Flesh & Spirit can also be taken as a reference to Woman and Man, and you’ll find many posts here addressing the sometimes covert attempt at a Father’s hostile takeover of a Mother’s prerogative in fields like science, religion, and politics. But more than that, Flesh & Spirit is a celebration of being human, and being human is an earthy, awkward, and gloriously ugly thing.

Humans are Disgusting

So, when I ran across Ryan’s Kicking the Gourd blog months ago, I felt the same way I did many years ago after reading The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Leguin – like there was nothing left to say. In fact, in the last months, I’ve been reflecting on Ryan's five-part series on putting the ugly back in church. (He more eloquently titled it “Ecce Homo: Is There a Place for the Disgusting in Church?”) I’m inclined to just paste the entire thing here, except that it’s, you know, FIVE parts. So I’ll hit a few highlights and hope you’ll take the time to read the rest at his blog.

Our grossness and Jesus's wounds:

Being ‘civilized’ or ‘uncivilized’ is primarily a question of one’s ability to cover up one’s animal features–with clothes, perfume, manners, removal of dirt, cut hair, shaved beard, clipped nails, etc.. And it comes as no surprise, then, that our primary way of discriminating and prejudicing against other humans is to regard them as animals and/or the unclean. … The borders of our love and compassion are not at our moral judgments but at the borders of our body, our disgust and fear of being connected with the annoying or gross.

When we behold the man, however, we see that we're not only covered in mud but made from mud. The ministry of Jesus had to do with overcoming human disgust (that is, human righteousness): being born in an animal’s feeding trough (gross!), healing the leper, talking with the Samaritan woman, not washing his hands before eating, speaking with tax collectors, washing feet, and ultimately becoming the bearer of all human disgust.

Here Jesus stands before us, covered in human blood and this is the power of salvation: his wounds are open! In these open wounds there is no barrier between inside the body and outside the body. There is no attempt to stop the contamination or to keep the body pure. Nakedness, bared genitals, is for us a mark of shame but it is for Christ his openness, his refusal to put any courtesy or decency between his body and the world. At the cross we are exposed as true filth and God exposes his naked self entirely to our true filth and becomes the Total Disgusting for us. In Christ God is fully contaminated, fully infected, fully diseased, fully gross, fully soiled. Why does this strike us as more disturbing than Jesus taking on all our sin?

No shame in love:

When we behold the man, we see Jesus as the Adam without the leaves–the shame is showing. Or rather, where shame runs and shame hides, Jesus exposes himself. Jesus is the body of shame…and therefore shameless! The meaning of Jesus’ shame is this: In all of human history, humans have run and hid from shame. In the cross, Jesus stands naked before shame and destroys it. Perfect love casts out shame. In Christ, shame is exposed and destroyed. There is no shame in love.

We do not wish to be seen or touched by God–we are not ashamed before God, we are ashamed before ourselves–Adam and Eve see each other and are ashamed. In Christ, God gives us what we do not want–the invitation to be touched by him.

Making church safe for the unclean:

Given that God has revealed himself in blood and water
Given that Christ came for the freaks
Given that before the cross we are naked yet without shame
Given that we are not disembodied souls but dirt and breath passing into nothingness
Given that we are weak, needy animals that too easily deceive ourselves
–how do we make space for the disgusting in Christian art? But not only in art: Is there a place for the disgusting in churches, in liturgy, in worship?

In my experience worship aesthetics have centered around the excellent, beautiful, clean and lovely. Special music is reserved for the beautiful–not just beautiful singers, but beautiful people–of course, in order to spare the congregation from the embarrassment of having to listen. But it does affect style in other ways, too–the church space itself, what people wear (vestments or church-clothes), in what containers the elements are served, the lack of smells, the stained glass or the banners, the PowerPoint, the videos–all very slick and professional. I suppose everyone would have to judge their own experiences.

What I would advocate as a change is not to hold ‘the world’s ugliest church contest’ but that the unclean should have some place in the church, be it a sculpture or photograph or visual artwork of some kind… or allowing animals in services, opening a window, having baptisms in nature, holding prayer services in alleyways, make the elderly in congregations the focus of your love instead of your courtesy–all these can be reminders to break down the “clean/unclean” distinctions we make. Fruits of the Gourd

Rene Girard and the Artist 

Additionally, Ryan's most recent post, a reflection on art and culture after reading Rene Girard's Things Hidden Since The Foundation of the World, is a razor-sharp analysis of the Artist as imitator: "Art is self-expression, and the Self is imitation." He even manages to explain artistic movements as cycles of imitation and repulsion -- the delusion that we can ever be something other than imitators:

We never define culture, culture defines us. And if you speak for your generation, you've only proven how much you were like everyone else (which was usually the same moment you thought you were most an individual). Anxiety of Imitation

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The Seduction of Entitlement

Self-pity is not only something that can be used to manipulate you, like in the style of Rev. Jeremiah Wright; buying into it can also just plain get in your way. It makes choices for you and prevents others. It steals your freedom. That's because the engine that drives self-pity is a lack of humility, a sense of entitlement, the power of rivalry.

When you feel you deserve something -- like the freedom to defy convention or the ability to influence people or an expensive gadget or a particular status -- you're letting rivalry take the wheel, and as Rene Girard has shown, that causes wrecks.

I was thinking about all this today, not because of Rev. Wright's hate speech (a good example nonetheless), but because of the murder-suicide of an Iowa City man, Steven Sueppel. Indicted for embezzlement and money-laundering, Sueppel murdered his wife and four children and then killed himself. How much a sense of entitlement, pride, and self-pity this man must have been carrying around!

The Myth of Redemptive Violence

Like many perpetrators of murder-suicides, Sueppel claimed in notes that he murdered his four children and wife to save them from the pain of his shame. Funny, he didn't think to save his brother and father from the shame, just a woman and children. Then he called 911 to inform the police and left messages for other family framing his violence in terms of heroic compassion. In other words, his last act on earth was one final defiant claim to his own self-importance.

Was he truly deluded, or did he maybe kill his wife because she asked for a divorce, and then killed the kids to support his claim to compassion? Whether he bought into it himself or just used the excuse, redemptive violence is a powerful myth in our culture.

As Jesus showed us, violence redeems nothing. Er...at least that's what Jesus meant if you take Girard's interpretation. I'm afraid if you read the Catholic version, you may find yourself mired in hypocrisy, since, through Jesus's death, violence redeemed us. Hmm. If the Atonement has made all the sense to you that it used to for me, you might want to read a little Girard.

A Story of Pure Evil

My five-year-old daughter heard some conversation and wanted to know about it. I usually have to take a moment to convert adult nuances into a child's black-and-white understanding, but not this time. I think pure evil has touched me today, and I didn't even know the man.

Of course, I can't imagine the life-altering aspects of the Sueppel family's grandparents, family, neighbors, the children's classmates, workmates, and fellow parishioners. The final irony -- at least to me -- is that he'll be buried in a Catholic ceremony this Saturday along with the family he murdered and laid to rest in consecrated ground at St. Joseph's Cemetery.

I keep reminding myself that we're all sinners. I keep reminding myself that rivalry begins in little identity games of how I'm better than you (because, for example, I go to church every Sunday or drive an S.U.V.), but it's that same kind of thinking that can end in this kind of horror.

I hesitate to comment much on Dutch society as my experience of it is rather limited. However, Kirwan’s analysis does make a lot of sense. I remember being quite taken aback when first arriving here at how much nostalgia there appeared to be for the Christian past among people who were not necessarily practising Christians. Religious artefacts which had been discarded in the 1960’s were becoming sought after treasures in antique shops. And a “Christian” identity becomes a way of defining oneself over and against the other, which is increasingly seen as Muslim. But it can also be a way of defining oneself over and against secularism, even when it has very little religious content. I think of someone I met recently who didn’t believe that Jesus even existed but insisted that she was a Christian – which she understood as being “spiritual” – and who got quite offended when I questioned her use of the word! Of course this is not limited to the Dutch – I seem to remember Rowan Williams making a similar point in Britain recently, and of course the reaction to his comments on Sharia points to a similar dynamic – but it does point to the faultlines of contemporary society. And Kirwan’s article provides a useful key to further reflection. Girard is one of the people I’ve been wanting to read for years now – I suppose that I should get down to him sometime!

the emergent church is a propaganda product. It does not actually exist. It is a construct of church leadership.  Negativity is always the lowest common denominator. The best way to raise support (money, people, resources) is to create a scenario where there is a good guy and a bad guy and tell people that the bad guy is threatening your way of life, your god, whatever... and it will take money to stop the bad guy. The emergent church is the bad guy.

Is this like the Scapegoat Mechanism we find in ancient religions?

Kind of. The emergent church is too vague. You need names and faces to target or it doesn't work. The Baghdad thing was fully supported by the american people until they 'got' Saddam- and the whole mechanism broke down because they 'got' the face. Lost all support for it because you can't place vague blame- it has to be specific. Terrorist cells? Huh? Bin Laden- yeah, people get that.

Is that where Brian McClaren and Rob Bell come in? 

Exactly. You have to channel your negativity toward names and faces. Clarity is power. Specificity is action. Brian uses emergence theory when talking about church- and it is a beautiful analogy of the church- but i guess that's why he's been made the poster boy. I mean, i didn't need Brian to tell me a bunch of stuff i already knew.

Rob, on the other hand, doesn't even try to go for the emerence theory stuff directly, uses the term loosely and appropriately, and generally disengages himself from emergent church talk. But his name always comes up when someone needs a scapegoat for their cause of righteousness.

"We need to be careful of terrorist cells and 'squishy theology'"... huh? what? "We've got Saddam on the run and Rob Bell is a heretic". Oh! People get that. 

That's a terrible theory- why would anyone do that?

There's a lot of anger out there/in here. People need to place blame. Need to have a place to put their anger. People feel threatened by "new" ideas or thoughts. When people feel like they have to defend the gospel or stand for righteousness or stick up for god, its not because the gospel or righteousness or god is actually threatened, its because their way of life, which they think is divinely-mandated, is threatened, because their power is challenged.

Way of life, anger and power are not abstract concepts- they are very real and present actualities. We deny our involvement by making them abstract and fuzzy and complicated to cancel out our complicity.

We engage in these behaviors without understanding. We claim allegiance to the Scapegoat Crucifie