I posted this clip ten years ago. How things were, how things could be….
Surely it must provoke some serious thought….
From Gilad Atzmon.
Musings on biblical studies, politics, religion, ethics, human nature, tidbits from science
I posted this clip ten years ago. How things were, how things could be….
Surely it must provoke some serious thought….
From Gilad Atzmon.
Is there anything at all that can be said? I can only feel — appropriate words won’t come. I gather news updates from a range of sources and have been distressingly learning for years now about the increasing attacks by Israelis on Palestinians, including the killing of women and children, with the clear winks from far right government members (even calling for a Palestinian town to be “wiped out“) and with the protection and sometimes outright facilitation of Israeli security forces (both the IDF and the police) — all this and not one word of protest from those national leaders who are now roused to speak up and cry out for a total vindication of Israel’s “right to defend itself” against the atrocities of Hamas — with that condemnation morphing all to often into an implicit condemnation of all Palestinians. The world cries out “War Crime” when a Russian missile destroys a power plant in Ukraine. But when Israel blocks all food and power from entering the overcrowded home of 2 to 3 million people….
As the correspondent Jonathan Cooke wrote:
The current outpouring of sympathy for Israel should make anyone with half a heart retch.
Not because it is not awful that Israeli civilians are dying and suffering in such large numbers. But because Palestinian civilians in Gaza have faced repeated rampages from Israel decade after decade, producing far more suffering, but have never elicited a fraction of the concern currently being expressed by western politicians or publics.
The West’s hypocrisy over Palestinian fighters killing and wounding hundreds of Israelis and holding dozens more hostage in communities surrounding and inside besieged Gaza is stark indeed.
This is the first time Palestinians, caged in the coastal enclave, have managed to inflict a significant strike against Israel vaguely comparable to the savagery Palestinians in Gaza have faced repeatedly since they were entombed in a cage in 2007, when Israel began its blockade by land, sea and air.
. . . .
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has accused Hamas, which nominally runs the open-air prison of Gaza, of starting “a cruel and evil war”. But the truth is that the Palestinians have “started” nothing. They have managed, after so much struggle, to find a way to hurt their tormentor.
Inevitably for the Palestinians, as Netanyahu also observed, “the price will be heavy” – especially for civilians. Israel will inflict on the prisoners the severest punishment for their impudence.
Watch how little sympathy and concern there will be from the West for the many Palestinian men, women and children who are killed once again by Israel. Their immense suffering will be obscured, and justified, by the term “Israeli retaliation”.
. . . .
No one really cared while Gaza’s Palestinans were subjected to a blockade imposed by Israel that denied them the essentials of life. The few dozen Israelis being held hostage by Hamas fighters pale in comparison with the two million Palestinians held hostage by Israel in an open-air prison for nearly two decades.
No one really cared when it emerged that Gaza’s Palestinians had been put on a “starvation diet” by Israel – only limited food was allowed in, calculated to keep the population barely fed.
No one really cared when Israel bombed the coastal enclave every few years, killing many hundreds of Palestinian civilians each time. Israel simply called it “mowing the lawn”. The destruction of vast areas of Gaza, what Israeli generals boasted of as returning the enclave to the Stone Age, was formalised as a military strategy known as the “Dahiya doctrine“.
No one really cared when Israeli snipers targeted nurses, youngsters and people in wheelchairs who came out to protest against their imprisonment by Israel. Many thousands were left as amputees after those snipers received orders to shoot the protesters indiscriminately in the legs or ankles.
Western concern at the deaths of Israeli civilians at the hands of Palestinian fighters is hard to stomach. Have not many hundreds of Palestinian children died over the past 15 years in Israel’s repeated bombing campaigns on Gaza? Did their lives not count as much as Israeli lives – and if not, why not?
After so much indifference for so long, it is difficult to hear the sudden horror from Western governments and media because Palestinians have finally found a way – mirroring Israel’s inhumane, decades-long policy – to fight back effectively.
This moment rips off the mask and lays bare the undisguised racism that masquerades as moral concern in western capitals.
. . . .
I listened to an American diplomat try to explain that the reason there is no peace between Israel and the Palestinians is because Hamas refuses to recognize Israel’s right to exist. No-one said that the United States’ refusal to recognize the legitimacy of the mainland Chinese government from 1949 to 1972 made it impossible for the two countries to live in the same world together. Hamas has called for a two-state solution recognizing the 1967 borders — an implicit acknowledgement that a regime they consider illegitimate and illegal and immoral will exist alongside a Palestinian state. Israel has persistently thumbed its nose at international law by expanding its own settlements in the only place a Palestinian state could exist, — and effectively winking at their settler pogroms against Palestinian villages.
An Israeli military spokesperson said the “breakout” by Hamas from Gaza proved that Hamas were animals who could never be satisfied. After all, he “explained”, Israel “unilaterally” withdrew its forces totally from Gaza leaving Gaza entirely to the Palestinians; “What more could Israel do in giving the Palestinians all they asked for!” — Like leaving caged prisoners to their own devices within their barbed wire and spike defended walls on their subsistence diet and patchy power supply.
It’s all too sickening. But it seemed so wrong to post about intellectual fancies like biblical studies without acknowledging something infinitely more important right now.
I have not heard first hand or face to face from Palestinians themselves or from anyone who has visited the West Bank and Gaza recently so I rely on media reports (only partly on the mainstream media, though that has a place, too) and published research and testimonies to keep abreast of what is happening. A while back, during the time of the wave of suicide bombings, I learned that many ordinary Palestinians despised Hamas for their cold use of youngsters to blow themselves up. Since then, there have been changes within Hamas and they were democratically elected in Gaza (to much of the world’s horror) — they were the only party that most Palestinians trusted to actually deliver needed humanitarian services. I don’t know what most Palestinians think of the recent Hamas attacks but I would not be surprised if a good many feel despair and dismay. But it doesn’t matter now. The fire has started. If only individuals like us could do a little more to try to raise awareness of the hypocrisy and racism among our national leaders that is giving comfort to the governing powers of Israel as they ignore the rules of humanity and justice. Except when their own prisoners violate them to their own hurt.
Continuing from https://vridar.org/2023/10/01/a-dialog-with-chatgpt-on-christian-origins/
Me: What, if anything, changes, if we introduce the need for independent corroboration?
ChatGPT:
The requirement for independent corroboration significantly tightens the standards for historical verification. If historians strictly demand independent sources to corroborate each event or claim, it can add more confidence to their conclusions but also presents challenges:
In the context of historical Jesus research, insisting on independent corroboration would mean relying heavily on non-Christian sources (like the writings of Tacitus, Josephus, or Pliny the Younger) or different Christian traditions that developed independently. However, these sources are limited in number and detail, which would constrain the scope of reliable historical assertions about Jesus.
In summary, while independent corroboration is a valuable standard in historical research, it’s not always feasible and comes with its own set of challenges. Historians often have to balance the desire for multiple attestations with the realities of available evidence.
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Me: What are some of the “potentially genuine historical events or facts” that would be “at risk” if we insisted on independent corroboration?
ChatGPT:
If historians insisted strictly on independent corroboration, many events or details from antiquity (and even more recent history) might be cast into doubt or overlooked. Here are some examples from various time periods and contexts:
This list underscores a fundamental challenge in historical research: the tension between the desire for multiple, independent attestations and the recognition that many events or details are recorded by single sources. Historians often have to weigh the reliability of these sources, considering their proximity to the events they describe, their potential biases, the consistency of their accounts, and other factors.
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Me: Can you give some examples of “private interactions of historical figures” that you mentioned?
ChatGPT:
Certainly. There are many instances in history where our knowledge of private interactions between historical figures comes from limited sources, often the writings of one of the participants or from later accounts that may have been based on personal testimonies. Here are some examples:
In many of these cases, while the broad outlines of events or relationships are well-documented, the specific details, nuances, or exact words spoken in private interactions are harder to verify with certainty. Historians often rely on the credibility of the sources, the consistency of accounts, and the context in which the interactions occurred to gauge their reliability.
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Me: When you gave “specific events in Jesus’ life” as an example of potentially historical material being “at risK, are you not also falling into the circular reasoning trap?
ChatGPT:
You’re right to point out the potential pitfall. My intention was to provide an illustrative example, but it’s crucial to unpack the underlying assumptions.
When discussing the events in Jesus’ life as found in the Gospels and other Christian writings, there’s an inherent presumption that some of these events have a basis in historical reality. However, without independent corroboration, establishing which events are historically genuine becomes challenging.
If we were to strictly demand independent corroboration for all events, then many specific episodes in Jesus’ life, as they’re recorded solely within Christian texts, would indeed be at risk of being deemed historically uncertain. However, the phrase “potentially genuine historical events or facts” suggests that there’s an underlying possibility of their historicity, even if not yet confirmed.
The circularity would arise if we were to assert that these events are genuine because they are recorded in the sources, without a robust external basis for that claim. It’s always vital in historical discussions to remain aware of, and transparent about, the assumptions and methodologies underlying any conclusions.
Thank you for drawing attention to this. It’s essential to approach historical research, especially in areas as complex and debated as the life of Jesus, with methodological rigor and critical awareness.
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Me: What “robust external basis” can be applied to any particular event or saying in the life of Jesus?
ChatGPT:
The “robust external basis” for any particular event or saying in the life of Jesus would ideally come from sources outside the Christian scriptures, archaeological evidence, or other non-textual attestations that can corroborate or provide context for the New Testament accounts. Here’s what that might look like:
While these sources and methods can provide context, background, or even corroboration for certain broad aspects of the Jesus story (e.g., his existence, crucifixion, the rise of the early Christian movement), many specific events or sayings remain hard to externally corroborate. Most scholars rely on a combination of these methods, along with critical textual analysis of the New Testament itself, to build a plausible historical portrait of Jesus.
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Me: But a plausible portrait is not the same as a genuinely historical portrait.
ChatGPT:
You’re absolutely right. There’s a distinction between what’s plausible based on available evidence and what’s historically certain. Historical research, particularly in areas where sources are sparse or potentially biased, often deals in probabilities rather than certainties.
A “plausible” portrait is constructed from available evidence and seeks to present a coherent and likely picture based on that evidence. This construction is influenced by the methodology, assumptions, and sometimes even the biases of the historian or scholar in question. It tries to answer the question, “Given the available evidence, what is a reasonable interpretation of this figure or event?”
A “genuinely historical” portrait would imply a level of objectivity and certainty that is often elusive in historical studies, especially when dealing with ancient figures like Jesus. It would seek to answer the question, “What can we know for certain about this figure or event?”
In the case of Jesus, while certain broad strokes—like his existence, his role as a teacher or prophet, his crucifixion under Pontius Pilate—have a high degree of consensus among historians due to their multiple attestations and contextual fit, many specifics of his life, teachings, and actions remain in the realm of plausibility rather than certainty.
It’s important for anyone engaging with historical research to be aware of these distinctions and the inherent limitations of the sources and methods at our disposal. Always, the challenge for the historian is to navigate between healthy skepticism and reasonable inference, drawing conclusions that are as grounded in the evidence as possible while acknowledging the gaps and uncertainties that persist.
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Me: What ancient figures are studied by ancient historians who have a comparable level of acceptance of probability rather than certainty?
ChatGPT:
Many ancient figures are studied with a sense of probability rather than certainty. The further back in time we go, the scarcer and more fragmented our primary sources become. Even for relatively well-documented figures, there are often gaps in the record or ambiguities in the sources. Here are some examples:
These examples underscore a crucial point: Ancient history often requires a careful balance between the analysis of available sources and the acknowledgment of the inherent uncertainties. Whether studying Jesus, Socrates, or Boudica, historians must grapple with gaps in the record, potential biases in sources, and the challenges of distinguishing legend from fact.
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Me: But some of those figures are indeed concluded to be nonhistorical by historians (e.g. Homer, Arthur) — and it is accepted that the teachings we have of Socrates are really the teachings of Plato. There is a difference between being certain about certain events and persons and the details of those events and what those people actually said.
ChatGPT:
Absolutely, you’re right to draw attention to these nuances.
The point is that when historians engage with such ancient figures, there’s often a spectrum of opinion, informed by various methodologies and interpretive frameworks. Some figures, like Socrates, are widely accepted as historical, but details of their lives and teachings remain debated. Others, like Homer or Arthur, occupy a more nebulous space, with debates about their very historicity.
Regarding the study of Jesus, while his existence and some broad aspects of his life have a strong consensus among historians, many details, especially specifics of his teachings and actions, fall into the realm of probability rather than certainty. This complexity arises from the nature of our sources, which are primarily religious texts with theological agendas.
Your broader point stands: there’s a spectrum from historical certainty to uncertainty in ancient history, and it’s crucial to delineate where any given figure or event stands on that spectrum.
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Me: In the case of Socrates we have independent contemporary witnesses (e.g. Plato, Aristophanes, Xenophon), but in the case of Jesus we do not.
ChatGPT:
That’s a valid observation. The nature and variety of evidence for Socrates differ from that for Jesus, and the types of sources available have implications for historical reconstructions.
For Socrates:
These sources provide different perspectives, and their independent attestations bolster the case for a historical Socrates, even as they offer varying portrayals of him.
For Jesus:
The key difference, as you rightly noted, is the contemporaneity and independence of the sources. For Socrates, we have writings from his direct students and a contemporary comedic portrayal. For Jesus, our primary sources are later and are written with a specific theological intent, making the task of historical reconstruction more complex.
This doesn’t mean that a historical reconstruction of Jesus is impossible or invalid, but it requires careful methodological consideration, awareness of the nature and limitations of the sources, and often results in conclusions framed in terms of probability rather than certainty.
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Me: Paul concedes never having met Jesus and stresses he is not interested in knowing about any Jesus “according to the flesh”, so he is hardly a witness to the historical Jesus.
ChatGPT:
Indeed, Paul’s relationship with the historical Jesus is a unique and debated topic within New Testament scholarship. It’s correct that Paul did not know Jesus during his earthly ministry and primarily emphasized a spiritual or revelatory knowledge of Jesus. Here are some points to consider:
In summary, while Paul’s primary engagement with Jesus was theological and based on revelatory experiences, his letters contain hints of awareness of the historical Jesus. However, it’s true that for historical reconstructions of Jesus’ life and teachings, Paul’s letters are of limited direct utility, especially when compared to the Gospels.
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Me: How can the gospels be of use if they derive from a generation after the events purported to be of Jesus’ life and do not offer readers any assurance about their sources? Even the prologue in Luke’s gospel is very vague.
ChatGPT:
You’ve touched upon some longstanding challenges and debates in historical Jesus research. The Gospels, while primary sources for the study of Jesus, present methodological challenges due to their genre, the time gap between the events and their composition, and their theological nature. Let’s unpack some of these issues:
Given these complexities, how can scholars approach the Gospels historically?
In sum, while the Gospels are challenging sources for historical reconstruction, they are not unusable. They require careful and nuanced methodological approaches. Even with these methods, conclusions often remain in the realm of probability rather than certainty.
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Me: But “multiple attestation” can confirm nothing unless the multiple witnesses are independent of one another. Albert Schweitzer long ago conceded that since all the sources go back to the one origin, early Christianity itself, we are trapped in a circularlity.
ChatGPT:
You’re right to highlight the challenge. Multiple attestation as a criterion has its limitations, especially when applied to the New Testament materials, where the interdependence of the sources is a key concern.
Multiple Attestation and Interdependence: The Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) have a complex literary relationship. The majority scholarly view, the Two-Source Hypothesis, posits that Matthew and Luke both had access to Mark’s Gospel and another hypothetical source called Q (from the German “Quelle” meaning “source”). This means that many of the overlaps between these Gospels cannot be considered truly independent. Moreover, while John’s Gospel is different in style and content from the Synoptics, it’s debated whether John had knowledge of any of the Synoptic accounts.
Albert Schweitzer, in his seminal work “The Quest of the Historical Jesus,” did indeed acknowledge the challenges and limitations of then-current methodologies in historical Jesus research. He was critical of the way many scholars seemed to recreate Jesus in their own image, influenced by their theological or philosophical presuppositions.
Challenges of Circular Reasoning: If all our sources can be traced back to a single early Christian tradition or set of traditions, then multiple attestation merely confirms that a particular story or saying was widespread in early Christianity, not necessarily that it goes back to the historical Jesus. This is a significant methodological challenge.
However, while acknowledging these challenges, many scholars believe that there still can be value in the criterion of multiple attestation, especially when combined with other criteria. For instance:
Still, all these criteria have their own limitations and critiques. In essence, the work of the historical Jesus scholar involves navigating these methodological challenges, being transparent about the limitations, and making probabilistic judgments based on the evidence available.
Scholars, since Schweitzer’s time, have been keenly aware of these challenges. Yet, while some are more skeptical about what can be known of the historical Jesus, others believe that a careful and critical use of these methods, combined with other insights (e.g., archaeology, social-scientific models), can still yield a reasonable portrait, albeit with acknowledged uncertainties.
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Me: But don’t all those other criteria rest upon the circular assumption that there is a historical core or origin to begin with?
ChatGPT:
You’re identifying a fundamental epistemological challenge in historical Jesus research: How can one establish a “historical core” when the primary sources (the Gospels) are theological in nature and were written decades after the purported events? The criteria are, indeed, attempts to sift through these theological texts to extract what might be historical, but their effectiveness and validity are subjects of debate.
To your point, if one starts with a deep skepticism about the Gospels containing any genuine historical material, then these criteria might seem like tools to confirm pre-existing assumptions rather than objective methods. Indeed, a critic might argue that they are simply tools to extract from the texts what modern scholars find plausible based on current understandings of the historical context.
However, many scholars believe that while these criteria are not infallible, they can, when used judiciously, help to navigate the complex terrain of the Gospels to provide probable reconstructions. They argue that complete skepticism (i.e., the view that we can know next to nothing about the historical Jesus) is as much a position of faith as complete credulity.
In summary, you’re right to identify an underlying assumption: that there is a historical core or origin to the Gospel narratives. This assumption is based, in part, on the broader historiographical principle that texts, even when written with biases or theological aims, can still contain kernels of genuine history. How to extract that history, and how confident one can be about the reconstructions, remains a challenge and a topic of debate.
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Me: Why do you speak of “deep skepticism” as if a refusal to accept circularity is somehow a flaw, an extreme position?
ChatGPT:
You raise a valid point. The phrasing “deep skepticism” might inadvertently imply a negative or extreme position, and I apologize for that. Skepticism in historiography is essential, especially when dealing with ancient sources that are layered with theological, literary, and political agendas. It ensures that historical reconstructions are grounded and not overly speculative.
It’s not a flaw to demand rigorous methodology and to reject circular reasoning. Indeed, one could argue that approaching ancient texts with a healthy dose of skepticism is a scholarly strength, as it can lead to more nuanced and cautious conclusions.
The challenge with historical Jesus research is that there’s a wide spectrum of positions, from those who believe we can know quite a lot about the historical Jesus based on the existing sources, to those who believe we can know very little or almost nothing. Each position has its own set of assumptions and methodological challenges.
Your criticism is a reminder that scholars, and those discussing scholarly work, need to be aware of and transparent about the assumptions underlying their methodologies and conclusions.
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Conclusion: It is easier and more informative to have a discussion about such fundamental questions with artificial intelligence than it is with many human theologians and their lay acolytes who are quick to express outrage or contempt that such questions are raised at all by an outsider.
While recently attempting to relate the views of the anthropologist Harvey Whitehouse to what we know of Christian origins, I decided to turn to an obliging dialog partner for assistance — ChatGPT. For background you might want to skim through what I wrote about Whitehouse’s models at https://vridar.org/2020/06/20/modes-of-religiosity/
Me: Given Harvey Whitehouse’s description of the doctrinal and imagistic modes of religiosity, what is the most likely origin of Christianity?
ChatGPT:
Harvey Whitehouse’s theory distinguishes between two modes of religiosity: the imagistic and the doctrinal modes. These modes differ in their frequency and emotional intensity, the way they are transmitted, the nature of their rituals, and their social organization.
Given this distinction, the origins of Christianity can be seen in both modes but with a clear progression from the imagistic to the doctrinal:
In conclusion, while the very origins of Christianity show traces of the imagistic mode, especially in the close-knit experiences of Jesus’s followers and the early Christian communities, it soon transitioned into a more doctrinal mode as it grew, spread, and became institutionalized. This progression can be seen in many religions as they move from small, personal, and intense beginnings to large, organized, and standardized institutions.
Me: But how might that view of Christian origins change, if it would change, if we accepted that there were no historical basis for believing that the miracles Jesus performed were any more remarkable than those of other prophets or shamans of the day?
ChatGPT:
If one assumes that Jesus’ miracles were not historically more remarkable than those of other prophets or shamans of his time, the origins of Christianity would still need to be explained, as it grew to become a major world religion while many other similar movements did not. This change in perspective would shift the emphasis from the singular nature of Jesus’ miracles to other factors that contributed to the rise and spread of Christianity.
In conclusion, while the uniqueness of Jesus’ miracles might serve as an attractive feature of early Christianity, the faith’s spread and establishment can be attributed to a combination of theological, sociopolitical, and communal factors. If the miracles were viewed as no more remarkable than those of other contemporary figures, these other factors would likely take on increased importance in explanations of Christianity’s origins and growth.
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Me: But what if Jesus’ teachings were not any more radical than those of other idealistic Pharisees or prophets — but simply enjoined the ideal of keeping the spirit of the Mosaic law?
ChatGPT:
If we consider that Jesus’ teachings were not particularly radical or distinct from other idealistic Pharisees or prophets of his time and that he primarily emphasized keeping the spirit of the Mosaic law, then the rise and spread of Christianity would need to be attributed to factors beyond Jesus’ teachings alone.
In this scenario, Christianity’s growth would likely be attributed more to the efforts and circumstances of its early followers, the organizational structures they created, the narratives they built and promoted, and the sociopolitical contexts they navigated, rather than the distinctiveness of Jesus’ teachings themselves. The transformation of a localized movement centered on the teachings of a single figure into a global religion would be a testament to the combined effects of personal devotion, communal bonds, strategic efforts, and historical contingencies.
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Me: But is it plausible to think that followers of Jesus really imputed a divine status to him so early?
ChatGPT:
The question of when and how followers of Jesus began to ascribe to him a divine status is a complex and heavily debated topic within Christian origins scholarship. Here are some points to consider:
In conclusion, it is plausible to think that at least some followers of Jesus began to ascribe to him a divine or exalted status relatively early, influenced by a combination of their experiences, existing religious concepts, theological reflection, and the broader cultural context. However, exactly how this developed, the pace of its development, and its nuances would have varied across different Christian communities and contexts.
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Me: So with the above discussion in mind, how might Whitehouse’s doctrinal and imagistic modes of religiosity explain Christian origins — if they can?
ChatGPT:
Harvey Whitehouse’s modes of religiosity—imagistic and doctrinal—can provide a conceptual framework to understand the dynamics of early Christian communities and their development. If we apply these modes to the origins of Christianity, the picture might look something like this:
In light of this:
In conclusion, Whitehouse’s modes of religiosity can offer a useful lens to understand the evolution and dynamics of early Christianity. The transition from imagistic to doctrinal modes can help explain how Christianity moved from a small sect centered around the charismatic teachings and events of Jesus’ life to a major world religion with standardized beliefs and practices.
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Me: What evidence do we have for the historical nature of the events that provoked the imagistic mode of religiosity of those first followers of Jesus?
ChatGPT:
The events that might have provoked the imagistic mode of religiosity for the first followers of Jesus are derived primarily from the New Testament writings. When discussing evidence, we are delving into a realm where historical analysis meets religious belief. Different scholars hold various positions regarding the reliability of the New Testament as a source for reconstructing historical events. Still, most agree that some core elements reflect authentic traditions.
Here’s a look at the potential evidence:
While the above points provide evidence that certain events or aspects of Jesus’ life and the early Christian movement are historical, the interpretation of these events varies widely. Many elements, especially supernatural claims, are matters of faith. Historical analysis can indicate the likelihood of events but often stops short of affirming the theological interpretations that religious believers might hold.
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Me: But the criteria of authenticity you just appealed to have largely come under suspicion of being fallacious logically.
ChatGPT:
You’re right. Over the past few decades, many biblical scholars have raised concerns about the traditional criteria of authenticity, especially when used to reconstruct the historical Jesus. Some of the criticisms include:
In light of these criticisms, many scholars now approach the criteria with caution. Some prefer to use them as general guidelines rather than strict rules, while others look to alternative methods altogether.
One such alternative is the “memory approach,” which studies how communities remember and transmit memories, considering both social and cognitive factors. This method aims to bridge the gap between the historical Jesus and the remembered Jesus in the Gospels, recognizing that while the Gospels do not provide direct access to the historical Jesus, they do offer a window into how early Christian communities remembered and interpreted him.
In summary, while the traditional criteria of authenticity have been valuable tools in historical Jesus research, they are not without their problems. Contemporary scholarship acknowledges these challenges and seeks more nuanced and comprehensive methods to explore the historical foundations of the New Testament narratives.
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Me: But does not the criteria approach and the memory approach begin with the assumption that there are historical events behind the gospel narratives — even though it is the historicity of those events they seek to prove: is this an invalid circular process?
ChatGPT:
Your question touches upon one of the central methodological challenges in historical Jesus research. Historians aim to reconstruct past events based on available sources, but when those sources are also the subjects of investigation for their reliability, the process can appear circular. Here’s how the criticism is often framed and some responses to it:
In summary, while there’s a valid point about potential circularity in historical Jesus research, many scholars believe that by being aware of their presuppositions, employing comparative methods, and acknowledging the limitations of their conclusions, they can still produce meaningful and plausible reconstructions of the past. The challenge, of course, is discerning the line between a historically cautious approach and a circular or overly presumptive one.
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Me: It sounds like you’re saying that the cautious scholar is simply aware of the circularity of his endeavour but is unable to avoid it.
ChatGPT:
That’s a fair way to characterize the challenge. The inherent circularity in historical Jesus research arises from the tension between using the Gospels as sources of information about Jesus while simultaneously trying to assess their historical reliability. Here are a few nuances and clarifications:
In conclusion, while the potential for circular reasoning is a recognized challenge in historical Jesus research, scholars aim to navigate this by employing a range of methods, being transparent about their presuppositions, and framing their conclusions in terms of probability rather than certainty.
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Me: What other historical research has that kind of circularity at its foundation?
ChatGPT:
The potential for circularity isn’t unique to historical Jesus research. Many areas of historical inquiry grapple with similar challenges, especially when primary sources are limited, are of a particular genre that blends fact with fiction or interpretation, or come from a context that has strong ideological or religious biases. Here are some examples:
These examples underscore that potential circularity is a challenge in many areas of historical research, not just in studies about Jesus. The key is for historians to recognize these pitfalls and be as transparent and methodical as possible in their methodologies, always open to reevaluation and critique.
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I found it most refreshing and challenging to engage with such a “thoughtful” dialog partner. Certain New Testament scholars and their lay acolytes could learn a lot about how to engage with questions that challenge their assumptions and how to respond with civility and professionalism.
I continued the discussion by delving into problems of methodology. See the next post.
Since uploading the translated file of Gustav Volkmar’s Mark and the Synopsis of the Gospels I have made a few additions, corrections and clearer translations to it. I will be regularly updating this file over the next however long so check regularly for the latest version if you are reading or consulting it. The latest version is updated today, 28th September. There will be more updated versions. You may need to clear your cache each time to be sure you open or download the most recent version.
http://vridar.info/xorigins/Volkmar/Volkmar-Mark1876.pdf
I have often tried to point out how historians as a rule have very different standards and methods for verifying past events from those we too often find among Bible scholars writing about Christian origins and Jesus himself. Two statements of “non-biblical” historians I have quoted in the past epitomize the divide between the two fields:
From the viewpoint of a professional historian, there is a good deal in the methods and assumptions of most present-day biblical scholars that makes one not just a touch uneasy, but downright queasy. — Donald Harman Akenson
and when discussing a prominent New Testament scholar’s efforts to sift the historically probable from the mythical accretions in the gospels a leading ancient historian concluded:
This application of the ‘psychological method’ is neat, plausible, commonsensical. But is the answer right? Not only in this one example but in the thousands upon thousands of details in the story upon which Goguel or any other historian must make up his mind? I do not know what decisive tests of verifiability could possibly be applied. The myth-making process has a kind of logic of its own, but it is not the logic of Aristotle or of Bertrand Russell. — Moses Israel Finley
But look what another prominent modern historian has written about the historical veracity underlying the Gospels. It is found in his book titled A Student’s Guide to the Study of History.
Consider the very words of the Gospel of St. Luke, Chapter 2:
And it came to pass, that in those days there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that the whole world should be enrolled. / This enrolling was first made by Cyrinus, the governor of Syria. / And all went to be enrolled, every one into his own city. / And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem: because he was of the house and family of David. To be enrolled with Mary his espoused wife, who was with child. / And it came to pass, that when they were there, her days were accomplished, that she should be delivered. / And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn….
This description—or account—is exactly and thoroughly historical. There is nothing even remotely comparable to that in the accounts of the coming of other gods or founders of religions, whether Greek or Roman or Oriental. Unlike other founders of religions before him, Jesus Christ was a historical person. For believing Christians he was not only a historical person of course, but that is not our argument here. The historicity of Jesus Christ (which we may regard as God’s great gift to mankind) is incontestable: there exist Jewish and Roman and other sources about the fact of his existence, though not of course of all his deeds and sayings (or of their meaning). The very writing of St. Luke is marked by the evidence of something new at that time: of historical thinking. — John Lukacs, pp 14f. of Student’s Guide — italics original in all quotations; bolding is mine.
Three things to note:
Four points to ponder:
— 1. The actual content of that passage in Luke’s gospel is itself fiction! There never was a world-wide census requiring persons to return to their “own cities” to be counted. Such an event is entirely fanciful. Imagine the nightmare of trying to enforce it in reality. The scenario is a fairy-tale event told in the historical genre. The same historical genre goes on to depict angels in the sky talking to shepherds, a virgin giving birth and a host of other miraculous and supernatural events. Are we really to conclude from the “historical style” of Luke that it must be about genuine historical persons and events?
— 2. The Jewish and Roman sources are all written a century and more after the supposed event and can only tell us what some people at that time believed. Worse, some of those sources have a history of being disputed as forgeries. Those kinds of sources — where the origins of the narratives cannot be known — are never embraced as secure and foundational in other historical research.
— 3. Second Temple Judean fiction is known to embrace the historical style but that is no reason to conclude that the contents of those narratives are historical. Witness the historical style introducing the fanciful stories of Esther . . .
This is what happened in the days of Xerxes, who reigned over 127 provinces from India to Cush. In those days King Xerxes sat on his royal throne in the citadel of Susa. In the third year of his reign, Xerxes held a feast for all his officials and servants. The military leaders of Persia and Media were there, along with the nobles and princes of the provinces. And for a full 180 days he displayed the glorious riches of his kingdom and the magnificent splendor of his greatness.
of Tobit . . .
The tale of Tobit son of Tobiel, son of Ananiel, son of Aduel, son of Gabael, of the lineage of Asiel and tribe of Naphtali. In the days of Shalmaneser king of Assyria, he was exiled from Thisbe, which is south of Kedesh-Naphtali in Upper Galilee, above Hazor, some distance to the west, north of Shephat.
of Daniel . . .
In the third year of the reign of Jehoiakim king of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came to Jerusalem and besieged it. And the Lord delivered Jehoiakim king of Judah into his hand, along with some of the articles from the temple of God. These he carried off to the temple of his god in Babylonia and put in the treasure house of his god. Then the king ordered Ashpenaz, chief of his court officials, to bring into the king’s service some of the Israelites from the royal family and the nobility.
— 4. But fiction told with historical verisimilitude was not unique to the Judeans. The Greco-Roman literary world knew it well. If Homer had written a history of the Trojan war with gods fighting humans, a later author appealed to the more rational and sceptical readers of a later generation by finding an account that explained “how it really happened – historically!”
Cornelius Nepos sends greetings to his Sallustius Crispus.
While I was busily engaged in study at Athens, I found the history which Dares the Phrygian wrote about the Greeks and the Trojans. As its title indicates, this history was written in Dares’ own hand. I was very delighted to obtain it and immediately made an exact translation into Latin, neither adding nor omitting anything, nor giving any personal touch. Following the straightforward and simple style of the Greek original, I translated word for word. Thus my readers can know exactly what happened according to this account and judge for themselves whether Dares the Phrygian or Homer wrote the more truthfully-Dares, who lived and fought at the time the Greeks stormed Troy, or Homer, who was born long after the War was over. When the Athenians judged this matter, they found Homer insane for describing gods battling with mortals. . . . — letter claiming to be by the discoverer (Dares the Phrygian) of an eye-witness account of the Trojan War (by Dictys of Crete)
There are people today who still believe in “a historical core” behind one ancient tale told with all seriousness, even though it was originally presented by a philosopher as a myth:
Many great and wonderful deeds are recorded of your state in our histories. But one of them exceeds all the rest in greatness and valour. For these histories tell of a mighty power which unprovoked made an expedition against the whole of Europe and Asia, and to which your city put an end. This power came forth out of the Atlantic Ocean, for in those days the Atlantic was navigable; and there was an island situated in front of the straits which are by you called the Pillars of Heracles; the island was larger than Libya and Asia put together, and was the way to other islands, and from these you might pass to the whole of the opposite continent which surrounded the true ocean; for this sea which is within the Straits of Heracles is only a harbour, having a narrow entrance, but that other is a real sea, and the surrounding land may be most truly called a boundless continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there was a great and wonderful empire which had rule over the whole island and several others, and over parts of the continent, and, furthermore, the men of Atlantis had subjected the parts of Libya within the columns of Heracles as far as Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia.
Other examples could fill a book but I’ll limit myself to just one particularly dry, matter-of-fact biographical/historical narrative introduction:
I set out one day from the Pillars of Hercules and sailed with a following wind into the western ocean. My voyage was prompted by an active intellect and a passionate interest in anything new; the object I proposed to myself was to discover the limits of the ocean and what men dwelt beyond it. For this reason I took a great deal of food on board, and plenty of water. I got hold of fifty men of my own age and interests, as well as quite a store of arms, hired the best navigator I could find at a considerable salary, and strengthened the ship—a light transport—for a long and trying voyage. — from Lucian, A True History.
Is there any reason to disbelieve this introduction? Yes, there is. In this case the author warned us of exactly what he was about to write. We read in the lines immediately preceding that passage:
My subject, then, is things I have neither seen nor experienced nor heard tell of from anybody else: . . . So my readers must not believe a word I say.
The author was in fact writing a parody of works that pretended to be “true histories”:
I trust the present work will be found to inspire such reflection. My readers will be attracted . . . by the novelty of the subject, the appeal of the general design, and the conviction and verisimilitude with which I compound elaborate prevarications, . . . So when I came across all these writers, I did not feel that their romancing was particularly reprehensible; evidently it was already traditional, even among professed philosophers; though what did surprise me was their supposition that nobody would notice they were lying.
So why would Lukacs have confessed to being persuaded by the historical style of the second chapter of the Gospel of Luke — apparently blind to the fact that that style was being used to to describe a fictional event? Another historian pointed us to where we are likely to find the answer:
[T]he reader . . . must re-enact what goes on in the mind of the historian. Study the historian before you begin to study the facts. This is, after all, not very abstruse. It is what is already done by the intelligent undergraduate who, when recommended to read a work by that great scholar Jones of St Jude’s, goes round to a friend at St Jude’s to ask what sort of chap Jones is, and what bees he has in his bonnet. When you read a work of history, always listen out for the buzzing. If you can detect none, either you are tone deaf or your historian is a dull dog. The facts are really not at all like fish on the fishmonger’s slab. They are like fish swimming about in a vast and sometimes inaccessible ocean ; and what the historian catches will depend, partly on chance, but mainly on what part of the ocean he chooses to fish in and what tackle he chooses to use – these two factors being, of course, determined by the kind of fish he wants to catch. — E. H. Carr, p. 23 of What is History?
We don’t have to ask a friend who may know John Lukacs. We have Lukacs giving an account of the bee in his bonnet in We at the Center of the Universe. There he writes:
. . . I happen to believe in God, and that Christ was his son. (Why I believe this, or perhaps why I wish to believe it, is not easy to tell, being part and parcel of my interior life — something that does not belong here.) Still, what this belief means, and what it ought to mean, is a recognition that Christ’s life among us, on this earth, may have been the central event in the history of mankind. If so, then this historical event took place in what was then (and not only then but since and in the future) the center of the universe. I know that, being such a believer, I am among a minority of human beings. . . .
To this I wish to add my anxiety about many believing Christians whose belief in Christ may be honest, sincere, and profound. Evidence suggests that their view of the world and of its history now exists together with, or at least alongside, their belief in endless progress, including the power of humankind to know and rule more and more of the universe, beyond this small planet where God makes us live. Sometimes I fear that as the life of Christ—only 2,000 years ago, a tiny portion of what we know of the history of mankind—becomes further and further away because of the passage of time, the meaning of his words, his life, his calvary may weaken in the imagination of men. . . . — Lukacs, pp. 8f of At the Center.
Akenson, Donald Harman. Surpassing Wonder: The Invention of the Bible and the Talmuds. New edition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001.
Carr, Edward Hallet. What Is History? New York: Vintage, 1967.
Finley, M. I. Aspects of Antiquity: Discoveries and Controversies. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1972.
Frazer, Jr., R. M., trans. The Trojan War: The Chronicles of Dictys of Crete and Dares the Phrygian. Bloomington & London: Indiana University Press, 1966.
Lucian. “A True Story.” In Collected Ancient Greek Novels, edited by B. P. Reardon, translated by B. P. Reardon, 619–49. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989.
Lukacs, John. A Student’s Guide to the Study of History. Wilmington, Delaware: Intercollegiate Studies Institute, 2014.
Lukacs, John. We at the Center of the Universe. South Bend, Indiana: St. Augustines Press, 2017.
Plato. Timaeus. Translated by Benjamin Jowett. Pennsylvania State University Press, 1999.
While recently focussed on translating older works I have been overlooking other works I have translated over the years and know that some readers may find of interest. Copyright forbids me from making many of them public but I could work my way through them one by one and see what can be shared. Here is one that I completed last year — though much of it is also available on Hermann Detering’s website in a series of posts.
by “the last of the Dutch radicals”, G. A. V. D. BERGH VAN EYSINGA
CONTENTS:
FIRST PART
PREAMBLE …….8
INTRODUCTION …….9
I. GOSPELS …….35
1. The Gospel according to Matthew …….35
2. Mark …….45
3. Luke……. 51
4. John …….58
5. Peter …….66
6. Scattered Gospel Fragments…. 68
II. ACTS …….76
1. The Acts of the Apostles …….76
2. ofJohn …….83
3. Paul …….89
4. The Martyrdom of Polycarp …….91
III. LETTERS …….94
1. The Epistle of Paul to the Romans … 100
2. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians … 107
3. ” Second Epistle of the Corinthians . . 112
4. Letter to the Galatians …….115
5. “”Ephesians …….121
6. “” Philippians …. 126
7. Colossians …….129
8. Both Letters of Paul to the Thessalonians …….133
9. Paul’s Letter to Philemon ………136
10. The Pastoral Epistles …….140
11. The Letter to the Hebrews …….146
12. The Epistle of James …….152
13. The First Letter of Peter …….156
14. The Second Letter of Peter …….159
15. The Letter of Jude …….161
16. The Three Letters of John …….162
SECOND PART
LETTERS (cont’d)
17. The Letter of Barnabas …….165
18. The First Letter of Clement to the Corinthians……… 171
19. The Second Letter of Clement to the Corinthians………179
20. The Letters of Ignatius and Polycarp……..183
21. The Letter of Ptolemy to Flora…….. 194
IV. REVELATIONS……..198
1. The Ascension of Isaiah……..200
2. The Revelation of John………203
3. The Revelation of Peter……. 210
4. The Shepherd of Hermas ……..213
V. RELIGIOUS TEXTBOOKS………223
1. The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles…….. 223
2. Athenagoras’ Resurrection of the Dead……. 229
VI. APOLOGETICS………233
1. The Plea of Aristides……..235
2. The Apologies of Justin Martyr……..238
3. Justin’s Dialogue with the Jew Trypho……..247
4. The Supplication of Athenagoras……….251
5. The Letter to Diognetus………….253
6. Tatian’s Speech to the Greeks…….256
7. The Octavius of Minucius Felix…….259
VII. READINGS…….264
1. A Psalm of the Nahassenen……..264
2. Benedictory Songs and liturgical texts from theActs of Thomas…….266
3. The Odes of Solomon…….274
VIII. THEOSOPHICAL AND EXEGETICAL FRAGMENTS…….281
Valentinus and his school………..281
IX CONCLUSIONS…….288
ABBREVIATIONS…….. 292
EXPLANATIONS OF TERMS……. 293
Two weeks ago I posted my notice of a translation of Gustav Volkmar’s 1857 study of the Gospel of Mark that had been written for a general audience. This post is to notify interested readers of the availability of a translation of his far more academic 1876 work, Mark and the Synopsis of the Gospels according to the Documentary Text and the History of the Life of Jesus. Volkmar was clearly devoted to Jesus as the historical figure who changed the world but his study of the gospel narratives is intriguing for its scholarly and pioneering approach to identifying the sources of the Gospel of Mark, including his view that it was in part a reaction against the Book of Revelation. See the extract below of an essay by Anne Vig Skoven for further details.
Below is a copy of the static page that is now available in the right hand margin of this blog.
I have now translated two of Gustav Volkmar’s works:
Gustav Volkmar (1809-1893) has been referenced a few times in this blog but the most detailed synopsis of his views on the Gospel of Mark came from a post by Roger Parvus: A Simonian Origin for Christianity, Part 16: Mark as Allegory
The following notes are taken from
.
[Anne Vig Skoven who wrote this essay was a PhD student at the University of Copenhagen until her tragic, premature death in 2013]
Unlike exegetes of the patristic tradition and also unlike most of 20th century scholarship, biblical scholars of the 19th century were not foreign to the idea that Paulinism was to be found in the Gospel of Mark. The founder of the so-called Tubingen School, Ferdinand Christian Baur (1792-1860), for instance, regarded the Gospel of Mark as a synthesis of Petrine and Pauline traditions. . . .
In 1857, the German exegete Gustav Hermann Joseph Philipp Volkmar (1809-93) characterized the Gospel of Mark as a Pauline gospel. Although Mark’s story was concerned with Jesus’ life and death, it was also, so Volkmar argued, permeated by Pauline theology. During his lifetime, Volkmar remained a solitary figure, and David Friedrich Strauss (1808-1874) once considered him a “närriger Kauz” [= a ludicrous little owl]. Nevertheless, at the end of the 19th century knowledge of Volkmar’s thesis and writings was widespread among German speaking scholars. His thesis drove a wedge into German biblical scholarship; Adolf Jülicher (1857-1938) and William Wrede (1859-1906) both appreciated Volkmar’s work, Albert Schweizer (1875-1965) and his student Martin Werner (1887-1964) did not. . . .
. . . . From 1833 to 1852, he taught in various Gymnasien, in which he primarily worked within the field of philology and classical studies. In 1850 he published a book on Marcion and the Gospel of Luke, in which he claimed against Baur and Albrecht Ritschl (1822- 1889) that Marcion’s gospel was a rewriting of Luke.’ According to Adolf Jülicher, Volkmar had deserved a chair for this – today widely accepted – thesis. However, a series of dramatic events prevented that. Due to church political controversies, Volkmar was arrested in the classroom in 1852 and charged with lese majesty and dismissed from his job. In 1853, he was called lo Zürich where he was finally appointed professor of New Testament studies in 1863. In Zürich he published the works which are of special relevance to the present study:
- Die Religion Jesu und ihre erste Entwickelung nach dem gegenwärtigen Stande der Wissenschaft (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus, 1857); a popular work, which introduced Volkmar’s thesis of Mark as a Pauline gospel.
- Die Evangelien, oder Marcus und die Synopsis der kanonischen und ausserkanonischen Evangelien nach dem ältesten Text mit historisch-exegetischem Commentar (Leipzig: Ludw. Fr. Fues Verlag, 1870); a scholarly commentary on the Gospel of Mark, in which Volkmar, against Baur, forwarded his thesis that Mark was the first gospel, Luke the second and Matthew only the third. The commentary was republished in a slightly edited second edition with a new title in:
- Marcus und die Synopse der Evangelien nach dem urkundlichen Text und das Geschichtliche vom Leben Jesu (Zürich: Verlag von Caesar Schmidt, 1876).
In addition to Volkmar’s traditional commentaries on the Markan text, the books from 1870/76 offer an early reception history of the Markan narratives. . . . .
In his biographical sketch of Gustav Volkmar from 1908, Adolf Jülicher characterizes Volkmar as an exegete whose work was framed to the one side by Baur’s Tendenztheorie and to the other side by Strauss’ scepticism (772 f). Yet, he differs from both schools on two important issues: historicity and Markan priority. With regard to Strauss, Volkmar welcomes his critique of the rationalistic and harmonizing exegesis of early 19th century scholarship. But he is also critical of Strauss’ concept of the gospel narratives as mythoi, instead he prefers the term “Poësie”. Unlike Strauss Volkmar emphasizes the historicity of the gospel narratives.Yet, his understanding of historicity, as well as his method are closer to those of 20th century redaction criticism than to the Leben Jesu Forschung of his own century. With regard to the Tübingen School, Volkmar treats the early Christian literature as Tendenzschriften. His overall project was to reconstruct the history of the gospel traditions as a reflection of the developments in early Christianity. But unlike the Tübingen exegetes, he accepted, as already mentioned, the thesis of Markan priority. Consequently, he rejected the idea of an “Ur-Evangelium” which was needed for the Tübingen explanation of the gospel relations. Likewise he rejected the idea of a Spruchbuch or Schriftquelle (1870, vili-xi; 1876, 646) – later identified as Q. According to Volkmar, Mark’s only sources were: the Old Testament writings, four Pauline letters (Romans, Galatians, 1 and 2 Corinthians), the oral tradition of early Christian communities – and, surprisingly, Revelation.
(pp 13-16)
The works I have translated and made available here are Volkmar’s 1857 Die Religion Jesu and Marcus und die Synopse der Evangelien (1876)
. . . he told me that while she wasn’t a stupid person, he described her as “someone who’s always had trouble finding a place in life, in terms of career and goals, and what her wants are and what her drives are. And as a result, she’s always been—as smart as she is—easily pulled into various groups and things. . . . The Deep State narrative, Eric felt, was attractive to her because it explained things to her “on some sort of abstract level as somebody who’s just sort of struggled to find their place in the world.
Colin Dickey, Under the Eye of Power — all excerpts from Apple Books
That passage reminded me of what I had read about the appeal of Donald Trump back in 2016: Understanding Trump’s Rise, Presidency — and a Positive Resolution to the Crisis — It painfully reminded me, too, of so much I have come to learn (and share in many posts here) about the appeal of cults, terrorist groups and suicide bombers. The same process of radicalization appears to me to be common to all.
As Miranda lost some of her friends, they were replaced by another community, one online that not only provided support and reassurance, but welcomed her as a soldier in a tremendous battle. “Take up this cause, because it’s the right cause—here’s all these people who know this is the right cause and will back you up and believe the same things that you do. And it’s got the extra bonus of ‘You’re special,’ on top of it, because “most of the world doesn’t even know that this is happening.”
This attitude—that on some level we are being manipulated by deceitful journalists, and our emotions are being tweaked by social media algorithms, creating a landscape where conspiracy theories are allowed to flourish as they never have before—is a common one. But it creates a picture where conspiracy believers are themselves oddly passive: they are blank slates, onto which Fox and Facebook project harmful content, and, like children, they are powerless to resist. In the same way that Christian moralists argued that listening to heavy metal would lead impressionable teenagers to become Satanists, we have come to believe that social media companies like Facebook are so powerful that merely logging on can transform someone from a rational, thinking human being into a conspiracy obsessed paranoiac.
This argument has the benefit of offering a reassuring narrative to those of us not in journalism or on the board of Facebook: it’s not my fault I was exposed to this disinformation, I’m a passive consumer. Focusing on algorithms, on social media giants, and on journalists all has the soothing effect of encouraging us to see ourselves as powerless, passive receivers of information, rather than people who actively are shaping our reality.
As Twitter’s cofounder Evan Williams put it in 2017, there is a problem with the Internet, in that it rewards extremes. “Say you’re driving down the road and see a car crash. Of course you look. Everyone looks. The Internet interprets behavior like this to mean everyone is asking for car crashes, so it tries to supply them.” Which is to say, of course the Internet enables our worst behavior. But the behavior is ours to begin with. We believe things not just because Facebook feeds them to us; we believe them because we want to.
This emphasis on social media and the Internet also opens up space for the belief that a movement like QAnon is somehow new, something that has appeared from nowhere, a spontaneous upswelling of paranoia and ignorance. As should also be evident by now, conspiracy theories have been a hallmark of American democracy from its inception. Conspiracy theories—particularly those surrounding politics, which inevitably includes fears of secret groups—have been used time and time again to ameliorate unreconcilable contradictions that spur cognitive dissonance. A vital fact about QAnon necessary to understanding its allure is that it is neither sui generis—it is not some unique and abnormal thing unlike anything in America’s history—nor is it ex nihilo—it didn’t spring from nothing. Conspiracy belief has repeatedly caused riots and murders, ruined lives and careers, and reshaped America time and time again since its inception—as horrible as the past few years have been, they are part of a repeating pattern.
Why was the need to believe this narrative so strong among QAnon adherents that they were willing to buy a story with such a laughably improbable origin?
QAnon did offer one seemingly new aspect: an interactive component. As Mike Rothschild explains in his book The Storm Is Upon Us: How QAnon Became a Movement, Cult, and Conspiracy Theory of Everything, “Q talks directly to the people, and the people talk back to Q. It’s not monologing, it’s dialogue. Q encourages collaboration, and rewards anons who go above and beyond in their theorizing and interpretation.” QAnon mirrored the structure of true crime Reddit forums and other online communities, where amateur sleuths could build their own epistemic capital by connecting the dots and sharing their findings with others.
. . . echoes of another long-standing American tradition: prophecy behavior. “Watching, waiting, and working for the millennium,” . . .
But for those who are in a position to combat these delusions and conspiracy beliefs, it’s important to note that it involves more than simply fact-checking. While factual debunking is vital, it remains less important than first understanding the psychological need that drives the conspiracist to seek out alternative stories.
Often, as Miranda’s story suggests, believers are looking for purpose, and conspiracy theorists—like cult leaders—don’t look for unintelligent people so much as they look for directionless people, people lacking meaning and purpose, who’ve lost family ties (at one point, Eric said of Miranda that she disliked the fact that she lived so far from her family in Florida, even though she came to California in part because she never quite fit in with them in the first place). As tempting as socially isolating these people may be, it’s the kind of behavior that becomes a vicious circle, driving them further into the arms of a community that welcomes them and nurtures feelings of victimhood and persecution. Whatever ability we have to try to reintegrate these people into other arenas of social life helps break that cycle.
In addition to community, conspiracy groups offer adherents a simplified narrative to dispel chaos in one’s life. They may also provide a cover story to justify racist, homophobic, and transphobic beliefs, ideas that a person may believe but feel they can’t publicly display. Such theories liberate believers and encourage a kind of free play for forbidden thoughts.
But a good part of the reason why such problems never get solved is due to the way they’re allowed to fade into obscurity almost as soon as the heat of the moment has passed. The prevalence of such moments depends on the destruction of a communal memory of these past outrages, a constant culture of forgetting, an almost state-sponsored amnesia designed to treat each emerging moral panic as entirely new.
Dickey, Colin. Under the Eye of Power: How Fear of Secret Societies Shapes American Democracy. New York, NY: Viking, 2023.
Here is a copy of what I have posted as a standalone page — see the right side margin under Pages and scroll down to Gustav Volkmar.
. . . .
Gustav Volkmar (1809-1893) has been referenced a few times in this blog but the most detailed synopsis of his views on the Gospel of Mark came from a post by Roger Parvus: A Simonian Origin for Christianity, Part 16: Mark as Allegory
The following notes are taken from
.
[Anne Vig Skoven who wrote this essay was a PhD student at the University of Copenhagen until her tragic, premature death in 2013]
Unlike exegetes of the patristic tradition and also unlike most of 20th century scholarship, biblical scholars of the 19th century were not foreign to the idea that Paulinism was to be found in the Gospel of Mark. The founder of the so-called Tubingen School, Ferdinand Christian Baur (1792-1860), for instance, regarded the Gospel of Mark as a synthesis of Petrine and Pauline traditions. . . .
In 1857, the German exegete Gustav Hermann Joseph Philipp Volkmar (1809-93) characterized the Gospel of Mark as a Pauline gospel. Although Mark’s story was concerned with Jesus’ life and death, it was also, so Volkmar argued, permeated by Pauline theology. During his lifetime, Volkmar remained a solitary figure, and David Friedrich Strauss (1808-1874) once considered him a “närriger Kauz” [= a ludicrous little owl]. Nevertheless, at the end of the 19th century knowledge of Volkmar’s thesis and writings was widespread among German speaking scholars. His thesis drove a wedge into German biblical scholarship; Adolf Jülicher (1857-1938) and William Wrede (1859-1906) both appreciated Volkmar’s work, Albert Schweizer (1875-1965) and his student Martin Werner (1887-1964) did not. . . .
. . . . From 1833 to 1852, he taught in various Gymnasien, in which he primarily worked within the field of philology and classical studies. In 1850 he published a book on Marcion and the Gospel of Luke, in which he claimed against Baur and Albrecht Ritschl (1822- 1889) that Marcion’s gospel was a rewriting of Luke.’ According to Adolf Jülicher, Volkmar had deserved a chair for this – today widely accepted – thesis. However, a series of dramatic events prevented that. Due to church political controversies, Volkmar was arrested in the classroom in 1852 and charged with lese majesty and dismissed from his job. In 1853, he was called lo Zürich where he was finally appointed professor of New Testament studies in 1863. In Zürich he published the works which are of special relevance to the present study:
- Die Religion Jesu und ihre erste Entwickelung nach dem gegenwärtigen Stande der Wissenschaft (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus, 1857); a popular work, which introduced Volkmar’s thesis of Mark as a Pauline gospel.
- Die Evangelien, oder Marcus und die Synopsis der kanonischen und ausserkanonischen Evangelien nach dem ältesten Text mit historisch-exegetischem Commentar (Leipzig: Ludw. Fr. Fues Verlag, 1870); a scholarly commentary on the Gospel of Mark, in which Volkmar, against Baur, forwarded his thesis that Mark was the first gospel, Luke the second and Matthew only the third. The commentary was republished in a slightly edited second edition with a new title in:
- Marcus und die Synopse der Evangelien nach dem urkundlichen Text und das Geschichtliche vom Leben Jesu (Zürich: Verlag von Caesar Schmidt, 1876).
In addition to Volkmar’s traditional commentaries on the Markan text, the books from 1870/76 offer an early reception history of the Markan narratives. . . . .
In his biographical sketch of Gustav Volkmar from 1908, Adolf Jülicher characterizes Volkmar as an exegete whose work was framed to the one side by Baur’s Tendenztheorie and to the other side by Strauss’ scepticism (772 f). Yet, he differs from both schools on two important issues: historicity and Markan priority. With regard to Strauss, Volkmar welcomes his critique of the rationalistic and harmonizing exegesis of early 19th century scholarship. But he is also critical of Strauss’ concept of the gospel narratives as mythoi, instead he prefers the term “Poësie”. Unlike Strauss Volkmar emphasizes the historicity of the gospel narratives.Yet, his understanding of historicity, as well as his method are closer to those of 20th century redaction criticism than to the Leben Jesu Forschung of his own century. With regard to the Tübingen School, Volkmar treats the early Christian literature as Tendenzschriften. His overall project was to reconstruct the history of the gospel traditions as a reflection of the developments in early Christianity. But unlike the Tübingen exegetes, he accepted, as already mentioned, the thesis of Markan priority. Consequently, he rejected the idea of an “Ur-Evangelium” which was needed for the Tübingen explanation of the gospel relations. Likewise he rejected the idea of a Spruchbuch or Schriftquelle (1870, vili-xi; 1876, 646) – later identified as Q. According to Volkmar, Mark’s only sources were: the Old Testament writings, four Pauline letters (Romans, Galatians, 1 and 2 Corinthians), the oral tradition of early Christian communities – and, surprisingly, Revelation.
(pp 13-16)
The work I have translated and made available here is Volkmar’s 1857 Die Religion Jesu. Perhaps I will also be able to make either his 1870 or 1876 work available in time.
The many fair-haired blue-eyed Indigenous Australians (who often trigger scepticism and resentment in non-Indigenous Australians) were usually raised by Aboriginal mothers or removed from their Aboriginal mothers and placed in brutal institutions. They identify as Aboriginal because their white fathers, and often grandfathers too, never lifted a finger to help, or were only fleetingly in their lives. Their formative loving relationships were with their Aboriginal family.
It is one more reason why I am voting Yes – because our parliamentary representatives do not read Aboriginal memoirs and show no compassion for the decades of personal abuse inflicted on generations of Aboriginal families.
If you don’t know, please pick up any of the brilliant Aboriginal autobiographies that have been published over the past 50 years. They are all great reads and insights into this country and its history.
—– Libby Connors, Facebook post, 2nd September 2023
(I’ve referenced Libby Connors before …. see my post, Where None Shall Hunger. I quoted from her historical research published as Warrior — a book that opened my eyes to many aspects of the lives of the Aboriginal people who were once at home in the region where I now live.)
I can’t go beyond the following case for voting Yes in the coming referendum:
Massacred. Raped. Poisoned. Enslaved. Their children stolen. Their lands taken. Their religions, their culture and their languages destroyed.. yet there’s a No campaign?
—– Philip Adams, X, 24th February 2023
I dearly hope that the positive emphasis of the Yes campaign will turn back the shame that looms from the efforts of its opponents: A No vote will be Australia’s Trump moment.
Some critics have portrayed me as being like a moth fluttering to the nearest flame, as one who is always attracted to the latest most radical viewpoint, and therefore my views cannot be taken seriously. What those critics generally fail to recognize, however, is the consistency of my readings of the sources and the fact that my approach is for most part taken for granted among scholars who specialize in other fields of historical research.
Let me explain.
The historians of ancient Rome have their text sources: Tacitus, Suetonius, etc. Those historians have been trained to read those texts in a critical manner: What is the bias of the author? How could the author have known the details we are reading? etc.
At first glance, it appears that critics of the Gospels follow the same approach, and at a certain superficial level they do: What is the theological bias of the author of this gospel? What are the implied or likely sources for this or that episode or saying?
But there is a fundamental difference too often overlooked in the literature of New Testament scholarship that changes everything.
Before I explain that fundamental difference, let me narrate how I came to discern the great chasm between historical inquiry into “secular” ancient history and “biblical” history.
It was some years ago when I suppose I was still feeling somewhat raw from having discovered how wrong “about everything” I had once been in a religion that I had left behind. I had learned many lessons from my experience of having been so wrong — think of “In Praise of Failure” of my previous two posts — and had become hyper-sensitive about repeating mistakes and falling into a new set of misdirections. So when I encountered Earl Doherty’s case for Jesus being non-historical my instinctive reaction was extreme caution and scepticism. Was this just another idea that had no basis, was entirely ad hoc, a fancy for hobbyists?
I dedicated a lot of time to trying to work through exactly how we know anything at all “for a fact” about the ancient past. I read widely but found that most historians seemed to take for granted certain data that they read in their sources. They had their reasons for rejecting this or that detail, but I rarely found a clear explanation of how they came to conclude that, for instance, Julius Caesar really was assassinated, or that there really was a Great Fire in Rome in the time of Nero. That Julius Caesar and Nero really existed was evident enough from material evidence – coins and monuments. But what about Socrates? The historians seemed to have an abundance of data but I searched without much success to find a clear explanation for why they seemed to take certain information for granted (e.g. the existence of Socrates).
It took some time but I eventually came to identify the foundations of their knowledge.
The existence for Socrates, for whom we have no surviving physical monuments, was accepted for essentially the same reason they accepted the historicity of Julius Caesar: the evidence of one source was corroborated independently by another contemporary source. Even literary sources could corroborate one another. Historians focussed on areas for which they had sources whose provenance they could reasonably understand and trust, and that were demonstrated to be of the kind that had good grounds for conveying largely reliable information. Such sources are on the whole independently corroborated. Such understanding is the bread and butter of historians and many do seem to take it for granted so that it “goes without saying”.
But not every detail in those sources is taken for granted as historical, of course. Take the case of the plague of Athens during the Peloponnesian War. That there was a plague would seem to be corroborated by the fact that our main source for it — Thucydides — we know from other information was evidently an eyewitness and in a position to know and record the fact. It does not follow that every detail Thucydides wrote was historical, however. We also have fictional dramatic works describing plagues and since we see these closely mirrored in Thucydides’ description of the Athenian plague, it is reasonable to conclude that Thucydides drew upon those fictional sources to dramatize his otherwise historical narrative.
Can a historian sift historical information from the Gospels in the same way he or she does from Thucydides? The answer is a resounding No. That is because we have no contemporary or reliable information about the identity of their authors. We don’t even have any independent evidence to help us decide when they were written — except that they had to be some time before the middle or late second century because that’s when we find them discussed by Church Fathers. Moreover, and here is a point I find commonly misunderstood, they do not even evince core characteristics of other historical writings of the time: they do not even seek to give readers explicit or implicit reasonable grounds for trusting them. Yes, the Gospels of Luke and John do point to “eyewitnesses” but they do so in such vague and cryptic terms that doubts inevitably arise among readers who are familiar with similar yet more detailed and testable claims by other historians. The authors hide their identities, or leave readers guessing about their ability to trust them. The Gospel of Matthew plays with the word “mathete” in a way that leads readers of the Greek text to suspect the author is indeed a certain Matthew, but who that Matthew was we have no idea; Luke in his second volume (Acts) slips into “we” as if he himself is an eyewitness reporter, but again it is all very vague and cryptic. We don’t know who this supposed eyewitness is. And the final word must be that the Gospels are clearly theological narratives advocating belief in a miracle story. Anyone familiar with the historical writings of the era cannot fail to notice the stark differences.
I have spoken of independent corroboration. Independent corroboration has to come from contemporaries or from persons who have access to information contemporary with the composition of the texts being studied. A document that appears decades after the source text can do no more than tell us what someone believed (or wanted others to believe) in their own time. One of the reasons historians reject the claim that Martin Luther committed suicide lies in the fact that it first appeared only “twenty years” after his death.
We have no independent evidence to pin down a date for the creation of the Gospels. We may surmise from internal evidence (e.g. the prediction of the destruction of the Temple) that a work was composed around the time of its destruction but that is essentially nothing more than speculation.
Our extant evidence compels us to keep the following factors in mind when reading the Gospels as historical sources:
New Testament scholars long relied upon what they called “criteria of authenticity” to try to establish strong probabilities for the historical veracity of certain details but that method is alien to the methods used by other historians. Example:
Such methods have long been dismissed as logically fallacious by other historians and are finally being acknowledged as flawed by New Testament scholars. In the case of the above example, it is reasonable to imagine the embarrassing story is created to encourage other followers that know that God can forgive and rehabilitate those who are weak and fall.
Some New Testament scholars have turned away from the criteria of embarrassment and have turned to “memory theory” instead. But again, we are in the realm of circularity: we begin with the assumption that there is a historical event that has spawned the Gospel narrative, but we believe that there is a historical event at the start because we we can see “how it has been modified” by various interests before reaching the Gospel author.
We can hypothesize how Gospel stories originated, that they came to the authors by means of oral traditions, but hypotheses can never be more than hypotheses unless we can find indisputable evidence that lifts them beyond that status.
My approach to reading the Gospels is through the acknowledgement of these realities. This perspective is grounded in the all but taken for granted approach of historians who undertake research into other times and places. As long as certain questions about the source documents remain open those documents cannot be read or used in the same way as sources for which those questions are definitively answered.
This is not hyper-scepticism or straining to be some sort of contrarian. It is acknowledgment of the realities about our sources.
There is much in Costica Bradatan’s In Praise of Failure that I would like over time to address but let’s begin with the portion of Prologue that I quoted yesterday:
. . . . human existence is something that happens, briefly, between two instantiations of nothingness. Nothing first—dense, impenetrable nothingness. Then a flickering. Then nothing again, endlessly. “A brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness,” as Vladimir Nabokov would have it. . . .
That remark followed from his description of the feeling that we imagine would follow from surviving what at the time felt like plummeting to a certain death. I was reminded of that feeling from a real-life experience when I listened to the news last night about the death of the commander of 108 men who had fought off an attack of a 2500 strong enemy in the battle of Long Tan in 1966. He was quoted as having said that it was only a short time after the three hour battle that the full realization that he was “still alive” fell upon him.
I turned to the source of Bradatan’s quote. Here it is in (disturbingly colourful) context:
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. Although the two are identical twins, man, as a rule, views the prenatal abyss with more calm than the one he is heading for (at some forty-five hundred heartbeats an hour). I know, however, of a young chronophobiac who experienced something like panic when looking for the first time at homemade movies that had been taken a few weeks before his birth. He saw a world that was practically unchanged— the same house, the same people—and then realized that he did not exist there at all and that nobody mourned his absence. He caught a glimpse of his mother waving from an upstairs window, and that unfamiliar gesture disturbed him, as if it were some mysterious farewell. But what particularly frightened him was the sight of a brand-new baby carriage standing there on the porch, with the smug, encroaching air of a coffin; even that was empty, as if, in the reverse course of events, his very bones had disintegrated.
As I quoted yesterday, Bradatan sees our “myths, religion, spirituality, philosophy, science, works of art and literature” as products of our efforts to make an “unbearable fact a little more bearable.” Continuing that thought, he writes,
One way to get around this is to deny the predicament altogether. It’s the optimistic, closed-eye way. Our condition, this line goes, is not that precarious after all. In some mythical narratives, we live elsewhere before we are born here, and we will reincarnate again after we die. Some religions go one step further and promise us life eternal. It’s good business, apparently, as takers have never been in short supply. More recently, something called transhumanism has entered this crowded market. The priests of the new cult swear that, with the right gadgets and technical adjustments (and the right bank accounts), human life will be prolonged indefinitely. Other immortality projects are likely to do just as well, for our mortality problem is unlikely to be resolved.
But this approach is not for everyone…
No matter how many of us buy into religion’s promise of life eternal, however, there will always be some who remain unpersuaded. As for the transhumanists, they may know the future, but they seem largely ignorant of the past: “human enhancement” products have, under different labels, been on the market at least since the passing of Enkidu of Gilgamesh fame. Compared with what the medieval alchemists had to offer, the transhumanists’ wares seem rather bland. Yet thousands of years of life prolongation efforts haven’t put death out of business. We may live longer lives today, but we still die eventually.
Bradatan finds himself siding with the views of Simone Weil:
Another way to deal with our next-to-nothingness is to confront it head-on, the bullfighting way: no escape routes, no safety nets, no sugarcoating. You just plow ahead, eyes wide open, always aware of what’s there: nothing. Remember the naked facts of our condition: nothing ahead and nothing behind. If you happen to obsess over your next-to-nothingness and cannot buy into the life eternal promised by religion or afford a biotechnologically prolonged life, this may be “right for you. Certainly, the bullfighting way is neither easy nor gentle—particularly for the bull. For that’s what we are, after all: the bull, waiting to be done in, not the bullfighter, who does the crushing and then goes on his way.
Hardly a higher form of human knowledge . . .
* Quoted in David McLellan, Utopian Pessimist: The Life and Thought of Simone Weil (New York: Poseidon Press, 1990), 93.Human beings are so made,” writes Simone Weil, that “the ones who do the crushing feel nothing; it is the person crushed who feels what is happening.”* Pessimistic as this may sound, there is hardly a higher form of human knowledge than the one that allows us to understand what is happening—to see things as they are, as opposed to how we would like them to be. Besides, an uncompromising pessimism is superbly feasible. Given the first commandment of the pessimist (“Whenever in doubt, assume the worst!”), you will never be taken by surprise. Whatever happens on the way, however bad, will not put you off balance. For this reason, those who approach their next-to-nothingness with open eyes manage to live lives of composure and equanimity, and rarely complain. The worst thing that could befall them is exactly what they have expected.
Above all, the eyes-wide-open approach allows us to extricate ourselves, with some dignity, from the entanglement that is human existence. Life is a chronic, addictive sickness, and we are in bad need of a cure.
The bolding is my own. I think that is worth taking in …. “there is hardly a higher form of human knowledge than the one that allows us to understand what is happening – to see things as they are”.
Somewhere in there we can find the real gift that can come from failure, or from the humility that it brings.
Bradatan, Costica. In Praise of Failure: Four Lessons in Humility. Cambridge, Massachusetts: *Harvard University Press, 2023.
With Philip Adams: A new approach to failure
With David Rutledge: The lessons of failure
The opening words of the book — “a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness”
Picture yourself on a plane, at high altitude. One of the engines has just caught fire, the other doesn’t look very promising, and the pilot has to make an emergency landing. Finding yourself in such a situation is no doubt shattering, but also illuminating. At first, amid the wailing and gnashing of teeth, you cannot think in any detached, rational fashion. You have to admit it, you are paralyzed by fear and scared to death, just like everyone else. Eventually, the plane lands safely, and everybody gets off unharmed. Once you’ve had a chance to pull yourself together, you can think a bit more clearly about what just happened. And you start learning from it.
You learn, for instance, that human existence is something that happens, briefly, between two instantiations of nothingness. Nothing first—dense, impenetrable nothingness. Then a flickering. Then nothing again, endlessly. “A brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness,” as Vladimir Nabokov would have it. These are the brutal facts of the human condition—the rest is embellishment. No matter how we choose to reframe or retell the facts, when we consider what precedes us and what follows us, we are not much to talk about. We are next to nothing, in fact. And much of what we do in life, whether we know it or not, is an effort to address the sickness that comes from the realization of this next-to-nothingness. Myths, religion, spirituality, philosophy, science, works of art and literature—they seek to make this unbearable fact a little more bearable.
A little further on in the Prologue — “how we relate to failure defines us”
The failure-based therapy that I offer in this book may seem surprising. After so much worshipping of success, failure’s reputation is in tatters. There seems to be nothing worse in our world than to fail—illness, misfortune, even congenital stupidity are nothing by comparison. But failure deserves better. There is, in fact, much to praise about it.
Failing is essential to what we are as human beings. How we relate to failure defines us, while success is auxiliary and fleeting and does not reveal much. We can live without success, but we would live for nothing if we didn’t come to terms with our imperfection, precariousness, and mortality, which are all epiphanies of failure.
“Only humility”:
In Praise of Failure is not about failure for its own sake, then, but about the humility that failure engenders, and the healing process that it triggers. Only humility, a “selfless respect for reality,” as Iris Murdoch defines it, will allow us to grasp what is happening. When we achieve humility, we will know that we are on the way to recovery, for we will have started extricating ourselves from the entanglement of existence.
So, if you are after success sans humility, you can safely ignore this book. It will not help you—it will only lead you astray.
We come to the Epilogue:
Every morning, when we wake up, there is a moment—the briefest of moments—when our memory hasn’t come back to us. We are not yet ourselves because we don’t have a story to tell. We can be anyone at this stage, but right now we are no one. We are a blank sheet of paper waiting to be written on. As our memory gradually returns, we start recalling things: where we are, what happened before we fell asleep, what we need to do next, the tasks of the day ahead. We start becoming ourselves again as the memory of these things comes back and slowly forms a story. When everything has fallen into place, and the story is complete, we can be said to have come back to life. We now have a self. The sheet is covered with our story—we are our story.
This is the most significant moment of every day, and philosophically the most gripping: the process through which we come into existence, and our self comes back to us, every time we wake up. If, for some reason, things failed to fall into place and form a coherent narrative, we would never find ourselves. The sheet would remain blank. We would miss ourselves in the same way we would miss someone who didn’t show up for a meeting.
Human beings are fundamentally narrative-driven creatures. Our lives take the shape of the stories we tell; they move this way or that as we change the plot. These stories are what gives our existence consistency, direction, and a unique physiognomy. We are irreducible individuals not because of, say, our DNA, but because no story can be told in exactly the same way twice. Even the slightest change of rhythm and diction produces a different story. Another person.
At our most intimate, then, we are what we tell ourselves we are. The German philosopher Wilhelm Dilthey called this process the “coming together of a life”—Zusammenhang des Lebens. The stories we tell about our life are sometimes more important than life itself. They are what brings that life together and makes it what it is: our life. Without them, we would remain only some insignificant occurrence in the planet’s biosphere.
As storytelling animals, we need stories not just for coming into existence every morning, but for pretty much everything—for things big and small, important and trivial, ennobling and shameful. We need a good story to live by and to die for, to fall in love with someone and out of love with her, to help us fight for a cause or betray it.
We likewise need a story to cure ourselves of the umbilicus mundi syndrome. To achieve true humility it is not enough just to be humble. We also need to weave a story that structures our self-effacing efforts and gives them sustenance, continuity, and meaning. We have to narrate our way into humility. And that’s what renders humility one of the most difficult stories to tell. For the self that narrates is the same one that longs for self-effacement and seeks to be lowered and subdued. The narrator’s voice, so vital to storytelling, has to be silenced. But how are we going to tell a story with silence? How can we narrate ourselves and reduce ourselves to dust at the same time? Dust has never had any stories to tell. That puts humility and storytelling seriously at odds with each other.
Costica Bradaton reminds readers here of the stories he has told in the previous pages: of Simone Weil, of Mahatma Gandhi, of E. M. Cioran, of Osamu Dazai, of Seneca, of Yukio Mishima.
The final words:
At any given moment, we may find our life to be empty and our existence meaningless, but we know, at some deeper level, that we are not done yet. Our story is just not over, and it’s frustrating—profoundly, viscerally so—to quit a story before the end, whether it’s a book, a film, or your own life. Once we have reached that point, we may decide that there is nothing left to tell, but quitting the story while it is still being told is a violation not just of narrative but of nature. The longed-for meaning may be revealed at the very end, and we will no longer be there to receive the revelation. It is written, after all, that the “pearl” we are supposed to retrieve can only be found at the story’s end.
Can a story save my life, then? Yes, it can. The truth is, only a story can redeem our lives. And not just our lives, but life itself. That’s the reason why, in case you’ve wondered, there are so many stories in this book, from beginning to end. Without stories, we would be nothing.
There is enough to think about in the above to make it superfluous to add any of my own commentary at this point.