Atticus: Future Racist or NeverTrumper?

Peck and Peters as Finch, Robinson

Monday

A month or so ago the Washington Post had an article on books that schools are banning—or should I say, canceling? (I list the books at the end of this post.) All but one of the attacks are from the right and the reasons will surprise no one. To Kill a Mockingbird is the one exception in that it has been attacked by liberal parents, and that imbalance is reason enough why liberals should back off.

After all, if you ban To Kill a Mockingbird for its politics, how are you going to keep conservatives from using that same rationale to ban The Bluest Eye and Beloved and Song of Solomon and The Color Purple and Native Son and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and The Hate U Give and The New Kid and Black Boy and Go Tell It on the Mountain.

I’ve written several times about my own reservations with regard to To Kill a Mockingbird (for instance, here) so I won’t do more than mention some of the concerns here—how it feeds into the White savior myth, how it gives us only saintly Black figures, how it papers over the White terrorist violence that underpinned segregation. Harper Lee’s sequel Go Set a Watchman is more honest in these areas, showing how the White establishment is benign only so long as it is unchallenged. In Watchman, Atticus Finch is so upset by the Civil Rights movement than he has joined the White Citizens Council, which is basically an upscale KKK: it doesn’t engage in outright violence like the KKK but it relies on that organization to do the dirty work of voter suppression. As a result, a disgusted Calpurnia has stopped working for him.

But it’s because such conversations can grow out of To Kill a Mockingbird that I think teachers should continue to teach it—although only if it is taught along with these other works that I mention. In fact, I believe that, by looking at Lee’s two novels, one can understand a lot about what has happened to the GOP in the years since the Civil Rights movement.

In To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus Finch looks saintly in part because he has an ideal defendant. Not only is Tom Robinson innocent but the book goes out of the way to note that he doesn’t, in fact, sexually desire Mayella Ewell (which would have clouded the picture for 1961 White audiences). Robinson is, to borrow a phrase from D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, a “faithful soul.” The good Blacks, in that racist movie, are those who know their place while the villains are the freed slaves who want what the Whites have.

To shift registers for a moment, I think of what Jed Leland says to the entitled Charles Foster Kane about the working class on the eve of their breakup. Kane, like Finch, thinks of himself as a defender of the downtrodden, but only to a point:

You talk about the people as though you owned them, as though they belong to you. Goodness. As long as I can remember, you’ve talked about giving the people their rights, as if you can make them a present of Liberty, as a reward for services rendered…Remember the working man?… You used to write an awful lot about the workingman…He’s turning into something called organized labor. You’re not going to like that one little bit when you find out it means that your workingman expects something is his right, not as your gift! Charlie, when your precious underprivileged really get together, oh boy! That’s going to add up to something bigger than your privileges! Then I don’t know what you’ll do! Sail away to a desert island probably and lord it over the monkeys!

Substitute “people of color” for “working man” and you have what has happened to the GOP establishment. I’ve seen the shift up close because I have GOP cousins. At one time they labeled themselves “Percy Republicans,” taking the designation from the moderate Illinois Republican senator Charles Percy. They saw themselves as faithful stewards of society (and they were), and some even voted for Barack Obama in the 2008 election. If Obama managed to get their vote, it was in part because he maintained a delicate balance, appearing Black but not too Black.

He lost them, however, when (1) he voiced his anger at the Cambridge, Massachusetts police for arresting Henry Louis Gates in his home (they thought he was an intruder); and (2) he observed, after Trayvon Martin was killed by a vigilante, that, “If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon.” While this endeared him to many in the Black community, who had had their suspicions about their mixed-race president, it signaled to my GOP cousins that he had thrown in his lot with the other community.

This means, however, that, like Finch, they began allying with the Bob Ewells of the world—or to get specific, with Donald Trump, whose ridiculous “born in Kenya” charge was an emotional appeal designed to delegitimize a Black president. Trump prevailed and now it’s Bob Ewell running the GOP, not Atticus Finch. To win elections, Republican politicians believe they have to attack teachers who teach novels that allude to America’s race issues and propagate fears of White replacement.

And because of that fear, they also refuse to condemn the proliferation of guns, at least when guns are mostly in the hands of rightwingers. (The country’s last meaningful gun regulations occurred when the Black Panthers were arming up.) As political scientist John Stoehr explains it,

After Obama’s reelection, Republican governors and legislators began loosening previous firearms restrictions, allowing guns in churches, parks and other public spaces. The liberal reaction was befuddlement. After the bloodbath at Sandy Hook, what they were doing was insane!

Not to the rightwingers, though. After all, the sociopolitical orders of power that had once put them on top had been turned upside down. The oppressors had become the oppressed under this rule by a Black man. Expanding the range of guns was a way out of that predicament.

To restore the natural order – the rule of white power – they first needed to bring down the current one, to knock out its foundation. 

As former Bush speechwriter turned NeverTrumper David Frum has observed, “If conservatives become convinced that they cannot win democratically, they will not abandon conservatism. They will reject democracy.” Stoehr links the dots by showing how the chaos caused by gun violence serves that cause:

[M]ass death works in the rightwingers’ favor whether it comes from bullets or a virus. When an electorate is scared enough, it will stop turning to democracy to solve problems. It will turn to the party that promises to restore “law and order,” that is, rule by white power.

Interestingly, in To Kill a Mockingbird there’s a mention of guns in the passage that gives the novel its title. Scout reports,

When he gave us our air-rifles Atticus wouldn’t teach us to shoot. Uncle Jack instructed us in the rudiments thereof; he said Atticus wasn’t interested in guns. Atticus said to Jem one day, “I’d rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you’ll go after birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ‘em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” Or to apply the title to the book’s themes, it’s a sin to kill a deserving Black.

As long as Atticus’s class is firmly in power, he doesn’t need to resort to violence. Once white entitlement is threatened, however, he joins the White Citizens Council, and one wonders if he will turn a blind eye if guns take out people he thinks of as blue jays. After all, once previously he turned a blind eye to vigilante justice in service of a good cause—which is to say, Boo Radley killing Ewell to save Scout and Jeb.

Perhaps I’m underestimating Atticus. Perhaps, rather than tolerating white supremacists in his party, he will become a NeverTrumper. To do so, however, he would need to rethink his White identity in a foundational way. In any event, I want teachers teaching To Kill a Mockingbird to address the issues—although, as I say, such a program will only work if they teach it along with Go Set a Watchman, Bluest Eye, Beloved, Stamped and other novels targeted by rightwingers.

Other banned novels mentioned in the Post article: Maia Kobabe’s Gender Queer, Jerry Craft’s New Kid, Art Spiegelman’s Maus, Nicole Hannah-Jones’s The 1619 Project, Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell’s And Tango Makes Three, Ashley Hope Perez’ Out of Darkness, Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi’s Stamped: Racism, Antiracism and You, Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, and Robie H. Harris and Michael Emberley’s It’s Perfectly Normal.

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The Moonlight Leaks Through

Loutherberg, Moonlight

Spiritual Sunday – Pentecost

The original Pentecost came at a dark time, and things aren’t so great at the moment as we look at the ravages of climate change and gun violence and the rise of authoritarianism. In this simple but profound poem by the 10th century female Japanese poet Izumi Shikibu, however, there’s a glimmer of moonlight, even as the wind batters our ruined house.

Indeed, it is because our house has leaks that the light is able to get through. Often we are most open to the Holy Spirit when things are falling apart. Here’s the poem, which I found in a Poetry Foundation article where poet Jane Hirshfield has assembled “22 poems about spirituality and enlightenment.” Hirshfield translated the poem with the help of Mariko Aratani:

Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.

A wind reportedly blew through the hall on the original Pentecost as well, bringing about its own light (tongues of fire). Into this ruined world came divine hope, as Luke informs us:

When the day of Pentecost had come, the disciples were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

May our battered hearts open themselves to the moonlight that wants to leak in, filling all with its radiance.

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Dying of a Broken Heart

Soyer, The Artist’s Parents

Saturday

The heart attack suffered by the husband of one of Uvalde’s victims is one of many instances of the massacre’s collateral damage. Along with all the children who were killed, three more were orphaned when first their mother and then their father died.

MSNBC commentator Malcolm Nance tweeted out the following note after hearing about the incident:

To new widows/widowers: When I lost my wife my mother-in-law called me the next day and warned me to wake up to life because Takotsubo Myocardia aka Broken Heart Syndrome is REAL. It can kill you…with a heart attack. I could feel it coming too. I started running…in Paris.

Henry Fielding mentions the danger in Tom Jones. In this case, the broken heart is caused by a sibling betrayal but the outcome is the same:

The doctor went directly to London, where he died soon after of a broken heart; a distemper which kills many more than is generally imagined, and would have a fair title to a place in the bill of mortality, did it not differ in one instance from all other diseases—viz., that no physician can cure it.

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To Welcome in June, Stand and Stare

Friday

Welsh poet W. H. Davies has a wonderful poem to usher in the month of June. Here in Appalachian Tennessee we are currently experiencing our own version of the “gold-dust” pollen that he mentions on his shoes

All in June

A week ago I had a fire
To warm my feet, my hands and face;
Cold winds, that never make a friend,
Crept in and out of every place.

Today the fields are rich in grass,
And buttercups in thousands grow;
I’ll show the world where I have been–
With gold-dust seen on either shoe.

Till to my garden back I come,
Where bumble-bees for hours and hours
Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums,
To wriggle out of hollow flowers.

It sounds like someone else spends hours and hours sitting on his soft, fat, velvet bum. Indeed Davies, who spent years as a train-hopping hobo and then as a tramp, was famous for not letting the world’s cares get in the way of observing nature. We see this especially in his poem “Leisure”:

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare

This is a good month to pay attention to the natural beauty that surrounds us. Take time to stand and stare.

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Hemingway on What War Atrocities Mean

Bucha following Russian withdrawal

Thursday

To stay up to date on Ukraine’s resistance to the Russian, I follow several military experts on twitter, including Mick Ryan, a retired Army Major General from Australia. Ryan’s observations about the Russian army’s lack of discipline and professional ethics match something that a character (ironically, a Russian) says in Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls, which I’m currently listening to. For his part, Ryan says that, all else being equal, “ethically corrupt and criminal armies” are more likely to lose wars than those who follow a strict code of ethics.

I find Ryan’s twitter thread on this matter so interesting that I quote from it at length before turning to Hemingway. Commenting on Russia’s war crimes, Ryan observes,

Bucha shows the Russian Army is not “professional” nor do they deserve the term “soldiers.” The Russian military transformation since 2008 has clearly not transformed anything at a human level. Beneath the shine of fancy equipment and clever slogans (like ‘active defense’) lies a rotten core of a sloppy and corrupt Russian military culture. But, as the saying goes, fish rot from the head. If the military serves a self-interested class of corrupt authoritarians, why would its military culture be any different?

Ryan elaborates on the importance of the military having a healthy relationship with both society and with the military profession. First, society:

It is important that democracies have a theory of how military organizations interact with elected governments and with the people they defend…This theory of civil-military relations will vary slightly from country to country, and there is more to it than I can put in one thread. But each nation will need their own that they can educate their military (as well as politicians, public servants and citizens) about.

Then, the military profession:

The second issue is that military institutions must see themselves as part of the profession of arms. Only this mindset can prepare large organizations, the sole elements of society legally able to kill, maim and destroy at scale, for the responsible use of those powers.

Understanding that “one is part of the profession of arms,” Ryan writes,

imposes the responsibility to lead people ethically and with purpose, to use force responsibly, to protect those who can’t protect themselves, and live the values of the society they serve.

And he adds,

All of these characteristics are conspicuously absent from the Russian military, given its performance over the past 6 weeks. They lack the vital mindset of a professional, which is very clear from the appalling leadership and behavior on display throughout their campaign.

Ryan concludes that,

at heart, the best and most successful military forces are built on smart, connected, ethical and well-led humans. This is the core of military advantage in this century, and every other age.

Protagonist Robert Jordan’s mentor as he fights for the Republican cause in the Spanish Civil War is a Russian journalist named Karkov. Unlike those who surround Vladimir Putin, Karkov tells the truth as he sees it, even when it’s bad. One cannot win a war, he says, when you have to rely on undisciplined conscripts, especially when (as is the case with Russia’s current army) they don’t understand why they are fighting. Jordan has just asked how bad Karkov thinks the situation is:

 It is better now than it was. We are getting rid of some of the worst. But it is very rotten. We are building a huge army now and some of the elements, those of Modesto, of El Campesino, of Lister and of Durán, are reliable. They are more than reliable. They are magnificent. You will see that. Also we still have the Brigades although their role is changing. But an army that is made up of good and bad elements cannot win a war. All must be brought to a certain level of political development; all must know why they are fighting, and its importance. All must believe in the fight they are to make and all must accept discipline. We are making a huge conscript army without the time to implant the discipline that a conscript army must have, to behave properly under fire. We call it a people’s army but it will not have the assets of a true people’s army and it will not have the iron discipline that a conscript army needs. You will see. It is a very dangerous procedure.

We see, earlier in the novel, what lack of discipline looks like. Pablo, a peasant leader, captures a fascist-held town and then enrolls the peasants in the execution of the fascists. The men are to line up in two lines with flails, at the end of which is the edge of a cliff, and their fascist prisoners are to walk between them, beaten before being tossed off the cliff. In this way Pablo hopes to implicate every town resident in the rebellion, with the intention of ensuring their loyalty when the fascists counterattack.

Instead, the whole affair spirals out of control and becomes a frenzied blood bath. There is no sign of the iron discipline that will be required to fight off the fascists when they counterattack. I’m not far enough into the novel to know if the town experiences fascist payback, but it’s not difficult to imagine something horrific, with the peasants unable to effectively defend themselves.

In his twitter feed, Ryan notes that those Russian soldiers who are raping, pillaging and murdering will not stand firm when the Ukrainians counterattack. Thus, although they are currently making incremental advances in Eastern Ukraine—in large part because Russia is now concentrating all its firepower there—those advances may be temporary. For one thing, according to a recent New York Times article, Russian pilots are exhibiting

the same risk-averse behavior they did in the early weeks of the war: darting across the border to launch strikes and then quickly returning to Russian territory, instead of staying in Ukrainian air space to deny access to their foes. The result is that Russia still has not established any kind of air superiority, officials said.

The article quotes Frederick W. Kagan, a senior fellow and director of the Critical Threats Project at the American Enterprise Institute, who observes that the invasion is not

proceeding particularly differently in the east than in the west because they haven’t been able to change the character of the Russian army. There are some deep flaws in the Russian army that they could not have repaired in the last few weeks even if they had tried. The flaws are deep and fundamental.”

We have yet to know how the war will turn out. But unlike the Russians, who declare victory in towns and cities they have reduced to rubble, the Ukrainians know what they’re fighting for.

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Gun Violence and Armageddon

Bruegel, The Triumph of Death

Wednesday

This past Sunday I shared a number of poems from Lucille Clifton’s Book of Days to reflect on how Christian nationalists, many of them wielding weapons of war, work against Jesus’s goal to bring the kingdom of God to Earth. One poem from the collection particularly stands out in the wake of the mass shootings in Buffalo and Uvalde.

In “armageddon,” God foresees men coming, “full armed,” into our lives, and of us all dying as a result. When Clifton mentions “ruby hearts still bleeding through in places,” I think of those Uvalde children who, reports tell us, were bleeding out, even as “good men with guns” dithered in the school hallway.

In an ironic conclusion, Clifton says that enemies who shoot each other will “lie here together then, intimate and quiet as lovers.” In Uvalde, the killer, shot himself, lay alongside his victims.

Our own ruby hearts, our most precious resource because they represent our capacity to love and care for others, are also at risk of bleeding dry from our repeated exposure to gun trauma. “Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart,” W.B. Yeats writes in “Easter, 1916,” and Clifton uses the image of the bleeding heart to remind us that we can still feel and love and grieve.

We need the reminding because so many bodies littering this valley floor threaten to fry our circuits, overwhelming our ability to empathize. The day we completely shut down is the day when Armageddon will in fact have arrived. Here’s the poem:

armageddon
By Lucille Clifton

i am all that will be
left to them in that day.

men will come here, full armed,
to make their last war.

their bodies will
litter this valley floor.

they will lie here together then,
intimate and quiet as lovers,

their ruby hearts still bleeding through in places.

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Debunking Cherished Myths

Joseph-Nicolas Robert-Fleury, Galileo before the Holy Office

Tuesday

There are few fallacies more toxic than the NRA’s mantra, “A good guy with a gun stops a bad guy with a gun.” The fallacy was spectacularly exploded in Buffalo and Uvalde, where determined killers overwhelmed local law enforcement with their weapons of war—including the Uvalde killer, who at one point was shooting children while 17 armed cops stood in the hallway.  But the mantra is also delivered in bad faith, ginning up fear and tapping into a wild west myth in order to sell guns. We saw Donald Trump invoking the myth when, after the Parkland shootings, he imagined himself running into gunfire to save students. Only fanatical Trump cultists can imagine that happening, and even for them it’s probably a stretch.

Bertolt Brecht provides a powerful counter to the mantra in his play Galileo. “Unhappy the land that needs heroes,” asserts the scientist late in the drama. Which is to say that, if we’re expecting heroic cops and gun enthusiasts to protect us from the epidemic of guns and loose regulations, then we are indeed screwed.

Galileo’s insight is hard won. Under the threat of torture, he has recanted his revolutionary discovery of Jupiter’s moons, thereby disillusioning some of his supporters. These want him to become a martyr to scientific truth, regardless of personal cost. It’s their version of wanting “good men” who, brandishing their guns, will always run towards the killer. (In this fantasy, these good men are always cool under fire, are always skilled marksmen, and never hit innocent bystanders.)

Here are Galileo’s followers and admirers praying that he will stay true to his beliefs and refuse to recant. The bell is supposed to ring at 5 if he recants:

Federzoni: Five o’clock is one minute.
Andrea: Listen all of you, they are murdering the ruth.
[He stops up his ears with his fingers. The two other pupils do the same….Nothing happens No bell sounds.]
Federzoni: No. No bell. It is three minutes after.
Little Monk: He hasn’t.
Andrea: He held true. It is all right, it is all right.
Little Monk: He did not recant.
Federzoni: No
[They embrace each other, they are delirious with joy.]
Andrea: So force cannot accomplish everything. What has been seen can’t be unseen. Man is constant in the face of death.
Federzoni: June 22, 1633: dawn of the age of reason. I wouldn’t have wanted to go on living if he had recanted.
Little Monk: I didn’t say anything, but I was in agony. O ye of little faith!.
Adea: I was sure.
Federzoni: It would have turned our morning to night.
Andrea: It would have been as if the mountain had turned to water….Beaten humanity can lift its head. A man has stood up and said No.

[At this moment the bell of Saint Marcus begins to toll.]

Shortly afterwards they hear the town crier calling,

I, Galileo Galilei, Teacher of Mathematics and Physics, do hereby publicly forswear this teaching with a sincere heart and unfeigned faith and detest and curse this and all other errors nd heresies repugnant to the Holy Scriptures

When Galeleo emerges, his followers first turn their backs before Andrea confronts him:

Andrea (in the door): “Unhappy is the land that breeds no hero.”
Galileo: No, Andrea: “Unhappy is the land that needs a hero.”

Everyone is angry at the Uvalde cops at the moment, but the right is particularly incensed because of how their lack of heroism makes NRA types look particularly bad. At first the authorities tried to make the facts fit their preferred narrative. They told us that cops engaged the killer and then that they breached the door and shot him. Texas Governor Greg Abbott, meanwhile, told us it could have been much worse. Only later did we learn that the cops hadn’t in fact engaged the killer and that they stood around for 45 minutes until someone found a key and unlocked the door. Abbott complained bitterly that he had been misled by the cops, but everyone was just giving him the narrative he wanted.

In Galileo, we see how powerful a preferred narrative can be. Several years after Galileo recants, he gives Andrea a copy of his Discourses to smuggle out. As the work will revolutionize science, Andrea revises his narrative: Galileo is a hero after all! Galileo, however, won’t allow him to hold on to his illusion:

Andrea: You gained time to write a book that only you could write. Had you burned at the stake in a blaze of glory they would have won.
Galileo: They have won. And there is no such thing as a scientific work that only one man can write.
Andrea: Then why did you recant, tell me that!
Galileo: I recanted because I was afraid of physical pain.
Andrea: No!
Galileo: They showed me the instruments.
Andrea: It was not a plan?
Galileo: It was not.
[Pause]
Andre: But you have contributed. Science has only one commandment: contribution. And you have contributed more than any man for a hundred years.
Galileo: Have I? Then welcome to my gutter, dear colleague in science and brother in treason: I sold out, you are a buyer. The first sight of the book! His mouth watered and his scoldings were drowned. Blessed be our bargaining, whitewashing, death-fearing community!

Brecht’s brilliance lies in his showing us how our preferred narratives win out over actual facts. In Andrea’s fantasy vision, heroic science wins out over a world of superstition, regardless of Galileo’s professed motives. In the NRA’s fantasy vision, a good man with a gun wins out over a bad man with a gun. In the world of facts, scientists and gunslingers alike are fallible, and the latter won’t save us in a state like Texas, which is inundated by weapons of war that anyone over 18 can buy, no questions asked.

Yes, unhappy indeed is the country where the only solution put forward by one of the two major parties is for us to rely on gun-toting heroes.

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How Weigh the Cost of the War Dead?

Matthew Brady, The Dead of Antietam

Monday – Memorial Day

In observance of Memorial Day, I’m going with a John Greenleaf Whittier poem, written in the first full year of the Civil War (1862). The poem represents the interior struggle of someone who opposes war in general and yet sees the necessity of this one in particular. It is how I feel about Ukraine’s struggle against the Russian invasion—and for that matter, how I feel about the Civil War. Like Whittier, I believe that nothing short of war could have an ended a practice as evil and as deeply entrenched as slavery.

The names of the dead that Whittier mentions in the poem, I suspect, are young men that he either knew or who were from his community. In other words, war is not an abstraction to him. As an ardent abolitionist—one who was attacked by mobs and had his offices burned down for speaking against slavery in the 1830s, ’40s, and ’50s—he saw the necessity of the conflict, but that doesn’t mean he overlooked the attendant horrors. When he mentions standing on a “stricken field,” it isn’t only the field that is stricken.

As he stands there he imagines being visited by two heavenly but discouraged watchers, the angels Peace and Freedom. Peace, who is losing hope, looks to Freedom for optimism, only to hear an exasperated Freedom complain about infighting and incompetence in the Union army, which he describes as “a senseless brawl.” Perhaps those more conversant with the Civil War than I am can tell me who he means by the one “who guards through love his ghastly throne” (cares more about his position than winning?); who is fearful of and overly reverential to the Confederates; and whose timidity is failing to speedily supply needed aid.

The war was going poorly for the Union in 1862—the tide would not turn until 1863 with Gettysburg—and Freedom tells the poet that this fight for freedom stands in marked contrast with heroic stands taken in the past, including: the reform-minded Husites against the forces of the established church (Ziska); the Haitian rebellion against the French (Toussaint); resistance to the French reign of terror (Sidney—Sydney Carton (?)—is guillotined in Tale of Two Cities); the forces of Parliament against the Royalists on the moor of Marston; George Washington in the Battle of Trenton after crossing the Delaware; and Piedmont freedom fighters against the Austro-Hungarian empire at the Battle of Magenta.

Peace, to reassure Freedom, counsels patience, to which Freedom gloomily replies, “Too late.” But then holy hope makes an entrance:

A rustling as of wings in flight,
An upward gleam of lessening white,
So passed the vision, sound and sight.

Asserting that “all is possible with God,” this vision alludes to the “Battle Hymn of the Republic”: the image of the winepress that “must be trod” is (I think) an allusion to “He has trampled out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored”— which itself is an allusion to the Book of Revelation, which reads (14:19-20), ”So the angel swung his sickle to the earth and gathered the clusters from the vine of the earth, and threw them into the great wine press of the wrath of God.”

However necessary the war, however, the deaths themselves are terrible, and it is those who died that we memorialize today. As Peace puts it,

What price was Ellsworth’s, young and brave?
How weigh the gift that Lyon gave,
Or count the cost of Winthrop’s grave?

The Watchers
By John Greenleaf Whittier

Beside a stricken field I stood;
On the torn turf, on grass and wood,
Hung heavily the dew of blood.

Still in their fresh mounds lay the slain,
But all the air was quick with pain
And gusty sighs and tearful rain.

Two angels, each with drooping head
And folded wings and noiseless tread,
Watched by that valley of the dead.

The one, with forehead saintly bland
And lips of blessing, not command,
Leaned, weeping, on her olive wand.

The other’s brows were scarred and knit,
His restless eyes were watch-fires lit,
His hands for battle-gauntlets fit.

“How long!”—I knew the voice of Peace,
“Is there no respite? no release?
When shall the hopeless quarrel cease?

“O Lord, how long! One human soul
Is more than any parchment scroll,
Or any flag thy winds unroll.

“What price was Ellsworth’s, young and brave?
How weigh the gift that Lyon gave,
Or count the cost of Winthrop’s grave?

“O brother! if thine eye can see,
Tell how and when the end shall be,
What hope remains for thee and me.”

Then Freedom sternly said: “I shun
No strife nor pang beneath the sun,
When human rights are staked and won.

“I knelt with Ziska’s hunted flock,
I watched in Toussaint’s cell of rock,
I walked with Sidney to the block.

“The moor of Marston felt my tread,
Through Jersey snows the march I led,
My voice Magenta’s charges sped.

“But now, through weary day and night,
I watch a vague and aimless fight
For leave to strike one blow aright.

“On either side my foe they own:
One guards through love his ghastly throne,
And one through fear to reverence grown.

“Why wait we longer, mocked, betrayed,
By open foes, or those afraid
To speed thy coming through my aid?

“Why watch to see who win or fall?
I shake the dust against them all,
I leave them to their senseless brawl.”

“Nay,” Peace implored: “yet longer wait;
The doom is near, the stake is great:
God knoweth if it be too late.

“Still wait and watch; the way prepare
Where I with folded wings of prayer
May follow, weaponless and bare.”

“Too late!” the stern, sad voice replied,
“Too late!” its mournful echo sighed,
In low lament the answer died.

A rustling as of wings in flight,
An upward gleam of lessening white,
So passed the vision, sound and sight.

But round me, like a silver bell
Rung down the listening sky to tell
Of holy help, a sweet voice fell.

“Still hope and trust,” it sang; “the rod
Must fall, the wine-press must be trod,
But all is possible with God!”

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Thy Will Be Done on Earth

Wenzel Peter, Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden

Spiritual Sunday

Among the many things that confuse me about rightwing Christian fundamentalists is their love of guns. “God, guns, and gays” was the way their voting obsessions were characterized for a while, and if “gay” is expanded to LBGTQ and if one adds abortion and Critical Race Theory to the list, it still pretty much captures many of them. As this weekend’s Christian-inflected NRA Convention reminded us, gun love continues as strong as ever, despite the recent mass shootings in Buffalo and Uvalde. How God and weapons of war can come together in a religion that supposedly has love at its core is unfathomable to me.

It starts to make more sense, however, if one sees gun-loving Christians driven by an Armageddon-level of fear. Sarah Posner, who studies the fundamentalist right, notes that many believe in the Great Replacement Theory, which white supremacists, rightwing authoritarians, pundits on Fox News (especially Tucker Carlson), and various mass killers (including the one in Buffalo) also ascribe to. As Posner explains,

Replacement theory is not so much a “theory” as a racist ideology used to stoke rage that white Christian culture is under threat by an invasion, engineered by Jews, of non-white foreigners who will both pollute and dilute a nation’s heritage and culture.

Connected with this rage is the conviction that the End Times are near. In a parody of Jesus’s message that love is more powerful than death, these believers think that they need not worry about either death or this world because God will lift them up as everyone else burns in a fiery conflagration. Among my many problems with this belief is how God gets used as a life insurance policy. We need not grapple with the problems of living because death will give us everything we need or want. Or to shift analogies, dismissal of this world’s importance seems to give one the freedom to abuse the world like a rental car: you think you can walk away from it, consequence free, when you’re done with it.

In my view, this is a misreading of Jesus’s mission, which was to establish the kingdom of heaven in life, not in death. Lucille Clifton ascribes to this mission in her final collection of poetry, entitled Book of Days (2006), in which she reflects on spiritual matters.

The book begins with a poem I considered sharing next week for Pentecost given its vision of a born-again relationship with the world. Like many of the lyrics in Book of Days, it is grounded in Garden of Eden imagery.

birth-day

today we are possible.

the morning, green and laundry-sweet,
opens itself and we enter
blind and mewling.

everything waits for us:

the snow kingdom
sparkling and silent
in its glacial cap,

the cane fields
shining and sweet
in the sun-drenched south.

as the day arrives
with all its clumsy blessings

what we will become
waits in us like an ache

Yet instead of cherishing this garden and its, we desecrate it. Or as Clifton puts it in “godspeak: out of paradise,”

what more could you ask than this
good earth, good sky?
you are like mad children
set in a good safe bed
who by morning
will have torn the crib apart
and be howling on a cold floor
among the ruins.

Along the same lines, in a very Dante-esque message, Clifton’s God points out that we don’t need Her to castigate us for our sins. We’re all having too much fun punishing each other, thank you very much:

godspeak

little ones
small and treacherous,
why would you believe that I punish you
who punish each other relentlessly
and with such enthusiasm

A passage from Richard Wright’s autobiography Black Boy comes to me when I read this poem:

There were more violent quarrels in our deeply religious home than in the home of a gangster, a burglar, or a prostitute, a fact which I used to hint gently to Granny and which did my cause no good. Granny bore the standard for God, but she was always fighting. The peace that passesunderstanding never dwelt with us. I, too, fought; but I fought because I felt I had to keep from being crushed, to fend off continuous attack. But Granny and Aunt Addie quarreled and fought not only with me, but with each other over minor points of religious doctrine, or over someimagined infraction of what they chose to call their moral code. Wherever I found religion in my life I found strife, the attempt of one individual or group to rule another in the name of God. The naked will to power seemed always to walk in the wake of a hymn.

Back to Clifton, who observes that we don’t need God to condemn us to hell. We’re already finding our way there on our own:

man-kind: digging a trench to hell

did i go deep enough?

i’ve exhausted the earth,
the plentiful garden,
the woman,
myself.

i’ve exhausted even the darkness now.

are you not done with me yet?

The last poem in Book of Days calls out—once again as though with the voice of God—those who indulge in righteous fury, even as they squander the precious gifts they have been given:

godspeak: kingdom come

you, with your point-blank fury,
what if i told you
this is all there ever was:
this earth, this garden, this woman,
this one precious, perishable kingdom.

Or to continue with the Jesus allusion, “thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (emphasis mine).

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