jacob's bargaining

I really enjoyed the conversation we watched today - the dialogue was lively and controversial, yet respectful (for the most part). I particularly am particularly interested in the discussion about whether Jacob is bargaining with God or what he is doing when he makes the conditional "If the Lord.... then I will worship him" vow at the end of Chapter 28.

One of the women in the video notes (I did not get this word for word) that she sees Jacob as asking for sustanance and survival: give me food, clothing, and breath, and I will worship you. Walter Brugeman (sp?) counters that Jacob is asking much more than this and is bargaining with god. The both refer to the text but come up with wildly different texts. The woman sees a simple request for survival and Brugeman sees a duplicitous man attempting to bargain with God, and both are adamant about what the text says.

I wonder if this falls on translation a bit, because the woman, if I remember right, is a Hebrew scholar, and Brugeman is a Christian (and even says that the woman, as he interrupts her, doesn't have his perspective because she is not Christian, though I don't think his view is particuarly Christian, but rather based on a translation of the text). If we look at Alter's translation, Jacob's conditions are fairly humble (in my opinion):

And Jacob rose early in the morning and took the stone he had put at his head, and he set it as a pillar and poured oil over its top. And he called the name of that place Bethel, though the name of the town before had been Luz. And Jacob made a vow, saying, "If the LORD God be with me and guard me on this way that I am going and give me bread to eat and clothing to wear, and I return safely to my father's house, then the Lord will be my God. And this stone that I set as a pillar will be a house of God, and everything that You give me I will surely tithe it to You." (28:18-22).

Yes, I agree that Jacob is perhaps being intelligent and doing a little bargaining here: Yes, I'll worship you if you do as you promise. But I don't see him asking for more than God has promised. God promised that his seed will become a nation and that God would be with him and would guard him (28:13-15). Perhaps Jacob is more specific in that he asks specifically for food and clothes and a return home, but to me, and probably to Jacob, that's what to be guarded meant. Jacob is asking for survival from God, and as someone said in the video, (who was it?) who wants to worship a God without survival in mind? (I paraphrased that quite a bit, I think.)

The Rabbi Burton V. said in the video that Jacob tries to assert control by making deals with God. I think this is a limited view of Jacob. He's much more complex than the "coniving genius," I think. Look at verse 17: "And he was afarid and he said, "How fearsome is this place!" And he is not just fearsome of God and this place, but also of his brother Esau who very well might have killed him had he not fled, and whom he is afraid of when he returns 20 years later.

Almost everyone, if not everyone, in the video today rejoiced in how important it was the Jacob was flawed, but then it didn't seem that everyone was as ready to grasp on his motivation. He is not coniving because he is out for power. Perhaps I was too quick when I said that Rabbi Burton's comment about control was too limited. I think he is right: Jacob is trying to wrestle control over a very scary world, and I cannot fault him in that. This is common. Someone learns they have cancer and they bargain with God: "Help me get through this and I will be a better Christian." People constantly bargain when in pain or in trouble or in fear. And I think that Jacob deserves our compassion for his bargaining, especially because he bargains for the very things that people in need ask for: bread, clothing, a safe return home.

The secular artist in the video noted how Jacob's story was one of Survival. I think that is what is universal about this story: the bargaining for survival in a scary time.

Oh, I just looked back over my notes, and one of the women (I do not recall who) did note that Jacob was afraid. She also notes that Jacob changes (directly after Rabbi Burton stated he did not believe that he changes, that his habits remain the same, and that this lack of change is depressing). His change comes in how he views blessings. Originally, he was obsessed with money and then after his interaction with God, he changed, but I can't remember exactly what she said... She was definitely talking about how encounters with God change us, but do not make us perfect...

So, I like Jacob a lot. He's wrought with fear. Yes, sometimes he's selfish or worries about his self more than others (as is the case, I think, with his daughter's rape and his indifference until his sons slaughter many people, and then he is concerned with his own safety [though, it might be read that he means the safety of his people]). Renita Weems (sp?) said in the video, "Aha! We have someone who is human!" and that we have adjectives that describe Jacob. But he definitely feels more human, more flawed, than other characters. And I feel the pain he goes through more than other characters so far.

Not Blockbusters all the Way

The film we watched about William Stafford was pretty interesting (though I admit to not having slept well the night before and so not following it as well as I could have). I appreciate it, and it's really coincidental that just recently Sara Jameson mentioned his book You Must Revise Your Life on her blog (when discussing the need for the constant revision of one's writing and one's life). This coincidence probably wouldn't mean anything to me, except that I don't think I had heard of Stafford before Thursday.

Stafford said a few things in the video that really struck me, and one of those was that his poems weren't (and couldn't be) "Blockbusters all the way," but were rather made up of modulations. This reminds me of the Bible because it seems like our culture focuses on the Blockbusters (Adam and Eve, the Fall, the Flood, the Tower of Babel, the Sacrifice of Isaac, and the Selling of Joseph into Slavery), but there are "valleys" in between the "peaks" that often go unnoticed and that I find really interesting. I know I'm reading ahead here, but the story of Judah's children by Tamar is fascinating (chapter 38), and how it echoes the story of Jacob and Esau's birth, yet I don't think it's ever mentioned. These smaller parts that echo "larger parts" make the Bible cohere, instead of a series of "MAJOR STORIES."

I also likened Stafford's desire to keep things simple to the Bible's simplicity. He mentioned that he took "Elie Wiesel" out of the poem that read something like "someone talks about social justice and he gets paid $3000 for it." By making the story more general, Stafford can get at the truth of the situation, rather than having his reader's react to an attack on a revered writer (Wiesel). When I think about how I would read that poem, I know that if it read "Elie Wiesel talks about social justice and he gets paid $3000 for it," I would be angry that he was criticizing someone I think has suffered and should be talking about it. But when he makes it more general, I see his point a bit more clearly. And perhaps that is part of why the Bible is so powerful: it's language is sparce. We don't need many details. In fact, the more details, the less likely that this book will be as universal as it is.

7. 26

Maybe Abraham wasn’t surprised.
It’s not like the God he knew was particularly reliable or constant in his actions. We can see that by just looking back a couple of chapters.And it wasn’t like Abraham had a huge support group of people telling him that, “No, God didn’t actually mean it ‘cus everyone knows that “God is Love” bla bla…”

Why didn’t Abraham argue with God? Perhaps he was supposed to, perhaps he failed the test in one way, but succeeded in another. Or perhaps we’re supposed to be as confused by Abrahams actions as Abraham was confused by God’s command. The starkness of the text certainly is confusing… it doesn’t leave a reader much to hold on to, and maybe that’s what Abraham felt. Not that his notions about God were wrong, but merely that this was a side of God he had hoped not to encounter.

I’m struck most by the rhythm of the verbs… of how much Abraham is doing… rose, saddled, took, split, rose, went, raised, took, build, laid out, bound, placed… when I read it now it almost frustrates me. The text, to me, is very oppressive and all I want Abraham to do is throw up his arms and say, “This is ridiculous!”

But maybe that’s a point, too… maybe the text is less about thought and reason, but the follow through on a decision. God told Abraham to go sacrifice his son. He probably agonized about it, but he made a choice knowing full well that he certainly wasn’t able to explain that unusual god he had found himself following. And the little hand out that we were given in class seems to suggest the same thing… that God is uncontrollable and unfathomable. Either way, the authors don’t seem to be judging Abraham too much. They don’t seem to say that it was right or wrong or disgraceful… it’s dramatic, certainly, but it seems to be just us that needs to explain why he did it…. It could be that the decision, an the results of the decision were more important than the inner turmoil that preceded it.

What Might This Journey of Abraham Mean?, or, alternatively, ruminitions on the nature of literature, theology, and questions

Today in class, Chris showed us a model by a Benedictine (do I have the right Order?) Theologian of The Male Spiritual Journey, where the ideal male moves, spiritually, from, to overly-simplify:
a. the 'heroic journey' of idealism, power, and possibilities, to
b. 'self-identity', in which one creates a sense of the self and the self's boundaries, to
c. the 'crisis of limitation,' in which, usually at mid-life, one loses meaning and must confront one's limits, in which one develops humility and honesty, moving from self-control to God-control, to
d. the 'wisdom journey,' "the Abrahamic Journey from what you have to what you don't have," in which old rules no longer work, in which one becomes insecure, and one embraces the shadow and rejected part of the self, to
e. the 'holy fool,' who is finally controlled by God, who can hold together paradoxes, who is wise instead of reasonable and in control, who is finally human instead of self-imaged.

And Chris asked us, "What might this journey of Abraham mean?", ending class with the note that all literature is theological.

Today I finished reading a new children's book by Lois Lowry (author of Number the Stars and The Giver), Gossamer, and as I read, I was struck by the questions asked: What are we? Am I within? Who am I now?, the last asked after a transformation of the main character... These seemed to echo the questions that the character God ask the humans in Genesis: Where are you? Why are you hiding? What have you done? Why have you done this?

Abraham's journey seems to be one of moving from the secure (landed, gentried in Mesopotamia) to the insecure (wilderness, drought, uncertainty, unfulfilled promises in Palestine).

Today in class we looked at Chapter 22, in which Abraham is asked to sacrifice his son, "your only one, whom you love, Isaac," as a test to ensure that Abraham fears God. What is the journey here? From the secure (I have a son! I have an heir! At last, the promise is fulfilled!) to the insecure (What God are you? Will you provide for me? Where am I to go?)?

To quote from the handout on The Male Spiritual Journey: "Needs spiritual guidance because rules no longer work in their old form. Letting go, trust, patience, surrender, holy abandonment, compassion, the dark night of faith..."

In a previous post, Casey notes that he sees Abraham as himself: who has gone through a lot of crap in his life and who God has decided to bless without regard for how much he is a screw up and/or inconsiderate man. He disagrees with Armstrong on page 64 (I think that Abraham is too much of a "yes sir" and not compassionate enough, but I don't have my book with me).

Casey asks, Would Abraham have killed Isaac if God hadn't intervened?

We don't know for certain, of course. I'd like to think, no, his faith to God was not fanatical, murderous. That he would worship life as if it were god. Letting go is great if God asks us to let go of the material, but Isaac's life is not just material... But perhaps I am putting in here what I want Abraham to do, to break down weeping at the moment just before cutting with the Cleaver...

Perhaps we could ask why God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac... The text tells us it is to test Abraham's faith... This certainly works with the rest of Genesis that shows that God is not omniscient — otherwise, it would seem that he would know that Abraham would be faithful. Chris mentioned the interpretation that God is an abusive person, following the cycle of abuse. This seems to work here: Why would someone test someone else, why not just trust him? If I were asking you to have faith in me, to trust me, wouldn't you also want me to have faith in you? A test seems a sign of deep insecurity...

I don't know. Why does Abraham look up? Is he searching? Is he lost? Is he exploring his mind? Is he pleading toward God for some guidance?

If all literature is theology, rational inquiry into religious questions, is too music? television? blogs?

I'm listening to "Life" by Our Lady Peace (remember the 1990s?):

How many times have you been pushed around
was anybody there
does anybody care
...
well is anybody safe
oh life is waiting for you

I think these are the same questions Abraham asks himself when he is about to sacrifice Isaac: How many times must I be pushed around? Is anybody there? Does anyone care? If God asks me to do this, is anyone safe?

A small thought... very small

Somewhere in either CS Lewis or the poem book, someone said that it's pointless to ask an author how he wrote a story, that an author doesn't know really what he was thinking about at the time because he was caught up in the excitement of writing it.

That to me, is what that cartoon is saying. "Theologians, you guys are always fun." Theologians have their own ideas about who God is, and what the authors were trying to tell us through the text of the Bible. They speculate then try to prove. They're searching for the "meaning" of the text... the theological meaning... when in reality, as that first little passage said, even the author of the text might not have known what he was trying to say.

And so God, the only person that would actually know what the text is really saying probably would get a bit of entertainment out of the surprised theologians that come to heaven's gates with preconceived notions about what it will be like, and who will be there...

That's my thought in brief... I think that might be the first time that I actually saw a point....

self help and bibliotherapy

Like Stephanie, I thought the idea of the bible as a "self-help book," as proposed in the cartoon Chris showed us, was an interesting one. Stephanie states that ther bible is too full of "complexities, contradictions, and ambiguities" to be a straight-forward prescription or set of advice. She sees richness in the bible as coming from questions posed, and I like this idea.

I'm pretty adverse to self-help books. I think they can be helpful sometimes, but there is little emotional or spiritual realization made when reading them, which I think leads to little buy-in or motivation for change. I guess I should give a bit of background about myself here: I was formerly working on an MS in Counseling, so I've practiced counseling clients and have taken quite courses in them. From them, I've come to the view that counseling and change is more about the emotional experience than about the intellectual experience - and I think self-help books are too rooted in the intellectual and in the advice giving.

Which brings me to my title of this post: bibliotherapy. I'm a huge advocate of bibliotherapy - the use of books or reading to help facilitate self-understanding and change. Generally, books are not didactic in anture, and readers come to the books looking for characters or problems with which they can identify, making connections to their own lives. Really, it is a place to explore the self and not a place to be preached to.

I really liked what Chris discussed in class today, not so much from a "literature" standpoint, but from a human standpoint (though isn't literature the study of the human condition?). Is an epiphany or a theophany a revelation of a strict law, preaching, or rule? No, it's the revelation of guidance or confusion, of change.

Bible as self-help book. No - it's too complicated for that. Bible as bibliotherapeutic - most definitely, I think. There's a lot of cultural baggage that goes along with it (that I think Chris is doing a great job of helping us move away from), but if that baggage wasn't there, I think the stories in Genesis are awesome for self-discovery and guidance. I think the text is pretty sparse, which can make the modern reader (who is used to identifying with character in books, something that I've heard is a pretty modern reading convention) less ready to get something out of it (but perhaps/hopefully I am wrong, or partially wrong).

I think about reading the Tower of Bable story and how we were able to come up with so many interpretations, and how some of those interpretations might help us understand ourselves or the world in which we exist - I think that's powerful and can be very helpful to people seeking understanding...

a pericope from my mind...

It seems my memory isn't what it used to be... Yesterday Chris asked us to blog about the cartoon in which god is talking to a man in heaven, and god says, "Theologians? You guys are always fun."

But I can't remember what aspect of this cartoon we were supposed to come from...

I do remember the wonderful poem that Chris read from Billy Collin's collection Poetry 180 about the poetry teacher whose student complains that his poems were "hard" and gave him a headache. The teacher replies that he tries to write about truth, and his poems are only hard if truth is hard.

I really like this.

And I think we can relate it to Genesis - it's complicated. It's complex. It's repetetive and recursive, in ways. It's contradictory, in ways. It's complex because, well, the truth is complex. Life/spirituality is complex, contradictory, paradoxical.

Perhaps that is why god, in this cartoon Chris showed us, is about to have some "fun" with the theologian, because the perhaps the theologian, who has derived his truth and might be set in it (I hesitate to say all or even most theologians are strict Will-to-Truth people; I'd like to think many of them accept contraries, but I don't know), is about to realize how he was "wrong" because heaven and god aren't as simple as he thought...

I really liked Stephanie's previous post, in which she discusses god as a character, as someone who doesn't have it all figured out, who has to change his mind and react to the world and people he's created, who are out of his control. Stephanie speculates that perhaps by admitting that god is complicated we admit that life is complicated and that we can't have it all figured out. I really like when she wrote, Maybe from this perspective complications, and difficulties in our lives and our characters aren’t necessarily flaws, but realities of being human. She asks if being in relationship with a complex god gives us a relationship with our complex selves/humanity.

I'd like to think so. What does it say if god can't figure out what is the right thing to do? Like when Abraham has to ask him to save Sodom if there are only 10 good people in the city?

Perhaps this is too theological and not enough literary... Perhaps the question should be, as Stephanie was asking, what do the stories say about the character of god? What can we infer about the type of world created by these narrators if god is so complex and interactive with people?

what surprises me about Abraham's story

Reading about Abraham in Genesis this time through sure was a lot more interesting than when I read through it in sixth grade. I'm certain this comes from attentiveness that comes with age, and appreciation for stories that aren't as "exciting" as the fantasy I was reading at the time.

I was really surprised and intrigued by the stress on hearing and seeing throughout these chapters. It really seems to echo some common themes we've seen throughout Genesis: God creates by saying and then sees things and says they're good. Here in these chapters, seeing, saying, hearing, and showing are all still pretty important. I particularly liked how the stories seemed to echo each other, like how Sarah commands Abraham to send away Hagar and Ishmael, and God says to "listen to her voice," and then Abraham rises early in the morning just like he did when God commanded him to sacrifice Isaac (21:12-14). This coherence seems pretty important, and I am so glad that I am having a chance to reread this with some attentiveness.

But there is something that struck me and took me completely by surprise. I had remember Abraham as a humble person, and had envisioned him as having somewhat humble origins and lifestyle. But here, in chapter 14, we see Abraham as pretty much a warlord, or leader of an army. He is engaged in battle and has 318 retainers (14:14). Of course, we are dealing with Legend here, but Alter seems sure that 318 does not seem exaggerative. The rest of the stories seem really humble and about individuals and families whereas this chapter sticks out as grandiose and feels more like Germanic tribal war or epic tales, like Icelandic narratives or something. It really makes me wonder about who Abraham is, since I have to question my previous notions of him to fit him into this "lordly" image.

I guess from a "history of Judaism" point of view, it makes more sense for him to have retainers and a large house, so that followers could come from his servants (I guess), and it also makes the family's fall into slavery so much more drastic and meaningful if they are "falling" from this much power. I don't know. The story just seems so out of place - not so out of place that it doesn't fit at all - but it at least jarred me from my reading: "Woah - what's going on here?"

A story unrelated to an event... or....?

It's hard to explain, but back in the condominium that my family used to live in while in Connecticut, there was a sidewalk. And along that sidewalk there was a spot where I could put the front wheel of my bike into the grass, lower the kickstand and peddle the bike like it was a stationary bike. Eventually I wore a groove into the hard packed dirt, and it became easier to stay in that one spot and peddle. I remember doing this in the summer. I remember that there was green grass, and that I was peddling there while waiting for a friend of mine to come over. I remember I sat there for a long time... maybe half an hour, and I don't remember if my friend ever showed up.

--

If I were to just look at this story, and I didn't know me, I'd still probably guess that I was white, from a family whose parents were probably young, and might have belonged to the lower middle class, but still not too bad off. And that would all be based on the fact that we were living in a condominium in Connecticut, and that I had a bike. I don't think it says much about my gender... I don't even remember if the friend I was waiting for was a girl or a boy. And the bike was red, not pink or blue. It occurs to me now that this fragment of a memory is actually rather significant in my life; I don't know how long after this happened that it was, but eventually we moved to Oregon. Once arriving in Oregon we moved again three times, and each time I left friends that I would never see again (except for a rather odd occurrence in the accounting office three weeks back... but that's another story). For whatever reason this memory and our move to Oregon seem related, though in literal time I doubt that this memory was anywhere close to when I found out about the move.

I appreciate Michaels small distillation of John Shea - "that we use narrative to deal with emotions (usually extreme, including fear, terror, joy, elation, sorrow, shame, mystery, hope)." There's a lot to the Shea handout, but this makes sense to me as I look at my fragment of a memory. If I were to use that memory now to write the story of my life it would naturally fall just after finding out that we were moving, or perhaps just before. There's something lonely about what I was doing, but I loved it all the same. In retrospect, not having that groove in the dirt to peddle in when we got to Oregon took all the joy out of biking for me, and from then on, I was never able to make friends in the same capacity as before...

But it's just a story. I could embellish it to better communicate the loneliness, but probably with all of these stories, you really just had to be there to get the full sense of it. Or, well, who's to say that being there would have made any difference. I don't remember much from my childhood, so there must have been something important about that moment – my other memories include various injuries, fears, and the removal of my favorite stuffed animal... all very traumatic events for a kid. So it's possible that, like I said, this moment in time has nothing to do with the move across country, but in my mind that is what it has come to represent. And Shea mentions that a bit, does he not? That the story is bigger then the event itself? That what happened has to be explained in simple words with simple emotions?

I'm not certain... I've reread the Shea handout a few times, and like most things dealing with this class, I feel that I almost understand something, but am not very clear on what it is that I might understand.... This was just a little story that represented a big event, and tells the tale of emotions that we can all relate too... I think there's something to that.

Thoughts on your stories

First, I like the stories you shared.
Second, I like them better than your analysis of them, and I think you did, too. Which is the point.
Third, of course it's hard to separate the two, but that doesn't mean that they're not distinct and that it's not worth seeing them as distinct. Don't take it literally! It's just a little model, part of the point of which is exactly the limitations of models!

All it's trying to do is point to the richness of images and what can't be fully translated out of them. And it's trying to say that story gets closest to the richness of the event itself.

Michael, this doesn't necessarily have anything to do with inspiration or revelation in a divine sense. That's not what "mystery" necessarily means, for Shea. Mystery is just life, and writing about it is just writing about it. The process is the same, he would say, whether you believe in itt or not. Let's the pysche, for example, the unconscious: just how deep, inexhaustible it is. Or let's say death: do you have it figured out? Mystery = anything that's not figured out and can't be. For believers, after the fact, in the process of analysis, this whole mystery gets named as somehow in relation to God. But that's the point, that it's part of the process of analysis. To believe is to interpret.

I think the best way to get at these ideas is through that little handout I gave you with the Buechner and the O'Connor quotes. That's all.

Like the stories, though. And they're all "true" stories right? Psychologically true at least!

People are the msytery!

Guidelines for the Midterm Inventory

Midterm Inventory

Print out hardcopy of just your own postings.

Respond to the questions below. Double-space. Attach the inventory to the front, and staple it all together.


Self-Assessment

• Go back to the handout on the Genesis Blog and to the criteria for an A and a B. Using those benchmarks--ticking them off one by one, a few sentences per criterion--give yourself a grade for the course to this point.

The Postings of the Group

• In a paragraph or two, describe the postings of the whole group in general terms: the general movement or direction or pattern of the postings; the themes that have emerged as interesting and important; etc.
• Quote or paraphrase the most interesting posting from another student in the class and write a one paragraph response: what’s interesting here? What does this make you think of?

Your Postings

• In a paragraph or two, describe your own postings in general terms: the general movement or pattern of the postings; the themes that have emerged as interesting and important; the nature of your own thinking, its style or sequence or method.
• What have you changed your mind about? Write a paragraph or two explaining this. Or, what has surprised you the most? Or, if you’re not surprised, write a paragraph or two explaining what’s been confirmed in your thinking. Another variation: find a posting where you now realize you were just wrong, off, unclear, in the dark. Talk about how you’ve gotten some clarity on this, what you’ve learned. Still another variation: talk about something that you were clear about that now seems less clear, even confusing.
• In a paragraph explain what’s most clear to you at this point and what isn’t clear at this point. (Some overlap here with the question above.)
• Consult the list of questions I handed out at the beginning of the term, the questions people typically ask versus the questions that belong under the heading “the Bible as Literature.” As you look at your own postings, determine how often you veer off, get interested in questions that don’t exactly fit under the Bible as Literature--theological or historical questions, for example. Note several of these, talk about them, and then--all this in a paragraph or two--talk about how you would rewrite these questions or to make them appropriate for the Bible as Literature. (Of course, this is all pretty fuzzy territory.) If you have stayed on the Bible as Literature track, talk about that. Give an example.
• In a paragraph, talk about the main or most important thing you’ve learned so far.
• In a paragraph, talk about the question you would like to have answered the rest of the term.
• Take your best and most interesting posting and revise it into a short essay of two or three paragraphs: give it a couple of examples, analyze the examples, clarify your main point. A micro-theme.
• In a paragraph or two: why might any of this matter? What friend might need to hear this and would benefit? What government official? What contemporary issue or conflict might be helped or clarified with any of these ideas? What personal issue, intellectual or otherwise? In other words, so what? What’s at stake?

a narrative, an analysis, a meta(?)-analysis...

In response to Chris's prompt in the previous post...

[i] When I was in Head Start, we rode a small bus home through the country. We all rode a big bus to school in the morning, but since Head Start was a half-day, the bus ride home was composed of only about eight of us. Those of us who lived northeast of town all rode the same bus, and, since my parents were only five miles outside of town, I was the first one off. I don't remember which of these two memories came first, but honestly, I can't remember anything before school started.

One memory involves me playing with James (who shared my birthday, the autumnal equinox; we would always be connected as twins) and his GI Joe's. I remember him putting a GI Joe head in his mouth, between his teeth, so that the body extended out, as if James were King Kong and the GI Joe another victim, but instead of ripping the head off and tossing the body aside, James had decided to leave the body there, dangling. I remember grabbing the GI Joe and yanking, and hurting James's teeth in doing so. No long-term damage — no blood or knocked out teeth. But I remember Ginger or Rachel (who was it) scolding me for hurting him.

And I remember being thankful that the bus ride was so short that I could get off first. I remember feeling this paranoia that they were talking about me even after I got off the bus: "Stupid Michael. Why is he so annoying? Why would he do that?"

The other memory involves getting off of that tiny bus on another day and being surprised when I got home that my family was eating lunch before I even got there. This story probably took place earlier than the other because it would make sense for this to happen early on that school year. I can't remember many specifics, other than either Mom or Dad explaining that they didn't have to wait for me for lunch. No, we called it dinner then. This was a foreign idea to me, I think, because we had almost always eaten together as a family.

[ii] In a way, I failed at the prompt because Chris asked us to just report, and I went into analysis in the narrative: causation, speculation... but more on that later, I think). What do these experiences say about me? I was obviously working class, growing up on a farm. We were poor enough that I qualified for Head Start, and I had a rural background, which, for me, meant social isolation as a child. I don't remember interacting with a single other child (besides my two little brothers) before I entered Head Start, which could be an instance of poor memory, or could be evidence of isolation. I also think I had a lot of insecurities about being "different" and not knowing how to function like everyone else. The memory of the dinner reminds me of our rural upbringing (the use of the term dinner or lunch would be a point of contention between me and my urban friends when I went off to college). I am also reminded of how "together" my family used to seem, but then how later we were very fragmented, especially when I began to be more social in junior high and high school, and when we all became more busy (Dad took on more part time jobs, Mom began to work, we all went to school and became involved). It seems that me going off to school for the first time was, in a way (if I'm not putting too much on this story), the beginning of a series of fragmentations of our family. Separation begins (or had already began with birth and the awareness of the self, but would continue at a faster pace now).

[iii] John Shea writes about narrative, analysis, and revelation. From my understanding, he says that we use narrative to deal with emotions (usually extreme, including fear, terror, joy, elation, sorrow, shame, mystery, hope). We often have stories that come before us, that are part of our community and that inform who we are. We tell stories that are based in some form of reality, and then, through thinking about them, we can better understand our world, and perhaps even have a revelation, or even a rendezvous (is this a good word for this) with the Sacred.

Applied to my narrative: I see archetypal "conflicts between brothers" when I added that we viewed each other as twins, though the twins part is a bit retroactive, as we didn't yet use that term. I also see that I told myself stories about what was going on after I got off the bus, even though I couldn't know. This was to cope with emotions, yes, but unfortunately, it was a healthy cognition because it only increased shame, fear, and isolation. I also see what would become my central narrative growing up: isolation is a good solution to social problems. When I am uncomfortable or unsure how to act, or when I am shamed or scolded, it is easiest to isolate myself, to withdraw. This would become my way of behaving for years (and it's still the way my father behaves).

Applied to my analysis, I see that I was able to better understand my family and our separation because of this story. I suppose it provoked a sense of a "loss of sacred" in me: I have suffered the loss of my family closeness, something I'm constantly coping with and haven't reconciled....

I am running out of time and like the immediacy of posting something directly after writing it, so I am going to close with a few thoughts. I am really drawn to Shea's theory, but something is bothering me. He makes a distinction between narrative and analsysis, yet I find this hard to do. Part of this comes from my understanding of story telling and writing as analysis and synthesis. We have to analyze which details we want to include, what is important, and then synthesize all these materials. This goes back to how I have some "analysis" in my narrative, and how when I was writing I struggled not to do this, but when I realized I felt it was impossible, I went ahead and kept it.

I am wondering how Shea would react to this problem. If I were to guess, I'd say that Shea would say that there is some form of "divine inspiration / mystery inspiration" that helps to inform us which details to put into a narrative. As an agnostic/atheist, I find this hard to buy, honestly, but I don't know if that's how Shea would answer. I am open to hearing what others think...

Thoughts on the last blog entries

First, Jen, am I right that you haven't posted?

Second, think of this as conversation, not as debate, and of you having the reponsibility of representing both sides. That is, rather than saying, Campbell is wrong or disagree with Campbell, first try to explain in your own words as clearly as you can what he means and what he is saying. That's not easy. Not for me, anyway. I think this is interesting and complicated stuff and whenever I try to explain it in my own words--that's called teaching, or one part of it--I find I haven't quite done it in a way that gets through very well to my students. In fact, I think I spend about 90% of time just trying to explain the ideas of others rather than agreeing or disagreeing. So I'd suggest you all spend at least 50% of your time doing that. Just summarize.

Then, rather than disagreeing the other 50% of the time, explain what you think and why you think it, where it comes from. Your part of the conversation.

Third, I have to confess my impatience with literary theory and all that kind of language. This is in a way a purely personal limitation. It really is. I'm just so tired of it in general, its pomposity and its irrelevance, and that's not fair to those of you using that kind of theory, because there's also something valuable in it that I fail to see because of this limitation. I see the phrase "post-colonial" and my heart sinks. I want to leave the room. And yet the ideas of "post-colonial" theory are valuable and good and need to be talked about, and for me to practice what I preach, I need for that kind of discourse to be OK, too.

I guess what I resist isn't the content of the theory but just that it's theoretical rather than engaged in the real world and taking real risks. (False distinction.) I don't think everything should be personal either, autobiographical, but I do think, with Campbell, that the head is a much overestimated organ and that the key is to dive back into the sea of feeling and ideas and fear and hope and so on that we all swim around and can't name--that mystery in us, the mystery that's always in us, whether we name it God or something else, even something purely biological. I want second-naivete. Why? Because that's where I'm at in my own life and where the real pay off is.

It's ironic, then, right, that some of you respond to Campbell's invitation to story by engaging in exactly the sort of head work that he believes is screwing everything up? And I agree with him, by the way. I'm not being neutral at all. I'm trying to sell you something here, and I see it being acted out in a certain method or way of writing.

And I'm being very contradictory, since Campbell is a theorist, too, of a pretty high order, and today in class I'm going to be sharing another theorist who is every bit as theoretical and abstract as any post-colonialist ever was. I just agree with him. I just like the theory better. So I'm a big hypocrite on this.

Notice, though, what I did in class. (I'm writing before class, on the assumption that I won't be hit by bus and not make it to class, or that I'll get to class and actually do what I'm planning to do. But on the assumption that I do do what I'm planning to do:) I spent a whole period simply trying to explain John Shea's ideas, in detail, in my own words (and his), something that I regard as intellectually tricky and intellectually difficult and intellectually worthwhile. So the thing I do that I want to model isn't that I agree or disagree but just that I summarize.

--

So, a strong suggestion, a strong invitation for the blog. A topic:

--write a paragraph or two describing your earliest memory, the earliest thing you can remember. Just put yourself there. Describe it as clearly and concretely as you possibly can. Don't analyze it. Just describe.

--Now, step back and analyze the story. Interpet what it says about you: for example, your economic class, your social class, your gender, your race, your religious background. Your identity. Do this in a paragraph.

--Finally, now step back even further and write a paragraph from John Shea's point of view explaining the difference, in terms of his theory, in terms of his notion of story and story, between the story and your analysis of it. In other words: explain in a paragraph, in your own words, his general theory and then apply it to the first part of the exercise (the story) and the second part (the analysis of the story: the "thought"). The key here is Shea's conviction, and Campbell's, and mine, and everybody's, that the analysis is always less than the story, that there's something in the story that can never be translated out. Stories are better. Movies are better than reviews. Dreams better than psychoanalysis (though we need the psychoanalysis).

sign and signified and more....

Stephanie asks some interesting questions in her previous post. Here are her last two paragraphs:

Okay, I feel I’ve talked in quite a general sense here, but the very idea that language seems to have contradictory functions fascinates me. In one sense, language brings us closer to God, allows us to articulate our feelings, share them with others, but at the same time, I can’t help but think about the distance that words create (can you ever truly express a deep, complex feeling you’re having with words without altering it?). I’m very curious to hear how others feel about this, even on the personal level, if you care to share.

And I thought I was done…one more thought…back to the idea that language creates reality. What about the idea that there is no “ideal” or “divine” on the other side of language? (There is no such thing as the “signified” separate from the “signifier”?) If language creates reality, then how can there be a gap between the language and the concept? Ugh, okay, I’m really stopping here!

I would say that no, you can never describe an experience without altering it. Language, to paraphrase Burke, reflects, deflects, and [something something] reality. Our very use of words creates a human reality (even a idiosyncratic reality?) that is different from any (if it's even possible) "true" reality. Our use of language to describe our emotions changes the way we perceive those emotions.

If I can recall my rudimentary understanding of Derrida for your second question, Stephanie, I think the Derrida says the signifyer doesn't correspond to a signified, but rather suppliments other signifyers, so that each signifyer (word) then defers to the next signifyer. When I think about connecting the signifyer to the signified, I think about how we create categories and divisions, and I think about how culturally constructed those are and how arbitrary those categories and divisions can be, for me, I see that are words are not actually corresponding to things but creating a reality.

For an example of this, we can look at the word "man" when used to describe humanity or personhood. This word has been used in English for centuries and in most Biblical translations. It obviously doesn't match up with "real personhood" (if I can even use that term) because it masks over half the population (women, interesex, transgender, and genderqueer individuals) and serves to create a reality (where male is the default gender). (We can connect this to how we then enact reality. If male is the default gender, then doctors use the presence of a "penis" as the default for a newborn baby's gender. If we look at Deborah Tannen's analysis, which claims that genetically female should be the default and unmarked gender, yet we live in a society where men can usually go "unmarked" but women can never go "unmarked.")

But, I'm way off topic and should stop myself before I go further astray. I should probably link this back to the text of Genesis. Stephanie asks, What does the language tell us about how the author/narrator relates to God/the divine?

One thing that just occured to me is the way the narrator describes 'adam in Chapter 2: "a living creature" (2:7). He also describes the animals in such a way: "whatever the human called a living creature, that was its name" (2:19). I never really noticed before, but I really like that animals and people are both described in this chapter as creatures, and in that animals are attempts by god to be "sustainers" just as woman is, doesn't that make animals and humans, well, on pretty equal footing? (Except that animals are created for humans, so very anthropocentric.)

Something else that just now occurs to me is the order of events. God lays down the law that human cannot eat from the tree of knowledge, good and evil, before creating human's sustainer, woman. Does this mean that when woman exaggerates God's law (3:3), she is exaggerating what God told her, or what human conveyed to her that God told him? It's too bad we can only guess at whether woman is creating a stricter rule or if human had created the stricter rule for her. I think there are radically different readings here (though both convey that humanity has already drifted from God and is already creating their own reality).

a postcolonialist / post-structuralist view on Campbell

We were asked to discuss the assumptions that Moyers and Campbell are making about the nature of biblical language in The Living Conversation that we're watching in class. I'm not really sure what I want to say about it at this time, so I'd rather focus on my problem with Joseph Campbell, which we touched on briefly one of the first few days in class.

Campbell claims that there are certain mythological narratives that are common to every culture at every time, the hero journey myth at the center of most of them. He does a convincing job; I read A Hero with a Thousand Faces and, for the most part, enjoyed it. But I kind of enjoyed it as a romantic journey into the past, like reading Lord of the Rings. Campbell claims that all these archetypes are imbedded in everyone's subconscious, in a Jungian sort of way.

However, I see this as a dangerous view, for two reasons: One, I see the subconscious as formed by culture, not by some inherent "human-ness" or something. But, more importantly, I think this is dangerous coming from a white heterosexual male embedded in dominant culture. Campbell is so quick to point out similarities in all these cultures, when I see it as the differences that matter more. A "this is how we're the same" viewpoint serves to mask the experiences of those who have suffered oppression, invasion, or colonialism. It is like certain politicians saying that every American has the same experiences, so the African-American in an inner city or the single mother working two jobs or the queer boy in rural America all have the same chance and the same values.

This viewpoint justifies reading just certain texts because "all texts are the same," when, in fact, they're not. If all stories cover the same myths, then we might as well just read the "good stuff" written by white men (which is, largely, what we still do). However, this disenfranchises the majority of the world (who is brown or woman).

Granted, I am not claiming that there is nothing common to all people. We all have hopes, dreams, fears, sorrows, and joys. However, to say that all these emotions for everyone fall under certain mythological stories, is, in my opinion, a form of colonialism. If we can't control your politics (which we're doing anyway), we'll control your history, your mythology, and your experiences.

When Wikipedia doesn't help...

I felt at a disadvantage when asked to write about the literary language of the first two chapters of Genesis. I had to go look up on Wikipedia what “literary language” even meant… only to discover that I didn’t know what the definition meant.

“A literary language is a register of a language that is used in writing, and which often differs in lexicon and syntax from the language used in speech. In some languages, such as Tamil, the difference is so extreme that the language exhibits diglossia.”

When I read that definition, (after I uncrossed my eyes, and started to think again) I thought of an experience I had while learning Spanish. I spent a year in Spain, so the version of Spanish that I learned was, well, common Spanish. But I have a friend here in the states that is also learning Spanish, and she has chosen to let me correct many of her papers, while consciously opted to use verb forms that are only used in Spain, rather than in Latin America. Because of this, her Spanish professor often jokes that reading her papers is like reading the Bible… her verbs are old fashioned and formal.

And that to me is what the language of the Bible is like. It’s simple, structured, and rather forceful. God is shown to act through short sentences because… well… in my mind it’s hard to argue with a short sentence. And to me it seems like the first chapter of Genesis is designed to specifically discourage argument, and to make a point about the absolute correctness and power of God. In the second chapter, indeed, as has been mentioned a number of times in class, God is almost a bit funny. A little bit slow on the uptake at times. And because the language is a bit lighter, the structure more fluid, it seems a bit more like a story that you could tell to children… they could interrupt and ask questions, and the story could flow around them… I can’t imagine anyone interrupting someone reciting chapter 1. It would throw off the rhythm.

And we’ve talked a lot about the power in the accounts we’ve read so far. I don’t yet know what these two chapters are saying about power, but just on a really simple level… in the first chapter the language is strong, and God has ultimate power. In chapter 2, the language is soft – less formal (though did he not say it was probably written before chapter 1? There’s probably something important in that, but I’m not sure what it means…) and God begins to give away some of his power. He gives it to man as man is given the power to name the animals… and then man (I suppose speaking in plural there) takes power for himself when deciding to eat from the tree.

So I’m still a little confused about what is meant by literary language. I’ve taken my best guess, and this is what I’ve thought. I suppose I’ve never seen the importance of it, but then again, I never noticed that all of chapter one is in simple sentences… I’ve never thought that there could be a hidden purpose in there… very interesting… I shall keep pondering and wait to see what other, more… um… English-majory-types have to say about the matter.

power, difference, and relationships

In class today, Chris discussed how he saw Genesis as not about power, but about relationships (or at least chapter 2 of Genesis, anyway).

At first, I kind of like that, and Alter's translation helps to support that, by translating adam as human instead of man. However, I think the power differential between human and woman so far is important in this story, and that it can't be escaped. Indeed, all relationships are constructed by power differentials (this is my view, and I'm open to hear others' views; but I can't think of one relationship not influenced by a power differential).

This power differential between human and woman is seen in two ways, I think. One is that if human is genderless, as Alter's translation proposes, then for woman to be something new from human would make her something different, and thus we have a dichotomy still: woman and non-woman human. And (secondly) non-woman human in this chapter has power over woman because "he" names her Woman (just like he names the animals). Non-woman human (who might as well be man) has power of language, and woman does not have this power. In class Chris asked us "What is Language?" I wrote briefly, "It creates, transforms, masks, divides, and deflects reality." I see non-woman human in this chapter as having a lot of power over the world, yet the woman has none or little (although she does have power in that she is created as a sustainer, someone without whom human could not survive).

I've got to dash off, so I'll leave this post at that. What do others think?

Ah, here we go

First, Michael and Ayla, I was a little too quick in my response to your two postings (as I often am). Both are really clear and good and fine. Michael, I especially like what you say about a book of "tropes."

With these three comments on Michael's post--and don't worry, it's all fine, next time just post these as separate posts, no big deal--I feel a lot of energy and a lot of openness and edge, I guess. Something at stake for everybody.

Casey, I especially like how you respond to the others.

Some general comments:

--since most of us are coming at this from a Christian background, it's important to remember that Jews regard Genesis as part of their sacred text and don't read it at all from a Christian perspective. Really really important, to know that and respect that.
--since most of us have childhood associations, it's important to remember that they're childish, or childlike, not necessarily in a bad way, but still: what it's possible for children to grasp. It may be, in other words, not that our religious education was black and white but that we were only able to understand it in black and white terms. Certainly there are other ways to understand it.
--since most of you make a distinction between spirituality and "organized religion," or churches, it's important to keep in mind our natural aversion in this culture to institutions more generally. Our skepticism. Yet we're never not a part of institutions, in some form or another. Not if we wear clothes. Eat food. Walk on sidewalks. Etc. There's never a choice between "institution" and "no institution." It's always a choice among institutions. Awareness. A choice: that we are actively choosing, not assuming some false freedom (that lets us be exploited by the multinationals, who love the trope of freedom--because it sells more SUVs).
--Also understand, with regard to organized religion and institutions, that they come in all flavors, including some very liberal ones, including some very open ones, including some that would be very comfortable with all the ideas in this class.
--Jen, you talk about being "reasonably objective," and I know what you mean and admire that impulse. But I'd say we can never be objective and never should be. That the key is for us to be aware of our various subjectivities and never assume that we're being objective, never assume that we're being naked, to be always aware that we are always wearing clothes of some sort. The reason to read is to keep being reminded of that--and to read literature in particular--and of all literature, to read the Bible in particular--because you obviously all bring such baggage and associations to it that it makes the case in capital letters for what is always true in all language (just less obviously).

Where are the others?

Well, I write to begin with with irritation that only two posts are here. Not good. Not good at all.

I'm wondering with both the posts that are here: what's the risk? Is there any risk? Both seem oddly closed to me. No worries. All figured out. No burning question to ask. No deep love. No fear. Of course, that's a lot to ask two people to post right away, or anyone, ever. I just notice it. And it's so different than my own feelings when I come to read this text, as a person of faith. Wild joy. Sometimes. Irritation. Worry. Concern. And it keeps changing. I'm never sure. It's always opening up. Or closing. Just today I was thinking about the story of the garden and the prohibition against eating of the fruit. It seemed to me like it was somehow related to my continued experience of my own limitations, my own walls and barriers, my own personality and history. Sometimes I experience those things are gifts but other times as prisons. Today: prisons. And I found it depressing.

I also remember a time last year on the coast when I felt off and on as if I were in Eden. In the sense of being in balance. I was close to two nesting Wilson Warblers. Over the days they came to recognize me, I'm sure. I watched them sing. I watched the weather come in. Watched the sun go down. The sadness and the challenge is why that balance is always so temporary.

But. Ayla and Michael. Thanks for posting. No need to be where I am, now or ever. What you wrote is clear and fine. I get it. No problem.