THE GNOSIS OF ANOMALISA Film Review

Anomalisa (2015) is an intricately animated film written by Charlie Kaufman, director of existentially ambiguous works such as Being John Malkovich (1999) and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004). Based on Kaufman’s 2005 stage-play, it follows Michael, a self-help guru, on a weekend business trip, during which he tries to reconcile the mundane reality of his everyday life with his deep desire for something more. Along the way he encounters the woman of this dreams, Lisa, referred to in the film’s title.

The film starts out with Michael immersed in an oppressive world of utterly banal chitchat, awkward phone calls, and pointless speeches. It is a bleak, monotonous universe—literally, since nearly every other character speaks with the same flattened voice. The boredom and despair are palpable, punctuated by the main character’s frustrated refrain of “fuck, fuck, fuck!” In the midst of this workaday prison Michael hears a singular voice, Lisa, to whom he is overwhelmingly attracted and for whom he is prepared to renounce everything. After a short, blissful sexual union, Michael’s redemption begins rapidly to unravel. First, with a nightmare, and then, with his mental breakdown while delivering a much anticipated speech. In the end Michael and “Anomalisa”, as he comes calls her, part ways and he returns to his depressive world of pointless interactions and alienation.

What’s really going on here? It seems to me that the film can be read, in typically Kaufman fashion, as an existential, even spiritual, allegory. In fact, I would go further to suggest that Anomalisa is a kind of “gnostic” parable. According to the ancient gnostic myth, the world is not the product of a benevolent creator, but has in fact been fashioned by an evil cosmic ruler who works to imprison human beings in materialism and ignorance. Salvation is achieved only when a messenger from the heavenly realm reminds humanity about its true, enlightened nature. In Anomalisa, the characters exist in a cold, mechanistic universe. It is quite literally a “puppet show”, given the production techniques employed. As such, each character navigates the world from behind a detachable mask that conceals their true, authentic selves. Michael “Stone” appears cold and lifeless as he makes his way through this lower world. It is only when he perceives the celestial voice of Lisa that he is awakened from his ignorant stupor. After all, she later claims that “Anomalisa” means “goddess of heaven” in Japanese. Enlightened by his encounter with this divine messenger, the banal fictions of social interactions and soul-destroying customer service are shattered by glimpse of the true reality—a grim and chaotic world ruled by a war criminal president. Originally written during the Iraq War, the allusion is obvious. Unfortunately, the horror of this unmasking of reality is too much for Michael and he retreats back to the comfortable and familiar fictions of his work-a-day life.   

The film also has echoes of Orwell’s 1984, in which the protagonist Winston briefly escapes his ideological prison through a love affair with Julia. Only then to be reconditioned by Big Brother to embrace the great lies that underpin society. Ultimate slavery is preferred after a taste of real freedom. Once again the political allegory is obvious enough.

All in all, Anomalisa is a fascinating and finely crafted film that offers much for on-going thought and reflection. 

TALK GNOSIS: Extended Audio Interview on Manichaeans

Talk Gnosis extended audio interview on Manichaeans

https://www.patreon.com/posts/stop-agreeing-me-4225052

DO CHRISTIANS AND MUSLIMS WORSHIP THE SAME GOD? A LATE ANTIQUE PERSPECTIVE

In a much publicized recent controversy, Larycia Hawkins, a tenured political science professor at Wheaton College (a private, Christian Evangelical institution) is being fired for wearing a hijab—in an act of solidarity with Muslims—and for suggesting that Christians and Muslims worship the same God. Predictably, this incident erupted across social media and the blogosphere in a fire storm of apologetics and arm-chair sermonizing. Much of the commentary has involved a simplistic dichotomy of “yes” or “no”. From a historical perspective, however, the answer is more like “yes” and “no”. It very much depends on who you ask and how the question is framed.

It has become commonplace in recent decades to talk about the “Abrahamic” religions. Usually, this implies an ecumenically motivated understanding of the three major monotheistic traditions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) as belonging to the same family of faiths. Since they are siblings, then understandably they squabble over who has the most authentic claim to the inheritance of Abraham, who biblical tradition presents as the first person called to worship the “one, true God” (Genesis 12). Moreover, this familial relationship is underpinned by an inclusive interpretation of Abraham’s progeny. Ishmael, through Hagar, from whom God promised to raise up a great nation (Genesis 21), has long been interpreted as the forbearer of Muslims, while Isaac is seen as the ancestor of the Jews and Christians. In principle, then, all the descendants of Abraham would worship the same deity, except for the fact that Jews, Muslims, and Christians conceptualize God in starkly different ways. In fact, the outliers in this scenario tend to be the Christians, with their complex Trinitarian theology.

It should be noted, however, that Christians themselves have not always agreed on what God they worship. To be sure, Jesus is alleged to have spoken of his “Father,” but for some Christians this did not mean the God of the Jews. Some Christians, commonly referred to as the “gnostics” (because they claimed to possess specially revealed “knowledge” [gnosis]), argued that the god of the Jews was a demonic imposter who created the world out of ignorance as a prison for human beings. The “true God”, they supposed, was an ethereal Platonic deity beyond the realm of matter and creation. This being, they said, was the actual Father of Jesus. “Gnostic” theology, however, with its radical re-reading of Genesis, even though it gained a certain amount of traction in the early 2^nd century CE, was ultimately rejected by the emerging Christian orthodoxy as heretical. By abandoning the Jewish God, gnostic Christians were distancing themselves from their Judaic heritage and thereby confirming Roman suspicions that Christianity was a new “superstition” not rooted in ancestral piety. Ultimately, however, Christians do come to agree that they too worship the supreme creator God of the Jewish Bible. More than that, they believed that this ancestral God came to visit them in human form and established the Church as the vehicle of salvation for the new chosen people. This imagined unity, however, was short-lived as Christians spent much of the next 500 years excommunicating each other over variant formulae about how Jesus could be defined as both “God” and “man”. As such, arguments about the nature of God are endemic to Christianity as a religious tradition.

It is precisely this Trinitarian factional infighting that puzzled the earliest Muslims. The Qur’an makes repeated references to the fundamental unity of God and counsels its hearers to “say not ‘Three’” (Surah 4.171). The core Christian theological idea that God “begat” a Son is harshly critiqued (Surah 19.88-92). In fact, anti-Christological slogans adorn the famed Dome of the Rock, erected in Jerusalem by Umayyad caliph Abd al-Malik in the mid-5^th century CE. In spite of this, the early Muslims did not suppose that Christians (or Jews for that matter) were worshipping a different God. They were simply thought to be worshipping him incorrectly and elevating Jesus (who Muslims consider to be a messenger of God) to divine status. Jews and Christians are clearly acknowledged by Islamic tradition as “People of the Book”—that is communities that have received divine revelations and therefore have special status. Whether or not that revelation was properly understood or preserved is another matter. Surah 3 of the Qur’an says: “Truly among the People of the Book are those who believe in God and that which has been sent down unto you.” Thus, for early Islamic tradition at least, it is a non-issue whether or not Muslims worship the same God as the Christians and Jews. It’s a matter of how. As the 12^th century scholar Zamakhshari wrote, interpreting the verse “Do not be fanatical in your faith” (Surah 4.171): “The Jews went too far in that they degraded the position of Christ in regarding him as an illegitimate child (of Mary). And the Christians went too far in that they unduly elevated him in considering him a god.”[1]

Yet what did Christians think about this issue when they first encountered Muslims? Interestingly, one of the earliest names applied by outsiders to Muslims was “Saracen,” which some interpreters in antiquity gave a Greek etymology as Sara-kene (“Sarah is barren”)—a reference to the Abraham story. Others referred to them more explicitly as “Hagarenes” or “Ishmaelites,” which also implies an acknowledgement of the Abrahamic legacy and, therefore, common theological ground. In fact, a connection was drawn between Arab tribes and the descendants of Ishmael even prior to the coming of Islam. The 5^th century church historian Sozomen states:

This is the tribe which took its origin and had its name from Ishmael, the son of Abraham; and the ancients called them Ishmaelites after their progenitor. As their mother Hagar was a slave, they afterwards, to conceal the opprobrium of their origin, assumed the name of Saracens, as if they were descended from Sara, the wife of Abraham. Such being their origin, they practice circumcision like the Jews, refrain from the use of pork, and observe many other Jewish rites and customs. If, indeed, they deviate in any respect from the observances of that nation, it must be ascribed to the lapse of time, and to their intercourse with the neighboring nations. Moses, who lived many centuries after Abraham, only legislated for those whom he led out of Egypt. The inhabitants of the neighboring countries, being strongly addicted to superstition, probably soon corrupted the laws imposed upon them by their forefather Ishmael. The ancient Hebrews had their community life under this law only, using therefore unwritten customs, before the Mosaic legislation. These people certainly served the same gods as the neighboring nations, honoring and naming them similarly, so that by this likeness with their forefathers in religion, there is evidenced their departure from the laws of their forefathers. As is usual, in the lapse of time, their ancient customs fell into oblivion, and other practices gradually got the precedence among them. Some of their tribe afterwards happening to come in contact with the Jews, gathered from them the facts of their true origin, returned to their kinsmen, and inclined to the Hebrew customs and laws. From that time on, until now, many of them regulate their lives according to the Jewish precepts. Some of the Saracens were converted to Christianity not long before the present reign. They shared in the faith of Christ by intercourse with the priests and monks who dwelt near them, and practiced philosophy in the neighboring deserts, and who were distinguished by the excellence of their life, and by their miraculous works (Church History 6.38 [NPNF]).

According to Sozomen’s account, the Ishmaelites had abandoned the faith of Abraham, only to be reintroduced to it by later interactions with Jews and Christians. This places them solidly within the Abrahamic paradigm. Yet, once the Arab tribes appear as carriers of a new religious message the tone becomes more polemical. For instance, the earliest Greek reference to Islam (from 634 CE) speaks of a “prophet who has appeared with the Saracens” (Doctrina Jacobi),[2] who is later dismissed as false. Around the same time the Christian author John Moschus noted that “the godless Saracens entered the holy city of Christ our Lord, Jerusalem, with the permission of God and in punishment for our negligence.”[3] John’s account is somewhat ambivalent in that it refers to the Saracens as “godless” but also as instruments of God meant to punish the Christians for their constant infighting. A similar sentiment is expressed by Sophronius, the patriarch of Jerusalem at the time.[4] Over time, Muhammad is increasingly portrayed by Christian writers as a false-prophet and his teachings as yet another heresy (see John of Damascus).[5]

Interestingly, some of the first Christians to encounter Muslims were members of the Syriac churches, who spoke a dialect of Aramaic—the language of Jesus himself and lingua franca for the entire late antique Near East. It surprises most people to know that the Syro-Aramaic word for God is alahah, equivalent to the Arabic allah. Contrary to common misconception, this is not an Islamic name for a god (like Zeus or Thor) but the basic term for God used by Aramaic speaking Jews and Christians. Even Jesus himself would have referred to God in this way! Syriac Christian writers were on the frontline, culturally and linguistically, of the encounter with the emerging Islamic tradition. One of the earliest sources from this Syriac perspective, a letter from Isho‘yahb III, bishop of Nineveh-Mosul (in what remains of modern Iraq), relates that “these Arabs to whom at this time God has given control over the world, as you know, they are [also here] with us. Not only are they no enemy to Christianity, but they are even praisers of our faith, honorers of our Lord’s priests and holy ones, and supporters of churches and monasteries.”[6] Bishop Isho‘yahb’s charitable sentiments, however, are not always share by other writers of the time who express apocalyptic alarm and confusion at the advancing Arab forces. Still, they are echoed by an 8^th century Syriac chronicle, which portrays the Prophet as leading his people from polytheism to the worship of the one God:

This Muhammad, while in the age and stature of youth, began to go up and down from his town of Yathrib to Palestine for the business of buying and selling. While so engaged in the country, he saw the belief in one God and it was pleasing to his eyes. When he went back down to his tribesmen, he set this belief before them, and he convinced a few and they became his followers.[7]

Thus, we can see that, historically speaking, those Christians who first encountered carriers of Islamic tradition were unsure what to make of them—as many are today who haven’t had regular contact with Muslim communities and cultures. Were they (or are they) harbingers of doom and minions of the Antichrist? Or, were they (or are they) fellow travellers in the on-going salvation history of humanity’s relationship to the God of Abraham? It very much depends on the theological attitudes of those involved. Believers who take an exclusivist view contend that only they are right. Theirs is the only true understanding of religion; all others are false. In this sense the adherents of ISIS and radical, western Christian agitators have much in common. These would say that Muslims and Christians most definitely do not worship the same God. Yet, if theirs is a God of violence and hate, then perhaps they ultimately do. By way of contrast, believers who adopt an inclusivist theological outlook allow themselves to see the value in other traditions and can recognize that they are not alone on the journey of faith. They seek a God in common. One can only hope that the latter group outnumbers the former in contemporary encounters.

Unfortunately, most discussions of political, cultural, and religious interactions occur in a historical vacuum. The public has very little awareness of their own history let alone the history of those they fear. Yet, mining the past, even a little, can yield some valuable insights.  

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[1] F. E. Peters, A Reader on Classical Islam (Princeton, 1994), 103.

[2] Robert Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It (Princeton, 1997), 57.

[3] Hoyland, 63.

[4] Hoyland, 69.

[5] Hoyland, 486.

[6] Michael Philip Penn, When Christians First Met Muslims (Oakland, 2015), 36.

[7] Hoyland, 130. 

TALK GNOSIS INTERVIEW: MANICHAEANS

A recent interview with TalkGnosis on the Manichaeans

THE QUESTION OF QUOTATION IN LATE ANTIQUITY

Citation and quotation by ancient authors is an issue that remains poorly understood. All too often, modern scholars tend to assume that the ancients worked and wrote like we do, with multiple books at hand, scrupulously checking references and carefully rendering quotations. Such a scenario seems highly unlikely in antiquity. In spite of the gradual penetration of literacy in ancient societies, most information continued to be transmitted orally. Even information that existed in written textual form was most often received aurally. In fact, the ancient relationship to written text was a unique one, at least from the modern perspective. At the composition stage, authors tended to dictate to scribes, while at the reading stage, texts were mostly read aloud. So, for instance, someone in Alexandria might dictate a letter to a local scribe, the text of that letter is then transmitted to its addressee in Antioch. The addressee, when receiving the letter, either reads or has it read aloud to gain access to its contents. The physical letter itself is simply a vehicle by which an act of oral communication can be reproduced in another space and time. Even writers who did not use scribes would often speak the words they were transcribing.[1] As Paul Achtemeier has put it, “late antiquity knew nothing of the ‘silent, solitary reader’.”[2] The same could be said for the silent, solitary scholar. After all, ancient books and scrolls were cumbersome and difficult to use even for the literate. The lack of punctuation, paragraph or line division, made reading itself burdensome, let alone looking up and verifying passages one wanted to cite. Moreover, ancient memories seem to have been far more robust than our own, with memory exercises forming a key part of the rhetorical curriculum,[3] even from the earlies stages of education.[4]  

            As a rule, Graeco-Roman authors only cite other writings to criticize them, for instance in philosophical literature. Otherwise, material that the author agrees with is often recycled without attribution.[5] At the same time, authors would sometimes alter the material cited in order to re-enforce their own arguments. There was little interest in representing the actual words of either an opponent or an ally. As a result, when an ancient author uses the verb phēmi, this often amounts to little more than the attribution of an idea or opinion.[6] Even instances when the phrase kata lexin is used should be treated with caution.[7] As Geoffrey Lloyd has written, “when a Greek writer tells us what one of his predecessors ‘says’, phesi, this has often to be taken not as a record of what that predecessor wrote, let alone of words that he spoke, but rather in the sense of what he meant or could be represented as meaning.”[8] After all, did not the great historian Thucydides famously remark that he intended to reproduce not what was actually said in his subjects’ speeches but what “ought” to have been said (1.22)?

            How then does this relate to the question of biblical citation? Presumably the same pattern applies. It is unlikely that ancient Christian authors used actual textual copies for their citations of scripture—with the exception perhaps of biblical commentaries. It is more likely that they relied on their familiarity with key verses and passages gained through repeated liturgical performance.[9] The same holds true today for many Christians whose familiarity with the Bible is derived primarily from liturgical contexts, not personal reading. As a result, as Achtemeier notes, using biblical citations in early Christian authors as evidence for variant textual traditions is often an exercise in futility.[10] Moreover, it is based on an assumption that a definitive canonical text existed in antiquity, which the church fathers either quoted exactly or deliberately altered or misquoted. This assumption has driven a fair amount of modern research into the “text” of the New Testament among early Christian writers and, in my opinion, constitutes one of the greatest misuses of patristic literature by biblical scholars. How the texts are used and interpreted is often set aside.   

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[1] Paul Achtemeier, “Omne verbum sonat: The New Testament and the Oral Environment of Late Western Antiquity,” Journal of Biblical Literature 109,1 (1990) 3-27.

[2] Achtemeier, “Omne verbum sonat,” p. 17.

[3] George A. Kennedy, A New History of Classical Rhetoric, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1994, p. 123-127.

[4] Henri Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, Madison, University of Wisconsin Press, 1982, p. 154.

[5] Geoffrey Lloyd, “Quotation in Greco-Roman Context,” Extrême-Orient, Extrême-Occident 17 (1995),148-9. A major deviation from this patter is Eusebius, who extensively quotes and compiles sources in what seems to be an attempt to create a “documentary” history of the church.

[6] Lloyd, “Quotations,” p. 142.

[7] Lloyd, “Quotations,” p. 143.

[8] Lloyd, “Quotations,” p. 143.

[9] This was certainly the case in medieval monasteries where authors used “hook words” drawn from a kind of internal concordance. See Jean Leclerq, The Love of Learning and the Desire for God, trans. C. Mirashi, New York, Fordham, 1961, p. 74-75.

[10] Achtemeir, “Omne verbum sonat,” p. 27.