Ben McManus: Job, The Slave, and Winter Light

Ben McManus

Job, The Slave, and Winter Light

I like stories like The Slave because they deal with one of the most fascinating subjects: That of suffering. I suppose, in a way, The Story of Job laid the groundwork for such tales, and for that I am grateful. That being said, I feel The Story of Job lacks the most essential element of suffering. The story deals with pains of betrayal, heartbreak, and more than anything else, physical pain. But something is missing.

I believe Ingmar Bergman, a film director known for his philosophies on religion, deals with this notion very effectively in his 1962 film Winter Light.

The film deals with a Priest who struggles to believe in God. He cannot understand why he’s been made to suffer. Toward the end of the film, a painfully crippled man, who works in the Church, asks to speak with The Priest. At first, The Priest tries to avoid the cripple, assuming he’s come to ask for his paycheck. The cripple takes no care in what the priest thinks; he just wants to share his thoughts. Finally, giving in to the cripple’s wishes, The Priest is astounded by what this meek man has to say. It boarders on an epiphany for him.

The cripple talks of The Passion of The Christ, and Christ’s suffering. He believes that “the focus of the suffering is all wrong.” Here is the cripple’s monolog that follows:

“This emphasis on physical pain. It couldn’t have been all that bad. It may sound presumptuous of me, but in my humble way, I’ve suffered as much physical pain as Jesus. And his torments were rather brief. Lasting some four hours, I gather? I feel he was tormented far worse on another level. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. But just think of Gethsemane, pastor. Christ’s disciples fell asleep. They hadn’t understood the meaning of the last supper or anything. And when the servants of the law appeared, they ran away. And Peter denied him. Christ had known his disciples for three years. They’d lived together day in and day out, but they never grasped what he meant. They abandon him, down to the last man. He was left all alone.... That must have been painful.... To realize that no one understands. To be abandoned when you need someone to rely on. That must have been excruciatingly painful. But the worst was yet to come. When Jesus was nailed to the cross, and hung there in torment, he cried out, “God, my God. Why hast thou forsaken me?” He cried out as loud as he could. He thought his heavenly father had abandoned him. He believed everything he’d ever preached was a lie. In the moments before he died, Christ was seized by doubt. Surely that must have been his greatest hardship...? God’s Silence.

Ben McManus tells his Mother where her name comes from

Ben McManus tells his Mother where her name comes from.... and she takes it badly

Having a conversation about the Bible is no problem for me. Getting into an argument poses a greater challenge. My opinions are unsound, and constantly changing, so it’s hard for me to take a side on any mater Bible related. I was preparing to take to the streets as a pretend literalist, just for the Hell of it, when I accidentally stumbled upon an actual argument. It was with my Mother, and it took place over the phone. Her name is Deborah. I thought she’d be excited to hear where that name comes from. I told her all about Deborah the judge, and her bravery, and her knowledge, and yes, her brutality. In fact, I spared no detail in describing Jael’s brief encounter with Sisera, and Sisera’s brief encounter with a metal spike. It’s a great little scene. To my surprises, my Mother was appalled by the whole story. “Is that a good thing?” She asked me. Apparently, she felt disdain for having a name associated with such violence. This really caught me off guard. I honestly think Deborah is great. I tried to explain it to her again, choosing my words more carefully this time. I focused more on Deborah’s knowledge and bravery. She took this a lot better, but I could tell she was still dissatisfied. I told her, “She’s like Buffy or Xena....” Not helpful. I began to realize that she understood this to be one of the most violent instances in the Bible. She’s never actually read it. Accepting this, I went on to assure her that a lot of the Bible, if not most of it, is like the story of Deborah. She seems to feel a little better knowing that most names can be somehow traced to a violent story in the Bible.

Ben McManus: Susanna and Peter Quince at the Clavier

Ben McManus

Susanna and Peter Quince at the Clavier

I don’t really understand poetry. I guess I wish I did, but for whatever reason it doesn’t speak to me. It doesn’t enrich my perception of life the way movies and books can, it doesn’t satisfy some abstract pleasure the way music can, and it doesn’t entertain me. All the same, I shall try and connect the story of Susanna to the poem “Peter Quince at the Clavier.”

The story of Susana is fairly strait forward, especially for being a Bible story. The Elders fall victim to lust for Susanna. They try to compensate for their sin with another sin, and ultimately are put to death as a result of some clever detective work by Daniel. It’s a suspenseful story with a satisfying payoff. It also has a little bit of a moral statement regarding the dangers of voyeurism and baring false witness. Great. I’m down with this.

The poem seems odd to me. I guess it’s trying to improve the emotional flow of Susanna’s story by incorporating a sense of music to the description. I guess music’s more in tune with feeling. But then, why didn’t this guy just write a song? It sounds to me like he really likes music and maybe wishes he could play music, but is forever banished to words and so he’s just doing the best he can. I really have no idea. I’m not mad at the guy. I’m sure it’s a nice poem, but maybe he should pick up an instrument? Something simple, like a harmonica? Just a thought. Anyway, I did like getting a more internal rendition of the story. Susana’s story, like so many in the Bible, has a lot going on under the surface, but doesn’t really go into any detail. Wallace’s poem seems to lament more about the internal pains of lust and what it can inspire. So that’s fun. I’ll read the poem again tomorrow and see if maybe it clicks or what ever it is that happens to people when they fall in love with poetry.

Ben McManus: I'm a.... I've Tried to be a serious man- The Coen Brothers do The Book of Job

Ben McManus

I’m a.... I’ve tried to be a serious man

                                    The Coen Brothers do The Book Job

For me, one of the most interesting things about the Bible is its tendency to get the attention of those who need answers, only to ultimately provide them with more questions. I’m not looking for answers. I’m looking to be entertained (so I don’t have to think about questions), and there’s nothing entertaining about a PSA (public service announcement). This is why I liked the version of Job in the bible a lot more than version I heard about in Sunday School. The Sunday School version was fairly cut and dry, and went something like “God took everything from Job to test his faith. Job remained faithful and so God gave him back twice what he had. The end.... Oh, and also the Devil walks freely across the earth. Just an FYI.”

After reading the actual story of Job, it struck me more as a story about the question “why me?”. Job’s a good guy, with a nice life. God takes everything from him, and yet, he remains a decent guy. He demands to know why this is happening to him. Fare enough. He goes to his friends. They think they know, which is great for them, but they really don’t, so it’s no help to Job.  Moving along. Job double-checks his math: “Do I deserve this...? You know, I really haven’t done anything. I don’t. I honestly don’t deserve this!” He takes it up with God. He asks him, “What’s going on?” To my surprise, God shows. Job should at least be thankful he’s not in an Ingmar Bergman film.... or maybe not. As it turns out, God’s not all that helpful, even if you do manage to get him on the line.  God tells him, “First, I’m God. You’re not. Learn you’re place. And second.... My bad.” With that he restores Job’s life two fold and takes off.... I don’t know what to make of that. I surely don’t.  But alas, I read the book in a sitting, and there’s something to be said for that. And I’ve been thinking about it all day, and there’s even more to be said for that.

You cannot debate that A Serious Man; a 2009 film by the Coen brother’s, is based on the story of Job. It is. It clearly is. And the subject is free of the ambiguity that surrounds The Coen’s 2000 film Oh Brother Where Art Thou and the “Odyssey”. It’s there. A Serous Man IS a take on the story of Job, no mater what The Coens say, and they may say different. Keep in mind these are the people who told us Fargo was a true story. It’s a rendition Job. And it’s an interesting one.  It’s interesting because it brings the story to a level of realism. And it factors in the element of humor necessary to fully appreciate, and frankly, tolerate the absurdity of the story. The Coens’ Job, named Larry, “hasn’t done anything.” He makes this abundantly clear. And yet, his life is falling apart. Does he deserve this somehow? We don’t know. Does "deserve" even have anything to do with anything? We don’t know. Larry turns to the faith for answers. Actually, the stories the Rabbi shares with him are somehow just as ambiguous as the one he’s living in. He’s baffled. Why put the need for answers inside us, if there isn’t any hope of appeasing it? In the end, Larry finds the answer.... and then he doesn’t.... and then a literal “whirlwind” shows up.... the end. People always ask me, “What was the message?” And I respond, “I don’t know. Do you even trust the Coen Brother enough to want a message?”   The point is the movie is entertaining as Hell.  

Here's a clip from the film: How does God speak to us?  (It doesn't link directly for what ever reason, but just copy and past the address it into your browser. Trust me it's worth watching)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfam7rqSQ-s

Ben McManus: Weird Science, God's Way

Weird Science, God’s Way

The whole discussion on women in the Bible held a high level of interest for me, as it frequently seems to be women who insight the drama. However, I’ve already blogged about that topic. As such, I’ll focus on another topic we discussed: The concept of couvade or men’s envy of women’s ability to give childbirth. When it was first mentioned, I had to double take. It was an intellectual double take. Men envy women for giving birth? Not in my experience. Any time I see a pregnant women, I think, “Yikes. So glad they’ve got that on lock, cause that’s not for me.” But, apparently plenty of men throughout history don’t share my opinion. Once I thought about it, I realized just how present man’s envy of childbirth is in the Bible. First and foremost, God gives birth to mankind. I suppose God is fairly androgynous, and I understand that humans, as a whole, serve as his gender counterpart, but alas, he is referred to as a “He” and he gives birth, so there it is. Up next, we have Adam. God makes Eve by pulling out one of Adam’s ribs. In a way, Adam gives birth to Eve. Now from here, the women take over, and give birth to the rest of humanity. That being said, The Bible credits men with the firth birth. Is this really because men are secretly jealous of women, or is this just how the story in the Bible goes? I’m starting to favor the former. Evidence of men’s envy appears in all sorts of other literature. The most notable of witch, is most likely Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. It’s a story all about man’s urge to create life. Granted, it doesn’t go well for him, but he creates life. Moving out of great literature to pop culture, we have John Hughes’ film Weird Science. It’s a movie about two male nerds who find a way to create a woman. They use computers and their perverse minds instead of a rib, but they get it done. After Weird Science, came Ivan Rietmen’s film Junior. In this film Arnold Schwarzenegger actually gets pregnant, and subsequently gives birth. I think this is our envy at its purest. Now that I’ve considered all these examples, I guess I’m convinced that many of us are envious of childbirth. But am I? It may take midlife crises to find that out.