Isaac Asimov’s Guide to the Bible: A Witty, Erudite Atheist’s Guide to the World’s Most Famous Book

Paint­ing of Asi­mov on his throne by Rowe­na Morill, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Every­one should read the Bible, and—I’d argue—should read it with a sharply crit­i­cal eye and the guid­ance of rep­utable crit­ics and his­to­ri­ans, though this may be too much to ask for those steeped in lit­er­al belief. Yet few­er and few­er peo­ple do read it, includ­ing those who pro­fess faith in a sect of Chris­tian­i­ty. Even famous athe­ists like Christo­pher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, and Melvyn Bragg have argued for teach­ing the Bible in schools—not in a faith-based con­text, obvi­ous­ly, but as an essen­tial his­tor­i­cal doc­u­ment, much of whose lan­guage, in the King James, at least, has made major con­tri­bu­tions to lit­er­ary cul­ture. (Curiously—or not—atheists and agnos­tics tend to score far high­er than believ­ers on sur­veys of reli­gious knowl­edge.)

There is a prac­ti­cal prob­lem of sep­a­rat­ing teach­ing from preach­ing in sec­u­lar schools, but the fact remains that so-called “bib­li­cal illit­er­a­cy” is a seri­ous prob­lem edu­ca­tors have sought to rem­e­dy for decades. Promi­nent Shake­speare schol­ar G.B. Har­ri­son lament­ed it in the intro­duc­tion to his 1964 edit­ed edi­tion, The Bible for Stu­dents of Lit­er­a­ture and Art. “Today most stu­dents of lit­er­a­ture lack this kind of edu­ca­tion,” he wrote, “and have only the hazi­est knowl­edge of the book or of its con­tents, with the result that they inevitably miss much of the mean­ing and sig­nif­i­cance of many works of past gen­er­a­tions. Sim­i­lar­ly, stu­dents of art will miss some of the mean­ing of the pic­tures and sculp­tures of the past.”

Though a devout Catholic him­self, Harrison’s aim was not to pros­e­ly­tize but to do right by his stu­dents. His edit­ed Bible is an excel­lent resource, but it’s not the only book of its kind out there. In fact, no less a lumi­nary, and no less a crit­ic of reli­gion, than sci­en­tist and sci-fi giant Isaac Asi­mov pub­lished his own guide to the Bible, writ­ing in his intro­duc­tion:

The most influ­en­tial, the most pub­lished, the most wide­ly read book in the his­to­ry of the world is the Bible. No oth­er book has been so stud­ied and so ana­lyzed and it is a trib­ute to the com­plex­i­ty of the Bible and eager­ness of its stu­dents that after thou­sands of years of study there are still end­less books that can be writ­ten about it.

Of those books, the vast major­i­ty are devo­tion­al or the­o­log­i­cal in nature. “Most peo­ple who read the Bible,” Asi­mov writes, “do so in order to get the ben­e­fit of its eth­i­cal and spir­i­tu­al teach­ings.” But the ancient col­lec­tion of texts “has a sec­u­lar side, too,” he says. It is a “his­to­ry book,” though not in the sense that we think of the term, since his­to­ry as an evi­dence-based aca­d­e­m­ic dis­ci­pline did not exist until rel­a­tive­ly mod­ern times. Ancient his­to­ry includ­ed all sorts of myths, won­ders, and mar­vels, side-by-side with leg­endary and apoc­ryphal events as well as the mun­dane and ver­i­fi­able.

Asimov’s Guide to the Bible, orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished in two vol­umes in 1968–69, then reprint­ed as one in 1981, seeks to demys­ti­fy the text. It also assumes a lev­el of famil­iar­i­ty that Har­ri­son did not expect from his read­ers (and did not find among his stu­dents). The Bible may not be as wide­ly-read as Asi­mov thought, even if sales sug­gest oth­er­wise. Yet he does not expect that his read­ers will know “ancient his­to­ry out­side the Bible,” the sort of crit­i­cal con­text nec­es­sary for under­stand­ing what its writ­ings meant to con­tem­po­rary read­ers, for whom the “places and peo­ple” men­tioned “were well known.”

“I am try­ing,” Asi­mov writes in his intro­duc­tion, “to bring in the out­side world, illu­mi­nate it in terms of the Bib­li­cal sto­ry and, in return, illu­mi­nate the events of the Bible by adding to it the non-Bib­li­cal aspects of his­to­ry, biog­ra­phy, and geog­ra­phy.” This describes the gen­er­al method­ol­o­gy of crit­i­cal Bib­li­cal schol­ars. Yet Asimov’s book has a dis­tinct advan­tage over most of those writ­ten by, and for, aca­d­e­mics. Its tone, as one read­er com­ments, is “quick and fun, chat­ty, non-aca­d­e­m­ic.” It’s approach­able and high­ly read­able, that is, yet still seri­ous and eru­dite.

Asimov’s approach in his guide is not hos­tile or “anti-reli­gious,” as anoth­er read­er observes, but he was not him­self friend­ly to reli­gious beliefs, or super­sti­tions, or irra­tional what-have-yous. In the inter­view above from 1988, he explains that while humans are inher­ent­ly irra­tional crea­tures, he nonethe­less felt a duty “to be a skep­tic, to insist on evi­dence, to want things to make sense.” It is, he says, akin to the call­ing believ­ers feel to “spread God’s word.” Part of that duty, for Asi­mov, includ­ed mak­ing the Bible make sense for those who appre­ci­ate how deeply embed­ded it is in world cul­ture and his­to­ry, but who may not be inter­est­ed in just tak­ing it on faith. Find an old copy of Asimov’s Guide to the Bible at Ama­zon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Isaac Asi­mov Pre­dicts in 1983 What the World Will Look Like in 2019: Com­put­er­i­za­tion, Glob­al Co-oper­a­tion, Leisure Time & Moon Min­ing

Intro­duc­tion to the Old Tes­ta­ment: A Free Yale Course 

Chris­tian­i­ty Through Its Scrip­tures: A Free Course from Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty 

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

A Visual Map of the World’s Major Religions (and Non-Religions)

Images by Car­rie Osgood

“The nones are grow­ing,” we hear all the time, a ref­er­ence to the huge increase in peo­ple who check the “none” box in doc­u­ments that ask about reli­gious beliefs. In the U.S., at least, the response to this news seems to be five­fold: fear, denial, anger, cel­e­bra­tion, and spec­u­la­tion that can seem to go beyond what the data war­rants. Nation­al Geo­graph­ic, for exam­ple, trum­pets “The World’s Newest Major Reli­gion: No Reli­gion,” though it’s not exact­ly clear what no reli­gion means.

Check­ing “none” does not sig­ni­fy hold­ing spe­cif­ic con­vic­tions or affil­i­a­tions. It can be an irri­tat­ed reac­tion from those who find the ques­tion intru­sive, an eva­sion from those who refuse to think about the issue, a response from those whose beliefs are not reflect­ed in any of the choic­es offered, a con­fi­dent state­ment of thor­ough­go­ing philo­soph­i­cal nat­u­ral­ism…. One way to look at the data is that it’s incon­clu­sive.

But it could tell some big sto­ries as well, such as “the sec­u­lar­iz­ing West and the rapid­ly grow­ing rest” (a sto­ry com­pli­cat­ed by Chi­na, the coun­try with the largest “atheist/agnostic” pop­u­la­tion). While the inter­net has made it eas­i­er for athe­ists and agnos­tics to con­nect and orga­nize, these labels do not name any con­sis­tent set of beliefs or non-beliefs, and they can apply to sec­u­lar human­ists as well as to cer­tain adher­ents of forms of Bud­dhism, Tao­ism, pagan­ism, etc., who may not explic­it­ly iden­ti­fy as reli­gious but who have some spir­i­tu­al prac­tices…

But who­ev­er they are, the “nones” do appear to be grow­ing, account­ing for around a quar­ter of the pop­u­la­tion in the U.S. and Europe—where in some coun­tries, such as the Czech Repub­lic, clos­er to half the pop­u­la­tion iden­ti­fies as non­re­li­gious. The sto­ry of the nones is coun­ter­bal­anced by the mas­sive spread of reli­gion, most­ly Chris­tian­i­ty but also Islam, among the “rest” of the world. Design­er Car­rie Osgood of the world trav­el site Car­rie On Adven­tures has giv­en us a handy visu­al ref­er­ence (view in a large for­mat here) for the glob­al sit­u­a­tion in the info­graph­ic above.

Draw­ing on data from the Unit­ed Nations Pop­u­la­tion Fund—which she pre­vi­ous­ly used to cre­ate a series of pop­u­la­tion and urban­iza­tion maps—and from the World Reli­gion Data­base, Osgood visu­al­izes the rel­a­tive pop­u­la­tions of each coun­try by siz­ing them as pro­por­tion­al pie charts, with their major reli­gions rep­re­sent­ed by dif­fer­ent col­ors. (These num­bers are based on 2010 fig­ures and may have changed con­sid­er­ably in the past decade.) Chris­tian­i­ty is still the world’s largest reli­gion, at 32.8%, with Islam close behind at 22.5%.

Yet as Frank Jacobs points out at Big Think, such sweep­ing generalizations—like those about the “nones”—miss crit­i­cal details need­ed in any dis­cus­sion about world reli­gions. “The map bands togeth­er var­i­ous Chris­t­ian and Islam­ic schools of thought,” writes Jacobs, “that don’t nec­es­sar­i­ly accept each oth­er as ‘true believ­ers,’” and may even view each oth­er as ene­mies and heretics. Large, thriv­ing reli­gious groups like Sikhs are lumped in with “oth­ers,” a cat­e­go­ry that can include numer­i­cal­ly mar­gin­al or dis­ap­pear­ing belief sys­tems.

Like­wise, “there’s that whole mine­field of nuance between those who prac­tice a reli­gion (but may do so out of social coer­cion rather than per­son­al­ly held belief), and those who believe in some­thing (but don’t par­tic­i­pate in the rit­u­als of any par­tic­u­lar faith).” Espe­cial­ly in coun­tries with a major­i­ty faith—and with painful social or legal penal­ties for those who don’t subscribe—the ques­tion of how many peo­ple real­ly iden­ti­fy out of true con­vic­tion can­not be ignored.

Which brings us back to the “nones,” a cat­e­go­ry, how­ev­er fuzzy, that may be far larg­er than the num­bers show, and could include mil­lions more in major­i­ty-faith coun­tries, if those peo­ple lived under a sec­u­lar gov­ern­ment, in a plu­ral­is­tic soci­ety, and felt free to speak their minds. The “nones” have maybe always been around. Only now, in much of the world at least, they’re far more vis­i­ble. But that’s just one pos­si­ble sto­ry among the many we can tell about this data.

View and down­load a larg­er ver­sion of the info­graph­ic map at Osgood’s site and see a detailed break­down of the data at Big Think.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ani­mat­ed Map Shows How the Five Major Reli­gions Spread Across the World (3000 BC – 2000 AD)

Take Harvard’s Intro­duc­to­ry Course on Bud­dhism, One of Five World Reli­gions Class­es Offered Free Online

Chris­tian­i­ty Through Its Scrip­tures: A Free Course from Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty 

Intro­duc­tion to the Old Tes­ta­ment: A Free Yale Course 

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Watch Seder-Masochism, Nina Paley’s Animated, Feminist Take on the Passover Holiday: The Animated Feature Film Is Free and in the Public Domain

Seder-Masochism, copy­right abo­li­tion­ist Nina Paley’s lat­est ani­mat­ed release, is guar­an­teed to ruf­fle feath­ers in cer­tain quar­ters, though the last laugh belongs to this trick­ster artist, who shares writ­ing cred­it with ”God, Moses or a series of patri­ar­chal males, depend­ing on who you ask.”

Bypass­ing a com­mer­cial release in favor of the pub­lic domain goes a long way toward inoc­u­lat­ing the film and its cre­ator against expen­sive rights issues that could arise from the star-stud­ded sound­track.

It also lets the air out of any affront­ed par­ties’ cam­paigns for mass box office boy­cotts.

“The crit­i­cism seems equal­ly divid­ed between peo­ple that say I’m a Zion­ist and peo­ple that say I’m an anti-Zion­ist,” Paley says of This Land Is Mine, below, a stun­ning sequence of trib­al and inter-trib­al car­nage, mem­o­rably set to Ernest Gold’s theme for the 1960 epic Paul New­man vehi­cle, Exo­dus.

Released as a stand-alone short, This Land Is Mine has become the most viewed of Paley’s works. She finds the oppos­ing camps’ equal out­cry encour­ag­ing, proof that she’s doing “some­thing right.”

More both­er­some has been Uni­ver­si­ty of Illi­nois Asso­ciate Pro­fes­sor of Gen­der Stud­ies Mimi Thi Nguyen’s social media push to brand the film­mak­er as trans­pho­bic. (Paley, no fan of iden­ti­ty pol­i­tics, states that her “crime was, months ear­li­er, shar­ing on Face­book the fol­low­ing lyric: ‘If a per­son has a penis he’s a man.’”) Nguyen’s actions result­ed in the fem­i­nist film’s ouster from sev­er­al venues and fes­ti­vals, includ­ing Ebert­fest in Paley’s home­town and a women’s film fes­ti­val in Bel­gium.

What would the ancient fer­til­i­ty god­dess­es pop­u­lat­ing both art his­to­ry and Seder-Masochism have to say about that devel­op­ment?

In Seder-Masochism, these god­dess fig­ures, whom Paley ear­li­er trans­formed into a series of free down­load­able GIFs, offer a most­ly silent rebuke to those who refuse to acknowl­edge any con­cep­tion of the divine exist­ing out­side patri­ar­chal tra­di­tion.

In the case of Assis­tant Pro­fes­sor Nguyen, per­haps the god­dess­es would err on the side of diplo­ma­cy (and the First Amend­ment), fram­ing the dust-up as just one more rea­son the pub­lic should be glad the pro­jec­t’s lodged in the pub­lic domain. Any­one with access to the Inter­net and a desire to see the film will have the oppor­tu­ni­ty to do so. Called out, maybe. Shut down, nev­er.

The god­dess­es sup­ply a depth of mean­ing to this large­ly com­ic under­tak­ing. Their ample curves inform many of the pat­terns that give motion to the ani­mat­ed cutouts.

Paley also gets a lot of mileage from repli­cat­ing super­nu­mer­ary char­ac­ters until they march with ant-like pur­pose or bedaz­zle in Bus­by Berke­ley-style spec­ta­cles. Not since Paul Mazursky’s Tem­pest have goats loomed so large in cin­e­mat­ic chore­og­ra­phy…

Paley’s use of music is anoth­er source of abid­ing plea­sure. She casts a wide net—punk, dis­co, Bul­gar­i­an folk, the Bea­t­les, Free to Be You and Me—again, fram­ing her choic­es as par­o­dy. “Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here” accom­pa­nies the sev­enth plague of Egypt (don’t both­er look­ing it up. It’s hail.) Ringo Starr’s famous “Hel­ter Skel­ter” aside (“I’ve got blis­ters on my fin­gers!”) boils down to an apt choice for plague num­ber six. (If you have to think about it…)

The ele­ments of the Seder plate are list­ed to the strains of “Tijua­na Taxi” because… well, who doesn’t love Herb Alpert and the Tijua­na Brass?

Paley’s own reli­gious back­ground is of obvi­ous inter­est here, and as with her pre­vi­ous fea­ture, Sita Sings the Blues—also in the pub­lic domain—the auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal ele­ment is irre­sistible. A 2011 audio record­ing pro­vides the excuse to por­tray her father, Hiram, who died the year after the inter­view was con­duct­ed, as a Mon­ty Python-esque God. The senior Paley was raised in an obser­vant Jew­ish house­hold, but lost faith as a young man. An athe­ist who want­ed his chil­dren to know some­thing of their her­itage, Passover was the one Jew­ish hol­i­day he con­tin­ued to cel­e­brate. (He also for­bade the kids from par­tic­i­pat­ing in any sort of sec­u­lar Christ­mas activ­i­ties.)

A wist­ful God with the com­plex­ion of a dol­lar bill, Hiram is at times sur­round­ed by put­ti, in the form of his par­ents, his con­tentious Uncle Her­schel, and his own sweet younger self.

For these scenes, Paley por­trays her­self as a spir­it­ed “sac­ri­fi­cial goat.” This char­ac­ter finds an echo at film’s end, when “Chad Gadya,” the tra­di­tion­al Passover tune that brings the annu­al seder to a rol­lick­ing con­clu­sion, is brought to life using embroi­der­ma­tion, a form Paley may or may not have invent­ed.

Per­haps Paley’s most sub­ver­sive joke is choos­ing Jesus, as depict­ed in Juan de Juanes’ 1652 paint­ing, The Last Sup­per, to deliv­er an edu­ca­tion­al blow-by-blow of Passover rit­u­al.

Actu­al­ly, much like Audrey Hep­burn in My Fair Lady and Natal­ie Wood in West Side Sto­ry, Jesus was ghost-voiced by anoth­er performer—Barry Gray, nar­ra­tor of the mid­cen­tu­ry edu­ca­tion­al record­ing The Moishe Oysh­er Seder.

As you may have gleaned, Paley, despite the clean ele­gance of her ani­mat­ed line, is a max­i­mal­ist. There’s some­thing for every­one (except­ing, of course, Mimi Thi Nguyen)—a gleam­ing gold­en idol, a ball bounc­ing above hiero­glyph­ic lyrics, actu­al footage of atroc­i­ties com­mit­ted in a state of reli­gious fer­vor, Moses’ broth­er Aaron—a fig­ure who’s often shoved to the side­lines, if not left out­right on the cut­ting room floor.

We leave you with Paley’s prayer to her Muse, found freely shared on her web­site:

Our Idea

Which art in the Ether

That can­not be named;

Thy Vision come

Thy Will be done

On Earth, as it is in Abstrac­tion.

Give us this day our dai­ly Spark

And for­give us our crit­i­cisms

As we for­give those who cri­tique against us;

And lead us not into stag­na­tion

But deliv­er us from Ego;

For Thine is the Vision

And the Pow­er

And the Glo­ry for­ev­er.

Amen.

Watch Seder-Masochism in its entire­ty up top, or down­load it here. Pur­chase the com­pan­ion book here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sita Sings the Blues Now on YouTube

Cel­e­brate the Women’s March with 24 God­dess GIFs Cre­at­ed by Ani­ma­tor Nina Paley: They’re Free to Down­load and Remix

Watch Nina Paley’s “Embroi­der­ma­tion,” a New, Stun­ning­ly Labor-Inten­sive Form of Ani­ma­tion

Intro­duc­tion to the Old Tes­ta­ment: A Free Yale Course 

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in New York City for the next install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain, this April. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Alan Watts Presents a 15-Minute Guided Meditation: A Time-Tested Way to Stop Thinking About Thinking

The con­cept of empti­nessshūny­atā—in Mahayana Bud­dhism is per­haps a sub­ject best avoid­ed in casu­al con­ver­sa­tion. It so vex­es every­one not least because of issues of trans­la­tion: “empti­ness,” many schol­ars think, hard­ly suf­fices as a sub­sti­tute. In Eng­lish it has a more dis­tinct­ly nihilist fla­vor than was intend­ed. Yet empti­ness is so indis­pens­able that it can hard­ly go unmen­tioned when the prac­tice and pur­pose of med­i­ta­tion come up in Bud­dhist thought.

Leave it to Zen to put things in such suc­cinct and down-to-earth ways: the prac­tice of med­i­ta­tion is to devel­op “’no mind,’” says Suzu­ki Roshi. It is to have “no gain­ing idea.” The rea­son is to have no rea­son. But from the same point of view, there is a point: “the point we should make clear in our prac­tice,” the Zen mas­ter tells us: we should “put more empha­sis on big mind rather than small mind.”

If you need more clar­i­fi­ca­tion, you might turn to anoth­er Zen pop­u­lar­iz­er who also began to draw audi­ences in Cal­i­for­nia in the 50s: Alan Watts. Watts came to San Fran­cis­co not with a life­time of monas­tic train­ing in Japan, but through his train­ing as an aca­d­e­m­ic, Epis­co­pal priest, and Zen enthu­si­ast in Britain. He is wordier, less poet­ic, and more essay­is­tic in his deliv­ery, but in dis­cussing the pur­pose of med­i­ta­tion, you will find him say­ing the very same things as the Zen mas­ters:

Med­i­ta­tion is the dis­cov­ery that the point of life is always arrived at in the imme­di­ate moment. And there­fore, if you med­i­tate for an ulte­ri­or motive — that is to say, to improve your mind, to improve your char­ac­ter, to be more effi­cient in life — you’ve got your eye on the future and you are not med­i­tat­ing!

As for Suzuk­i’s “big mind,” Watts has his own ver­sion: “The art of med­i­ta­tion is a way of get­ting into touch with real­i­ty… our basic insep­a­ra­bil­i­ty from the whole uni­verse.” These are not nec­es­sar­i­ly syn­onyms for “empti­ness,” but the idea of hav­ing no idea maybe comes close to sum­ma­riz­ing the con­cept. “Not know­ing,” as the koan says, “is most inti­mate.”

Maybe it’s hair-split­ting and belabors the com­par­i­son, but Suzu­ki Roshi did not talk about med­i­ta­tion as a way to stop all think­ing. This is futile, he would argue. Watts seems to sug­gest oth­er­wise when he says that “we become inte­ri­o­ral­ly silent and cease from the inter­minable chat­ter that goes on inside our skulls. Because you see, most of us think com­pul­sive­ly all the time.” Most hon­est peo­ple will tell you they think com­pul­sive­ly dur­ing med­i­ta­tion as well. But in his guid­ed med­i­ta­tion above, Watts acknowl­edges just this fact.

Indeed, his mat­ter-of-fact way of rec­og­niz­ing the ever-pres­ence of thought is what makes the instruc­tions he gives so use­ful, even if they are also, ulti­mate­ly, point­less. Hear the orig­i­nal fif­teen minute guid­ed med­i­ta­tion at the top of the post and an edit, with some, maybe dis­tract­ing, back­ground music, just above. To let think­ing recede into the back­ground, we must engage our oth­er sens­es, let­ting every sound and sen­sa­tion come and go and the autonomous ner­vous sys­tem take over.

How to let go of think­ing about think­ing? Let Watts guide you in an exer­cise and see what hap­pens. Then lis­ten to Suzu­ki Roshi describe the Bud­dhist phi­los­o­phy of empti­ness. As far as med­i­ta­tion, or “zazen prac­tice,” goes, he says, our zazen prac­tice is based on… the teach­ing of shūny­atā or empti­ness,” which is not an idea but an expe­ri­ence of “let­ting go of fixed ideas,” writes anoth­er Zen mas­ter who brought his prac­tice to the U.S., “in order to go beyond them.”

via Big Think

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Alan Watts Dis­pens­es Wit & Wis­dom on the Mean­ing of Life in Three Ani­mat­ed Videos

How Med­i­ta­tion Can Change Your Brain: The Neu­ro­science of Bud­dhist Prac­tice

Stream 18 Hours of Free Guid­ed Med­i­ta­tions

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The “Slave Bible” Removed Key Biblical Passages In Order to Legitimize Slavery & Discourage a Slave Rebellion (1807)

Pho­to via the Muse­um of the Bible

In an 1846 speech to the British and For­eign Anti-Slav­ery Soci­ety, Fred­er­ick Dou­glass summed up the twist­ed bond between slav­ery and reli­gion in the U.S. He began with a short sum­ma­ry of atroc­i­ties that were legal, even encour­aged, against enslaved peo­ple in Vir­ginia and Mary­land, includ­ing hang­ing, behead­ing, draw­ing and quar­ter­ing, rape, “and this is not the worst.” He then made his case:

No, a dark­er fea­ture is yet to be pre­sent­ed than the mere exis­tence of these facts. I have to inform you that the reli­gion of the South­ern states, at this time, is the great sup­port­er, the great sanc­tion­er of the bloody atroc­i­ties to which I have referred. While Amer­i­ca is print­ing tracts and Bibles; send­ing mis­sion­ar­ies abroad to con­vert the hea­then; expend­ing her mon­ey in var­i­ous ways for the pro­mo­tion of the gospel in for­eign lands, the slave not only lies for­got­ten, uncar­ed for, but is tram­pled under­foot by the very church­es of the land.

Dou­glass did not intend his state­ment to be tak­en as an indict­ment of Chris­tian­i­ty, but rather the hypocrisy of Amer­i­can reli­gion, both that “of the South­ern states” and of “the North­ern reli­gion that sym­pa­thizes with it.” He speaks, he says, to reject “the slave­hold­ing, the woman-whip­ping, the mind-dark­en­ing, the soul-destroy­ing reli­gion” of the coun­try, while pro­fess­ing a reli­gion that “makes its fol­low­ers do unto oth­ers as they them­selves would be done by.”

Dou­glass harsh­ly con­demns slave soci­ety in the U.S., but, per­haps giv­en his audi­ence, he also polit­i­cal­ly elides the exten­sive role many church­es in the British Empire played in the slave trade and Atlantic slave economy—a con­tin­ued role, to Douglass’s dis­may, as he found dur­ing his UK trav­els in the 1840s. I’m not sure if he knew that forty years ear­li­er, British mis­sion­ar­ies trav­eled to slave plan­ta­tions in the Caribbean armed with heav­i­ly-edit­ed Bibles in which “any pas­sage that might incite rebel­lion was removed,” as Brig­it Katz writes at Smith­son­ian. But he would hard­ly have been sur­prised.

The use of reli­gion to ter­ror­ize and con­trol rather than lib­er­ate was some­thing Dou­glass under­stood well, hav­ing for decades keen­ly observed slave­own­ers find­ing what they need­ed in the text and ignor­ing or sup­press­ing the rest. In 1807, the Soci­ety for the Con­ver­sion of Negro Slaves went so far as to lit­er­al­ly excise the cen­tral nar­ra­tive of the Old Tes­ta­ment, cre­at­ing an entire­ly dif­fer­ent book for use by mis­sion­ar­ies to the West Indies. “Gone,” Katz points out, “were ref­er­ences to the exo­dus of enslaved Israelites from Egypt,” ref­er­ences that were inte­gral to the self-under­stand­ing of mil­lions of Dias­po­ra Africans.

Gone also were vers­es that might explic­it­ly con­tra­dict the few proof texts slave­hold­ers quot­ed to jus­ti­fy them­selves. Espe­cial­ly dan­ger­ous was Exo­dus 21:16: “And he that stealeth a man, and sel­l­eth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall sure­ly be put to death.” The typ­i­cal 66 books of a Protes­tant Bible had been reduced to parts of just 14. How is it pos­si­ble to pub­lish a Bible with­out what amounts to the myth­ic ori­gin sto­ry of ancient Israel? One answer is that this was a dif­fer­ent reli­gion, one whose aim, says Antho­ny Schmidt, cura­tor of the Muse­um of the Bible, was to make “bet­ter slaves.”

The “Slave Bible” did not cut out the sub­ject com­plete­ly. Joseph’s enslave­ment in Egypt remains, but this is like­ly as an exam­ple, says Schmidt, of some­one who “accepts his lot in life” and is reward­ed for it, a sto­ry U.S. church­es used in a sim­i­lar fash­ion. Pas­sages in the New Tes­ta­ment that seemed to empha­size equal­i­ty were cut, as was the entire book of Rev­e­la­tion. The infa­mous Eph­esians 6:5—“servants be obe­di­ent to them that are your mas­ters accord­ing to the flesh, in fear and trembling”—remained.

Whether or not the Bible real­ly did sanc­tion slav­ery is a ques­tion still up for debate—and maybe an unan­swer­able one giv­en dif­fer­ences in inter­pre­tive frame­works and the patch­work nature of the dis­parate, redact­ed texts stitched togeth­er as one. But the fact that British and Amer­i­can church­es delib­er­ate­ly used it as a weaponized tool of pro­pa­gan­da and indoc­tri­na­tion is beyond dis­pute. The so-called “Slave Bible” is both a fas­ci­nat­ing his­tor­i­cal arti­fact, a very lit­er­al sym­bol of a prac­tice that was inte­gral to the insti­tu­tion of slavery—the total con­trol of the nar­ra­tive.

Such prac­tices became more extreme after the Hait­ian Rev­o­lu­tion and the many bloody slave revolts in the U.S., as the planter class became increas­ing­ly des­per­ate to hold on to pow­er. One of only three extant “Slave Bibles,” the abridged version—called Parts of the Holy Bible, select­ed for the use of the Negro Slaves, in the British West-India Islands—is now on dis­play at the Muse­um of the Bible in Wash­ing­ton, DC, on loan from Fisk Uni­ver­si­ty. In the NPR inter­view above, Schmidt explains the book’s his­to­ry to All Things Con­sid­ered’s Michel Mar­tin, who her­self describes the text’s pur­pose in the most con­cise way: “To asso­ciate human bondage and human slav­ery with obe­di­ence to the high­er pow­er.”

via The Smith­son­ian

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Only Sur­viv­ing Text Writ­ten in Ara­bic by an Amer­i­can Slave Has Been Dig­i­tized & Put Online: Read the Auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Enslaved Islam­ic Schol­ar, Omar Ibn Said (1831)

1.5 Mil­lion Slav­ery Era Doc­u­ments Will Be Dig­i­tized, Help­ing African Amer­i­cans to Learn About Their Lost Ances­tors

The Atlantic Slave Trade Visu­al­ized in Two Min­utes: 10 Mil­lion Lives, 20,000 Voy­ages, Over 315 Years

Cor­nell Cre­ates a Data­base of Fugi­tive Slave Ads, Telling the Sto­ry of Those Who Resist­ed Slav­ery in 18th & 19th Cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Mountain Monks: A Vivid Short Documentary on the Monks Who Practice an Ancient, Once-Forbidden Religion in Japan

If you need to get some seri­ous think­ing done, go to the moun­tains. That notion holds across a wide range of cul­tures, but it has a par­tic­u­lar force in Japan, where solo hik­ing, some­times great­ly extend­ed solo hik­ing, has long been a pop­u­lar treat­ment for a wide vari­ety of trou­bles both per­son­al and pro­fes­sion­al. But no group has tak­en it to quite the extreme as have the Yam­abushi, ascetic moun­tain her­mits who have prac­ticed Shugendō, a hybridiza­tion of ver­sions of eso­teric Bud­dhism, Tao­ism, and Shin­to that goes back to the eighth cen­tu­ry. What sort of lifestyle, one won­ders, would such seri­ous reli­gious ded­i­ca­tion in such a harsh, remote loca­tion pro­duce?

Visu­al jour­nal­ist Fritz Schu­mann, pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture for his doc­u­men­taries on a 1300-year-old Japan­ese hotel and a near­ly extinct Japan­ese print­ing tech­nique, gives us a sense of that in his new short Moun­tain Monks. “Walk­ing bare­foot through rivers, med­i­tat­ing under water­falls and spend­ing the nights on moun­tain­tops — that is the way of the Yam­abushi,” he writes.

“They walk into the for­est to die and be born again.” Their Shugendō teach­ings “peaked in pop­u­lar­i­ty dur­ing the 17th cen­tu­ry, when Yam­abushi vis­it­ed around 90 per­cent of all vil­lages in north­ern Japan,” and when its monks “were said to have mag­i­cal pow­ers and served as advi­sors to samu­rai and war­lords.” But then, “in the late 19th cen­tu­ry, when Japan opened itself to the west and moved from a feu­dal state towards indus­tri­al­iza­tion, their reli­gion was for­bid­den.”

Though the pro­scrip­tion on Yam­abushi has long since been lift­ed, as a reli­gion it no longer pos­sess­es quite the fol­low­ing it once did. A group of monks has kept its flame alive in secret in iso­la­tion, up in north­ern Japan’s Yam­a­ga­ta pre­fec­ture, and now any­one can sign up for pri­vate cours­es through the offi­cial Yam­abushi­do web site, even for­eign­ers. The sim­ple rig­ors of their dai­ly life may sound appeal­ing indeed to those fed up with whichev­er mod­ern, tech­nol­o­gy-sat­u­rat­ed soci­ety they’ve come from, and Schu­man­n’s film may well con­vince a fair few to look into the expe­ri­ence them­selves. Not to say that he sug­ar-coats it: “The idea,” declares one Yam­abushi mem­ber right at the begin­ning, “is to expe­ri­ence the tor­tures of hell.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hōshi: A Short Doc­u­men­tary on the 1300-Year-Old Hotel Run by the Same Japan­ese Fam­i­ly for 46 Gen­er­a­tions

The Art of Col­lo­type: See a Near Extinct Print­ing Tech­nique, as Lov­ing­ly Prac­ticed by a Japan­ese Mas­ter Crafts­man

Japan­ese Priest Tries to Revive Bud­dhism by Bring­ing Tech­no Music into the Tem­ple: Attend a Psy­che­del­ic 23-Minute Ser­vice

A Hyp­not­ic Look at How Japan­ese Samu­rai Swords Are Made

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

10 Rules for Appreciating Art by Sister Wendy Beckett (RIP), the Nun Who Unexpectedly Popularized Art History on TV

While life lasts, let us live it, not pass through as zom­bies, and let us find in art a glo­ri­ous pas­sage­way to a deep­er under­stand­ing of our essen­tial human­i­ty.

- Sis­ter Wendy Beck­ett (1930–2018)

Sis­ter Wendy, a clois­tered nun whose pas­sion for art led her to wan­der out into the world, where she became a star of glob­al pro­por­tions, enter­tained the tele­vi­sion mass­es with her frank human­ist assess­ments.

Unfazed by nudi­ty, car­nal­i­ty, and oth­er sen­su­al excess­es, she ini­tial­ly came across as a fun­ny-look­ing, grand­ma-aged vir­gin in an old-fash­ioned habit, lisp­ing rhap­sod­i­cal­ly about appendages and entan­gle­ments we expect most Brides of Christ to shy away from.

Attempts to spoof her fell flat.

Hav­ing beat­en the jok­ers to the punch, she took her rapt audi­ence along for the ride, barn­storm­ing across the con­ti­nent, eager to encounter works she knew only from the repro­duc­tions Church high­er ups gave her per­mis­sion to study in the 1980s.

She was grate­ful to the artists—1000s of them—for pro­vid­ing her such an excel­lent lens with which to con­tem­plate God’s cre­ations. Eroti­cism, greed, phys­i­cal love, hor­rif­ic violence—Sister Wendy nev­er flinched.

“Real art makes demands,” she told inter­view­er Bill Moy­ers, below, speak­ing approv­ing­ly of pho­tog­ra­ph­er Andres Serrano’s con­tro­ver­sial Piss Christ.

“Great art offers more than plea­sure; it offers the pain of spir­i­tu­al growth, draw­ing us into areas of our­selves that we may not wish to encounter. It will not leave us in our men­tal or moral lazi­ness,” she wrote in the fore­word to Sis­ter Wendy’s 1000 Mas­ter­pieces, her hand­picked selec­tion of the great­est paint­ings of West­ern art. (“A thou­sand sound­ed like so many until we got down to it and then began the anguish of choice,” she lat­er opined.)

A lover of col­or and tex­ture, she was unique in her abil­i­ty to appre­ci­ate shades of grey, delv­ing deeply into the psy­cho­log­i­cal moti­va­tions of both the sub­jects and the artists them­selves.

On Fran­cis Bacon’s Fig­ure with Meat (1954):

Here, he shows the pope, father of the Catholic Church, both enthroned and impris­oned by his posi­tion. Bacon’s rela­tion­ship with his own father was a very stormy one, and per­haps he has used some of that fear and hatred to con­jure up this ghost­ly vision of a scream­ing pope, his face frozen in a ric­tus of anguish.

On Hen­ri De Toulouse-Lautrec’s The Clown Chau-u-Kao (1895):

Toulouse-Lautrec, as the last descen­dant of an ancient French fam­i­ly, must have been bit­ter­ly con­scious of his own phys­i­cal defor­mi­ties and to many peo­ple he, too, was a fig­ure of fun…He shows us Chau-U-Kao prepar­ing for her act with dig­ni­ty and seren­i­ty, the great swirl of her frill seems to brack­et the clown so that we can tru­ly look at her, see the pathos of that blowzy and sag­ging flesh, and move on to the nobil­i­ty of the nose and the intense eyes. This is a degra­da­tion, but one that has been cho­sen by the per­former and redeemed by intel­li­gence and will pow­er.

On Nico­las Lancret’s The Four Times of the Day: Morn­ing (1739):

Morn­ing is filled with wit­ty obser­va­tion — a delight­ful young woman (who is clear­ly no bet­ter than she should be) is enter­tain­ing a young cler­ic, seem­ing­ly unaware of the temp­ta­tion offered by that casu­al­ly exposed bosom. He holds out his cup, but his eyes are fied, alas, on that region of the fem­i­nine anato­my that his pro­fes­sion for­bids him.

On François Clouet’s Diane De Poitiers (c. 1571)

The impli­ca­tion would seem to be that this shame­less beau­ty with her promi­nent nip­ples and over­flow­ing bowl of ripe fruit, is a woman of dubi­ous morals. Yet one can­not but feel that the artist admires the nat­ur­al free­dom of his sub­ject. Her chil­dren and her grin­ning wet-nurse are at her side, and, in the back­ground, the maid pre­pares hot water. /surely this domes­tic scene is no more than a sim­ple and endear­ing vignette. 

Her gen­er­ous takes on these and oth­er art­works are irre­sistible. How won­der­ful it would be to approach every piece of art with such thought and com­pas­sion.

For­tu­nate­ly, Sis­ter Wendy, who passed away last week at the age of 88, left behind a how-to of sorts in the form of her 2005 essay, “The Art of Look­ing at Art,” from which we have extract­ed the fol­low­ing 10 rules.

Sis­ter Wendy Beckett’s 10 Rules for Engag­ing with Art

Vis­it muse­ums

They are the prime locus where the unique­ness of an artist’s work can be encoun­tered.

Pri­or­i­tize qual­i­ty time over quan­ti­ty of works viewed

Soci­ol­o­gists, lurk­ing incon­spic­u­ous­ly with stop­watch­es, have dis­cov­ered the aver­age time muse­um vis­i­tors spend look­ing at a work of art: it is rough­ly two sec­onds. We walk all too casu­al­ly through muse­ums, pass­ing objects that will yield up their mean­ing and exert their pow­er only if they are seri­ous­ly con­tem­plat­ed in soli­tude.

Fly solo

If Sis­ter Wendy could spend over four decades sequestered in a small mobile home on the grounds of Carmelite monastery in Nor­folk, sure­ly you can go alone. Do not com­pli­cate your con­tem­pla­tion by teth­er­ing your­self to a friend who can­not wait to exit through the gift shop.

Buy a post­card

…take it home for pro­longed and (more or less) dis­trac­tion­less con­tem­pla­tion. If we do not have access to a muse­um, we can still expe­ri­ence reproductions—books, post­cards, posters, tele­vi­sion, film—in soli­tude, though the work lacks imme­di­a­cy. We must, there­fore, make an imag­i­na­tive leap (visu­al­iz­ing tex­ture and dimen­sion) if repro­duc­tion is our only pos­si­ble access to art. What­ev­er the way in which we come into con­tact with art, the crux, as in all seri­ous mat­ters, is how much we want the expe­ri­ence. The encounter with art is pre­cious, and so it costs us in terms of time, effort, and focus.

Pull up a chair, when­ev­er pos­si­ble

It has been well said that the basic con­di­tion for art appre­ci­a­tion is a chair.

Don’t hate on your­self for being a philis­tine.

How­ev­er invi­o­late our self-esteem, most of us have felt a sink­ing of the spir­it before a work of art that, while high­ly praised by crit­ics, to us seems mean­ing­less. It is all too easy to con­clude, per­haps sub­con­scious­ly, that oth­ers have a nec­es­sary knowl­edge or acu­men that we lack.

Take respon­si­bil­i­ty for edu­cat­ing your­self…

Art is cre­at­ed by spe­cif­ic artists liv­ing in and fash­ioned by a spe­cif­ic cul­ture, and it helps to under­stand this cul­ture if we are to under­stand and appre­ci­ate the total­i­ty of the work. This involves some prepa­ra­tion. Whether we choose to “see” a totem pole, a ceram­ic bowl, a paint­ing, or a mask, we should come to it with an under­stand­ing of its iconog­ra­phy. We should know, for exam­ple, that a bat in Chi­nese art is a sym­bol for hap­pi­ness and a jaguar in Mesoamer­i­can art is an image of the super­nat­ur­al. If need be, we should have read the artist’s biog­ra­phy: the ready response to the paint­ing of Vin­cent van Gogh or Rem­brandt, or of Car­avag­gio or Michelan­ge­lo, comes part­ly from view­ers’ sym­pa­thy with the con­di­tions, both his­tor­i­cal and tem­pera­men­tal, from which these paint­ings came.

…but don’t be a pris­on­er to facts and expert opin­ions

A para­dox: we need to do some research, and then we need to for­get it…We have delim­it­ed a work if we judge it in advance. Faced with the work, we must try to dis­pel all the busy sug­ges­tions of the mind and sim­ply con­tem­plate the object in front of us. The mind and its facts come in lat­er, but the first, though pre­pared, expe­ri­ence should be as unde­fend­ed, as inno­cent, and as hum­ble as we can make it.

Cel­e­brate our com­mon human­i­ty

Art is our lega­cy, our means of shar­ing in the spir­i­tu­al great­ness of oth­er men and women—those who are known, as with most of the great Euro­pean painters and sculp­tors, and those who are unknown, as with many of the great carvers, pot­ters, sculp­tors, and painters from Africa, Asia, the Mid­dle East, and Latin Amer­i­ca. Art rep­re­sents a con­tin­u­um of human expe­ri­ence across all parts of the world and all peri­ods of his­to­ry.

Lis­ten to oth­ers but see with your own eyes

We should lis­ten to the appre­ci­a­tions of oth­ers, but then we should put them aside and advance toward a work of art in the lone­li­ness of our own truth.

Sis­ter Wendy’s tele­vi­sion shows can be found on PBS, the BBC, and as DVDs. Her books are well rep­re­sent­ed in libraries and from book­sellers like Ama­zon. (We have learned so much in the year her dic­tio­nary-sized 1000 Paint­ings has been parked next to our com­mode…)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

10 Rules for Stu­dents and Teach­ers Pop­u­lar­ized by John Cage

1.8 Mil­lion Free Works of Art from World-Class Muse­ums: A Meta List of Great Art Avail­able Online

The Art Insti­tute of Chica­go Puts 44,000+ Works of Art Online: View Them in High Res­o­lu­tion

Down­load 502 Free Art Books from The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  See her onstage in New York City this Jan­u­ary as host of  The­ater of the Apes book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Where Did the Monk’s Haircut Come From? A Look at the Rich and Contentious History of the Tonsure

One might assume from a mod­ern view­point that the hair­styles worn by monks arose to deal with male pat­tern bald­ness anx­i­ety. As in the school uni­form approach, you can’t sin­gle out one person’s bald­ness when every­one is bald. But this, again, would be a mod­ern view, full of the van­i­ty the tonsured—those with reli­gious­ly shaven heads—ostensibly vowed to renounce. Accord­ing to the Catholic Ency­clo­pe­dia, the ton­sure (from the Latin verb for “to shear”) began as a “badge of slav­ery” among Greeks and Romans. It was adopt­ed “on this very account” by ear­ly monas­tic orders, to mark the total sur­ren­der of the will.

Would it sur­prise you, then, to learn that there were ton­sure wars? Prob­a­bly not if you know any­thing about church his­to­ry. Every arti­cle of cloth­ing and of faith has sparked some major con­tro­ver­sy at one time or anoth­er. So too with the ton­sure, of which—we learn in the Vox video above—there were three styles. The first, the coro­nal (or Roman or Petrine) ton­sure, is the one we see in count­less Medieval and Renais­sance paint­ings: a bald pate at the crown sur­round­ed by a fringe of hair, pos­si­bly meant to evoke the crown of thorns. Next is the Pauline, a ful­ly shaved head, seen much less in West­ern art since it was “used more com­mon­ly in East­ern Ortho­doxy.”

The third style of ton­sure caused all the trou­ble. Or rather, it was this style that served as a vis­i­ble sign of reli­gious dif­fer­ences between the Roman Catholic Church and the church­es in Britain and Ire­land. “Celtic Catholi­cism was ‘out of sync’ with the Roman Catholic Church,” notes Vox. “Roman Catholics would use the dif­fer­ences between them to por­tray Celtic Catholi­cism as pagan, or even as an off­shoot, cel­e­brat­ing the pow­er-hun­gry magi­cian, Simon Magus.” The Celtic ton­sure fell under a cloud, but how exact­ly did it dif­fer from the oth­ers? Since it dis­ap­peared in the ear­ly Mid­dle Ages and few images seem to have sur­vived, no one seems sure.

Daniel McCarthy, fel­low emer­i­tus at Trin­i­ty Col­lege, Dublin set out to solve the mys­tery. He spec­u­lates the Celtic ton­sure, as you’ll see on a com­put­er-sim­u­lat­ed monk’s head, was a tri­an­gu­lar shape, with the apex at the front. When the Roman Catholics took over Ire­land, all of the vest­ments, dates, and hair­cuts were slow­ly brought into line with the dom­i­nant view. The prac­tice of ton­sure offi­cial­ly end­ed in 1972, and fell out of favor in Eng­lish-speak­ing coun­tries cen­turies ear­li­er, accord­ing to the Catholic Ency­clo­pe­dia. But in any case, McCarthy sees the ton­sure not as a spurn­ing of fash­ion, but as a cult-like devo­tion to style. In that sense, we can see peo­ple who adopt sim­i­lar hair­cuts around the world as still visu­al­ly sig­nal­ing their mem­ber­ship in some kind of order, reli­gious or oth­er­wise.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How a Bal­ti­more Hair­dress­er Became a World-Renowned “Hair Archae­ol­o­gist” of Ancient Rome

Ani­mat­ed: Stephen Fry & Ann Wid­de­combe Debate the Catholic Church

50 Years of Chang­ing David Bowie Hair Styles in One Ani­mat­ed GIF

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

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