Miscellaneous Poems by John Milton

Source of book: I own this

Milton was a complicated character, to say the least. 

 

He was devoutly religious - indeed a Puritan (or at least Puritan-adjacent). He served in Oliver Cromwell’s administration. Yet he was also nonconforming in both doctrine and practice. He was an Arian (anti-Trinitarian) who also believed in free will. And he seemed to get in some trouble with every political and religious establishment, perhaps because he insisted on a person’s right to interpret the Bible for themselves. 

 

He was in certain ways, well ahead of his times. He was an ardent advocate for freedom of speech and freedom of religion. He argued for the separation of church and state long before it was enshrined in constitutions. 

 

Many will be surprised that he also advocated - in the 17th Century! - for no-fault divorce. It was his belief that marriage was a mutual agreement by two people rather than a binding unbreakable contract. If the couple found they were incompatible, they should be free to admit their mistake and move on. Yeah, that’s pretty radical - California was the first no-fault divorce state starting in the….1960s. 

 

On the other hand, one of the reasons that he was pro-divorce was his own marriage. His first marriage resulted in his wife leaving him mere months into it. By all accounts, they both felt they had made a mistake. And also, there is evidence that Milton, for all his progressive ideas, was a bit of a sexist and preferred to be served by his spouse. 

 

They would eventually reconcile and have four children together, before she died from childbirth. His second wife would do so as well. The third time was the charm, apparently. By that time, Milton was blind, and she was by all accounts a devoted caretaker. 

 

I have previously written about two other works by Milton. Paradise Lost, of course - arguably the greatest epic written in English, and a work with the same complexity of morality and theology as its author. It never fails to fascinate me that he ended up making Satan seem like the hero of the story, and I wonder if to a degree, he realized at some unconscious level that he and the Satan of the story weren’t unalike. That tension is one reason the poem continues to resonate today, even with non-religious readers. 

 

The other work I read and discussed is Areopagitica, Milton’s brilliant pamphlet arguing in favor of freedom of speech and freedom of thought. Naturally, it was banned before its publication. I still re-post it for Banned Books Week every year. 

 

"And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God’s image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were in the eye."

Outside of Paradise Lost, Milton didn’t actually write that many poems. I was somewhat surprised to realize this. He lived fairly long for his era, but much of his time was taken by the longer works, the prose, and his other activities. Compared to, say, Wordsworth or Tennyson, he really only wrote a few. 

 

That said, what he did leave was pretty good. 

 

For this post, I read all of his other poetry except the Masques. 

 

These can be divided into various categories. There are a handful of juvenile poems in various forms. There are a number of excellent sonnets. And there are three collections of Psalms translated and set as modern English poetry. And a handful of others here and there. 

 

As one might expect, many of the poems are religious. One mid-sized example is “The Passion,” which is an unfinished fragment of eight stanzas, begun when Milton was a teen. Here is one particular stanza that I thought good.

 

The latest scenes confine my roving vers,

To this horizon is my Phoebus bound,

His godlike acts, and His temptations fierce,

And former sufferings otherwhere are found;

Loud o’er the rest Cremona’s trump doth sound;

            Me softer airs befit, and softer strings

Of lute or viol still, more apt for mournful things.

 

Another poem that stood out to me is this one:

 

On Time

 

Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,

Call on the lazy, leaden-stepping hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace,

And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,

Which is no more than what is false and vain,

And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So litter is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed,

And last of all thy greedy self consumed,

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss,

And joy shall overtake us as a flood;

When everything that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine

About the supreme throne

Of Him, t’whose happy-making sight alone

When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb,

Then, all this earthly grossness quit,

Attired with stars we shall forever sit

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time.

 

Note the archaic reference to a “plummet” - what we would now call a plumb line. All are related to the Latin word for lead. So here Milton is referencing the previous line while insisting that lead’s pace is actually a fast fall. Time might as well fly, because the end of Time is the end of all that is earthly in death. 

 

Milton clearly felt the ticking of the clock, and his impending death - even while young. One of his early sonnets is a great example. 

 

On Being Arrived at Twenty-three Years of Age

 

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,

Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!

My hasting days fly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud nor blossom shew’th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth

That I to manhood am arrived so near;

And inward ripeness doth much less appear,

That some more timely-happy spirits indu’th.

Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even

To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven.

All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-Master’s eye.

 

Here is another one that I liked: 

 

Song on May Morning

 

Now the bright morning-star, day’s harbinger,

Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her

The flowery May, who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire,

Mirth and youth and warm desire,

Woods and groves are of thy dressing,

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.

Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

 

I’m not going to quote the whole thing, but I want to mention a line in “L’Allegro” that caught my eye. 

 

Come, and trip it, as you go,

On the light fantastic toe;

 

Did you ever wonder where “trip the light fantastic” came from? Well, there you go. Milton did it first. The phrase stuck, and even became the title of a Terry Pratchett fantasy. 

 

There are a few random translations in the collection. Some, like this one, are translations of whole poems, in this case, one by Horace, which he claims is fairly word for word, without rhyme, as in the original.  

 

The Fifth Ode of Horace

 

What slender youth, bedewed with liquid odours,

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave.

Pyrrha? For whom bind’st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he

On faith and changed gods complain, and seas

Rough with black winds and storms

Unwonted shall admire?

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold;

Who always vacant, always amiable,

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful. Hapless they

To whom thou untried seem’st fair! Me, in my vowed

Picture, the sacred wall declares t’ have hung

My dank and drooping weeds

To the stern God of Sea.

 

The reference to Pyrrha is best understood if you know the story. 

 

It might seem cliche, but I think that Milton’s most famous sonnet is an incredible, essentially perfect, example of the form. I first read it in high school, and it has aged well. I still think the last line is one of the most badass things ever written

 

On His Blindness

 

When I consider how my light is spent,

   Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

   And that one Talent which is death to hide

   Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

   My true account, lest he returning chide;

   “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”

   I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need

   Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best

   Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

   And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:

   They also serve who only stand and wait.”

 

The Psalms are quite interesting. The first two were written when he was all of 15 years old. While I wouldn’t say they are good as his later ones, they are nonetheless impressive. As one who knows the Psalms in various English translations, I find his choices fascinating. Translation is an art, not a science, and poetry in particular is a compromise between form and meaning. Even the decision to attempt such a project is an effort of theological interpretation that reveals Milton’s beliefs. 

 

The two latter sets were written in a short period of time. The first is Psalms 1 through 8, each translated on a consecutive day in August of 1653 (with a break for Sunday, naturally.) The second set is Psalm 80 through 88, and were written a few years earlier, in 1648. 

 

I selected this one as my favorite of the bunch, although all of them are good. 

 

Psalm III

 

Lord, how many are my foes!

How many those

That in arms against me rise!

Many are they

That of my life distrustfully thus say,

‘No help for him in God there lies.’

But thou, Lord, art my shield, my glory;

Th’ exalter of my head I count:

Aloud I cried

Unto Jehovah; he full soon replied,

And heard me from his holy mount.

I lay and slept; I waked again:

For my sustain

Was the Lord. Of many millions

The populous rout

I fear not, though encamping round about,

They pitch against me their pavilions.

Rise, Lord; save me, my God! for thou

Hast smote ere now

On the cheek-bone all my foes,

Of men abhorred

Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the Lord;

Thy blessing on thy people flows.

 

At the end of this collection are a few brief quotations, translated from ancient authors. I liked this one from Horace:

 

“Jesting decides great things

Stronglier, and better oft then earnest can.”

 

It has been a while since I read the really old English language poetry, and it was definitely time. I do think Milton was a great writer, and it is a shame he didn’t leave more poetry behind. 

"God Is Non-Binary"

“God is non-binary.”

 

Every so often, I see something that reminds me that white Evangelicalism has departed so incredibly far from historical Christianity as to be essentially unrecognizable. 

 

In this case, I was reading a news story on the Texas primary election, and in the discussion of James Talarico’s probable win for the Democrats, there was a mention that Republicans would likely try to make hay out of a statement he made. 

 

What was the statement? 

 

“God is non-binary.”

 

Um, why is that an issue? Well, presumably, such a statement will infuriate white Evangelicals who insist that God is a man.

 

At this point, those of us who actually know historical Christian theology and our Bibles are facepalming.

 

According to historical Christian teaching, God is indeed “non-binary.” And furthermore, God’s pronouns are often “they/them.” 

 

[If you aren’t a Christian, obviously most of this post won’t apply to your belief system. But you might find it interesting…] 

 

***

 

First of all, the sexual binary only exists because humans (and many living things in our universe) reproduce sexually. We have the female which produces offspring, and the male which contributes genetic material. As I have pointed out in a post on the queer nature of, well, nature, the default - indeed the necessary sex is female. Males exist, evolutionarily speaking, solely for genetic diversity. 

 

The biological reason for “maleness” is fucking. Literally. That’s it. 

 

God is not a human. I think that should be theologically obvious. It literally is the basis of monotheistic religions. 

 

Also necessary for monotheism is that there NOT be a sexual binary. 

 

In polytheism, no big deal. Baal and Asherah, Zeus and Hera, Shiva and Shakti, Ra and Isis, Allah and Allat, Mother Earth and Father Sky - take your pick. 

 

But for monotheism to work, God has to be non-binary. Because otherwise, where is the other half? 

 

If nature is to be our guide, if a species doesn’t have a sexual binary, it has only females, so to speak. So if a monotheistic god were to have a sex, it would - by definition - be female.

 

Since males can only exist as a means of providing genetic diversity through sexual reproduction, a male god can only exist with a female counterpart. Otherwise, what are his sexual organs for?

 

If God is male, then he presumably has a penis. What does he use it for? 

 

Or, to put it more bluntly: “Who does God fuck?”

 

***

 

In the very first chapter of the Bible, we see a distinct NON-binary.

 

“Let US make humankind in OUR image…” And also, “male and female he created them.”

 

I’ll note that even the word translated as “God” in the passage is a plural: “elohim.”

 

A quick dive into Jewish thought reveals the switch between plural and singular - God is both plural and singular because humankind is both plural and singular. The use of “us” is more like the use of “they/them” to express a non-binary. 

 

The way I was raised, in the fairly mainstream Evangelical theology of the time, was that God was neither male nor female, but something completely different, outside of human category.

 

And BOTH men and women were equally in the image of God. Women are as much like God as men are. 

 

This non-binary understanding of God comes out in other places in the Bible, where both male and female metaphors for God are used, the various names for God range from male to decidedly female (El Shaddai - “the god with breasts”), and the idea that God needs a female companion to fuck is decidedly rejected as heresy. (See: literally all of the passages about Asherah…)

 

You can look through historical Jewish and Christian doctrine and find that God has been consistently been viewed as outside of human sexual reproductive binaries. This isn’t really a debate. 

 

***

 

So why are Evangelicals so insistent that God is a male?

 

It isn’t difficult to figure out why. 

 

Evangelicalism has been taken over, co-opted by something that is not at all like Christianity. 

 

It is a political movement, not a theological one. 

 

It is a supremacist political movement.

 

Specifically, it is centered not on Christian theological beliefs about God, but around the protection of supremacist social hierarchies among humans.

 

White supremacy - white-skinned humans are better and deserve privileges

Male supremacy - male humans are better and deserve privileges

Mammon supremacy - humans with wealth matter more than those without wealth

 

It is that second one which applies here. 

 

Feminist theologian Mary Daly observed that “If God is male, then males are gods.” 

 

This is the crux of the issue. 

 

I may have been raised as a normal, mainstream Evangelical in the 1980s, but things shifted as I got older. What was once fringe became mainstream. And Patriarchy became one of the most important doctrines, one that could not be challenged. 

 

That meant that the various Theobros from John Piper on down could literally say that only men were truly created in the image of God, while women were only created in the image of men. 

 

There is actually a pagan source for this heresy: Aristotle taught that women were malformed men. They literally failed to develop in the womb. 

 

This is scientifically ludicrous, of course. But also theologically wrong. It goes against the actual teaching of the Bible and the historical teaching of the church.

 

But the reason this is so important to Evangelicals is that they need theological justification for their treatment of women as subhuman, unfit for leadership in the church, home, or society. 

 

This is also why it is so important that God have a penis. It seems to be the unspoken belief that God uses his to communicate on a wavelength that can only be detected by another penis, which is why women cannot hear from God directly…

 

(I’m only half joking here. I’m not sure otherwise how one justifies the “only males can hear from God directly” without it having something to do with the penis.)

 

It is the need to see women as sub-human that drives the theology of “God is Male.”

 

***

 

Of course, we know what else this is about. Talarico made the comment in a legislative hearing regarding transgender rights. And that is definitely something that Evangelicals are opposed to.

 

It is necessary for Evangelicals to believe in a rigid gender binary, with no shades of grey, because that belief is necessary to maintain the superiority of male over female. 

 

I wrote at length about this in another of my Pride Month posts: The Root of Anti-LGBTQ Bigotry is Misogyny.

 

Even more than gay and lesbian humans, the existence of intersex and transgender humans is a direct assault on their bigoted beliefs about the inherent inferiority of female humans. If you can’t classify a human is either the superior male entitled to control or the inferior female who is subject to male control, what do you do with them? Well, deny that they exist, or try to exterminate them, apparently. 

 

I think this is a good place to link an excellent article by Parker Molloy about why transgender rights are actually a winning argument. I hope Talarico doesn’t back down on this issue. 

 

“Democrats have a winning message on trans issues if they’d bother to articulate it. Most Americans don’t want the government inspecting children’s genitals. They don’t want politicians interfering in medical decisions between families and doctors. They don’t want schools turned into gender police states. They want kids to be safe and treated with dignity.”  

 

And also a great article about how the Girl Scouts got this one right. 

 

God is not male. 

 

God does not have a penis. 

 

God is non-binary. 

 

You do not need a penis to commune directly with the Divine.

 

Men, women, intersex, transgender - all are created in the image of God. 

 

All deserve human rights.

 

***

 

I imagine some might bring up the analogy of “Christ and the Church” as proof that God is male. There is a lot to unpack there, but honestly, the writer is clearly using a metaphor - which was pretty clearly borrowed from the Cupid and Psyche myth, much like we would use our own pop cultural references to illustrate moral and theological truth. 

 

This passage too has been brutally misused to insist on male domination of women, something I wrote about here. For a far more thoughtful and nuanced exploration of the underlying myth, C. S. Lewis’ book, Till We Have Faces, is one I enjoyed. 

 

Whatever the mysteries of human communion with the divine, reducing it all to “God has a penis” is the stupidest and least imaginative way of looking at it. 

 

Fake Demons and Real Demons

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here!” ~ The Tempest

 

“The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear.” ~ Antonio Gramsci

 

(Commonly paraphrased as “The old is dying and the new struggles to be born; now is the time of monsters.”)

 

“The Spirit clearly says that in later times some will abandon the faith and follow deceiving spirits and things taught by demons.  Such teachings come through hypocritical liars, whose consciences have been seared as with a hot iron.” ~ I Timothy 4:1-2

 

“Listen to Me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside the person which can defile him if it goes into him; but the things which come out of the person are what defile the person…Are you so lacking in understanding as well? Do you not understand that whatever goes into the person from outside cannot defile him, because it does not go into his heart, but into his stomach, and is eliminated? That which comes out of the person, that is what defiles the person. For from within, out of the hearts of people, come the evil thoughts, acts of sexual immorality, thefts, murders, acts of adultery, deeds of greed, wickedness, deceit, indecent behavior, envy, slander, pride, and foolishness. All these evil things come from within and defile the person.” ~ Jesus Christ (the Gospel of Mark)

 

“I swear, it's as if they believe in the power of demons more than they do their own god they claim to worship. Meanwhile, the real demons of xenophobia, nationalism, resentment, fear, and hate they welcome without realizing it -- what a weak ‘faith’.” ~ my friend J. M. 

 

***

Because I love Albrecht Durer... 

 

Did you know that originally, the word “demon” (often spelled daemon) didn’t refer to a fallen angel or malignant supernatural spirit?

 

Rather, it meant “a divine power, lesser deity, guiding spirit, or genius.” Which is why Plato referred to Socrates as having a special “daemon” - a guiding light, an inner genius. 

 

It wasn’t until post-exilic Judaism fused the Zoroastrian cosmology of lesser divine beings with monotheism that the idea of “demons” as malignant supernatural beings took hold. 

 

It is important to understand the root of this belief in the superstition that misfortune was caused by malignant spirits (and inspired by the missteps of whomever people wished to scapegoat - and hence the burning of women as witches…) rather than being an unfortunate part of existence. 

 

(As Stephen Pinker put it: “A great principle of moral advancement, on par with ‘Love thy neighbor’ and ‘All men are created equal,’ is the one on the bumper sticker: ‘Shit happens.’”)

 

I believe that understanding that a belief in literal demons in the sense of invisible malignant supernatural beings is just a superstition. These are the fake demons. And in my life experience, this belief is seriously harmful. It makes one fearful and superstitious, blames natural phenomena on supernatural causes, and scapegoats innocent humans for bad luck. It also distracts from the real demons that plague our society. 

 

***

 

My family history of superstition

 

It will come as no surprise to anyone that most Evangelicals believe in literal demons and angels. Historically, this was a widespread belief. In fact, one can see elaborate hierarchies in Judaism (which I will not pretend to be particularly familiar with.) 

 

In the Christian tradition, the most influential - and detailed - angelology comes from 7th Century theologian and writer Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, who ranked angels (and thus demons who are “fallen” angels) in this order, top to bottom: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels, and Angels. Note that “thrones” and “virtues” are titles, and have nothing to do with the normal use of these words. 

 

Honestly, I had no idea about this elaborate classification system until I read The Revolt of the Angels, by atheist Anatole France. It’s a great book, but I definitely had to look up all of the angel stuff. 

 

This system of classification was criticized by Martin Luther, who largely rejected Pseudo-Dionysius. Thus, we Protestants didn’t get quite the same thing. Although one could argue that Frank Peretti’s fantasy novels would have been better with interesting names to go with the ranks of demons and angels. 

 

(Maybe someday I will have time to write about Peretti - his books were part of my teen years, and I have things to say about that.) 

 

More generally, Evangelicals believe in literal angels and demons, but without necessarily the expectation of ever meeting one. Pentecostals, well, in that tradition (which I spent time in in my teens) does “spiritual warfare” as they call, it, with a lot of “binding and rebuking” of demonic powers. 

 

Looking back, it was more than a little weird. Although there was this time at Christian Summer Camp that a friend rolled his eyes at the ever-present sophomoric fart jokes, and quipped, “I really want to rebuke the Spirit of Indigestion.” 

 

Pentecostals take a lot more seriously the idea that humans can be “possessed” by a demon, or the lesser version, “demonization.” I’ll talk a bit more about that below.

 

It was even before we had our foray into Pentecostalism (that’s a whole story too…) that my mom got really into demons and stuff. 

 

Probably the first thing I remember is her reading Turmoil in the Toybox. I do not recommend that book at all, but I am linking to it because of the influence it had on my birth family. The basic premise is that most “modern” toys are intentionally designed to give your kid demons. It is all a vast conspiracy against Christianity, etc. Lather, rinse, repeat.

 

Now, to be clear, the idea is that crazy, although it is misguided. The modern, late-stage-capitalism version of toys are deeply problematic. Too many of them are plastic, causing environmental harm as well as breaking easily, requiring replacements. It is planned disposability. 

 

And, of course, the endless cross-marketing. When I was a kid, it was the Saturday Morning Cartoons which were created mostly to sell toys based on the shows. And shows which were created to be based on toys. And books, and records, and anything else you could aggressively advertise. 

 

But demons?

 

So, this meant that for many of that subculture, you had to burn your Cabbage Patch dolls, avoid anything with fantasy symbolism (because the occult, yo!), and only watch cartoons (if at all) from the golden age. 

 

I should be clear here that in many ways, this didn’t affect me that much. I was always all about the LEGOs, which were, apparently, fine. I never got the appeal of He-Man, which seemed pretty darn cheesy to young me. In fact, I can’t really think of any of the “forbidden” toys that appealed to me. I was a weird, nerdy kid, who wanted to build stuff. So all of my favorite toys (other than the usual stuffed animals and blankets) were creative things: spirograph, capsella, LEGOs, books, art supplies. That was who I was. And still am. 

 

Where this affected me was when I played with friends. If they weren’t into the Moral Panic Culture™, they had these toys, and I had the awkward job of explaining why I couldn’t play with them. Sigh. 

 

Things accelerated for my parents when we got first into Pentecostalism and then Bill Gothard’s cult. For both, there was an increased paranoia about demons, although they took different approaches. 

 

For Pentecostals, modern culture was generally okay. They did music with drums and electric guitars, watched regular movies, played with regular toys. 

 

But they did have a baseline paranoia about getting demons, and an obsession with blaming problems on supernatural causes. 

 

This is nothing new, of course. Even in the Bible, we see the ancient lack of understanding about illnesses such as Schizophrenia and Epilepsy. Thus, Christ’s healing of illness was described as “casting out demons.” These days, for a person like my mother, who suffers from epilepsy, the cause is bad brain wiring, not a demon, and appropriate treatment is medication, not an exorcism. We learn more, we discover better explanations and treatments. 

 

This bled into a lot of superstition that naturally-caused problems and difficulties were the result of demon activity. Obviously, this was unhelpful. A child with ADHD doesn’t have a demon - they have different brain wiring, so an exorcism isn’t going to fix it. Mental illness isn’t supernatural either, so “treating” it like that is singularly unhelpful, and distracts from legitimately useful treatments. 

 

And, lest we forget, the blaming of sexual orientation and gender identity on demons. Just cast out the “demon of homosexuality” and your kid will turn heterosexual. It’s like magic! (Spoiler: it doesn’t work.) 

 

I’m sure you can figure out where this is going. As I went through puberty and started pushing back (“rebellion!”) against my parents, finding my own way of life, this got blamed on malignant supernatural influence. Instead of what it was: normal human childhood development.

 

Another influence here was a book called Pigs in the Parlor, which I also do not recommend reading. My mom was hugely into this book for a while, at a time in my life when she seemed to find everything about me annoying and problematic. 

 

The basic idea is that, while Christians cannot be “possessed” by demons - we already belong to Christ - we can be “demonized” - tormented, influenced, bothered by demons. I read part of it, and, ugh. It was just terrible, like all such books are. Utter dreck, unsupported by evidence, not remotely based in scripture or Christian tradition, just superstition.

 

Actually, what it reminded me the most of was….literally every fad diet book. It is the same superstition, just with intangible “demons” rather than slightly more tangible stuff like “gluten.” Hey, same with Turmoil in the Toybox too! 

 

Again, you can easily imagine how this affected my mom’s approach to a normal teenager who she found problematic. 

 

And that brings us to Gothard. 

 

For Gothard, the risk of demons was mostly focused on culture. Specifically, the culture of people who weren’t white. 

 

So, he recycled the old moral panic about music created by black people. Rock and Roll, Jazz, Pop - all that - gave you demons. Cultural artifacts, particularly if they looked like or could be thought of as “idols” gave you demons too. 

 

Certain books were suspect as well, particularly if they contained “magic.” Which is how we ended up burning our Lord of the Rings books. (Narnia was spared, fortunately.) Magic gave you demons. 

 

But that misses the REALLY BIG ONE.

 

“Rebellion” was literally opening up your mind to Satan himself. 

 

As proof-text for this, the story of King Saul and his disobedience to the prophet Samuel was used. “For rebellion is as of the sin of witchcraft…”

 

Yep. Disagreeing with your parents meant you were opening yourself up to demons. 

 

This idea has, more than any other, I believe, been at the core of my trauma and estrangement from my parents. I disagreed. (And, honestly, I was right about things most of the time.) Therefore, I was opening my mind, heart, and soul to Satan, and letting demons enter my inner self. 

 

If this sounds like an abusive thing to say to a child, you would be right. 

 

I’m not going to recount all of the stupid, unnecessary fights I had with my mom (and occasionally with my dad) over this. We fought over food, music, books, theology, and eventually even my right to an education. (Which I was denied, by the way. I never got to go to a normal college. Bill Gothard’s law school was my only ticket out, so I took it, even though it wasn’t what I wanted. But I had to tell my parents it was what I wanted, or I was “rebellious.”)

 

Even now, my mom threatens me with hell because I am not “walking in truth.” Disagreement with her is “rebellion,” aka opening myself to Satan. 

 

What I learned from all this is that I was not loved as a person, but persistently invalidated and treated as a problem to be managed. I was told, repeatedly, that who I was made me unsafe to be seen. I was demonized, literally, because I was who I was. My parents were seemingly blindsided by the fact that all their prayers and discipline and formula-following never “fixed” me. And that is how we ended up estranged. 

 

I’ll add in one further detail that came years later. I can pinpoint when my mom lost the respect of my now-adult children. The older ones would have been tweens at that point. 

 

My mom, rather than actually listening to and building a relationship with them, was more focused on making them her personal mission field. 

 

But it was when she insisted that reading Harry Potter would give you demons that I saw the eyes glaze over, and I never saw my older kids take my mom seriously again. She had chosen to spew her ignorance and bigotry rather than treat her grandchildren with respect and love, and they took note. 

 

The overall result of this kind of obsession with demons is that you start seeing them everywhere. 

 

Every book, song, toy, movie, TV show, or cultural artifact is a potential source of demons. Every cultural change is the result of demons. Anything that makes you uncomfortable is a demon. 

 

They are like the common cold: a little sniffle and you can catch one. 

 

This is a horrible way to live. In fact, superstition is always like this. It feeds off of fear rather than love and a sound mind. When you believe in things that you don’t understand, then you suffer. 

 

Far better is to invest in learning how to understand the world we live in. Find treatments for epilepsy and mental illness. Evaluate toys and culture on merit and utility, not paranoia. See other cultures as normal, valid, and beautiful expressions of humanity and the image of God. Listen to other people and what speaks to them - you might learn something. Build relationships around mutual respect, not condescending missionary zeal. 

 

***

 

So, how about those real demons?

 

I am indebted to my friend J. M. for the quote above, which I will repeat here:

 

“I swear, it's as if they believe in the power of demons more than they do their own god they claim to worship. Meanwhile, the real demons of xenophobia, nationalism, resentment, fear, and hate they welcome without realizing it -- what a weak ‘faith’.” ~ my friend J. M. 

 

This came up in a comment on a Facebook post I made regarding Barry Manilow and the superstition about music. 

 

 

This is the tragedy of it, as J. M. points out. 

 

My parents - and indeed so many Evangelicals - have wasted their time chasing imaginary demons, and, distracted, have fallen prey to the real ones. 

 

The daemons - the guiding light, inner motivation - of evil. The true evil in our world. 

 

Xenophobia, nationalism, resentment, fear, and hate.

 

It isn’t literal invisible supernatural beings who are calling for the ethnic cleansing of America. That would be real humans like Stephen Miller and Donald Trump and their goons and ghouls. 

 

An invisible supernatural being didn’t kill Renee Good, Luis Gustavo Núñez Cáceres, Geraldo Lunas Campos, Víctor Manuel Díaz, Parady La, Luis Beltrán Yáñez–Cruz, Heber Sánchez Domínguez, and Alex Pretti. They were killed by ICE as part of an ethnic cleansing operation. 

 

It isn’t invisible supernatural beings that make children die of measles. They die because very real human beings believe lies and deprive children of life-saving vaccinations. 

 

It isn’t invisible supernatural beings who kick tens of millions of humans off of health insurance. That was done by Republican politicians, who I am pretty sure are actual human beings, not supernatural demons. Although honestly, it is often difficult to tell, because their souls were sold to evil long ago. 

 

As the Bard said, “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” 

 

Our world has no need to invent invisible supernatural beings to explain our evil. We humans are damn good at doing it ourselves. “The Devil made me do it” has always been bullshit. 

 

The real demons are those internal motivations that we embrace and make part of us - those internal “daemons” that motivate us toward xenophobia, nationalism, resentment, fear, and hate. 

 

Christ himself noted this. The religious hypocrites of his day (and of ours) focus on preventing external “contamination.” Don’t eat the wrong foods, don’t hang out with “those people,” be sure to avoid all “labor” on the Sabbath, and of course look down on those who fail to meet expectations. 

 

Christ’s response was that contamination comes from the inside: it is those internal motivations - the real demons - that contaminate us, because of what comes out of us. 

 

We need to be looking at our fruit. Are you full of goodness, or a whitewashed tomb? Does it match the Fruit of the Spirit? Or does it look a lot more like the Fruit of the Klan? (And yes, MAGA is the 21st Century iteration of the Klan.) 

 

The writer of I Timothy talked about the “doctrine of demons.” It is helpful to understand this in context. 

 

Where does this “doctrine of demons” come from? Well, it comes from “hypocritical liars.” Hey, do we know any of those? It sure describes the Orange Fascist and his followers. And also a hell of a lot of people occupying pulpits. 

 

These false teachers (hey, check out my list of dead ones!) have “seared their consciences with a hot iron.” This is literally the core of MAGA and Christian Nationalism. Just look up “The Sin of Empathy.” These people have literally seared their consciences - the part that might make them hesitate before inflicting violence, hatred, and death on people different from them. That is the point. 

 

But there is also the rest of the passage. A hallmark of the false teachers is that they teach that contamination comes from outside. “Don’t eat that.” “Don’t marry like that.” Concentrating on externals is the way false teachers operate. It distracts from the real evil within, the evil that overflows out of the abundance of our hearts.  

 

Finally, the writer warns against “godless myths and old wives’ tales.” In other words, superstition. Don’t be superstitious. Don’t chase imaginary malevolent supernatural beings. Instead, focus on what is inside of you. If what is inside reflects the love of God, the virtues that lead to good fruit and love of neighbor, the outside will take care of itself. 

 

Don’t worry about the imaginary fake demons. We have enough of the real ones in our world already. 

 

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Source of book: I own this

 

The Shadow of the Wind is this month’s selection for the Literary Lush Book Club. My wife nominated this book, which we generally enjoyed. I don’t think I would have discovered this book on my own, but you never know. 

Originally written in Spanish by an author from Spain, The Shadow of the Wind is a gothic mystery, full of atmosphere, pouring rain, violence, sex, revenge, the Spanish Civil War, trauma, and books. I feel that it has some stylistic parallels with Cathedral of the Sea, another Spanish book from the era; and that having previously read The Cypresses Believe in God, a far more serious book about the Spanish Civil War, I understood the various parties to the war better than I would have otherwise. 

 

So what is the book about? Well, I’ll do my best to not give away too many spoilers. There are a lot of twists, up until almost the very end, and unravelling the mystery is much of the fun. 

 

The book opens with young Daniel panicked that he has stopped being able to remember his late mother’s face. His father - who is a real mensch, a thoughtful and kind and understanding parent - comforts him, but also decides that it is time for him to become a man. 

 

By this, his father, a bookseller, means that Daniel must visit the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, where all the books ever published (even if forgotten) reside. There, a book will select him, and it will become part of his identity. 

 

When they visit, he is drawn to a book named “The Shadow of the Wind” by the relatively unknown author Julian Carax. 

 

As expected, Daniel loves the book, and indeed becomes somewhat obsessed with it and the author. 

 

And then, as he begins to investigate the story behind the book, he is accosted by a mysterious stranger, with a burned face, who offers to buy the book from him. By this time, Daniel has learned that nearly all of Carax’s books have been bought by a mysterious man going by the name of a character - the devil - in one of the books, and burning them. So, he refuses to sell, and hides the book again. 

 

Most of the story happens a number of years later, when Daniel is a young adult. He befriends Fermin, a homeless man who turns out to have been tortured as a political prisoner during the Civil War, and is being hounded by the police inspector Fumero. Fermin is given a job at the bookstore, and turns out to be talented at the job. 

 

Throughout the book, Fermin and Daniel investigate the mysterious death or disappearance of Julian Carax, interviewing those who knew him, and trying to discover the lurid story at the center of his existence. 

 

Beyond that, I won’t get into the plot. 

 

There are a number of fascinating characters in the book. One of the interesting things we discussed is that the young females seem mostly to exist as plot devices, except for Bea, who is given a bit more to do. In contrast, there are multiple older women who get backstories and interesting roles to play, even if they are not main characters.

 

The book also strikes me as having stylistic similarities to other Spanish books I have read, even though the settings and stories varied greatly. For example, the medieval story in Cathedral of the Sea shares some elements with this book that are unmistakable. For example, the question of paternity and how it affects later relationships, the hidden identities, the single-minded persecution by an obsessed authority. And also some similarities in how the writing translates to English. I can’t exactly describe this, but if you have read books by different authors that just “feel” similar in the writing style, you know what I mean. 

 

Also common in the Spanish books I have read is a different approach to female sexuality than in our more typical American (and even more so English) literary fiction. Both countries have a centuries-long hangover from Puritanism that colors sex for everyone. But particularly women. This isn’t to say that you don’t find female sexual desire in our books, but that there is never desire that isn’t either colored by guilt, or a reaction to it. 

 

In contrast, in this book, women often just want sex. And the hangup is around the Catholic church, which in my reading experience, leads to guilt about the sin committed, but not about the desire. I am having difficulty explaining this, but it is a very real thing in literature. 

 

And then, there are the horndog males. Fermin, who is one of the good guys, is also a bit, um, interesting in his pursuit of tail. It’s pretty amoral in theory, although (spoiler) his actual romance in the book turns out a bit different. 

 

One of the discussions in this vein that we had with the group is whether you ever get over your first love. For my wife and I, this is a weird conversation, because we were each other’s first in nearly every way. (My wife had a brief date in her teens with a family friend - neither of them were particularly interested in the other, though.) 

 

So, one might say, after nearly 25 years of marriage, we still aren’t over our first loves. 

 

That idea does play a key role in the plot at various points. 

 

I thought the writing was excellent in this book, well suited to the gothic plot and the quick-paced style. It is on the borderline between literary fiction and genre, and I am not entirely sure how to classify it for that reason, although I think I will stick it in my “mystery” category. Because of this, I did write down a number of memorable lines. 

 

For example, the words of Isaac, the keeper of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, to the young Daniel.

 

“Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.”

 

I just love that, and think of my own library (which consists mostly of books my wife and I bought used) as that collection of souls each book has touched over the years - decades or even centuries.

 

I also loved this description:

 

Barcelo signaled to a waiter of such remarkable decrepitude that he looked as if he should be declared a national landmark.

 

This one, in a passage about how Gustavo Barcelo (an older bookseller and friend of Daniel’s father) was one of the first to predict the Civil War is interesting. My wife and I were talking about White Christian Nationalism - the primary cause for our ongoing cold civil war here in 21st Century America - decades before most others picked up on it. 

 

Some considered his fear exaggerated, and maintained that nothing could possibly happen in Barcelona. In Spain, both the cradle and pinnacle of Christian civilization, barbarism was for anarchists - those people who rode bicycles and wore darned socks - and surely they wouldn’t get very far. But Clara’s father believed that nations never see themselves clearly in the mirror, much less when war preys on their minds. He had a good understanding of history and knew that the future could be read much more clearly in the streets, factories, and barracks than in the morning press.

 

One of my favorite characters is that of Bernarda, the servant with a traumatic childhood, who Barcelo took in and gave a bit of the Pygmalion treatment to, at least making her pass as a provincial maid. She is thoroughly devout - which is why it is fun that she ends up with (spoiler) the atheist Fermin in the end. This bit about how she sees Barcelo is pretty amusing. 

 

Every morning she went to the eight o’clock service at the basilica of Santa Maria del Mar, and she confessed no less than three times a week, four in warm weather. Don Gustavo, who was a confirmed agnostic (which Bernarda suspected might be a respiratory condition, like asthma, but afflicting only refined gentlemen), deemed it mathematically impossible that the maid should be able to sin sufficiently to keep up that schedule of confession and contrition. 

 

Fermin is always quick with a witty remark, such as this one about how he ended up in the civil service (and thus persecuted by Franco’s thugs later) rather than in the humanities. 

 

I’m rather old-fashioned, and I believe that a father, however dim-witted, should be obeyed, if you see what I mean.

 

As Daniel approaches adulthood, he is threatened with being drafted. Fermin decides to figure out how to prevent this. In the end, rather more violent means end up doing the job, but the plan is more predictable. I like Fermin’s opinion, even if I don’t entirely agree with it:

 

“The only use for military service is that it reveals the number of morons in the population, and that can be discovered in the first two weeks; there’s no need for two years. Army, Marriage, the Church, and Banking: the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Yes, go on, laugh.”

 

This theme is also noted when Daniel finds he has feelings for his best friend’s sister, Bea. The problem? Well, she is already engaged to a soldier. Fermin advises Daniel to be ready to take her when she offers herself - which Fermin predicts will happen. And as for guilt?

 

“Ah, the army, blight and refuge for the basest simian instincts. All the better, because this way you can cuckold him without feeling guilty.” 

 

Fermin also has a good line after a discussion of the roughing up of a local LGBTQ old guy by the police - particularly Fumero. 

 

“It’s not fair, no, sir,” argued Merceditas, positioned by the door of the bookshop, far from Fermin’s wandering hands. “Poor thing, he has a heart of gold, and he always minds his own business. So he likes dressing up as a Gypsy and singing in front of people? Who cares? People are evil.”

“Not evil,” Fermin objected. “Moronic, which isn’t quite the same thing. Evil presupposes a moral decision, intention, and some forethought. He acts on instinct, like a stable animal, convinced that he’s doing good, that he’s always right, and sanctimoniously proud to go around fucking up, if you’ll excuse the French, anyone he perceives to be different from himself, be it because of skin color, creed, language, nationality, or, as in the case of Don Federico, his leisure habits. What the world needs is more thoroughly evil people and fewer borderline pigheads.”

 

This is, by the way, a great description of MAGA and of self-righteous white evangelicals. Convinced they know everything, are always right, and are entitled to go around fucking up other people for being different. Bonhoeffer was correct in calling such people stupid and thus more dangerous than consciously evil people. 

 

There is a later scene, when Fermin has fallen for Bernarda, and she for him, where he suddenly has a crisis of confidence, worried that he might not be a good husband and father. This blows Daniel away, because to that point, Fermin has said he doesn’t believe in marriage or families. His response is excellent. 

 

“Well, then, for what my opinion is worth, I’m sure you’ll be an excellent father and husband. And since you don’t believe in those things, you’ll never take them for granted.” 

 

I think he is on to something. Because of my own background in a subculture where marriage vows are fetishized, and people stay in miserable and even abusive marriages because they believe in "commitment," I myself don’t entirely believe in marriage, commitment, or “forever.” As I have said to my wife, if she finds someday that she believes she would be better off without me, she should leave. I do not cage her. But because of this, I do not take our marriage for granted. I believe I need to make sure that her life with me is better than without. 

 

Featuring significantly in the story is an old abandoned mansion, once owned by the rather nefarious father of Julian Carax’ first love. Now, it is in decay and is unsellable because of its reputation of being haunted. In fact, there is even a film that purports to have captured the ghosts. 

 

Alas, all Ricardo Aldaya could see during the screening were large stains. He also maintained that both the film itself and the technician who operated the projector stank of wine and other entirely earthly spirits. 

 

Don Ricardo of course leverages the rumors to his own financial advantage. He also has, let’s say, a reputation. He keeps firing maids, for example. 

 

His reputation in this field was almost as notorious as his fortune, and there were those who said that at the rate his exploits were taking place, the illegitimate children he left behind would organize their own union. 

 

Fermin has a bit of the same, um, reputation, although perhaps his is more talk than actual offspring. At one point, after he is roughed up by Fumaro’s goons, and is recovering at Barcelo’s house, he sends a message for Daniel via the doctor. 

 

“Moreover, as proof of his vigor and presence of mind, he has asked me to transmit to you that, when Nurse Amparito was putting a few stitches in his leg, he had an iceberg of an erection.”

 

Ah, Fermin…you may protest a bit too much. 

 

The ongoing drama surrounding Daniel and Bea leads to Fermin intervening yet again, threatening to take Daniel to a brothel. He, however, will just wait in the hall reading a magazine, because he is, as he puts it, “a convert to monogamy, if not in mentis, at least de facto.” 

 

He also gives his advice that Daniel needs to call Bea, since she didn’t call when she promised. 

 

“It is one thing to believe in women, and another to believe what they say.” 

 

Another Fermin line that was hilarious was in the scene when he and Daniel are having ham sandwiches in a cafe, and one of Fumero’s goons is watching them. He calls the waiter over. 

 

“Could you please go and tell him immediately that there’s an urgent message from Inspector Fumero? He must go immediately the Boqueria Market to buy twenty duros’ worth of boiled chickpeas and take them without delay to Police Headquarters (in a taxi if necessary) - or he must prepare to present his balls to him on a plate. Would you like me to repeat it?”

“That won’t be necessary, sir. Twenty duros’ worth of chickpeas or his balls on a plate.” 

 

I hear that in Jeeves’ voice, of course. 

 

Speaking of Fumero, Fermin gives a correct and highly perceptive analysis of his character.

 

“What I can tell you about Fumero is common knowledge. The first time I heard him mentioned, the future inspector was a gunman working for the anarchist syndicate, the FAI. He had earned himself quite a reputation, because he had no fear and no scruples. All he needed was someone’s name, and he’d finish him off on the street with a shot in the face, in the middle of the day. Such talents are greatly valued in times of unrest. The other things he didn’t have were loyalty or beliefs. He didn’t give a damn what cause he was serving, so long as the cause would help him climb the ladder. There are plenty of riffraff like him in the world, but few of them have Fumero’s talent. From the anarchists he went on to serve the communists, and from there to the fascists was only a step. He spied and sold information from one faction to the other, and he took money from all of them.”

 

This, I believe, is a reasonably accurate description of ICE thugs as well. 

 

I also want to mention a line, where Don Federico delivers a message from Fermin, who is being wrongly accused of murdering a woman who once was in love with Julian Carax. 

 

“What have you got against umbrellas, Daniel?”

“What could be more beautiful than the rain, Don Federico?”

“Pneumonia. Come on in, I have your repair ready.”

 

That woman is the daughter of Isaac - there are a lot of connections in this book. After her murder, Isaac has a belated epiphany, one I wonder if a lot of authoritarian fundamentalist parents are going to have someday. 

 

“In over fifteen years, I didn't go to see her once. I always told her she’d chosen a band neighborhood. Not enough light. An old building. She would just nod in agreement. Like when I used to tell her she’d chosen a bad life. Not much future. A jobless husband. It’s funny how we judge others and don’t realize the extent of our disdain until they are no longer there, until they are taken from us. They’re taken from us because they’ve never been ours.” 

 

I want to mention another line, but can’t give context without a major spoiler. I do think, however, it stands on its own. 

 

They had parted as boys, and now life presented one of them with a fugitive and the other with a dying man. Both wondered whether this was due to the cards they’d been dealt or to the way they had played them. 

 

That is the unanswerable question, isn’t it?

 

Another one to mention out of context is the line about a father, in view of the impossibility of obtaining his daughter’s suitor on a platter, settled for giving consent to the marriage. 

 

There is also a line about Fermin’s eventual wedding, where he had to get a priest drunk enough to do the ceremony - and quoted one of Neruda’s love sonnets rather than the usual scripture. Alas, the book does not say which one. I like to think it is this one, a very favorite poem of mine:

 

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,   

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:   

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,   

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

 

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries   

the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,   

and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose   

from the earth lives dimly in my body.

 

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,   

I love you directly without problems or pride:

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,

except in this form in which I am not nor are you,   

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,   

so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

 

I’ll close with what probably isn’t a spoiler, but comes at the end. After Fumero is gone to his reward (or more likely punishment), his memory, well, I’ll let the book explain. 

 

The years were not kind to the memory of Inspector Fumero. Not even those who hated and feared him seem to remember him anymore. Years ago, on Paseo de Gracia, I came across Lieutenant Palacios, who left the police force and now teaches gymnastics at a school in the Bonanova quarter. He told me there is still a commemorative plaque in honor of Fumero in the basement of Central Police Headquarters on Via Layetana, but a new soft-drinks machine covers it entirely. 

 

Someday, when Trump is dead, and his minions out of power, this too will happen for most of them. They will be like the Confederate memorial that exists somewhere buried in the shrubbery at our local county museum. Mostly forgotten, not remembered much and not honored. Hey, have you thought much about Rush Limbaugh lately? He’s been dead almost exactly five years, other hatemongers have taken his place, and few bother to remember him now. So will it be with MAGA, who will be remembered as a faceless evil, a force of hate that enveloped millions of people, then faded away with the turn of the tide, unable to sustain itself without its clown prince. 

 

The Shadow of the Wind was a fun read. Apparently, it is the first in a series, which might be fun to explore further.