Topic: Book Review

As part of my preparation for the Parish Pilgrimage to Sinai in November (assuming the global situation allows us to make the journey) I have just finished reading “Jerusalem: the biography” by Simon Sebag Montefiore.  It’s a well written book, based on anecdotes rather than theories.  The narratives are well told, full of pace, blood, intrigue, jealousy, revenge and sex – just like the Bible, really.  There are few upright moral heroes; yet it is a “morality tale”, in the sense that, by reading the stories, you can see more clearly moral character and the consequences of behaviour.

I was familiar with parts of Jerusalem’s history: Jesus in the 1^st century, persecution by the Romans in the 2^nd and 3^rd, the alleged finding of the true cross and sites associated with Jesus in the 4^th, the establishment of scholarship and monasteries in Jerusalem in the 5^th, and the arrival of Islam in the 7^th.  But then there is a gap of 400 years of nothingness before the crusades begin; and after those, there is another 400 year lull until the stirrings of Zionism, the fruits of which are still growing.  Sadly Montefiore concentrates on the times of blood and fighting, and tells us less about the periods of quiet decline.  This is a mistake.  Periods when “not much happened” can be too easily dismissed.  This is why we largely know of British history between 410 AD (when the Romans left) and 1066 as the “dark ages”.  It’s a period which allegedly sheds little light.  But increasingly historians are recognizing that the fundamental building blocks of our nation which are so familiar to us even now, were laid down.  These include the basic shape of parliament, counties, towns and villages, manors and parishes, and Common Law.  All these developments are rooted in the “dark ages”.

The other major theme I see in Montefiore is how rulers in each generation see themselves as the culmination and pinnacle of what has come before.  Yet their achievements so often last merely moments after their death.  In Jerusalem in particular, stones from one palace are used and re-used in the next generation’s palaces, city walls, or temples.  How ironic then to see, when I was sitting in a Governors’ meeting at the Royal Grammar School yesterday, the title of a history book: “Success is never final”!  This is a message no leader finds easy to hear.

I am now taking a bit of leave for the first part of half term, and will be back blogging in a week.

I only came across the novel “The Eagle of the Ninth” by Rosemary Sutcliffe by chance a few years ago.  We discovered a copy in a holiday cottage we were hiring.  This was very timely as Zoe and I both read it and enjoyed it, it being a gripping adventure tale suitable for early teenagers.  So, Zoe and I went to see a film version of this last night called “The Eagle” and were both rather disappointed.  The film did not match our memory of reading the book.  Aren’t our inner imaginings usually more creative and memorable than cinematic presentations?

Actually, I just had to note the trailers for other films that preceded the showing of “The Eagle” to realize that I was on to a loser.  All the trailers contained lots of fighting, explosions and car chases.  This should have alerted me to the fact that the director was going to tell the story of The Eagle as a quasi-Roman equivalent: more violence than character development was on the cards.

But it was timely to be watching this during Holy Week for this is essentially a story of honour.  The father of the protagonist was the centurion who lost the Eagle of the Ninth Legion; his son is desperate to restore his father’s honour by retrieving the Eagle and establishing that he did not die a coward (corporate and personal honour).  But social systems based on honour are not that familiar to our culture now.  A story about an “honour killing” of a woman, who has fled the family network, which occasionally is reported in the press, distresses and often revolts us.  Yet one of the earliest understandings of the Atonement (what Jesus achieved on the Cross) is based on a system of honour.  Our sin dishonours God; something has to be done.  Nothing can be done from our side as we are already sinners, and any offering would be unworthy.  So the Son offers himself, thereby restoring God’s honour.

I find such an understanding unhelpful and fundamentally revolting.  Systems of honour are so often limited in that, if I offend you, my honour is only increased at the expense of yours.  There is a limited amount of honour, so any relationship must be a matter of win/lose, or gain/loss.  A narrative of God’s honour being restored by the sacrifice of his son does not resonate – moreover, the details revolt.

At the heart of forgiveness lies an understanding that, however bad the past, it need not determine our future.  Forgiveness is essentially a creation of new possibilities.  Forgiveness can seem to challenge a system based on honour, for the one offended has the chance, through offering forgiveness, to create new worth – to restore relationship without demanding payment.

I do not want to be too harsh on this sort of theology for it was very important to the Christian Church for many years.  It is too simplistic to say that they had a wrong idea of God and the Cross.  It’s worth pondering what they managed to express that we fail to capture in today’s ideas.  Nevertheless, it is hard to feel very positively about a social system based on limited honour.  Perhaps that contributed to the director turning “The Eagle of the Ninth” into an adventure story rather than anything deeper.