And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!
- And did those feet, William Blake

fredag 17. mai 2024

After the interview - or, Correcting a big mistake


This post is in response to a very big mistake I made last month. I should have known better, and it has bothered me profoundly ever since. The mistake cannot be undone, but I am writing this as a way to correct the record, as it were. 


In the middle of April, I attended a conference organized to mark the millennium of the so-called Moster assembly. According to twelfth-century sources, such as the Law of the Gulathing Law Province, which covered most of what is today Western Norway, it was at this assembly that Saint Olaf and Bishop Grimkell introduced the Christian law to Norway. The date of this assembly is traditionally set to 1024, and although the dating is debated, there are good reasons for accepting that such an assembly did indeed take place. What is more contested, however, is the importance of this assembly in its own time, and much of current scholarship is of the opinion that the importance for the Christianization of Norway was rather limited, partly because much of Norway was already Christian at that time. The importance of the historical assembly was much greater for the twelfth-century Norwegian Church, as this event became a historical point of reference that the clergy could use to formulate its institutional identity and provide an anchor point in the country's past. In other words, the assembly became a tool of legitimization for the Norwegian Church.  


At the conference, I gave a presentation called 'Stories of a Violent Triumph – The Conversion of Norway in Light of the Hagiographical Tradition'. My aim was to show how our ideas about Norway being converted by the sword was established in the twelfth century, and is largely exaggerated, although not completely wrong. I sought to problematize our willingness to subscribe to simple narratives, and to show that our understanding of the history of eleventh-century Norway is hugely influenced by the way in which the Norwegian Church sought to establish its identity. 


During the conference, I was contacted via email by someone from a Norwegian conservative Christian media outlet. They asked if I would give a written interview about my talk, and sent me a number of questions about the topic and about our own contemporary approach to this part of Norway's past. It took a long time for me to decide on what to do. I had never heard of this outlet, and after checking some of its texts I was disgusted but not horrified - disgusted because I could see that they were conservatives of a type that I both dislike and disrespect, but not horrified because from the samples that I made, they did not seem to espouse the more militant views typical of American conservative Christians, such as a blind and militant support of the Israeli government in their effort to commit genocide on the Palestinian people.  


After mulling it over in my head for a couple of days, I said yes, and wrote some responses to each of the questions I had been sent. I said yes, because I thought I had found a way to both take this opportunity to do some outreach, and also to challenge their conservative views. As I am myself a Christian, I thought I could use my familiarity with the Christian frame of reference and the Norwegian Christian tradition to make my points in a way they could understand, and in a way that would be familiar to them. Consequently, in my responses, I talked about how the Christian law did not suddenly and radically improve the life of those members of society that were at the bottom of the hierarchy, such as slaves and the mentally or physically handicapped. I also explained that while I do not believe Norway to have been converted predominantly by the sword, there are plenty of examples of how Christians became persecutors once they had attained power, drawing on the case of Archbishop Ambrosius of Milan, who ordered the torture of Arian Christians, and also emphasizing that the Crusades led to unimaginable atrocities committed against Christians, Jews and Muslims in the Middle East. I stated that I do not believe that milestones in Norway's Christian history should be celebrated, even though they should be acknowledged and be used as opportunities to reflect on our understanding of the past - i.e., that they could be commemorated, but not celebrated. I also made sure to make reference to the ongoing genocide in Gaza at the hands of the Israeli government in two of my responses. 


I hoped that my interview would provide a small measure of balance in a media outlet that espouses a Christian nationalism that I find revolting. I hoped that I could enter into this territory and provide a countervoice that could potentially lead to some readers less mired in the myopic and simplistic understanding of reality to distance themselves from the outlet's grand narrative. I hoped that I could make a difference. I was utterly, completely and gut-wrenchingly wrong. 


After the interview was over, the whole affair escaped my mind for a while, as there were other things to think about. However, a few weeks later, I decided to check how the person who contacted me had rendered the material that I had given. After all, they had said that they had only made some teeny-tiny changes to the text. The changes, however, were not teeny-tiny, as both my references to the ongoing genocide had been deleted. All that remained of my effort to counteract Christian supremacism was the reference to the atrocities of the Crusades, and that they had been committed against Christians, Jews and Muslims in the Middle East. To increase my utter dismay, it seems that the outlet has also ramped up its Zionist rhetoric in the past few weeks - or perhaps I only now have managed to notice it properly. 


I feel very stupid for having agreed to participate in the interview. I feel very stupid for having lent my name to this outlet in a way that only serves to legitimize it. I feel very stupid for thinking that I could make a difference when the outlet was in control of how the final product would appear. I abhor Christian supremacism, conservatism, nationalism and Zionism, and I have contributed to the outlet in a way that only strengthens. For this, I am both deeply ashamed and deeply troubled. Hopefully, I will know better than to engage with such people in terms that are so in favour to them a second time.        

tirsdag 7. mai 2024

No soy peregrino - a first encounter with Santiago de Compostela


Sunday morning I arrived in Santiago de Compostela after a long and arduous journey on the night bus from Madrid. I had underestimated the need for planning far ahead when travelling to Santiago, so when I sat down to buy the tickets I had to forego the quicker and more comfortable train. Looking back, this was effectively a foreshadowing of the lesson I came to draw from my first encounter with the city itself. This first encounter came about when I was leaving the bus station. A man accosted me and asked me for money to travel, and because I am stupidly unaccustomed to carry small cash, I had nothing to give him. One thing that struck me was that as he was explaining his situation, he included the defence "no soy peregrino", I am not a pilgrim. This very simple disclaimer carried a lot of context, and it was a glimpse into local attitudes about pilgrims, a glimpse with more clarity than I would have expected. However, I was only surprised by the clarity of the statement, not what the statement alluded to, because as one of the foremost pilgrimage sites in Western Europe, Santiago de Compostela is full of pilgrims of all sorts. 

That evening, when meeting up with a dear friend of mine who is herself from Galicia and lives in Santiago, I mentioned this encounter, and she confirmed my suspicions about local attitudes. It is quite common that modern pilgrims ask for money and argue that they should receive it because they are performing a pious endeavour. This is an argument that would be perfectly legitimate in the Middle Ages, when many people would not have had the means to cover every expense of the journey to Santiago and back home. Nowadays, however, when a lot of the pilgrims are dressed in outdoor gear that is certainly not inexpensive, carrying modern-day walking sticks and other paraphernalia, the idea that some of these people ask for money does leave a bad taste in one's mouth. 

I am writing this on my third day in Santiago, and I very much sympathise with the locals in their distaste for the tourism connected with the pilgrimage. Every day, I have seen numerous people with their backpacks - which are not permitted when entering the cathedral - their walking sticks, and, occasionally, some odd headwear that seems borderline farcical. I try very much not to be a pilgrim, at least not in this sense, and so far it seems that I am succeeding in not appearing as a tourist. I wear a shoulder bag rather than a backpack, I am dressed in ordinary clothes, and I speak a passable Spanish. On the other hand, I am also both a tourist and a pilgrim. This is my first time in Santiago, and I have already got lost while trying to exit the labyrinth that is the old town. Moreover, going to Santiago has been a dream of mine for years, and my scholarly interest in the cult of Santiago himself, Saint James the Elder, is one of the primary reasons for being here. Yesterday, for instance, I bought my first Bible in Spanish, something I decided years ago that I would first do in Santiago de Compostela rather than in any of the other places in Spain that I have visited. And as I have been sauntering about town for a couple of days now, I am very much feeling like some sort of pilgrim. But I also have a very strong feeling that if I ever came in a situation in which it were relevant, I would also add the very useful disclaimer: I am not a pilgrim. 


View of the historical centre of Santiago de Compostela from the outskirts of Sar 
The towers of the cathedral can be seen in the centre of the picture


lørdag 4. mai 2024

Saint Florian and the fire


Today, May 4, is the feast of Saint Florian. According to legend, he was killed during the Diocletian persecution, and his main cult centre was at Linz in Austria. His relics, however, were said to be kept at Rome, and from there they were allegedly translated to Krakow in 1183/84. In the later Middle Ages, Florian was predominantly venerated in Austria and Poland, due to the centres of Linz and Krakow.

It was believed that his wonderworking speciality - or his patronage par excellence, as it were - was protection against fire. The belief in Florian's firefighting abilities is clearly demonstrated by this late-fifteenth-century statue from Vienna, where the saint is pouring water onto a towered building which seems to be on fire. As this statue was originally placed on the facade of a house nearby the Church of Saint Stephen, Vienna's cathedral, it is likely that several onlookers would interpret the building at Florian's feet as the cathedral which he was facing.       

Florian's armour marks him as a soldier saint, which was quite common for male saints of the Diocletian persecutions. Tales of Christian soldiers in the imperial army who were martyred for their faith were popular, and the sheer size of the Roman army - at least as that size was imagined in later centuries - provided a near-endless possibility for new stories to be told. Just as the Diocletian persecutions became a time in which it was logical to place unknown saints or saints of an uncertain date, so the occupation of a Roman soldier became a logical marker of male saints killed in this period.


Saint Florian, c.1480-c.1490 
Wien Museum Karlplatz






fredag 3. mai 2024

Synchronicity in Madrid - encountering Equatorial Guinea


As all human beings, I experience coincidences that might loosely fit under the term 'synchronicity', that elements that are thematically connected, or resemble each other, happen at the same time or to the same person without there being any causal connection between them. Mostly when this happens, I relish the coincidence and I find it very pleasing, and one such pleasing case came about during my current sojourn in Madrid.  

By the time I am writing this, I am sitting in a small room in an apartment in Madrid, preparing for the next step of my journey and reflecting on the various experiences I have had in the past few days. In preparation for my holiday, I decided to bring something to read on the road, as it were, even though I already have ended up expanding my personal library with a few items - to say nothing of those that are likely to be added in the days ahead. The novel is the gut-wrenchingly beautiful By night the mountain burns by Juan Tomás Ávila Laurel, a writer from Equatorial Guinea, translated into English from Spanish by Jethro Soutar. The book is a novelised rendition of Ávila Laurel's experiences on the island of Annobón some distance from the Atlantic coast of Africa, and now belonging to Equatorial Guinea, which was a Spanish colony until 1963.  




I brought this novel with me for the simple reason that by the time of departure, I had not yet finished it, and I was stuck in a part of the novel that is particularly difficult to get through. However, I also thought that it was fitting to be reading a text written in Spanish, albeit in an English translation, when going to Spain. As it turned out, I would encounter several other aspects of life in Equatorial Guinea - albeit mainland Equatorial Guinea - and I did so when visiting the National Museum of Anthropology. This visit was not planned, because this museum is not widely known by tourists, and it was almost empty while I was there. It is a small museum, but full of very interesting materials collected from various parts of the world, including Equatorial Guinea. To me, it was particularly exciting, as well as quite touching, to be able to see something from the country of the book I was reading - even though I was also quite aware that the items in the museum are largely from the nineteenth century rather than the mid-twentieth century described by Ávila Laurel, and even though I was aware that the Fang culture of mainland Equatorial Guinea is very different from the culture of Annobón. The connection was nonetheless striking, and did help bring several aspects of Ávila Laurel's novel - above all the hardship and the various cultural codes that dictated parts of communal conduct - more vividly to life. 



Bikuele, a form of currency in the Fang culture of Equatorial Guinea
Museo Nacional de Antropología, Madrid 

Two types of bikuele, and a wooden seat
Museo Nacional de Antropología, Madrid

Fang headdress, collected in 1890-91
Museo Nacional de Antropología, Madrid

Bottle from the Fang culture, first half of the twentieth century
Museo Nacional de Antropología, Madrid


Wooden mortar, from the Fang culture
Museo Nacional de Antropología, Madrid