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On March 5, Marie Mutsuki Mockett and I will be reading and talking about exorcising the past (all meanings of exorcise possible) at McNally Jackson at 6 p.m.

Marie’s wonderful new book, Where the Dead Pause and the Japanese Say Goodbye, is about death and grief and family and ghosts and so much more. She’ll read from it, and I’ll read from the working introduction to my book on the science and superstition of ancestry, and then we’ll talk about all of that and take questions and comments from you. Hope to see you there!

This image is from one of Marie’s childhood notebooks; she shared it with the Asian American Writers’ Workshop when they visited her writing studio.

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By Peter T. Leeson

Government is conventionally considered the source of citizens’ property security. And in the contemporary developed world, at least, often it is. In the historical world, however, often it was not. In eras bygone, in societies across the globe, governments didn’t exist—or weren’t strong enough to provide effective governance. Without governments to govern them, the members of such societies relied on self-governance.

Self-governance refers to privately supplied institutions of property protection—whether designed by individuals expressly for the purpose, such as the “codes” that pirates forged to govern their crews in the eighteenth-century Caribbean, or developed “spontaneously,” such as the system of customary law and adjudication that emerged to govern commerce between international traders in medieval Europe. Reliance on such institutions, especially in historical societies, is well known. Less widely recognized or understood is historical societies’ reliance on superstition—objectively false beliefs—to facilitate self-governance.

Consider the case of medieval monks. Today monks are known for turning the other cheek and blessing humanity with brotherly love. But for centuries they were known equally for fulminating their foes and casting calamitous curses at persons who crossed them. These curses were called “maledictions.”

Between the tenth and twelfth centuries, wealthy monastic communities in West Francia—a territory encompassing much of modern-day France—confronted great property insecurity. Under the Carolingian dynasty, a system of royal justice protected monks’ property. But in the 10th century that system broke down. As public authority degraded, petty fiefdoms emerged headed by strongmen accountable to no one but strongmen stronger than themselves. Because many monastic communities lacked military means of self-protection, their extensive properties laid unprotected, like sitting ducks, for strongmen interested in plundering them.

To cope with this threat to their property, monks resorted to maledictions. These curses’ particular forms varied, but their basic features were similar. Maledictions were (a) hurled publicly by men of the cloth (b) at the depredators of their property (c) under the ostensible authority of God and through His imprecatory power (or that of his agents, such as saints), (d) using the arsenal of holy execrations that litter the Bible.

Monastic fulminations threatened their targets with divine wrath while targets still inhabited this world:

“we curse them . . . unless they . . . give back what they unjustly took away . . . . May they be cursed in the head and the brain. May they be cursed in their eyes and their foreheads. May they be cursed in their ears and their noses. May they be cursed in fields and in pastures . . . . May they be cursed when sleeping and when awake, when going out and returning, when eating and drinking, when speaking and being silent. May they be cursed in all places at all times.”

They also threatened targets with punishment in the next world: “let him be excommunicated and cursed as well as damned forever with Judas the traitor and with the devil.”

It’s not hard to appreciate how the specter of being cursed with such maledictions affected the incentives of would-be monastic plunderers who believed in the power of monks’ “God damns.” In lieu of state-administered punishment for violating their property, monks’ maledictions promised supernaturally-administered punishment. By raising the cost of raiding their lands, this punishment reduced strongmen’s payoff of appropriation, which in turn reduced the likelihood that monastic communities would be plundered.

Malediction’s power to improve monks’ property security in this way depended critically on citizens’ superstition—their faith in monks’ ability to recruit God to punish them if they preyed on monks’ lands. Thus, in order to “work,” monastic maledictions couldn’t be just any kinds of curses. They had to be curses that were grounded in citizens’ existing beliefs and, equally important, couldn’t be falsified—i.e., couldn’t generate evidence of their bogusness that would undermine maledictions’ property protecting power by turning curse believers into non-believers.

By using Biblical curses, monks borrowed on the authority and sanction given holy imprecations by God Himself according to medieval Christian belief, which viewed this book as divine. And by rendering their curses maximally vague and encompassing—“May they be cursed [in all ways] in all places at all times”—monks ensured their maledictions could never “fail” and thus never produce evidence that cast doubt on their validity. After all, at some point in his life the target of a monastic curse was certain to befall some misfortune. Even if he didn’t, since maledictions also commonly cursed one in the afterlife, it was impossible to rule out the possibility that a curse unrealized so far would “come true” eventually.

Monastic malediction was a highly imperfect institution of private property protection. Like other superstition-based institutions of governance, its potential effectiveness was limited by the strength of the belief in the superstition in which it was grounded; and even in medieval Christendom, skepticism certainly existed. Still, medieval monks wouldn’t have resorted to hurling “God damns” at their predators unless they expected to improve their property security by doing so, and their continued willingness to just that when public authority was unavailable suggests their expectation was well founded. Superstition, it seems, facilitated monastic self-governance.

Peter T. Leeson is Professor of Economics and Law and BB&T Professor for the Study of Capitalism at George Mason University. His new book, Anarchy Unbound: Why Self-Governance Works Better than You Think, published by Cambridge University Press, and journal article “God Damn: The Law and Economics of Monastic Malediction,” published in the Journal of Law, Economics, and Organization, study self-governance and the role that superstition plays in its operation.

The Journal of Law, Economics, and Organization is an interdisciplinary journal which promotes an understanding of many complex phenomena by examining such matters from a combined law, economics, and organization perspective.

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Image credit: Portrait of a Franciscan Friar, c. 1540–42, by Jacopo Bassano. Kimbell Art Museum. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

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© 2012 by Debbie Glade, Smart Poodle Publishing. All rights reserved.

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Vladimir Nabokov wrote his novels on index cards; Alexandre Dumas pere his non-fiction, fiction and poetry on different coloured paper (rose-pink, blue and yellow respectively). Edith Sitwell lay in a coffin before setting pen to paper; Colette prefaced writing by picking the fleas from her cat. Samuel Coleridge took opium, George Sand smoked cigars. Truman Capote only wrote on the sofa or in bed. John Cheever used to get up and into his only suit and take the lift down to the lobby with everyone else on their way to jobs in the office, then go to the basement, take off his suit again, and sit down in his underwear to write.

Colette: looking for fleas (by Jacques Humbert)

Superstition, habit, fetish, procrastination, ritual, magic, the muse. The Ancient Greeks burnt offerings on altars. Medieval poets had visions and fits. These modern stories (possibly apocryphal: writers make things up) of the lengths authors will go to harness their creativity are grist to the mill we keep turning out the myth of the writer as inspired, idiosyncratic genius.

But do these things really matter to writers, and to those wanting to know how to write, or are they a distraction? Surely what you need is rather more dull: to understand language, make up a story, and have the time and discipline to put that story into language. Do you really need a bizarre daily working habit, a superstition, a lucky charm, a (as people like to call it these days) ‘process’?

I need coffee; I need absinthe. I require music. I insist on silence. Special paper; my favourite pen. Only early mornings. It has to be late nights. It’s interesting that these superstitious rituals of inspiration are also generally means of repression, a way of fencing about the creative moment, defining its limits, at once trammelling and setting free. We dull our nerves with drugs so our neurons may fire, deafen our ears with music so as to hear our inner voice, confine our bodies to bed so our minds may travel far.

George Sand, sans cigar (by Eugene Delacroix)

A friend of mine sums up his prerequisite to creativity in one word: boredom. I understand that. When you’ve gone past utter boredom’s mix of frustration and desperation, and reached the knowledge that there is nothing else to do, nothing else that is good enough; when you’re the blank fog, the empty slate, then it’s almost as though there is no choice

6 Comments on Because it’s Friday the Thirteenth – Lily Hyde, last added: 4/14/2012

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Susan Price said, on 4/13/2012 1:41:00 AM

Lovely post - I enjoyed it. I don't have any set rituals, although I often use a kitchen timer to stop me worrying about all those other nagging tasks to be done. (I'll spend an hour writing and THEN I'll wash-up,change the bed, shop etc.)

Penny Dolan said, on 4/13/2012 2:03:00 AM

It's intriguing to hear about the rituals of all these writers - thanks, Lily, and for the pictures!

Taking yourself to a space where there are no personal demands other than the writing task - cafe, shed, a friends empty room while they are out working - can work well if it's possible. It's not here, so I'm another one voting for the timer

Hmm. That writerly basement underwear may well have been long johns & vest rather than teeny boxers so more respectable than one imagines. Oh! Am writing this in my dressing gown . . .

Lily said, on 4/13/2012 5:34:00 AM

Yes, Penny, I think an empty space away from usual distractions really helps - for me it's linked to the boredom thing; if you're in a friend's empty room or a shed, there's actually nothing else to do.

Will have to try the timer trick, Susan..

Book Maven said, on 4/13/2012 6:00:00 AM

I'm really worried now about Cheever shivering in his underwear all day, even if it was more substantial than that of today's men. And I want to know if he kept on his shirt, tie, waistcoat etc or shed those too.

Katherine Langrish said, on 4/13/2012 12:27:00 PM

Lovely post, Lily! I'm amazed Colette's cat held still long enough for her to de-flea it! I imagine after that, writing fiction was a doddle...

Stroppy Author said, on 4/14/2012 2:46:00 AM

The opposite! When other things are clamouring to be done, I want to ignore them and write and become protective of every minute. When there is plenty of time to write, I fritter it away until things get desperate.

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I don’t like to think of myself as a superstitious person, primarily because it seems kind of silly. That being said, I’m superstitious, whether I want to admit it or not.

For example, years ago I made a decision not to tell anyone in the office about a book I was excited about until I had finished most of the manuscript. Why? Because it seemed that every time I got excited enough to tell everyone about those first few chapters the rest of the book would fall apart. I was convinced that if I kept it a secret the book would hold together.

When an editor calls to tell me she’s excited about a book or getting second reads from others in-house I purposely keep my game face on for the editor, the author, and for myself. In other words, I squash any premature excitement. I don’t want to jinx it.

BookEnds has a weekly meeting and each week I need to type up my agenda notes on sales, negotiations, submissions, etc., for discussion during the meeting. I will not add any book to the sales column until negotiations are fully final. Even if we’re 99% there and I know it’s a done deal, I will not add it. Again, I don’t want to jinx anything.

What about you? When it comes to your writing career, is there anything you’re superstitious about?

Jessica

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NY: Viking, 2006.
ISBN (hardcover) 0670034827 9780670034826
ISBN (paper) 9780143038252

Michael Sedano

An interesting variation in the subtitle of David Oliver Relin’s telling of Greg Mortenson’s story illustrates two ways to sell the book. The hardcover book calls itself “One man’s mission to fight terrorism and build nations-- one school at a time.” The paperback edition titles itself, “One Man's Mission to Promote Peace . . . One School at a Time.”

The work offers a creative nonfiction account of a mountaineer who stumbles off the Himalayan peak K2 in 1993. Taking a life-threatening wrong path, he stumbles into an unmapped village far from his intended landing. It’s a life-changing error, both for the mountaineer and the villagers who save Mortenson’s life.

During his recuperation in the village, Mortenson observes the village girls conducting school in the open air because they have no teacher nor a structure. He promises to return and build the girls a school. The adventurer’s gratitude takes on missionary zeal and he cannot stop with the one promise, instead devoting his career to building schools for girls across rural Pakistan. By September 11, 2001, Mortenson’s success has led him to Afghanistan, where he runs afoul of the Taliban, opium traders, moujahedeen, and the CIA. Here is the source of the spin given by the hardbound subtitle as the final chapters of the story focus on Mortenson’s experiences in Afghanistan. It’s an inescapable perspective, but the paperback volume’s subtitle about peace more accurately describes the likely outcome of Mortenson’s actions had there been no attack by the U.S., and a workable strategy should our nation choose alternatives to invasion and religious enmity.

The girls and villages benefiting from Mortenson’s work are Muslim. Mortenson is the son of Christian missionaries and not a convert to Islam. While religious schism plays little role in Mortenson’s commitment, it informs the story in surprising ways. The fathers and village men do not oppose education for their girls, yet one conservative cleric declares fatwa on Mortenson’s efforts, preventing building schools in the region. All of Mortenson’s local supporters are Muslim, too, but are powerless to intercede directly on his behalf. Instead, they petition the “supreme leader” of the Shia in northern Pakistan, who not only declares the fatwa inconsistent with Islam, Syed Abbas offers his wholehearted support to Mortenson’s project.

The story of Mortenson’s various projects fills the book with numerous emotional peaks. Dismal stories of government incompetence, generations of neglect, and abject poverty are sure to be depressing. Then, when the reader gets to see villagers hauling heavy loads up steep mountain tracks, followed by frantic construction ahead of winter culminating in the opening of a girl’s school, knowing that these children’s lives have changed forever is sure to bring tears to all but the most cynical eyes.

Three Cups of Tea offers a compendium of intercultural communication. “Dr. Greg,” as Mortenson is known, adapts to local custom. A natural linguist, he becomes proficient enough to earn the honor explained by the title. Mortenson’s second father, Haji Ali, teaches him that the first cup of tea taken with a villager is taken as a stranger and given out of obligation. The next cup is offered for a guest. The third cup makes one a member of the family.

Perhaps guilelessness helps. In one frightening instance, Mortenson disregards a friend’s advice never to travel alone. He finds himself imprisoned by a warlord and seems at risk of being executed. Beheading has not yet reached the news, so Mortenson fears only being shot. He doesn’t speak the captor’s tongue—he is blazing a trail into new territory—and requests a Koran. Having learned the proper manner of ablution from one informant, and how to read the pages from an illiterate, Mortenson makes a favorable impression. Doubtlessly, the captors have checked out Mortenson’s background and they release him.

Mortenson’s good works created a good name for “Dr. Greg.” As he advances into Afghanistan’s northern frontier, he goes in search of the principal commandhan of Badkshan, a man described as tying spies between two jeeps and pulling their bodies apart, the fiercely reputed Sadhar Khan. Alone and lacking any documentation, having sneaked into town hidden under rotting goat hides, Mortenson approaches a jeep of substantial appearing men. In a strange coincidence, or perhaps a bit of fiction has sneaked under the radar here, when Mortenson says he’s looking for Sadhar Khan, the driver says he is Khan! After a few moments explaining why he’s here, Khan shouts, “You’re Dr. Greg!” A couple years earlier, some riders had appeared near the Pakistan border after an eight day ride, beseeching Mortenson’s building a school for their village. Mortenson had promised he’d see what he could do and was in Badkshan looking to keep that promise. The riders were employees of Sadhar Khan, and they had related the story of the schools and water projects Dr. Greg was fomenting.

Three Cups of Tea has won numerous prizes. The CAI, Central Asia Institute, lists them on their website:
Kiriyama Prize - Nonfiction Award, Time Magazine - Asia Book of The Year, Pacific Northwest Booksellers Association - Nonfiction Award, Borders Bookstore - Original Voices Selection, Banff Mountain Festival - Book Award Finalist, Montana Honor Book Award. Throughout the book, however, come allusions to the ultimate prize, the Nobel Peace Prize. Cynics might point to the softcover subtitle as evidence of a campaign to garner that for Mortenson and his CAI. The hagiographic treatment of Dr. Greg’s career might offer support for that view, if not for the actual good that inheres in building schools for girls in the middle of a culture that putatively forbids that type of education.

There may be a segment of reader who would dismiss Three Cups of Tea as one of the “blame America first” crowd. The “fighting terrorism” spin might support that view. For example, as the book draws to a close we see Mortenson meeting Donald Rumsfeld and being fascinated by the man’s expensive and highly polished shoes. Mortenson addresses a military audience at the Pentagon and relates the contradiction between the U.S. war machine and the need for security, telling them:

“these figures might not be exactly right. But as best as I can tell, we’ve launched 114 Tomahawk cruise missiles into Afghanistan so far. Now take the cost of one of those missile tipped with a Raytheon guidance system, which I think is about $840,000. For that much money, you could build dozens of schools that could provide tens of thousands of students with a balanced nonextremist education over the course of a generation. Which do you think will make us more secure?”

Mortenson has his day before the military to no impact, except for a man who offers him unlimited funds to build schools. But Mortenson recognizes his doom would come from any association with the military and he turns down the bribe. Later, he discusses terrorism and security with a Pakistani Major General. They are watching CNN images of civilian casualties in Baghdad. (p. 310)

“Your President Bush has done a wonderful job of uniting one billion Muslims against America for the next two hundred years.”

“Osama had something to do with it, too,” Mortensen said.

“Osama, baah!” Bashir roared. “Osama is not a product of Pakistan or Afghanistan. He is a creation of America. Thanks to America, Osama is in every home. As a military man, I know you can never fight and win against someone who can shoot at you once and then run off and hide while you have to remain eternally on guard. You have to attack the source of your enemy’s strength. In America’s case, that’s not Osama or Saddam or anyone else. The enemy is ignorance.”

To writer David Oliver Relin’s credit, he controls the political spin exemplified here, spinning out just enough politics to contrast with the warmth and love that fill the first two hundred pages of the book. It’s clear why the hardcover came out with the “fighting terrorism” tag, given the closing pages’ focus on the existing conditions Mortenson works under. That he’s continuing the work building schools for girls in Muslim countries—and finding support from religious and ordinary citizens—is truly encouraging. Wouldn’t it be great if some reader in political authority is reading and learning the cultural lessons of this hopeful book?

That’s the final Tuesday of leap year February. La Bloga welcomes your comments and responses to what you read, or don’t read here. And, as we frequently offer, we welcome guest columnists. Let us know by leaving a comment, or email here, that you have something to say.

Ate,
mvs.

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Does My Head Look Big In This? by Randa Abdel-Fattah

There comes a point where you need to make a stand, to do something different and break out from the mold. Some teens dye their hair blue (me) or pierce their lips (my sister). Amal Mohamed Nasrullah Abdel-Hakim, an Australian-Palestinian teen, decides to wear the hajib full time.

I believe it will make me feel so close to God. Because it's pretty hard to walk around with people staring at your "towel-head" and not feel kind of pleased with yourself--if you manage to get through the stares and comments with your head held high...I guess when I'm not wearing the hajib I feel like I'm missing out.

And there are a lot of heart-warming moments as Amal finds she's underestimated most of the people around her and their acceptance of her decision.

But really, this book is funny and light and fun. Amal's decision is sparked by that Friends episode where Rachel, instead of running away from her ex-fiance Barry's wedding, instead gets up and sings "Copacabana". Plus, the reaction of her Muslim friends is great.

Leila already is a "full-timer"

"I'm bored... There's nothing on TV. Either I'm stuck watching Oprah give away vacations and cry about her book club or I've got to watch Dr. Phil tell me why carrots provide self esteem."
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"I'm thinking of going full-time."
"You got a job?"

Yasmeen is a part-timer, like Amal used to be.

"This means we have to go shopping soon and get you a whole new wardrobe. Mix-and-match spree."

The book is fun. There's the usual trouble with boys (made more difficult by the fact Amal doesn't date) and popular girls (made more difficult by racism) and cranky neighbors who just need a friend to listen.

Abdel-Fattah has written a lovely book about the normal ups-and-downs of any teenage girl, with Australian-Palestinian hajib twist thrown in. In light of that, I'm wondering about the inclusion of the subplot involving Leila, who is forced to do all the cooking and cleaning while her mother tries to constantly marry her off. It seems to negate the point Abdel-Fattah is trying to make, unless she's using it as a foil.

Overall though, I greatly enjoyed.

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Yesterday we posted a Q and A with Philip Jenkins author of God’s Continent: Christianity, Islam, and Europe’s Religious Crisis. Below is an excerpt from the first chapter Jenkins’s new book. Check it out below.

Your Religion Tomorrow

If Europe were a woman, her biological clock would be rapidly running down. It is not too late to adopt more children, but they won’t look like her.- Philip Longman

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Philip Jenkins is Distinguished Professor of History and Religious Studies at Penn State University as well as the author of numerous books. His most recent title, God’s Continent: Christianity, Islam, and Europe’s Religious Crisis, offers a measured assessment of Europe’s religious future. Below Jenkins was kind enough to answer some questions for OUP.

OUP: This is the final book in your series on the future of Christianity, how does it differ from the other titles? (more…)

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