Avatar and Empire

Two posts in two days!  I never guessed I’d have so much to say about Avatar.  I started this as an update to yesterday’s post, but it turned into something entirely new.

A friend pointed me to this NY Times Op-Ed by David Brooks (thanks Eric).  Brooks is a bit more down on the movie than I am in my post, and I see his point.  He’s concerned for what he calls the “White Messiah Complex,” a typified portrayal of helpless natives in need of a white, rational, technocratic, civilized, (and I might add male) hero.  A similar critique, which he implies but does not state explicitly, is the idealization of a rural life that demonizes technology and all things urban and paved.  I’m on board with all this criticism (and I admit feeling some unease during the movie), but I think in the meantime Brooks missed what draws moviegoers (of course, I generalize here based on my own experience) to this sort of plot: Who’s the one in this story who really gets saved?  If you ask me, the real “messiah”-type is the Omaticaya clan.  Sully gets reborn when he becomes a member of the clan and embraces a faith and way of life that provide a richness that was formerly absent.  He gets a new body with working limbs, literally ending his old life to embrace the new.  If the audience appeal here is a romanticized “escapism,” as Brooks puts it, then I’m willing to chalk it up to that God-shaped hole inside of us (excuse the cliche) — in this case a life deeply connected to God and others.

So I don’t think Brooks gets the whole picture.  But he does conclude by making a great point about the “White Messiah fable,” and here’s where the Empire part comes in:

“It also creates a sort of two-edged cultural imperialism. Natives can either have their history shaped by cruel imperialists or benevolent ones, but either way, they are going to be supporting actors in our journey to self-admiration.”

Yes!  If I’m idealistic about the movie’s theological overtones, here I want to be realistic about its historical accuracy.  Much of history (and current events) can be described as the story of indigenous peoples subject to the whims of imperial self-admiration.  But you’ll notice that, once again, I don’t exactly agree with Brooks: It’s not the movie that “creates a sort of two-edged cultural imperialism”; on the contrary, the movie reflects the reality of it!  And as citizens of this world’s current empire, I’m not so sure it’s detrimental to tell fables of benevolent imperialism.  As I see it, the sad truth is that imperialism in this world is inevitable.  The prophets know this — it’s the reason that Babylon can first be the instrument of Yahweh’s judgment and the next be the subject of it (only to be replaced by another empire).  The question for those who find themselves in the midst of the empire is not: “How do we stop being empire?”  That’s foolishness.  The question is: “What kind of empire are we going to be?”  I think the prophets’ answers are often quite simple: merciful, just, righteous, and so on.

I was going to end my reflections here, but suddenly realized how truly apropos was Brooks’ choice to use the word “messiah” to describe the empire’s self-aggrandizing self-perception.  Again I turn to the prophets.  After decades of unfaithfulness to Yahweh, Israel was victimized by the Babylonian Empire.  Land and Temple were ravaged, the royal Davidic line humiliated, and many of the people carried off to Babylon to serve the latest and greatest imperial overlord (Babylon, by the way, lacked mercy in its imperial dealings — see Jer. 6:23; 50:42 — that’s why God ultimately destroyed them).  The prophet speaks to Israel in this situation of exile: Yahweh the Redeemer will act swiftly as in the days of Moses to rescue them from their captors and recreate a people in the land of rest and peace.  And how will he do it?

“Thus says Yahweh to his anointed, to Cyrus, whose right hand I have grasped to subdue nations before him and strip kings of their robes…. I will go before you and level the mountains, I will break in pieces the doors of bronze and cut through the bars of iron…. For the sake of my servant Jacob, and Israel my chosen, I call you by your name, I surname you, though you do not know me.  I am Yahweh, and there is no other; besides me there is no god.  I arm you, though you do not know me.” (Isaiah 45:1-5)

Cyrus was a newcomer on the international scene, a rising star.  Of legendary character, he united the Medes and Persians and descended upon failing Babylon with ferocity.  When the dust settled, Cyrus was king of one of the largest empires ever assembled, and that included the people and lands of ancient Israel.  The Persian Empire would later allow Israelite exiles to return to their land and rebuild the city of Jerusalem (see the books of Ezra and Nehemiah).

So what could Cyrus possibly have to do with Avatar?  Here’s the rub:  Cyrus, a foreign king and imperial overlord, is referred to as Yahweh’s “anointed.”  In Hebrew the word is משׁיח (mashiach = messiah).  Apparently God had no problem using an empire as the instrument of redemption, literally a messiah for his people.  The reality is that empire’s exist, and further that imperial discourse (whether through news, Internet, movies, or other media) exercises an enormous influence on empire and colony (or “post-colony”?) alike.  Avatar did not create this reality, it simply reflects it.  My point is that Brooks’ characterization of our “White Messiah Complex” is itself a complex rooted in a fear of post-colonial political incorrectness that paralyzes the ability of an otherwise benevolent narrative to shape an empire in its convictions about mercy, war, culture, the environment, faith, community, and so on.

I end with a qualification: Please do not think that my defense of imperial benevolence is in any way a denial of the thoroughly anti-imperial rhetoric of prophetic discourse.  If anything, I think Avatar’s narrative does a great job of holding this tension together — the Na’vi (prophets) are precisely those whose way of life critiques the dominant view of society.  I suppose a truly balanced critique of Avatar would point out how it fails because of its over-the-top extremes: an uncompromisingly negative view of the (American) marines, an overly optimistic portrayal of the “white messiah,” and an utopian picture of uncontaminated life on Pandora.  But that’s precisely what prophets do!  When all hope for Israel (or Pandora?) is lost, behold! The messiah of Yahweh (or Eywa?) appears as an imperial overlord (or depressed marine?).  When wealth and idolatry lull Israel into a neglect for Yahweh, society, and creation, behold! The judgment of Yahweh appears as an imperial overlord.  And when the imperial overlord rejects a rule of mercy and justice, forsakes its obligations to the poor, orphan, and widow, and neglects stewardship of God’s creation, behold! A prophet of Yahweh emerges.

America is an empire, and empire’s have a messiah complex.  The Emperor of ancient Rome declared himself the savior of the world, and the United States of America (regardless of partisan color) announces daily its intention to save other nations with its political and economic genius, its technological innovation.  In spite of its complex, America is not a messiah of Yahweh.  But lets not be so quick to dismiss tales of benevolent imperialism as meaningless propaganda.  If we have to be an empire, the least we can do is be a good one, and shaping our discourse with stories like Avatar may be a useful place to start.

*Update:  Wow!  This anthropologist’s work is remarkably relevant for this discussion.

שׁוב

Well, it happened.  A blogger’s worst nightmare.  Two posts in and my textual stream-of-consciousness broke off entirely.  I would offer excuses, if I had any, but the reality is that the “busy” holiday season left me with too much time on my hands — which somehow is never a boon for creativity or productivity.  Those of you who know a little bit of Hebrew will have already picked up on the significance of this post’s title: שׁוב means “to return.”

Yesterday I went with Abby to see Avatar (It was her idea to go to a movie, but I picked Avatar).  I had pretty low expectations, which I’ve found is the best way to watch a movie, since it rarely leaves me disappointed.  I thought it would be impossible not to get hung up on cheesy animation, an over-the-top epic storyline, and under-developed characters who are incapable of stringing together more than four words at once.  Turns out, I’m a sucker for all those things.  Seriously though, the movie was great.  The characters had (some) depth, the effects were unbelievable, and the story was imaginative and even poignant.  Sure, there were moments when recycled cliches from Hollywood’s overly simple pop-culture reared their ugly head — an over-zealous characterization of war-mongering marines or the unabashed parallels between Pandora’s trees (Pandora is the name of the fictional planet where the movie takes place) and our own rain forests.  (I don’t mean to decry the importance of these issues, only the way that Hollywood blockbusters tend to neglect their complexity).  But what intrigued me the most were the sociological and religious dynamics of the film.

First, the less-explicit ecclesiological ones: When Sully was preparing for his re-birth as a member of the Omaticaya clan, I leaned over to Abby and said, “He’s gonna be baptized!”  You might laugh (and you’re right to do so), but think about it: After learning the ways of a community rooted (quite literally) in their faith, Sully was about to become one of them.  Doing so meant forsaking his own people, to the extent that he received a new body, a new family, an entirely new race.  St. Paul might have written the script: “In Christ there is no Jew or Gentile…”  At the risk of propping up a Christian sub-culture that is often devoid of social awareness, what does it mean to be welcomed into the Body?  To have a new family?  To be part of an alternative society (the Church) that often has different rules and vastly different convictions?  I’m not talking about your usual “counter-cultural worldview,” but a place with different social and political conventions — ones that align themselves with the will of the Creator of the universe.

Speaking of the Creator… Pandora’s god is named Eywa.  Her existence is deeply engrained in life on Pandora, and the scientist in the story even claims that the connection is “biological,” “quantifiable.”  Some may be turned off by this pantheistic (or, perhaps more accurately, panentheistic) deity, but I’m reminded of theologian Sallie McFague, who employs the metaphor of “God’s body” to speak of creation.  Since this is, after all, an Old Testament blog, what about the God who appeared in a burning bush or the pillar of fire or the cloud of glory?  The God whose very movements shake the foundations of the earth and topple the mountains?  The God whose Spirit animates our very existence (this might come closest to the sort of god that Eywa is)?  I’m not asking you to accept Avatar’s characterization of Eywa without reserve, only to discover a rich parallel there for what it might mean to speak of Creator and created, with all its implications for how one created being ought to live in relation to other created beings.  I do not simply want to affirm that all of creation is valued by its Creator — this is no doubt true — but more importantly, every created thing in some respect expresses something about the Creator.

Genesis 1 speaks of the “image of God” that characterizes the people whom God creates: “So God created the man in his image; in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.”  Traditionally, theology has taken this passage in a restrictive fashion: the image of God is uniquely human.  But I don’t see it that way.  Without entering the enormous debate over precisely what is the image of God (perhaps the problem with this debate is that the Bible never intended to be quite so precise about it), look at how the major characteristics of human beings in Gen 1-2 are the things they do like God — rule over and care for creation, (pro)create, live.  But some of these things aren’t uniquely human!  The image of God is expressed in all of creation — especially in living things and even more especially in human beings.

So, back to Eywa.  Is it really so far-fetched to think that a God so invested in creation as Yahweh is might unite Godself inexplicably and remarkably (or even biologically and quantifiably, I suppose) to each and every created thing?  And that through God’s unity with all of creation we might find ourselves inexplicably and remarkably united to each and every created thing?  I understand the theological challenges presented by pan(en)theism, but surely we can all agree that whether God “is” or “is not” a part of creation, God has in some respect united Godself to creation.  The Incarnation says as much.

Oh, by the way, did you notice what happens when you unscramble Eywa?  “Ya(h)we(h)!”  And the people of Pandora?  They’re called the na’vi, which is the Hebrew word for prophet.  Whatever else one might say about prophets, they certainly have some kind of special connection to God (like the people of Pandora).  These metaphors are deliberate, and worth more thought than I can give them here.  I think someday I’ll watch this movie again…

Update: After writing this post, I did some googling.  I found this blog by Rabbi Arthur Waskow of The Shalom Center (a progressive Jewish organization that I know very little about) fascinating.  He connects Avatar to a Jewish festival: “We are just now approaching the ecological-mystical festival of Tu B’Shvat. It intertwines celebration of the midwinter rebirth of trees and the rebirth of the Great Tree of Life Itself, God, Whose roots are in heaven and whose fruit is our world.“  He invites others to watch Avatar and then participate in the Jewish festival of Tu B’Shvat.  I just may take him up on his invitation.  Anyone else interested?