'The Better Angels of Our Nature: A History of Violence and Humanity' by Steven Pinker

'The Better Angels of our Nature' by Steven Pinker

Renowned Harvard Psychologist Steven Pinker has written what must surely be one of the most important non-fiction books of the last decade. His aim, no less, is to present a history and study of violence.

War, conflict and barbarity are considered hallmarks of being human, and one would be forgiven in thinking that in today’s world humanity is sunk in barbarity, and that the present era is the worse ever.

Pinker argues that this is a mistake. In truth we live in the most peaceful and enlightened periods, 

unprecedented in human history. However, this is not a fluffy philosophy of idealism, it is backed up by hard statistics and evidence. 

The first part of the book is a history lesson. We learn on the evolutionary predispositions of our early ancestors, tribalism, classical conquest, medieval crusades, and finally what can be considered the enlightened era from the seventeen century onwards. It is the Renaissance that saw the promotion of reason and rationality. From it came humanitarian reform, and human rights which continue to make strides even today. 

However, the aim is not simply to delineate a tapestry of colors, but show where the threads end and begin. The trajectory of violence is radically going down in both quality and quantity. Unlike what the media would have us believe, we are all becoming more civilized, empathetic, clever and peaceful as a species. There is a well founded belief, that we are coming of age. and that fairness, equality and even happiness, will continue to make positive contributions to our societies.

There is, of course, a major anomaly. The twentieth century saw two particularly devastating wars, not to mention a flurry of genocides. It is a cliche, and one which almost comes without question,

 that truly this was the worse century for human brutishness. However, what Pinker suggests, and the statistics also collaborate, is that these wars are red herrings or anomalies in scientific terms. It seems almost crass or idolatrous to view them as such, because it belies the suffering they caused. Nevertheless in scientific terms, we have every reason to be hopeful for the future.

The second part of book aims to explore some of the reasons that violence and conflict have decreased over the millennia in both the individual and the state. We learn of the innate chemical and biological tendencies that lodge in the heart, or more likely, or head. How globalism and novels have expanded our viewpoints and thus our empathy. How the Enlightenment helped us understand ourselves and society by triumphing reason. And finally, how the harnessing power of the state has curbed our enthusiasm for conflict. In todays era, the state is construed as a beast that curtails human liberty. At worse it is imprisonment, at best, conservative and undemocratic.

 However, in truth the ‘Leviathan,’ first described by Thomas Hobbes, actually tames our primitive instincts, by instilling within us taboos, rules and utilitarian philosophy. These contribute to our happiness in innumerable ways. Pinker talks about the myth of pure evil, and what came across is the fact that ‘evil’ can be explained. Often it is comprehensible and relates to such things as power, honour and justice. Our intellect, democratic rule, and cosmopolitan culture have all made lasting and beneficial changes to the human condition.

The book is truly magisterial. A staggering nine hundred pages, bursting with facts, figures, and stories. The writing is irreverent but penetrative, cheerful but though-provoking. What came across to me, is just how consistent the argument is. Pinker is in pursuit of one of the fundamental question marks of being human, and there is a zeal and joy in his exploration. To a certain extent, any review of such a book is bound to be inadequate, I have trouble reading a book of nine hundred pages, let alone imagining someone writing it! The omniscient scope is testament to the writer and scientist. 

However, Pinker is no idealist. He is aware that the radical peace we now live under has been forged on a crucible of savagery. The brutality of our species often seems so pointless and stupid in hindsight. As such, he is right to argue optimism is not the right word. Instead we should feel gratitude. Gratitude that humanity out of the mire, has managed to forge for itself ‘better angels.’ He sees our own reason as something truly worthy and sacred, because it does not depend on force or superstition but has been painfully worked out by our fellow human beings. It is a wonder, how far we have come considering our genetic dispositions. In truth with have inherited a testament of man.

I don’t read to many science or psychology books but I have to say this is surely one of the best. An exciting passionate read which has opened my eyes to the real pathways humanity is marking for itself.

Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, by Reza Aslan

Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, by Reza Aslan

I have always been fascinated by religion, particularly Christianity. Not by it’s dogma or rituals, but by the story it tells. Like our best literature, the Bible is filled with heroism, sacrifice, suffering, life and death, all of which make it an evocative read. Christ particularly, is a captivating figure behind the New Testament at least, because, like all great heros, he marches to the summons without flinching. Even when it takes him into the valley of the shadow of death. The gospels are founded upon his message and sacrifice, but for me personally the beauty of the accounts is their portrayal of the man behind the mask, Jesus the human being not Jesus the Savior.

 Like many people I came to know of Reza Aslan’s book Zealot after the car-crash interview he was subjected to by the good old sly fox, Fox News. Rather than refute the book and its argument it propelled it into the national consciousness. But beside this, it is a fascinating read. 

Aslan argues that Jesus imbibes two meanings, the first is that of the Christ, who rose from the dead and redeemed all sins, the second more elusive is of the rural Palestinian, who out of the back woods of Nazareth, ‘a place that doesn’t exist on the map,’ marches into Jerusalem calling for revolution. This is the central argument of the account. Jesus was a Jewish Zealot, a ‘peasant and revolutionary who challenged the rule of the most powerful empire the world had ever known.’ A remarkable story if ever there was one.

The first part of the book discusses Palestine, at the turn of the millennia. Awash with preachers, prophets and rabble rousers, embroiled in political and social strife. Jerusalem, under the subjugation of Roman law and the temple elders, became the locus of many exalted men. The Jewish people had a particular belief in zeal, which, ‘implied a strict adherence to the Torah and Law, a refusal to serve any foreign master [...] and an uncompromising devotion to the sovereignty of God. To be zealous for the Lord was to walk in the blazing footsteps of the prophets.’ On such a backdrop Jesus of Nazareth appeared.

The story of Jesus the man is in some ways more extraordinary than the gospels Jesus the Christ. Here was an illiterate pauper, a magician and exorcist, who after developing a band of ever-growing followers commits the ultimate act of treason when he gives the command: ‘Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.’ This was, ‘a capital offense [...] Considering the temple’s tangled relationship with Rome, [it] is tantamount to attacking Rome itself.’ There is only one pathway left to such a man and after such an act, and that is the path to crucifixion: ‘Like every bandit and revolutionary, every rabble rousing zealot and apocalyptic prophet [...] Jesus of Nazareth is executed for daring to claim the mantle of king and messiah.’ His message is clear, ‘the kingdom of God is about to be established on earth [...] But God’s restoration cannot happen without the destruction of the present order.’ 

Depending on how much we believe of the gospels account, Jesus had the astonishing ability to mythologize himself even while alive, but his death and reported rising was what propelled the carpenter, ensconced in the Jewish faith, into the all-encompassing God of humanity. Aslan gives a wonderful account of how Christianity was formed, from its beginning with James the Just, to its emerging with Paul the Apostle, who more than any figure made the religion what it is today. The New Testament itself is shown to be a cacophony of voices, a blending of fact and fiction, myth and history, but Jesus of Nazareth is the unusual individual who stands behind such an edifice.

The book is a brilliant read, prodigiously sourced and researched, with an engaging style. The most fascinating part of the story of Jesus, however, is that for some reason outside the bounds of history, and research, the early Christians were convinced that Christ had risen from the dead, not as a spirit but as a man of flesh and blood. The kernel of this belief remains elusive even to Aslan’s magisterial scope, but I suppose this last part is the matter of faith. For everything else this account sheds an illuminating light of Jesus the man, who somehow against the odds and propelled by destiny, founded one the great Western religions. Like Aslan thinks, this is man, in his very humanness, is one I could read about all day.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Infidel: My Life

A Review of Ayaan Hirsi Ali's Autobiography, Infidel

Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s autobiography Infidel, is as an amazing and provocative read. admittedly. To some extent, my views converge with hers, but this is probably because she is a persuasive and passionate writer. However, first and foremost, beyond the fiery polemic, I found her book an inspiring read. Ayaan’s life has been one of survival against odds. She has overcome childhood trauma, abuse, displacement, apostasy, family abandonment and finally death threats and murder attempts. All of these are linked to the Islamic culture she grew up within, and which has now permeated the West. 

Her tale of suffering is personal of course, but it’s entwined with an ideology that perpetuated it. As such her argument is both experiential and analytical in it’s judgements. The writer has also had the unusual opportunity to live in several countries spanning three continents. Her childhood was spent in the Islamic states of Somalia, and Saudi Arabia. She was then relocated to the Christian countries of Ethiopia and Kenya. Finally she claimed asylum in the secular societies of the Netherlands and the United States. As a result she has developed a nuanced understanding and knowledge of a cultural, political and religious aspects of the world states.

The first part of the book deals with Ayaan’s early years in Somalia, and Saudi Arabia and she is able to tell us much about the limiting beliefs and rituals that prevail in the area. As a writer, she has a remarkable ability to convey such scenes through the eyes of a child. Insight comes later, at present all we have is the core suffering. Thus we hear: 

‘Somalia children must memorize their lineage: This is more important than anything else.’

‘If a girls virginity is despoiled, she not only obliterates her own honour, she also damages the honour of her father, uncles, brothers and male cousins.’

She is told by her grandmother: ‘A woman alone is like a piece of sheep fat in the sun [...] Everything will come to feed on that fat. Before you know it, the ants and the insects are crawling all over it, until its nothing left but a smear of grease.’

A woman is meant to be ‘a devoted, welcoming, well-trained work animal. This is baari’

‘In Somalia [...] little girls are made “pure” by having their genitals cut out [...] The practice is always justified in the name of Islam [...] the entire procedure was torture for us.’

‘Everything about Saudi Arabia was sin.’

‘If you married outside the rules [...]You sank into a hideous destiny of impurity, godlessness, and disease.’

‘Everything that went wrong was the fault of the Jews [...] the Jews controlled the world [...] Islam was under attack and we should step forward and fight the Jews.’

‘Our goal was a global Islamic government for everyone.’

Now at this point it would be quite easy to conceptualize the above quotes, as pithy maxims or soundbites that reveal little truth. However, this is the point entirely, for we must remember this is how the author herself came to such “knowledge.” It is not to the detriment of her writing skills that she recalls it as such, but to the detriment of a state which ingrained such 'maxims'. Luckily, as time goes on, Ayaan is able to grow and develop as a person, and eventually analyze and challenge such religious beliefs. 

After an arranged marriage is ordered, Ayaan flees to Holland. Here her new life begins, and period of personal  development occur. First she registers as a refugee, then she becomes an asylum seeker, finally she is given Dutch citizenship. She goes from being a Somali translator, to a university graduate in political sciences, and finally a member of the Dutch parliament. 

The criticism of Islam now becomes more apparent. For genital excision she claims: ‘What was between my legs was not mine to give. I was branded.’ Of holland she states: ‘This was infidel country, whose ways of life we Muslims were supposed to oppose and reject. Why was it then so much better run, better led, and made for such better lives than the places we came from [...] Of all the countries were war had broken out, so many seemed to be Muslim.’ Later she adds, ‘this man-made system of government was so much more stable, peaceful, prosperous and happy than the supposedly God devised systems I had been taught to respect.’ It is only when America is attacked on September 11th do her real views suddenly emerge fully formed and ferocious.

Of the attacks she states: ‘It is about Islam. This is based in belief. This is Islam [....] It was not a lunatic fringe who felt this way about America and West. I knew that a vast mass of Muslims would see the attacks as justified retaliation against the infidel enemies of Islam. War had been declared in the name of Islam [....] This was the core of Islam,’ for ‘jihad was a historical constant’ of the religion.

She is equally baffled by some appeasing commentators who seek to excuse perpetrators of such acts from moral responsibility. She states: ‘People theorized beautifully about poverty pushing people to terrorism; about colonialism and consumerism, pop culture, and western decadence [...] None of this pseudo intellectualizing had anything to do with reality.’ It is in fact, akin to, ‘analyzing Lenin and Stalin without looking at the works of Marx [...] By declaring our prophet infallible we had set up a static tyranny.’ 

After sharing her views both on a journalistic and political platform, inevitably the death threats came in. We hear how Ayaan is driven around in armored cars, sleeps in aircraft hangars, is shadowed by bodyguards, moved from place to place like a nomad. All while this is occurring her family have broken off all ties with her as she has now declared that she is an atheist. Finally after collaborating with Theo van Gogh for a movie on the plight of Muslim woman entitled Submission, things become ugly. Theo is murdered, stabbed in the chest with a note attached to the blade of the knife; another death threat to the writer in the name of religion. The Dutch political party suddenly becomes very and her citizenship is revoked. Nevertheless, she moves to the USA to continue a career in a think-tank capacity. At this point the story ends, and we can assume that Ayaan continues her role as an advocate for Muslim women, as well as a opponent of the religion itself.

Two possible criticisms could be leveled at the book. The first is that some will say Ayaan has an axe to grind against Islam because of her own upbringing. To me, this putting the cart before the horse. Her upbringing, did not occur in a vacuum, religion permeated every part of her life. For this reason, it makes her a better candidate than any to discuss it. Her own suffering is bound to the ideology of the religion and so she has quite reasonable grounds to criticize it. The second, is that some will argue Ayaan has betrayed her roots and succumbed to Western Imperialism or Western Culture, but this only begs the question. There must be something about such culture to make her take such a strong stance on each. Shouldn’t we rather ask, isn’t there such a thing as Arab imperialism and culture, that could equally limit or colour a person. 

The fact that Somalia now has a terrorist cell in Al Shabab, and which has recently merged with Al Qaeda, show that Ayaan was presciently aware of the troubles laying dormant in the war-ravaged country, but it also suggests how intrinsically religion is bound to the state.

All of this she is able to link back to the Koran, and indeed this seems a good a place to start as any, for we sometimes underestimate the power of texts in shaping ideologies and culture. To draw an analogy, we can say Nazism arose due to the political and social circumstances of the time, or the psychological profile of Hitler. However, we can equally explain it via Mein Kampf, and Nietzschean doctrines which preceded it. It is such an ideology that offered as motivation and justification of war. The only difference with Islam and the Koran is its scope.

The Netherlands is not much different from Britain. It struggles with the same issues of migration, integration, extremism, and polarised politics. The real change for the better will come from such women as Ayaan Hirsi Ali. She is an inspiring and courageous woman. After undergoing such hardship, she has not only forged a new happy life, but continually has the bravery to speak out on one of the most divisive topics of our time.

Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada

Alone in Berlin

When I was studying for my A Level in Modern History, I got wind of the controversial book, entitled Hitler’s Willing Executioners, by Daniel Goldhagen. It put forth the argument, that ordinary German citizens were as guilty as the Nazi regime, and complicit in the atrocities. This culpability is apparently due to Germany, being a deeply anti-Semitic nation-state, that fostered such an atmosphere of hatred, that Hitler was able to come to power easily.

I must admit, rather ashamedly, and despite not having read the book, I bought into the interpretation. I just couldn’t understand how an entire population could cave to a pack of murdering thugs, without a squib of resistance or ounce of defiance. It seemed the equivalent of a dog laying down to be shot. 

Thankfully, today my views have changed. Fiction had a way of reaching us that historical records can’t and after reading Vassily Grossman’s masterpiece Life and Fate, it dawned on me what tyranny is really about. The devastating affect it has on ordinary citizens. Since reading Hans Fallada’s, Alone in Berlin, my belief has only been confirmed. Living under a such a government is akin to being a caged mouse, with a hungry cat watching just outside the bars!

Written in 1946, by a German who lived through the Nazi regime, Alone in Berlin fictionalizes the true story of Otto and Elise Hampel, who waged their own little war of resistance against Hitler, writing inflammatory postcards and planting them across the capital. In the novel these two individuals become the Quangels, a quiet working class couple, who litter the city with pamphlets, after the death of their son on the frontline. The novel depicts a dangerous and oppressive world where the ordinary citizen lives under the perpetual blade of a guillotine, where the ‘Gestapo was the state.’ 

Despite this, life goes on. The reason for the government's continuing existence, is because of the self-perpetuating ideology of Nazism which was backed up by violence. This breeds either ignorance or fear. On one hand we have: ‘Hitler apotheosized. Hitler in excelsis, lord of the universe, all-powerful, all-seeing, all-forgiving. [...] The war rages on slaughtering millions and still they believe in him.’ On the other, ‘Quangel is right to call Hitler a murderer and me his henchman [...] it disgusts me to keep those fellows supplied with fresh prey [...] I also want to fight./But its impossible [...] They would catch me [...] and my flesh screams when they torture it. I’m a coward.’ The cogs of the state are rusting on the axle but somehow still continue to turn, because in one way or the other, society has bought into the myth.

As such, the citizens of Berlin are caught up in their own doublethink. On one hand each individual is well aware of the danger that encompasses them, on the other, they pretend it doesn’t pose a threat. This little bit of false hope, driven by barely contained dread, is what gives rise to justification and conformism. But how people respond, differs according to their type. 

In the novel, Berlin has a wide variety of people. Megalomanic officers of the Reich such as Judge Feisler and Officer Prall. The sadistic thugs of the Gestapo and SS like Balder Persicke and officer Karlemann. The hapless dispossessed fools like Enno Kluge and Borkhausen. The politically smart Jobsworths like Inspector Escherich and Dr Martens. And finally a small segment of good people. These are the heros of Alone in Berlin. Leading the charge are the Quangels, then Judge Fromm, Trudel Baumann, Chaplain Friedrich Lorenz and Dr Reichhardt. The last group are all effectively playing russian roulette with their lives, and for such heroic acts only few are brave enough. The other Germans, who conformed to the party ideology we can only pity. The novel makes clear its a matter of survival, they had loved ones, children and wives to protect.

In this world, those who resist Hitler and his regime often come to harm, but this only reasserts the dangers of a totalitarian government. ‘These days everyone has something to hide.’ Inspectors, Party-Stalwarts, Attorneys, Doctors, the foolish, the weak, and the strong, all fall foul of the Nazi regime. Tyranny is so encompassing, so prevalent, that no-one can possibly be outside of it. Each character will try to navigate the treacherous waters, but most will drown because a chain of association will eventually forge a link to their own life.

On face value, the Quangels do more harm than good and their campaign endangers others. Despite this we all know they are heroes and acted out of the goodness of their hearts. As such, their act should be judged by intention rather than result. Ultimately, it is an outstanding display of human courage, and emblem of the human spirit and its eternal belief in freedom. As Quangel himself learns:

‘It would have been a hundred times better if we’d had someone who could have told us, such and such is what you have to do; our plan is this and this. But if there had been such a man in Germany Hitler would never have come to power in 1933. As it was, we all acted alone, we were caught alone, and everyone of us will have to die alone. But that doesn’t mean that we are alone, Quangel, or that our deaths will be in vain. Nothing in this world is done in vain and since we are fighting for justice against brutality, we are bound to prevail in the end.’

Child of God

Child of God, by Cormac Mccarthey

A bizarre and disturbing novel, nevertheless rendered with Mccarthey's signature stark beauty and poetic detail. The story follows Lester Ballard, a backwoods degenerate of the deep south, who exiled from his community roams the countryside of Tennessee. On his pilgrimage he indulges his warped appetite for murder and necrophilia, and the periodic scenes are truly horrifying:

She lay there naked on the mattress with her sallow breasts pooled in the light like wax flowers. Ballard began to dress her in her new clothes. He sat and brushed her hair [...] [and [ began to paint her lips [...] He undressed her very slowly, talking to her. Then he pulled off his trousers [...] and spread her loose thighs. You’ve been wanting this, he told her. 

It is possible to spot precipitant signs of future works; the phantasmagoric landscapes of Blood Meridian and the Road replete with its grotesque characters, only here, it is localized. The language is vivid, eidetic and natural. It contains a sensual quality, which lures us in, and make us accomplices to the protagonist, creating a disturbing read.

However, the problem with the novel is that, despite the beauty of the style, it lacks content and substance. Nothing really happens within the narrative, and so little meaning can be salvaged from it. Some readers will vaunt the work as an unflinching study of human degradation and claim that it asks penetrating questions as to how we treat exiles, and what stories we use to justify our acts. I for one don’t buy this, because the characters seem lifeless. Lester Ballard, ‘with eyes, dark, huge and vacant’ is a cipher, and possesses no internal reality to account for his behaviour, other than the novelty appearance of a walking freak-show. His actions, while macabre seem purposelessly, lacking motivation or meaning, and this makes them insignificant and unreal. The wider intellectual themes are also nonexistent, and wholly out of keeping with Mccarthey’s method anyway. Instead we have a tapestry of images rather than a story.

Despite this there is a certain pleasure in reading Mccarthey. His novels are dreamscapes in which the ordinary world is transfigured. This narrative is no different, and thus it is not the character of Lester Ballard who truly scares us but the alien and hostile land he inhabits. Unlike Kafka’s world, there is no mystery or reality of which the protagonist is excluded from. Instead, the world is merely violent and dangerous, and this reflected in the souls of men. The story ends in the subterranean caves beneath Tennessee:

Down narrow dripping corridors, across stone rooms, where fragile spires stood [...] and a stream in its stone bed ran on in the sightless dark.

 Ballard’s and Mccarthey’s down-going journey, has finally led the reader to the depths in more ways than one. 

Building St Paul’s, by James W. P. Campbell

Building St Paul’s, by James W. P. Campbell

Who would have thought that the construction of a building would be so interesting.

Campbell deftly weaves the story of St Paul’s Cathedral, from conception to its completion, and does so with prosaic and pristine style. He is able to take us on a journey filled with scandal, intrigue and ambition. The result is not so much a book about the church but a book about the whole of London in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century. We learn about Renaissance building technique, architectural styles, politics and patronage, and the general day to day life of common worker on the streets of the Capital. This may sound exceedingly dull but its actually fascinating. Who would have thought, that the original church had to be demolished with a giant battering ram shaped as an arrow. That rather than British Gothic, the cathedral borrows from Greek and Roman Classicism. That Wren was royally approved for such a project but then got shoved out when he was in his eighties. Or laborers worked twelve hour shifts, without cranes or bulldozers, and rather climbed timber scaffolding, that reached over three hundred feet into the air?

 I have often looked at buildings and am amazed and the craftsmanship employed in their construction. I think the old adage is true; they just don’t make them like they used too. Architecture has become a business like any other, with university graduates and corporations. In Christopher Wren’s day the work relied on individual genius, in conjunction with mass labour. Here we get an account that progresses just like the cathedral from the foundational bricks to the pinnacle. The result is a book that tells a story of London and everyday life, and St Paul’s is the locus in which the world city revolves around in all its colour and sound. Replete with illustrations, and fascinating details, this book is an interesting and enjoyable read. 

Interpreting True Grit

Interpreting True Grit: Thoughts on the Coen Brothers Film Adaptation

A biblical subtext permeates this film and it begins with the opening Proverb: ‘The wicked flee when none pursueth.’ Much like our own time, the idea of real justice is alien to the Wild West and so in truth, the maxim should be amended. The wicked flee regardless.

The story, depicts the precocious young girl Mattie Ross, who, with the help of two bounty hunters seeks to avenge her fathers death at the hands of petty criminal Tom Cheney. On the surface she does exactly this, but the vision is fractured. After being bitten by a rattlesnake, she hallucinates her fathers killer. Despite the fact she has killed him with her own hands, he remains yet, an insubstantial shadow riding off into the night. ‘He’s getting away,’ she murmurs. In truth, she herself is being pursued this time by new knowledge, and she cannot escape the fact that her dream of vengeance is an illusion. She has chased only darkness. Whatever beliefs she had are shattered, because she craves a justice that is not of this world. 

Earthly justice fails because it revolves around trade. Ross makes this clear in the first scene. She states: ‘A coward by the name of Tom Cheney shot my father down, and robbed him of his life and his horse, and two Californian gold pieces,’ and quickly follows with, ‘you must pay for everything in this world one way or another.’ The implication is clear. Life itself, is a commodity that can be bartered or frittered away on the market. Even murder becomes just another transaction. Furthermore those who exact such earthly justice, the bounty hunters, bear an uncanny relationship to the outlaws they hunt. Like Cheney, Rooster Cogburn is a thuggish ‘hired man’ and a drunk, who squanders his money. Laboeuf may escape such charges, but the core denominator between bounty hunters and outlaws remains. They both work, and kill, for money. For that matter, so do the other section of societies, including the corrupt merchants and law agencies. There is careful gentleman’s agreement that characterizes such a society, and it is based on exploitation of others. This is why the end scenes are symmetrical. Rooster flogs a horse unto death, while attempting to get Mattie Ross help, effectively exploiting the animal, albeit for a good cause. However, no good deed goes unpunished and the price he must pay for such an act, is to suffer his own exploitation while under a touring rodeo show. Like the horse he is effectively flogged until he dies and this is why old Mattie Ross calls the proprietors of such a company ‘trash.' Money and Power rule such a world, and all men as such are rendered equal because of it.

Rooster Cogburn’s name suggests a masculine world. On the surface rooster suggests prowess and male virility, cogburn blacksmiths and forges. However on a deeper level, cogburn implies a world that has exhausted itself to the point the cogs are burning off the axle, and rooster is a parody of traditional associations. If this is the best of men, what does it say for the worse. Women, on the other hand, are confined to the parlour, and the ignorance of Grandma Turner, and the domestic landlady, who can provide Mattie Ross with ‘an empty flour sack’ to store her gun, but is useless in all other respects. 

Ignorance is bliss and there is even a price to pay for knowledge particularly for women. Rooster Cogburn is missing an eye for his troubles, and how appropriate Mattie Ross looses her arm, the offending agent that held the gun that killed the enemy. Likewise while saddling up, she, feeds her horse little blacky, red apples. The lingering shot of the fruit bowl and stark colours are intriguing and seemingly intentional. Couple this, with the fact that Ross looses her arm to a snakebite, it seems arguable we have an allegorical retelling of Genesis. Mattie Ross is Eve, who plucks the apple of knowledge and falls victim to the tempting serpent. It is also interesting that Tom Cheney declares Ross, broke a rib when she shot him. If we recall Genesis, Eve is made and fashioned out of Adam’s rib. The poetic justice here is that Mattie Ross herself, is also ‘made,' by the man, she bears a kinship too.

For the conclusion we should return to the introduction. ‘The wicked flee and none pursueth.’ Twenty-five years later, Mattie Ross gives a new coming of age maxim: ‘Time just flits away from us.’ There is a symmetry in the end lines, which recalls the opening scenes, and it suggests that wickedness is actually bound up to the human condition. That time itself is the enemy, and life the punishment. The biblical subtext is strong, but the irony is that this is a wicked flawed world without God much like are own. We have come full circle. The Wild West is not that different from ours, and the proverb lingers yet, though shorn in half ‘the wicked flee.’