Holidays in Hoi An

The Thu Bon River delta has been an important cultural and commercial centre for centuries. Throughout history, the hot, rainy climate and regular floods have provided the population with natural abundance and fertile soil for agriculture, even though they have also caused inconvenience and suffering. The first capital of the Champa kingdom, Tra Kieu, was located in this area, while nearby My Son served as its religious centre. Their port, Dam Chien (present-day Hoi An), was one of the largest in ancient Asia. The Cham were a seafaring people, after all, who engaged in international trade and piracy. It was here that Indian religious and artistic elements were first introduced to the country, and Champa civilisation developed.

Due to a series of wars, in the late medieval period the Champa kingdom fell into decay, and gave way to northern invaders. The Chinese-influenced culture of the Red River delta gradually spread south, where it incorporated and transformed local traditions. Thus, by 1400, Hoi An had become ‘Vietnamese’. Despite the political and cultural changes, however, it continued to be a trade centre of great economical significance. In the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth century, the port town was an important international trade hub, where merchants from different parts of East and Southeast Asia met.

For instance, until the Tokugawa shogunate implemented its isolationist sakoku policy in the seventeenth century, many Japanese traders visited Hoi An. Their influence is visible in some of the old houses, and in the famous temple bridge allegedly built to tame a dragon that caused earthquakes and volcano eruptions in the home country. In addition, large parts of the population of the town were Chinese. The powerful Chinese merchant clans built their own houses, temples and community halls, which can still be visited today. In the sixteenth century, the Portuguese were the first Europeans to do business in this town, which they called Faifo. Later, the Dutch East-Indies Company repeatedly tried to arrange a trade agreement, but their attempts were not successful.

In the eighteenth and nineteenth century, Faifo / Hoi An was struck by several natural and man-made disasters. Most devastatingly, the river became more and more shallow; as a result, large ships could no longer get access to the port. By the time the French confiscated the land, Hoi An had been more or less forgotten, and commerce had spread to nearby Danang (which the French called Tourane). Later, during the war, Danang would become one of the most important American military posts. Meanwhile, freedom fighters took refuge in the ancient Cham towers of My Son, some of which were severely damaged by US bombs.

Hoi An was one of the few places in Vietnam that was not bombed during the war. It remained a small, unknown provincial town until well into the 1990s. At the time, very few foreigners had seen the beautiful old town or the lovely nearby beach . But the ‘hidden gem’ could not remain hidden forever. Some of the first foreign visitors wrote lyrically about the place in a popular guidebook called Lonely Planet (an overrated yet highly popular series of travel guidebooks that combine sarcasm, cultural essentialism and lyrical mythmaking about ‘hanging out with the locals’, and exercises great influence on the development of tourist infrastructures), and soon the number of visitors increased rapidly.

In 1999, Hoi An was given world heritage status (and money), and the houses and temples of the old town were restored – but also, perhaps inevitably, transformed into tailor shops, restaurants, bars and souvenir shops. Backpackers were followed by wealthy package deal tourists, new hotels and resorts were built, and within a couple of years the old town changed completely. It became a little gentrified Asian amusement park, where few locals can afford to spend time – so much for ‘hanging out’ with them. Today, prices in the most popular restaurants are several times what they used to be a couple of years ago. A cocktail in a trendy bar now costs about as much as seven meals in a local eatery.

As a result of the rapid changes, some successful entrepreneurs have become very rich, but many others have not. Hence, income gaps have widened dramatically. In fact, many of the wealthy owners of hotels and restaurants are Hanoians – people with capital, who can afford to invest in real estate in the old town or near the beach. By contrast, many local people moved to Danang as they could no longer afford living in Hoi An. Thus, mass tourism, increasing income gaps and domestic migration have contributed to inflation, the erosion of social cohesion and the loss of traditional rural and urban landscapes. This development is not limited to Hoi An’s old town: the once-gorgeous beaches between Hoi An and Danang are turning into yet another hideous jungle of concrete and neon letters. All of this is part of the mixed blessing called ‘progress’.

When our plane arrived at Danang International Airport, construction workers were just removing the letters from the old terminal building. We were taxied to a brand-new, large building we had not seen before. Danang is desperately trying to attract foreign tourists to stay (i.e., spend money) at one of its myriad new beach resorts, and the construction of an impressive new airport building is part of its strategy. So far, few (if any) airline companies are offering international flights to and from Danang, but the city government seems pretty convinced that this will change in the near future.

We took a shared taxi from the airport in Danang to Hoi An (for some reason, no shuttle buses operate on the route yet). It was cloudy, wet and a bit chilly, and unfortunately the weather would remain pretty much the same all week, with the exception of one sunny day. But we were happy to be back in Hoi An and spend time with our family, whom we had not seen for a year and a half.

It was Christmas, so we went to a church service. Vietnam is in name a communist country, but its population has always remained highly religious, including many people who are not affiliated with a particular religious institution. The dominant religious traditions are so-called ‘ancestor worship’, Mahayana Buddhism, the Chinese traditions (Taoism, Confucianism, yin-yang practices), as well as the cults of national heroes and local deities. In addition, however, a significant proportion of the population is Christian – official statistics suggest approximately six to eight percent, but the actual number may be higher. In fact, Vietnam is one of the countries in Asia with the highest percentage of Christians (only the Philippines, Lebanon and South Korea have more). Traditionally, most of these belonged to the Catholic Church. In recent years, however, as in other Asian countries, Evangelical churches have gained quite some popularity.

The church we visited was one of those American-style Evangelical churches with a neon cross on top of the roof. The lyrics of songs were projected on a large screen, the music was electronic and had a loud beat (clearly adjusted to Vietnamese preferences) and the members of the choir were bad singers, but they did wear beautiful red-white dresses and candles. The church was completely packed; there must have been several hundreds of people, many of whom probably do not usually come to church services. We had to sit on plastic stools in the back of the church, and we considered ourselves lucky, for many others had to stand. Most of the attendants were in their twenties and thirties, but there were many children as well, reflecting Vietnamese demographic developments and suggesting significant church growth.

The service lasted way too long. The first hour and a half or so were mainly devoted to singing songs. Silent Night and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing were the only traditional Christmas carols passing by; the others were Vietnamese versions of American songs (with alternative, religious lyrics) such as White Christmas and Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, as well as Vietnamese-style folk songs, performed by solo singers. In fact, it sounded more like some sort of music festival than an actual church service, and the police officials and Party officials standing outside the church to report the contents of the service to the authorities must have felt very bored. Eventually, we did get to listen to a sermon – as far as I could tell, it was mainly about the notion of wealth, and about how to achieve true happiness. As expected, political or social critique was absent.

Except for the church service, our week in Hoi An was mainly devoted to social activities. We spent a lot of time with family and friends, and my language skills – while still limited – improved quite a bit. We also did a bit of shopping. Vietnam is still relatively cheap, so it is a good place to pick up new glasses, a coat or a pair of shoes, especially if you live in the world’s most expensive country. We did not do any sightseeing, but we did enjoy the occasional motorbike ride around the rice paddies, which brought back happy memories.

So what do you do, when you spend Christmas with family? Exactly: eating and drinking. Hoi An has fantastic food, and we enjoyed our stay to the fullest. For breakfast or lunch, we could choose from many different kinds of noodle soup – pho, bun, or one of the local specialities, mi quang or cao lau. Other simple but delicious streetfood includes chao (rice porridge), com ga (chicken rice), banh xeo (savory pancakes) and springrolls. For dinner, we could choose from different kinds of fresh seafood, such as crab or fish, eaten with rau som (mixed fresh herbs and lettuce), rice crackers and nuoc mam (fish sauce). Or, alternatively, eaten in soup, with noodles and vegetables – so-called hotpot (lau). I also love the clams steamed with lemongrass and chilli, the fish-filled tofu, and of course hoa chuoi – banana flower salad with shrimp, mint and peanuts. Three of my all-time favourite dishes, in fact. Washed away with the local beer Larue (with ice, of course), cold tea or fresh fruit juice.

Yes, did I mention the fruit? Fresh tropical fruit is one of the great delights of any visit to Southeast Asia, and Vietnam is no exception. Banana, coconut, custard apple, dragonfruit, guava, jackfruit, kumquat, lime, longan, mango, mangosteen, milk fruit, nashi pear, papaya, pineapple, pomelo, rambutan, sapodilla, soursop, starfruit, sugar cane, watermelon… The list is endless, the variety of flavours amazing.

We know that Hoi An will always be a home for us, no matter how fast she changes, and no matter how mixed our feelings about those changes. It will always be the town where my wife spend her childhood, the town where we first met, the town where we got married. There will always be fresh fruit, herbs, fish sauce and seafood waiting for us. And, last but not least, there is the sea, and the beach, with all its memories. The town is like that sea – ever-changing, yet timeless. 

New notes from Japan (7): Football priests

In the past decades, church membership rates in the Netherlands have decreased steadily. A majority of the population no longer attends church services, except for special occasions. This applies to Catholic churches as much as to Protestant ones. Whereas many people are interested in diffuse types of 'spirituality', they no longer feel attracted to traditional Christian beliefs and/or church services. Churches have tried to come up with new ways of attracting visitors, but most of these attempts have failed.

In the summer of 2010, Catholic priest Paul Vlaar came up with a creative strategy to attract people to his mass. It was the summer of the Vuvuzela World Cup, in which the Dutch national team made it to the final (where, sadly, it lost in the last minute of extra time because of a capital mistake of the incapable British referee). Capitalising on the football hype, the priest decided to organise an 'orange mass', in which he used football and petty nationalism as a way to get people interested in Christianity. He was very successful: his church was filled completely, which usually only happens on Christmas Eve, and his parish loved the service. The bishop, however, was not amused, and the popular priest was suspended.



I will refrain from criticising the Catholic Church now. Let me just say that I do not really understand why people would follow a religion in which some faraway, powerful yet all-too-human authority prescribes them what to do and what to believe. I guess I am a child of the Reformation, after all. Much more interesting, however, is the question as to why the orange mass seemed to appeal to the participants, and even attracted new visitors. Some of them may have come out of curiosity, no doubt, but there is a little bit more to it. Most of us have experienced feelings of excitement and passion when watching sport games, especially when watching in a group of people. During the most exciting moments, watching sports can arouse feelings that seem almost religious: heartfelt wishes, devotion and even ecstasy, if only temporarily. Hence, the association of religion and sport seems quite natural.

And why would it not? After all, 'sport' is a 19th century modern, secular, European category. Before the invention of 'sport', however, there were all sorts of competitions, celebrations, displays of physical strength and so on. 'Sport' existed long before it was categorised as such. So did, incidentally, 'religion' and 'theatre'. But for most of history, the three were not clearly separated, institutionally nor conceptually. The separation of religious ceremonies, performing arts and spectator sports is a fairly recent historical phenomenon.

"But there were already Olympic Games in ancient Greece," you may argue, suggesting that sport is not a modern invention at all. True, but those Olympic Games were not classified as sport in the modern sense of the word. They were, first and foremost, religious worship. That is, they were entertainment: primarily for the gods, secondarily for the people. They were also useful for preserving and improving relations with rival city-states, of course, or prepare for the next war - but their main significance was religious. Hence the name, for the Olympus is the mountain where the Greek gods used to live.

Likewise, there are plenty of examples of ritualised physical competitions - wrestling, running, horse-riding, fighting, swimming, archery and so on - with strong religious significance, all over the world. Even in modern times, sport often incorporates religious practices and beliefs. In Latin America and Africa, for instance, football is full of magical and ritual elements. And such practices are not limited to 'non-Western' cultures, as illustrated by the fact that Catholic priests often bless cyclists in the Giro d'Italia and other cycling competitions. The separation of sport and religion is an odd historical anomaly, their intertwinement the rule.

This fact is beautifully illustrated in Shinto shrine practices. Did you think football was invented by the British? Think again. Shrine priests have been performing a kind of ritualised football for centuries. Likewise, Sumo (the quintessentially Japanese sport that used to be broadcast live by Eurosport but in recent years has suffered from corruption and other scandals - perhaps due to its secularisation, who knows), originates in local shrine festivals, which had the dual purpose of entertaining the deities and contributing to social relations. And recently, I was invited by a shrine priest to attend the annual yabusame festival at Kamigamo shrine: a fascinating combination of high-level horseriding, archery, Shinto ceremony and popular entertainment. I greatly enjoyed it. But I would not know whether I should classify it as sport, as religion or as performing arts.



Last week, I went to Kumano. Kumano is an ancient pilgrimage centre, located in the Kii peninsula, an area in the far south of the Kansai region. It is one of the most beautiful places in Japan: high forested mountains, dramatic cliffs, ancient pilgrim trails and romantic hot springs. It is also one of the most interesting places in terms of religious history. The natural landscape evokes feelings of awe. Accordingly, it has been associated with Yomi, the underworld, as well as with Buddhist mandalas. Kumano is a traditional centre of Shugendō, ascetic mountain worship, and shinbutsu shūgō, the combined worship of Japanese deities and Buddhas, and the belief that the former are incarnations of the latter. It is also a place that has been associated with nature worship, which is quite understandable, considering its impressive physical features and centuries-old symbolic significance. It comes as no surprise, then, that Kumano is often mentioned in contemporary discourse on Shinto and the environment.

The main deities enshrined here are the mythical ancestral deities of the Japanese imperial family and, ultimately, the nation, whose stories are told in the Kojiki: Izanagi and Izanami, the primordial brother and sister whose sexual intercourse produced the islands of Japan; Amaterasu, the sun goddess and symbol of imperial power; and Susanoo, god of the underworld. The three main shrines are Hongū Taisha, located in a valley surrounded by mountains and a famous pilgrimage destination; Nachi Taisha, where a beautiful tall waterfall is worshipped; and Hayatama Taisha, located near the place where the river meets the sea. Needless to say, when I received an invitation to join some people from NGOs trying to promote traditional culture on a trip to these three shrines, which would give me the opportunity to meet the head priests, I did not have to think very long.

However, last September, the area was hit severely by a typhoon and floods. The world did not notice, as mass media internationally had got bored of natural disasters in Japan and were busy reporting other hypes. But the damage was severe, and dozens of people were killed. Embarrasingly oblivious, I was shocked to see entire parts of mountains washed away, hundreds of trees uprooted, completely destroyed houses and deforested river islands. But reconstruction work was going on everywhere. Banners and people proudly declared that the rebuilding of the entire nation would start here, in Kumano. Shock had given way to optimism. Kumano will overcome the difficulties.



In Japan, Kumano is not only famous for its ancient pilgrimage trails and recent natural disaster, but also for football. In particular, it has come to be associated with the national football teams (M/F). The gods of Kumano have become the protective deities of these teams. The reason is prosaic: the man who introduced modern football to Japan in the early twentieth century was originally from Kumano. Looking for a symbol of the national football association, he opted for a famous symbol from his native region: the yatagarasu, or three-legged crow. Thus, the crow of Kumano was appropriated by modern sports, or vice versa. Today, at any of the Kumano shrines one can buy amulets, talismans and other religious souvenirs with the logo of the national football team printed on them. Few people seem to perceive this as problematic. Shinto traditions are pragmatic, after all, and subject to change and reinvention - one of the reasons they have survived the storms of history.

Last summer, the Japanese national team became world champion women's football. The Dutch did not notice, as they are a bunch of sexists who collectively ignore women's football, but the Japanese did, as they are a bunch of proud nationalists who like any sport in which a compatriot excels. Nobody had expected the Japanese team to win, so it was a great surprise, which was celebrated widely in their home country. Upon return, the players visited Kumano, where they met with the head priests and donated some signed shirts and footballs, carefully monitored by accompanying journalists.

The relics of this visit are kept well. In a prominent place in the middle of the visitors' room of one of the shrines hangs a large picture of the football captain and head priest - signed by the former, of course. More problematic, from a secularist point of view, might be the fact that the worship hall is full of signed footballs and shirts. It is a somewhat alienating experience - sitting on your knees in the worship hall (a place ordinary visitors are not allowed to enter, as it requires official ritual purification) attending a ritual ceremony with centuries-old prayers and spirit-arousing percussion, while looking at football paraphernalia. The sacred is a category that is open to reinterpretation, let's put it that way.

The most interesting experience, however, was the conversation we had with the head priest of one of the other shrines. An old man, he must have lived and worked there for decades, but few moments in his long career were as interesting as the visit of the female football players, last summer. He excitedly recounts (I paraphrase, based on my notes):

"I couldn't watch the game, really. I was too nervous. Boom-boom-boom, my heart went. Next morning, they told me we had won. I knew it. You know why? Because I had prayed and performed a ritual to Amaterasu-no-Oomikami. Really, a special ritual! That's why they became champion, thanks to me. And then they visited me here! The team captain talked to me and thanked me for my support. She said she wants to get the gold medal at the Olympic Games, too. I will pray for them. I am sure they will get it. The TV journalist was here, too. It was broadcast on national TV, did you see it? But you know, I knew they would become champion. They are the best. They have the true Japanese spirit, the spirit of our great nation, Nippon. No country in the world can defeat Nippon. We are number one. We are the best in the world."

I felt somewhat alienated. But I did manage to resist the temptation to remind him of the fact that at the 'real' world cup football, last year, my country defeated his by 1-0. Perhaps, at the time, Paul Vlaar's prayers were more effective than his. Perhaps the Holy Virgin is more football-minded than the Sun Goddess.

How I love studying religion.

Millenarianism - monotheistic machinations or universal utopias?

Last month, I wrote a short essay on the topic of 'millenarianism' - radical beliefs in the end of this world order, followed by a perfect new world. It was loosely based on a conference paper I had presented in Leiden, a while before, and the Judgment Day predictions that had just appeared in several media. The essay was published on the weblog of my research network. Now that it has been there for a while, I also publish it on Rotsblog. As always, feel free to leave comments or ask questions.

--------------

What does Harold Camping's failed prophecy have to do with the Japanese new religion Aum Shinrikyō? Is millenarianism an essentially monotheistic phenomenon, or does it hold universal appeal? How come notions of the End Time and radical world renewal are still in vogue today, despite the fact that history continues to prove them wrong? Following recent events, in this essay I will discuss some of the aspects of millenarianism, and argue that it may be a useful concept for cross-cultural comparison that deserves to be explored further.

It was a funny coincidence. A couple of weeks ago, I was in the Netherlands, where I participated in a conference on religion and violence entitled ‘The Root Causes of Terrorism: A Religious Studies Perspective’. Several internationally acclaimed scholars presented their ideas, as did a number of selected PhD candidates. I was one of them: I presented a paper on millenarianism in modern Japanese religious ideology. The conference took place at Leiden University, but I was staying at a friend’s place in the city of Rotterdam. When I arrived at Rotterdam Central Station, I could not help but notice the huge billboards hanging everywhere. The message was clear: the Day of Judgment would come soon. That following Saturday, May 21st, to be precise. There were only a few days left to repent before the event would take place, and the billboard urged me to have an immediate look at the website www.familyradio.com, where I would receive further instructions. But I was too busy preparing my paper to worry about this dramatic prophecy. Fortunately, the conference was planned before the predicted date, so I would have the opportunity to present my paper anyway - even if the Day of Judgment were to take place two days later.

Family Radio is an American Evangelical organisation, led by a wealthy 89-year-old man named Harold Camping. It was he who calculated and predicted the Day of Judgement, and spent significant amounts of money on advertisements in order to reach as many people as possible – not only in the US, but also internationally, as the billboards in Rotterdam made clear. His efforts to get the message across were quite impressive, and several journalists who came across the predictions mentioned them in newspaper articles. Apparently, the failed prophecy was considered newsworthy. However, as any student of religion can confirm, Camping’s predictions were hardly unique. In the course of history, hundreds if not thousands of charismatic leaders have predicted the imminent overthrowing of the present world order, and the subsequent establishment of a perfect new world. Many of them have mentioned concrete dates on which this apocalypse would supposedly take place. So far, all of them have been wrong. Nevertheless, promises of a radical rupture continue to hold popular appeal among certain groups of people.

Millenarianism and monotheism

In religious studies, these ideas are referred to by the terms ‘millenarianism’, ‘millennialism’ and ‘apocalypticism’. The Encyclopedia of Religion defines millenarianism as ‘the belief that the end of this world is at hand and that in its wake will appear a New World, inexhaustibly fertile, harmonious, and just.’ The transition from the present world (perceived as corrupted and degenerate) to the utopian new world is often imagined as radical, definitive and violent. The just will be separated from the wicked by force, and divinely ordained violence will play a central part in purifying and liberating the world from its corrupt and polluted elements. Hence, if the utopian promise is convincing, millenarian expectations can have great mobilising potential, and may be employed as justification for real acts of violence. Significantly, there are several structural similarities between so-called ‘religious’ millenarianism, and other types of radical ideologies, such as utopian nationalism or Maoism. These similarities include notions of moral and racial purity, divine election, and a lost glorious past that will be reestablished in the near future. It comes as no surprise, then, that in modern times millenarian belief systems often incorporate nationalist elements, and vice versa.

Millenarianism is often associated with a ‘lineair’ view of history, and, accordingly, with the so-called ‘monotheistic’ or ‘Abrahamic’ religions. For instance, as stated on the website of the aforementioned conference: ‘Monotheistic traditions have introduced a new notion of ‘time’ and henceforth, of ‘history’. They all contain ideas about apocalyptic violence inaugurating the end of history and the definitive realisation of a divine kingdom.’ The questions are, of course, a) whether such notions of time are limited to the so-called ‘monotheistic traditions’; b) whether it was really these traditions that introduced such notions, or whether similar ideas were developed in other traditions; and c) whether the very category ‘monotheistic traditions’ is adequate as an analytical category – or, rather, a normative theological notion.

To start with the latter: I strongly doubt the empirical validity of the commonly used dichotomy between ‘monotheistic’ and ‘polytheistic’ religions. While the concepts are relevant as normative, ‘emic’ categories employed by followers of religions themselves, their descriptive value is questionable, as concrete religious practices do not necessarily correspond to normative theological notions. That is, as an observer, I am not convinced that there is a structural difference between, say, certain types of Catholic or Islamic saint worship, and the worship of deities and bodhisattvas in East-Asian cultures. Besides, I am sceptical of the popular assumption that Judaism, Christianity and Islam have something unique in common, which sets them apart as a group and makes them fundamentally different from ‘polytheistic’ religions – a diffuse rest category, defined by nothing but its supposed otherness.

It can be argued that the ‘monotheism’-‘polytheism’ (or ‘Abrahamic’-‘Asian’) dichotomy is a variety of the classical West-East dichotomy, based on a similar set of binary oppositions: exclusivistic versus syncretistic, individualistic versus collectivistic, rational versus emotional, particularistic versus holistic,  masculine versus feminine, lineair versus circular and so on. These are myths, discursively constructed and cultivated, that have come to be taken for granted and continue to influence popular imagination. They are based on notions that were developed by European early modern and pre-modern Orientalist writers, but reappropriated by Asian intellectuals in the late 19th and 20th century, who employed them as ideological tools for nationbuilding and symbolic empowerment.

Polytheism and Othering

Japan is one example of a country that continues to be framed as a ‘polytheistic other’, defined by its stress on social harmony, the primacy of the collective over the individual, its aesthetics of simplicity and its holistic view of nature. All of these are stereotypes, and despite the fact that they are easily falsifiable (Japanese society and culture are much more diverse than commonly assumed, and offer plenty of examples of cases that do not fit the paradigm), they continue to be powerful. It comes as no surprise, then, that most popular introductions to ‘Japanese religion(s)’ focus on aspects that correspond to these stereotypes: their supposed ‘non-exclusive’ nature (as illustrated by the often repeated phrase ‘born Shinto, marry Christian, die Buddhist’); their anti-rational focus on intuition and spiritual experience (as popularised by the sizeable discourse on Zen, most of which builds on the nationalist mythmaking of D.T. Suzuki); their love of nature and the natural environment (recently appropriated and advocated by a number of Shinto representatives); and their fundamental focus on social harmony and, hence, peace (following mistaken assumptions about Buddhism as essentially a non-violent religion).

Clearly, a religious organisation committing a terrorist attack with the apparent purpose of killing as many innocent people and creating as much chaos as possible does not fit the paradigm. Yet, this is precisely what happened sixteen years ago. On March 20, 1995 several members of a small religious movement named Aum Shinrikyō committed an attack on the Tokyo subway by releasing sarin, a poisonous nerve gas. They killed twelve people and injured several thousands, some of them permanently. The attack was preceded by murders of community members and opponents of the movement, and it was supposed to inaugurate the apocalypse predicted by its leader, Asahara Shōkō. The population was shocked, and the authorities reacted in accordance with public opinion: leaders of the group were imprisoned, several of them (including Asahara) were sentenced to death, and the organisation was disbanded.

In the following years, a large number of books and articles appeared discussing the why and how of the event. Some of them were journalistic accounts, others were scholarly interpretations. They analysed the interactions between Aum and wider society, the processes of radicalisation and othering that culminated into the dramatic events of March 1995, stories of survivors, social consequences and responses by the authorities. In all discussions, the story of Aum was told as a more or less isolated case. Either implicitly or explicitly, it was suggested that ‘the Aum affair’ was a tragic anomaly; a symptom of the social anomie of the 1990s, perhaps, but essentially un-Japanese. The statement by scholar of ‘religious violence’ Mark Juergensmeyer that ‘the location for which a violent act of religious terrorism is least anticipated is modern urban Japan’ is illustrative for this commonly held assumption.

As I argued in the paper I presented at the conference, I do not think Aum Shinrikyō was as unique as often suggested. Nor do I believe ‘monotheistic’ religions are more prone to millenarianism than other traditions (let alone invented it). The notion of radical (possibly violent) world renewal has been a recurring theme in the history of Japanese thought, resurfacing in times of social and political turmoil. It ranges from mappō (‘end of the Buddhist Law’) thought in medieval Buddhism to the large-scale popular yonaoshi (‘world renewal’) uprisings in the premodern period; from the nationalist millenarianism in the 1920s and 30s (in groups as diverse as Ōmoto, the Holiness Church and Nichiren Buddhism) to the radical, utopian leftist groups that engaged in acts of violence in the 1970s; and from postwar new religions such as Sūkyō Mahikari, Agonshū and Kōfuku no Kagaku to recent popular culture and film, in which apocalyptic themes figure prominently. In sum, millenarian thought has been a significant, at times powerful undercurrent of modern Japanese ideology.

Universal Utopias

Fantasies of divine destruction, followed by the establishment of a brave new world, are not uniquely Christian or ‘Western’. On the contrary, they seem to hold universal appeal. They are not old-fashioned either, but continue to be reemployed periodically. Aum Shinrikyō was a modern, urban phenomenon; a product of globalisation, combining elements from a variety of diverse sources such as esoteric Buddhism, the prophecies of Nostradamus and anti-Semitic conspiracy theories.

Likewise, Family Radio is a modern, international movement, that uses advertisements and communication technology to get its message across. As urbanisation and globalisation continue worldwide, and traditional social structures give way to more fluid identities and uncertainty, millenarian promises will continue to attract people with their alternative epistemologies. Millenarianism is more universal and modern than often suggested. Thus, it constitutes a potentially useful category for cross-cultural comparison – more useful than ‘religion’, perhaps.

Japan, the Jews, and divine election: Nakada Juji's Christian nationalism

Last summer, I had an article published in the 54th edition of the Newsletter (International Institute of Asian Studies, 2010). The article discusses the religious and political thought of the Japanese Christian leader Nakada Jūji (1870-1939). It is based on the research I did for my MA thesis in 2008, and on two papers presented at academic conferences in 2009, the main conclusions of which it summarises. The introduction is as follows:

In late 19th and early 20th century Japan, several popular religious movements and ideologies emerged combining nationalist notions on the divine nature of the Japanese people and country with millenarian beliefs in the imminent replacement of the current world order by a perfect new world. ‘New religions’ such as Omoto and Soka Gakkai drew on existing Shinto and Buddhist notions, reinterpreting them in the context of modern Japanese society. Other movements and religious leaders at the time used millenarian and nationalist notions in their attempts to reconcile an imported Christian belief system with their Japanese identity. Aike Rots examines one of these leaders, the evangelist, theologian and missionary Nakada Juji (1870-1939).

For the full article, click here (pdf).

Kerstverhalen

De leraar vertelt zijn leerlingen een verhaal dat de meeste van hen nog nooit gehoord hebben. Het speelt zich af in een land hier ver vandaan, lang, lang geleden. Het gaat over een arme man en vrouw, die ver moesten reizen, ook al had zij een baby in haar buik. Toen ze eindelijk aankwamen in het stadje waar ze moesten zijn was het laat en donker. En koud. Ze klopten aan bij verschillende herbergen, maar die waren allemaal vol. Uitgeput zochten ze hun toevlucht in een stalletje, dat ze moesten delen met een os en een ezel. Toen werd de baby geboren. Het was een bijzondere baby. Hij huilde niet, maar keek verwonderd om zich heen. Hij had grote bruine ogen. De ouders vroegen de os en de ezel of ze hun voerbak mochten lenen. Dat mocht, want de dieren begrepen ook wel dat hier iets bijzonders gebeurd was. Ze legden de baby in de voerbak, op een bedje van stro, en stopten hem lekker in. Het kindje viel in slaap, en de moeder ook. De vader, die niet echt de vader was maar wel die verantwoordelijkheid op zich nam omdat niemand wist wie en waar de echte vader was, hield de wacht. Hij zag niet dat er in de lucht boven het stalletje een grote, felle ster verschenen was.

In de heuvels buiten het stadje lag een groepje mannen te slapen, naast een kudde schapen. Een van de mannen was wakker. Hij moest moeite doen om zijn ogen open te houden, maar hij wist dat hij niet in slaap mocht vallen, want dan zou een hongerige wolf of een gemene rover zomaar een aantal van hun schapen kunnen stelen. Plotseling hoorde de man een geluid. Hij schrikte op. Het klonk niet als een wolf, maar als gezang. Heel mooi, hoog gezang. Langzaam kwam het dichterbij. De donkere hemel werd langzaam licht. De man was bang, en maakte zijn vrienden wakker. De lucht werd steeds lichter, het gezang steeds luider. Toen zagen ze het. Tientallen, misschien wel honderden engelen zweefden voor hen, en zongen van een baby'tje dat geboren was, hier vlakbij, in Betlehem. Dat baby'tje was gekomen om hun te leren hoe zij elkaar en anderen moesten liefhebben. De mannen hoorden het met open monden aan. Toen de engelen weg waren, gingen zij met al hun schapen terug naar het stadje, dat Bethlehem heette. Aan de hemel stond een heldere ster die ze nog nooit eerder hadden gezien. Toen ze bij het stalletje waren, begroetten ze de verraste ouders, en liepen naar de voerbak, waarin een baby'tje lag te slapen. Ze knielden voor hem neer.




Een jaar of drie geleden was de leraar zelf in Bethlehem. Hij was toen nog een student, en reisde met een aantal andere studenten. Om er te komen moesten ze door een poort in een grote betonnen muur. Soldaten met machinegeweren lieten hen erdoor, nadat ze hun paspoorten bestudeerd hadden. Toen ze door de poort waren, waren ze plotseling in een andere wereld. Later zou hij daarover het volgende schrijven:

De reis gaat naar Bethlehem, plaats van verbeelding waar het sneeuwde boven de herberg met het kindje in de kribbe en de os en de ezel en de herdertjes die bij nachte in het veld lagen en die ster zagen, de plaats waar bijna alle kerstliedjes over gingen, de plaats ook waar Asterix en Obelix ooit de nacht doorbrachten. Maar zoals wel vaker haalt de realiteit de romantiek in. Het huidige Bethlehem is een stad in Palestijns gebied, gegijzeld door de politiek van polarisatie. Het is van de hoofdstad en een deel van de ommelanden afgesneden door een hoge betonnen Muur, symbool bij uitstek van de moderne Israëlische apartheid. Met de laatste intifada en de bezetting van de Geboortekerk is het toerisme, belangrijke bron van inkomsten voor deze stad, ingestort, en dat trekt maar moeizaam weer aan. Gelukkig komt daar een groep Nederlandse studenten die voor honderden euro’s kerststalletjes gaat inslaan aangereden, alleen weten ze dat dan nog niet. Het passeren van een checkpoint blijkt, in tegenstelling tot wat alle wilde verhalen vooraf ons hadden doen geloven, helemaal niet zo moeilijk – maar dat zou ook verband kunnen houden met het feit dat onze bus vol zit met lief lachende blonde meisjes. Zelfs onze chauffeur, een Israëlische Palestijn die nog nooit aan deze kant van de groene lijn is geweest, mag mee. We rijden langs de Muur, die aan Israëlische zijde de tekst ‘Peace be with you’ draagt – o ironie. De Palestijnse kant daarentegen is beschilderd is met allerlei kunstwerken – van een grote enge slang die zo uit de geheime kamer van Hogwarts komt gegleden tot grappige trompe-l’oeuildoorkijkjes naar de andere kant – en natuurlijk met politieke graffiti. Als we het stadje binnenrijden worden we verwelkomd door de plaatselijke politie. We bezoeken de Geboortekerk, alwaar we zomaar een rondleiding krijgen aangeboden van een vriendelijke meneer. Wie de bouwkundige en historische details nog eens wil nalezen, consultere haar reisgids. Ik was zo vol van jeugdsentiment dat ik ze niet echt heb meegekregen. In dat kelderkamertje, op die plek op de grond waar die pelgrimjuffrouw een kus geeft, werd het kindje Jezus geboren. En in die nis daarachter stond de kribbe. O, nostalgie! Natuurlijk is het hier gebeurd! Netjes seculier opgevoede Aike wordt nu toch geraakt. Al die jaren kerstmis vieren is niet voor niets gebleken; als puntje bij paaltje komt ben ik toch stiekem wel een beetje christelijk, geloof ik. Ik kan het in elk geval niet laten om een kaarsje te branden en de boel daarboven even te bedanken voor deze mooie reis. Tja, en als onze vriendelijke onbaatzuchtige gids ons aan het einde van de rondleiding dan strategisch naar zijn winkeltje voert, kan ik het natuurlijk ook niet laten om een prachtige olijfhouten kerststal aan te schaffen. Ik ben niet de enige van ons die valt voor het fraaie houtsnijwerk, getuige de vele aankopen die gedaan worden.

Religieuze romantiek is leuk, maar de realiteit roept. Onze bus brengt ons naar Al-Khader, een plaatsje een paar kilometer verderop, alwaar wij een bezoek brengen aan de Hope Flowers School. Dit is een gemengde school (meisjes en jongens, moslims en christenen), gericht op vredeseducatie, het bevorderen van wederzijds begrip en democratie. In 1984 stichtte de in een vluchtelingenkamp opgegroeide Hussein Ibrahim Issa (1947–2000) het Al-Amal kinderopvangcentrum, waarna in 1993 het huidige gebouw in gebruik werd genomen door de Hope Flowers School. De stichter geloofde dat het conflict tussen Israëliërs en Palestijnen alleen op een niet-gewelddadige manier opgelost zou kunnen worden, en dat onderwijs hierin cruciaal is. Tijdens zijn hoogtijdagen had de Hope Flowers School 600 leerlingen, van kleuter- tot middelbare schoolleeftijd. Sinds de tweede intifada gaat het echter een stuk slechter; als gevolg van geldgebrek wordt er geen les meer verzorgd op middelbare schoolniveau waardoor de school nu nog maar 250 leerlingen heeft, sommige kinderen uit vluchtelingenkampen zijn ernstig getraumatiseerd geraakt door het optreden van het Israëlische leger, uitwisselingen met buitenlandse en Israëlische scholen zijn heel moeilijk geworden en de armoede van veel kinderen en werkloosheid van ouders zijn verder toegenomen. Tot overmaat van ramp liggen op een steenworp afstand van de school de funderingen voor een Israëlische nederzetting, en het lijkt slechts een kwestie van tijd voordat de Muur verder gebouwd wordt – vlak langs de school, waardoor er een continue militaire aanwezigheid zal komen. Het bezoek aan de Hope Flowers School laat ons iets zien van wat het conflict concreet voor gevolgen heeft in dit gebied, en het is pijnlijk om te zien hoe een sympathiek en hoopgevend initiatief als dit onder dreigt te sneeuwen in militarisme en armoede. Internationale steun is er genoeg, maar de belangen van machthebbers komen niet altijd overeen met die van hen die vrede willen.

We krijgen een rondleiding door de school, koffie en koekjes, en kopen zelfgemaakte vaasjes en petten. Dan gaat de reis verder. We gaan terug naar Bethlehem, maar rammelen van de honger. Gelukkig heeft de jongen die bij ons in de bus was gesprongen om ons de weg te wijzen naar Al-Khader nog wel een neef met een restaurant. We verwachten ergens in een klein eethuisje terecht te komen, maar in plaats daarvan belanden we bij een gloednieuw hotel van God weet hoeveel verdiepingen, compleet met fontein en ballenbad en salsamuziek en een dakterras vanwaar wij een weergaloos uitzicht hebben over Bethlehem en het veld waar de herdertjes lagen en de onvermijdelijke Israëlische nederzetting. Ideaal voor huwelijksfeestjes. Wij houden het echter bij een zeer smakelijk broodje falafel en een flesje frisdrank. Daarna krijgen wij van onze genereuze reiscommissie zowaar nog een uurtje vrije tijd, die wij geheel naar eigen inzicht mogen besteden. Met enkele anderen bezoek ik de moskee aan het centrale plein. De meneer die ons ontvangt en rondleidt is zo vriendelijk om ons naar het uiterste topje van de minaret te leiden, en de ruimte te tonen vanwaar hij vijfmaal daags de oproep tot gebed de wereld in slingert. Het uitzicht vanaf de minaret over het plein en de Geboortekerk is fenomenaal. Vervolgens bezoek ik in het bezoekerscentrum een tentoonstelling met kerststalletjes uit alle hoeken van de wereld; een stalletje op poten uit Laos en levensgrote mandarijnen uit Hongkong en een Russisch paleisje en Afrikaans houtsnijwerk. Tot slot breng ik een bezoek aan de bijhorende boekwinkel, maar gelukkig heb ik geen geld meer want ik zou veel te veel hebben gekocht.

En gelukkig hebben we de foto's nog!


Bethlehem anno 2007

De Geboortekerk

De toren van de Geboortekerk

Het altaar op de plek waar de kribbe stond

De herdertjes lagen bij nachte in het veld. Hier, om precies te zijn, op Palestijns grondgebied, tussen de illegale Israëlische nederzettingen.

Palestijnse autoriteiten

Een kunstwerk op de Muur

Kerstmis in Nigeria

Kerstmis in Peru

Kerstmis in Laos


Kerstmis in Rusland

Terug naar het hier en nu. De leraar is klaar met zijn verhaal. Er wordt op de deur van het klaslokaal gebonsd, en 'hohoho' geroepen. Een Kerstman komt binnen met een zak cadeautjes - schattige maar nuttige plastic opbergmappen. De kinderen doen hun best Jingle Bells te zingen. De leraar verdwijnt naar de lerarenkamer, om even later terug te komen met drie grote pizzadozen en een aantal blikjes frisdrank. Als hongerige wolven storten de kinderen zich op de pizza's. De kleinste uk van de klas weet zes pizzapunten weg te werken. Een hele prestatie.

Kerstmis in Hanoi is een vrij seculiere aangelegenheid. Afgezien van de kerststal op het pleintje voor de kathedraal is er niets dat herinnert aan de religieuze betekenis van het feest. Kerstmanmutsen zijn daarentegen alomtegenwoordig. Sommige kleuters waggelen zelfs rond in complete kerstmanpakjes, inclusief broek, jas en glimmende zwarte laarsjes. Je kunt veel zeggen van de Hanoise nouveaux-riches, maar niet dat ze smaak hebben. Warenhuizen hebben levensgrote modellen van de Kerstman naast de ingang geplaatst, compleet met rendieren, kunstsneeuw en arreslee. Mensen verdringen zich om ermee op de foto te gaan - het concept 'rij' is het Vietnamese volk vreemd. Voor een van de warenhuizen staat een metershoge kerstboom, geheel opgetrokken uit lege Heinekenflesjes. Overal dreunen de houseversies van beroemde kerstliedjes - netjes afgewisseld met Last Christmas, natuurlijk.

Maar wie christendom zoekt, vindt het, ook in de socialistische heilstaat. In de balzaal van een vijfsterrenhotel komen de leden van twee internationale kerken samen om de kerstdienst te vieren. De evangelische club heeft zijn stempel iets nadrukkelijker op de dienst weten te drukken dan de oecumenische. Een paar opwekkingsliederen hebben zich een plek tussen de kerstliedjes weten te veroveren. Away in the Manger wordt gezongen in een onbekende melodie. En een Nederlandse voorganger mompelt een weinig inspirerend verhaal over dat we niet alleen de geboorte van Christus moeten vieren, maar toch vooral ook aan diens naderende Wederkomst moeten denken. De film 2012 wordt nog even vergeleken met het Bijbelboek Openbaring, maar dan is het gelukkig voorbij, mogen de kaarsjes aan en wordt er, godzijdank, Silent Night gezongen.

De kerkdienst viel weliswaar tegen, het kerstdiner deed dat gelukkig niet. Vooraf werd een cocktail geserveerd van krab en pomelo, gegarneerd met dille. Dat werd gevolgd door een romige, licht pittige soep van wortel en pompoen, geserveerd met verse koriander en brood. Het hoofdgerecht bestond uit een verrukkelijk stuk zalmfilet met een sausje van Japanse sojasaus, knoflook en sinaasappel. De bijgerechten waren gebakken aardappeltjes, en een salade met tomaten, opnieuw pomelo en cashewnoten. Het dessert bestond uit kokosijs met pitaya, sinaasappel en vers geklopte room. Bij dat alles dronken zij een prima Hongaarse chardonnay.

Vrolijk kerstfeest.

Eve and Adam

Recently, I wrote an essay (in Dutch) in which I criticised, in good feminist fashion, lingering gender patterns and power inequality between men and women worldwide. My experiences in Southeast Asia, where men continue to hold power and reinforce conservative sexist structures while women generally do most of the work (and, de facto, run the economy), inspired me to write this, as well as my general interest in the ways in which identity is constructed and enforced, and power structures are legitimised. Of course, as a student of religion, I am quite familiar with sexist worldviews, as they figure prominently in most religious ideologies.

I do not wish to suggest that all men are bad creatures, while all women are saints. The picture obviously is more complicated than that. However, I do believe that in many places in the world women continue to be structurally maltreated, and by no means have the same opportunities as men - not even in the self-proclaimed 'enlightened' countries of Western Europe. Moreover, I believe that, in general, women possess some qualities that few men have, and that we can actually learn something from each other - provided that we are willing to question the sexist myths and prejudices with which we are brought up. Let us begin by actually listening to each other, for a change.

Although my essay was quite polemic, I by no means intended to uncritically adopt the simplistic male-female dichotomies employed by some (radical) feminists, and their dogmatic assertion that men are aggressors, and women victims, by definition. On the contrary, I am interested in creative attempts to question and overcome such essentialist dichotomies, as they tend to reinforce the very gender patterns they criticise. Those who fight monsters may well become monsters themselves, as Nietzsche stated, and women are no exception to this rule. However, I do strongly sympathise with those feminists who realise that women continue to be marginalised, and suffer from (domestic) violence, on a large scale (even in 'Western' societies) - and are willing to fight for a better world. In the Netherlands, a politician like Femke Halsema may be ridiculed by the right-wing elite for continuously (and, according to some, stubbornly) drawing attention to this matter, but I admire her for it (not only for this reason, by the way, but we will talk about Dutch politics some other time). Gender inequality is a problem that needs to be addressed by politicians and opinion makers alike, for it continues to create much suffering worldwide, even though many powerful persons may refuse to acknowledge this fact.

One of the main means by which gender ideology - or, for that matter, any ideology - is communicated and enforced is myth. When I use the word 'myth', I do not mean 'a story that is not true'. For, as a matter of fact, I do not believe human beings are capable of knowing absolute truth, provided that it exists at all (which I seriously doubt, but I have no way of knowing it. Maybe I am wrong, and there actually is such a thing as absolute truth 'out there' - but then, if there is no way of knowing it, it is irrelevant anyway). Rather, I use the word myth in the Barthesian sense of the word: a story that serves to communicate an ideological message, but is not recognised as such - it is 'depoliticised' in the sense that people perceive the stories as self-evident, and do not realise the politics underlying them. For instance, stories about God/gods usually serve to explain and justify the existence of particular social and political patterns, relationships, and behaviour, while being perceived as supernatural accounts of, say, the origins of the world or the history of a 'chosen' people. And yes, that applies to Christian myths as much as to the myths of, say, ancient Greece.

One of the world's most famous myths is undoubtedly the Judeo-Christian origin myth, as it is told in the first chapters of Genesis. This myth has a clear sexist subtext, which has been recognised by many: first, God created man in His image; then, he created woman, the inferior being, from one of man's ribs. More importantly: woman is responsible for man committing original sin, as she is intrinsically weak and therefore cannot be trusted. There is no need to explain why this story is sexist, I assume.

However, one of the interesting features of myths is that they are never static. They may be written down, but they continue to be retold, reemployed, and reinterpreted in different ways, and adapted and adopted in different social and historical contexts. Stories are never finished; powerful as they are, they can always be reinvented and told anew (the most famous example is of course Walt Disney's reemployment of famous European fairytales). As long as there are people who tell them (in whatever way) and interpret them, they continue to exert influence - thus, they continue to change. Myths may be claimed, but they are possessed by nobody, and we always have the opportunity to reappropriate them. Accordingly, in my essay, I have decided to rewrite the myth of Adam and Eve from a different perspective than the version most of us are familiar with.

I wrote my version of Genesis in Dutch. Fortunately, a couple of days ago, my former Leiden classmate Selma discovered it, and offered to post it on her weblog and translate it into English. I think she did a nice job, so I would like to publish her translation on Rotsblog, so that those of you who do not read Dutch can read it as well. I made a few minor changes, but all credits for the translation go to her. Thanks, Selma!

Here it is.



Genesis

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was waste and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep: and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

And God said, 'Let there be light'. And there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good. And God called the light Day, and the darkness Night. Then the first day was at an end. God was tired and went to sleep.

The following day God created the heaven and the sea, the mountains and the rivers, the beach and the forests. And God got excited, and created the fjords, the canyons, and the barren deserts. And God saw that it was good.

On the third day, God awoke and looked at all the beautiful things. They were still a bit empty. And God created the fish in the sea, the birds in the trees, and the little creepy crawlies in the sand. And God saw that it was good.

Gods creating skills improved, so God created the horses and the elephants, the sabertooth tigers and the dinosaurs, the armadillos and the tapirs. And to crown it all God created the blue whales. And God was tired but satisfied, and the fourth day was over.

But on the fifth day God felt a bit lonely. God wanted someone to talk to, a friend. And God created man, and called him Adam. And the fifth day was over, and God went to sleep, only after saying 'Good night' to Adam. And God thought that it was good.
Adam watched his reflection in the water. He was quite pleased with himself. He had a nice full beard, white teeth, clean nails, and muscled arms and legs. 'I am so beautiful,' Adam thought, 'I must look like God. God has created me in His own image'

And Adam walked around, and he saw the creepy crawlies in the sand, the birds in the trees. He saw the sabertooth tiger and the armadillo. 'I am like God,' Adam said, 'but you are not, because I can talk, and you cannot. That means you have to obey me. I am the perfection of Creation.' And Adam was very pleased with himself.

Then he felt something under his foot. It was a little crawly animal, but now it was dead, because Adam had stood on it. Adam got cross. 'Why are you in my way!' he barked. 'Now you have soiled my foot, created in God's own image! Now your dirty little black corpse is on my sole!' And Adam went to the river to wash himself.

When he arrived at the river he saw a fish. He grabbed the fish with his hand. 'What are you doing in my river?' Adam asked. 'This is my river, God promised me this river. He also promised me the land. So all animals must obey me.' He ate the fish. And all animals were scared.

God called for Adam. 'Adam, I want to talk to you, you don't understand!' But Adam did not hear the call, because Adam was too busy bossing around all the animals. God was sad. God had created someone to talk to, but now felt lonelier than ever before. 'I have made a mistake,' God thought. 'I have given man the gifts of speech and thought, but I did not give him the ability to listen, nor to love. How do I make up for this?'

God thought. 'What if I make a second human... one that can love and listen, and can teach Adam how to do that?' And God created the second human, and God called her Eve. She was even more beautiful than the first one.

Adam saw Eve. She was beautiful beyond words. Adam approached her. 'I am Adam,' he said, 'and you have to obey me, because I was created in God's own image.' Eve looked at him. She smiled. 'It's okay,' she said. 'Go to sleep. The sixth day is almost over. Now it is time to rest.'

Adam did not understand what she meant. Her smile scared him. Who was this? 'Who are you?' he asked.

'I am Eve,' said Eve. 'I would like to be your friend. I would like to hear your stories, if you'll listen to mine.' Adam did not know what to say. She was stunning. Her eyes seemed to look straight through him. Her hair was long, and her body was so round and so much more beautiful than his. All of a sudden he was ashamed of his own square body, and of the hair on his face and his chest. For the first time in his existence he felt ugly.

'Go away!' cried Adam. 'I don't want to see you, I want nothing to do with you!' That was a lie. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, look at her, and touch her strange body. But he was afraid to say so. 'Go away!' He cried angrily. Eve was scared, and ran away. She cried. Why wouldn't he listen to her stories? Why did he scare her so?

God called them, but was not heard. Adam and Eve were too involved with themselves and each other, they were no longer able to hear God.

'How can this be?' Adam thought. 'She looks just like me, but still she is so different. We both have two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. We both have ten fingers and ten toes, we both have a bellybutton. We speak the same language but still we cannot understand each other. Why will she not accept my authority? Why is she more beautiful than me?!'

He approached her. She had stopped crying. She had gotten hungry and had taken a piece of fruit from one of the trees. It was delicious. Seeing how much she enjoyed this foreign fruit infuriated Adam. How could she take pleasure from something he did not know? Why hadn't she first asked permission to eat from that tree?

'Why didn't you ask me if you could eat from that tree?' cried Adam. 'That is not just any tree, that is a sacred tree! It is forbidden to eat the fruit, God has told me that in person!' Eva jumped. She did not know that. But how could something that tasted so good, that was sweet and sour and thirst-quenching, be forbidden? Didn't God allow them the good of Creation?

'Now God will always be angry with us,' Adam spoke with a strict voice. 'With us, and with all future generations. And that is your fault. From now on you must obey me, so you cannot commit a sin again. From now on you are my possession. If you refuse I will kill you, like you were a creepy crawly. If you follow me, I will be good to you. Whichever way, we have to flee, away from the tree of God, because God does not want to see us anymore.'

Eve was scared. She did not want to die. He looked dangerous, and strong. She did not want to fight. She wanted to know him, she wanted to see what was hidden behind those cold eyes. Maybe, if she followed him, she would be able to teach him, little by little, to listen, and to love.

'Alright, I'll go with you,' she said. And Adam and Eve left the place where they had met, and fled. They ran from an angry God that they were imagining.

And God saw how Her children ran away, and cried silently. But God knew that parents must learn to let their children go, and that sometimes they cannot hear their parents' voices. And God knew that they were not perfect, but She hoped they would learn to understand each other, learn to love, and that they would not hurt each other too much.

And Adam told his children the story of the sacred tree, and of Eve's guilt, and of the angry God. Eve averted her eyes, and said nothing.

And the children related the story of the tree and the fruit to their children, who then told their children, who told their children thereafter. And none knew what had really happened.


Illustration: Gustave Doré, 'Paradise Lost'

Bericht van Tatou (VI)

Vrolijk Pasen!!! :D Ik hoop dat het goed met jullie gaat. Ik las dat het in Nederland al echt lente begint te worden, met lekker warm weer en bloeiende bloemen en vogeltjes. Ik ben blij voor jullie! Wij hebben de afgelopen maanden alleen maar warm weer gehad. Heerlijk, dat zeker. Maar daardoor missen we nu wel dat fantastische lentegevoel, dat genieten van de ontwakende natuur en van alle nieuwe geuren, die geuren die elk jaar terugkomen maar die je ook elk jaar weer vergeet...

We waren dan ook helemaal niet in de paasstemming, en om de een of andere reden dachten we dat het pas volgende week is. Dom he... En we genoten nog wel van de mooie volle maan en het lampionnenfestival dat ze elke maand met volle maan hier houden, en we realiseerden ons niet eens dat dat iets met Pasen te maken heeft. Dus Aike had Nhung (dat is zijn nieuwe vriendin, je schrijft Nhung maar je zegt ‘Njoem’ ) al gevraagd of ze volgende week zondag vrij wilde nemen zodat we naar de kerk konden gaan en een paasbrunch konden eten en een mooie wandeling konden maken enzo. Nou, en toen kwamen we er vanmiddag achter dat het vandaag Pasen is... Oeps... :(

Maar goed toen hebben we het vanavond toch nog goed gemaakt. Aike en Nhung gingen naar de markt en ze kwamen terug met allemaal lekkere dingen. Heel veel eieren, natuurlijk: gewone kippeneieren (daarvan ging Aike gevulde eieren maken, mmm! :) ), en kleine kwarteleitjes met zwarte spikkels en vlekken, en ook vier hele gekke eieren. Het waren eendeneieren met daaromheen de bruine vliesjes van rijstkorrels, en van binnen waren ze zwart! Dat was omdat ze gefermenteerd waren ofzo, verrot betekent dat... En die gingen we eten, met sojasaus en gebakken uitjes en rijst, en dat was eigenlijk best wel lekker! En Aike maakte lekkere spaghetti en we hadden rode wijn, en tijdens het eten koken vertelde hij ons het verhaal van hoe dat ging met Jezus, dat ze hem dood wilden maken omdat ze het gevaarlijk vonden dat hij zo populair was en hun macht en regels niet accepteerde, maar na zijn dood kreeg hij nog meer volgelingen en toen gingen de mensen geloven dat hij een god was en ze vertelden het verhaal dat hij nadat hij was gestorven weer was opgestaan. Net als de natuur elk jaar in de lente! Ik vond het een mooi verhaal, en we luisterden ondertussen naar hele mooie muziek, daar zongen ze over hetzelfde verhaal. Het was de muziek van Bach, die had Aike gelukkig op z’n eipod staan.

Ik weet niet zeker of Jezus echt een god was of niet. Misschien wel een zoon van God, maar dat is niet zo raar want we zijn allemaal kinderen van God. Misschien dat hij Haar iets beter kon verstaan dan sommige anderen. Maar misschien werd hij na zijn dood ook wel echt een god. Heel veel mensen geloven dat, en ze maken beelden van hem en bidden naar hem en vertellen zijn verhaal. Dan wordt het vanzelf een beetje waar, denk ik.

Hier in huis hebben we ook een god. Hij woont in de keuken, bovenin. Hij zorgt voor het vuur waarop we koken en hij houdt een oogje in het zeil. Ik weet niet hoe hij heet, maar we noemen hem de god van de keuken, want dat is hij ook. En hij heeft twee rode lampjes, die we aandoen als we tot hem bidden en hem eten geven. Eerst bananen en toen de pompoen en vandaag gaven we hem een watermeloen. Ik mocht ook bidden. Ik nam de drie wierookstokjes tussen mijn poten, en boog drie keer, en toen deden we de wierook in het schaaltje naast de watermeloen. En we wensten de god van de keuken een vrolijk Pasen, maar ik weet niet zeker of hij wel wist wat dat is. Hij zal zich wel afgevraagd hebben waarom we zoveel eieren klaarmaakten! ;)

De kwarteleitjes gingen we niet opeten, maar verstoppen. Eerst was het de beurt aan Aike en mij om te verstoppen, en Nhung moest zoeken. Nou ze was heel goed, ze had ze alle tien binnen een kwartier gevonden. Zelfs de ene die ik onder mijn buik verstopt had! ;) Toen ging zij verstoppen en Aike zoeken, maar hij is niet bepaald de beste zoeker ter wereld dus hij deed er veel langer over! Maar met een beetje hulp vond hij ze uiteindelijk wel. En toen gingen we nog lekker kitkat eten, want Pasen zonder chocola, dat kan natuurlijk niet! :)

Dus het was uiteindelijk toch nog een mooi Paasfeest. En verder bevalt het me ook prima hier in ons nieuwe huisje. Soms mis ik wel een beetje alle mooie tempels en de bergen van de afgelopen maanden. Maar ik vind het ook wel lekker om weer een eigen plekje te hebben. Alleen vervelend dat hiernaast een karaoke zit (oooh wat kunnen sommige mensen toch LELIJK VALS zingen! :D), maar gelukkig hebben ze niet zo veel klanten, en alleen overdag, niet ’s nachts. En stom dat het internet het zo vaak niet doet. Maar verder gaat het heel goed! Ik heb lekker tijd om te lezen en te wandelen. Aike moet nu in de avonden werken in Danang, en dan gaat hij op zijn motorfiets daarheen, en overdag is hij bezig met schrijven of koken of met de houten boeddha’s, dus we hebben wel minder tijd voor uitstapjes. Maar ik zorg er wel voor dat hij me ook af en toe meeneemt voor een ritje!

Oh ja, nog iets anders: ik heb sinds kort mijn eigen profiel op facebook! Joepie! :) Zitten jullie ook op facebook? Dan moet je me toevoegen hoor! Vandaag hebben we alle foto’s van mij van de afgelopen maanden er op gezet... Wel 90 foto’s! In Thailand en Maleisië en Indonesië en Cambodja en Vietnam. Je hoeft geen lid te zijn van facebook om de foto’s te bekijken, dus iedereen kan ze nu zien! En dan zie je waar we allemaal geweest zijn. Ze staan op:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=71580&id=579593463&l=171ab1577a en
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=71594&id=579593463&l=ea2cc021af .

Veel kijkplezier, ik hoop dat jullie de foto’s leuk vinden!

Ok, dat was het voor deze keer. Geniet van het mooie weer, en tot ziens! Ik hoop dat jullie hier een keertje op bezoek komen. En in augustus komen wij als het lukt met zijn drieën naar Nederland, dan kunnen we natuurlijk ook bijkletsen.

Liefs,
Tatou