Free Speech Is Tricky

Beginning this one is a bit sketchy. It comes in the wake of the assassination of prominent free-speech advocate Charlie Kirk. He paid the ultimate price for speaking his mind. And in no way should anyone condone such an act—a response to differing ideas so despicable that it should never be tolerated by any ideology.

But here is the even trickier part: hordes of people celebrated the death of Kirk. Educators, employees, and influencers have posted some deplorable comments simply because they disagreed with him. Most of us—whether left, right, center, or unengaged—recoil at the thought of someone cheering on a killing, the silencing of a voice. Afterall, nobody is REQUIRED to ride the Charlie Kirk bandwagon. The natural reaction is to want those voices silenced or punished for exercising their right to free speech, especially if they are insensitive or intolerant enough to welcome such an atrocious act.

And now it gets stickier. If we truly believe in the rights to free speech, then we should not necessarily call for punishments of insensitive speech, however vile we may find it. The painful part of free speech is protecting it. I remember a civics class in high school, learning that free speech isn’t there to protect the ideas we agree with. Its function is to protect the opinions we disagree with. Of course, that protection ends with any calls to violence or harm to others—period.

While this may seem a dichotomy, there is also a price to free speech: one is free to say what one pleases, but sometimes that comes with consequences. Remember, the First Amendment is Congress shall make no law ... abridging the freedom of speech. But should we, as citizens, call for the silencing of uncomfortable statements? Cancel culture peaked not too long ago, and the majority of us didn’t like it. If an educator celebrates Kirk’s death in the course of their job, then yes, that calls for dismissal. But if they post such commentary on their personal social-media platform, I am not certain it is cause for termination, regardless of how unacceptable I may find the sentiment. That goes for any employee of any company as well. Employees should also keep in mind that they are, whether active or not, ambassadors for their employers. Behavior and character reflect on the brand—most especially in this day of social media.

Still, much of the condition of free speech in the twenty-first century is that it is enjoyed from the safety of social media. Half of what many people share politically comes from the protection of anonymity or from thumbing opinions into a smartphone while sitting alone at home. The majority of what is being posted would never survive a face-to-face discussion. One-sided conversations are easy; human interactive discourse is hard. Social media offers no control rod of in-person conversation with a dissenter.

Where does this leave us?

It is obvious—and widely acknowledged—that we, as a society, nationally and globally, are not in a good place. In moments like this, it is easy to gravitate toward sympathetic choruses, to react in anger at voices we despise, and to march them into the square for retribution. But free speech is fragile, and we need to take a beat. If, in blind rage, we silence those who offend us, we risk building a world where speech is permitted only when it pleases the majority—whichever majority happens to be in power. A man was killed for exercising his right to speak; the worst tribute we could pay him is to respond by shrinking that right for everyone else.

There is a line between speech in a private capacity and speech in a public role. When someone speaks as a teacher in front of students, or as an anchor representing a network, their words carry institutional weight. In that context, consequences may be fair. But when speech is made in private life—at home, among friends, or on a personal social feed—the standard should be higher before we call for punishment. Otherwise, the boundary between one’s private voice and professional role erodes, and soon every word we utter becomes a liability.

Age and Race Clash over Netflix's Hannibal, Starring Denzel Washington

 A historical clash erupted last month when Netflix announced that it was producing a film on Hannibal Barca, staring Denzel Washington. The skirmish is over Washington being black. So why is that an issue? For me, I am less concerned with the portrayal of Hannibal's ethnicity than I am with something else, which I will get to but let's begin the race question with context. 

Image credit: Fiction Horizon

Hannibal Barca was one of history's greatest military figures. He led the first full army over the Alps and into Roman-era Italy, which freaked everybody out, especially Rome. And for the next 20 years, Hannibal wrought havoc on the Roman republic to the point that his name struck intense fear in Roman society. He was born in Carthage, a Mediterranean Sea-side city-state in northern Africa near the site of present-day Tunis. And there is a revisionist continent that insists that African means sub-Saharan African--in another word, black. This has a tendency to insert an element of racism into Carthage/Roman conflict that wasn't there. But back to Hannibal himself. Was he black? Unlikely. As a Carthaginian, he was of Phoenician decent. These were a semitic people from the eastern Mediterranean. Their home city was Tyre. But it was Carthage that put them on the map. By 218 BC (Hannibal's time) Carthage had built enormous influence and commerce spanning from present-day Spain, across Saharan Africa into Egypt, and northward to what is now Lebanon. 

There is no question that a seafaring, colonizing people would intermix with the indigenous people they came into contact with. Indeed, DNA testing of sampled remains from Carthage itself shows this. But was Hannibal black? We will never know for certain because the fate of his remains are unknown, as he committed suicide whilst evading Romans long after Carthage fell after the Third Punic War--the final war between Rome and Carthage in which Rome burned the city and sold off surviving citizens into slavery. To be clear, Rome did not enslave people based on race. They enslaved anyone. If you weren't a Roman citizen, you were considered a barbarian. Gauls from the region that now includes France, Germany, and a host of other modern European nations were slaves, as were Middle Easterners or anyone who irritated Rome. 

Attribution*

Does it matter?

In some ways no and in others yes. Netflix really fouled up with its docuseries on Cleopatra, claiming it was accurate when it was not. Why? To lead off, it portrayed Cleopatra as black--not even Egyptian. In truth, there were several Cleopatras of Egypt, but the famed Ptolemaic Cleopatra was Macedonian--a close relative of the Greeks. Egypt historians and archeologists contested the portrayal based on, well, highly documented history about her heritage. Egypt doesn't even claim her as Egyptian because she wasn't. Just deciding that Hannibal was black is lazy from a historical discipline. 

Where does this leave Hannibal?

In terms of Hannibal's heritage, we know who is father was--another great Carthaginian general named Hamilcar Barca. In Carthaginian society, he was an Phoenician aristocrat. Hannibal's mother is at present unknown to history. So let's proceed from what we do know. Hannibal was not white, certainly not western European. Likely he was darker skinned along the tones consistent with the eastern Mediterranean. Again, his blood heritage was Semitic. Additionally, Hannibal's physical appearance is not recorded in any indisputable form--either in word or images. There is no direct evidence. Consequently, it's best to go with what you know and there is one immutable fact: Hannibal was born in Africa, so that makes him fully African. However, if you want to throw a wrench into the mix, much of his young life was spent in Iberia--what is now Spain. So, in another sense, he was Spanish. 

A reason for addressing the race issue is to withdraw the racism element to the Punic Wars. They were about Rome being threatened by another economic power. And Carthage aggressively encroached on Roman frontiers. And Rome's primary defensive strategy was almost always to attack in those situations. 

What's the other issue?

Denzel Washington is, himself, an issue. Not because of race, but because of his age. He is 69 years old, which is a few years older than the age of Hannibal's death. No big deal there. I'm curious, however, to see how the story will be structured. Hannibal was 28 or 29 when he assumed command of Carthage's army. He ravaged Roman Italy until he was almost fifty. After that, he proved an exceptional, reformist civic administrator, bringing Carthage of out Roman economic oppression following the Second Punic War. Will the film be Hannibal looking back on his life as he runs from Rome--hellbent on capturing him and executing him? Does the plot pick up on his life rebuilding Carthage after his defeat at the Battle of Zama? 

This is a film I will see. First, Hannibal is one of my heroes from history. In fact, I am writing a historical fiction novel about him. Naturally that leaves me curious. But Denzel Washington is a fine actor and producer, so I trust that the film will have quality in both story and production value--and no doubt performances. In terms of controversy, obviously it is there, but then, Hollywood always takes creative license with characters and stories from history. There is almost never a pure work product based on history. And the lesson here is simple: Let films like this inspire a desire to learn more, but don't take it as gospel. 

*This image has been created during "DensityDesign Integrated Course Final Synthesis Studio" at  Politecnico di Milano, organized by DensityDesign Research Lab in 2016. Credits goes to Agata Brilli, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

The Nature of Heaven and Hell

I’ve been pondering the afterlife, motivated by a nightly prayer routine that includes the hope that my deceased family members are in Heaven. As a lifelong Catholic and the son of a woman quite literally raised by nuns, praying that loved ones are in Heaven is a thing. The question is: What is Heaven, and by contrast, what is hell?

My suspicions about the afterlife have evolved since the days of daily religion class at St, Cecilia’s Catholic School. No doubt, Sisters Maria, Patricia, and Virginia are giving me the hairy eyeball at the moment. Still, the notion of places above and below doesn’t necessarily track for me—an opinion I share with Bart Ehrman. But we’ll get to him momentarily. The idea of the afterlife seems to make less sense as a schism between good and bad people, and more of a community of souls—perhaps the analogy of a river or ocean of entities swirling together for the most intimate of relationships. Hold on, you say, because the Bible tells us about Heaven and Hell. Besides, there must be a reward for the good and punishment for those unkind, “evil” ones who sided against God. Okay, let’s look at that.

The afterlife started off in the Old Testament as a pretty bleak outcome. I believe the name of the place where the dead went was called Sheol. Jacob in Genesis 37:36 first mentions it when he is told of his son Joseph's death. "I shall go down to my son a mourner unto Sheol. [Note that in the Catholic Bible, it comes up under Genisis 37:35 and Sheol is substituted with “nether world.”] For the most part, Sheol was a place of nothingness—simply the ultimate eternal destination of those who passed. The assumption of the ancient Jews was that you die and into the “pit” you go. It’s neither Heaven nor Hell, it is just where the dead go—oblivion, really. Even later in Psalms, it’s just the grave or pit rather than a place of an afterlife.

Ultimately, though, the Bible reveals that there would eventually be a resurrection of the dead, the faithful having earned what the Book of Daniel (12:2-3, 12:13) mentions as “live forever” while the naughty would suffer in “everlasting horror.” Those are your first signs of Heaven and Hell, reward and punishment, in the Old Testament—that I know of, anyway.

Somewhere between Daniel and the coming of Jesus Christ, the notion of an afterlife evolved. Now, some of that is surely influenced by the nature of the Gentiles, of which many were Greek or heavily influenced by Greece. Consequently, there’d be some assimilation of Greek philosophy into the DNA of the New Testament. Indeed, it’s crucial to the New Testament because Paul was raised a Greek-speaking Jew. And as time wore on, some of that Greek influence—particularly the concept of Hades—worked its way into his thinking. This where we bring back Bart Erhman.

Ehrman examines the question of Heaven and Hell quite a bit and spoke about it on a recent NPR broadcast. He is a distinguished professor of religious studies at The University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Here’s the rub, however: Although a former altar boy in the Episcopal Church and later a born-again fundamentalist evangelical Christian, Ehrman is now an agnostic atheist.  He says he doesn’t really know if there is a superior being in the universe, but he doesn’t believe there is. Ehrman admits he knows nothing, really, nor does he believe in anything.  Nevertheless, he is incredibly well versed in scripture and, to be honest, brings a solid foundation of history to the discussion. His only weakness is his lack of faith, or, perhaps, disillusionment.

Nevertheless, Ehrman concurs with my statement that our assumptions about Heaven and Hell come not from the Old Testament; although he takes it a step further and says not even the actual teachings of Jesus Christ. According to Ehrman, Heaven and Hell is an afterthought by the Gospel authors and tempered heavily with an impatience with the Lord’s time frame for bringing the Kingdom of God.

Say what?

First, you have to understand that authors, be they of fiction, nonfiction, or scriptures bring their own viewpoints to the subject matter. No matter how detached one might pretend to be, a little editorial or artistic license works its way in. It’s human nature. And that’s where a little Greek mythos comes into our New Testament picture of the afterlife.

Having been raised in Turkey among a heavy Greek influence (yes, many Greeks lived in Turkey—probably much of the reason for mutual Greco-Turkish consternation), must have introduced Paul to the concept of Hades, that moment where the spirit, the soul, is separated from the body and transported or transmuted to the underworld. It’s in this afterplace where good and bad people split. But hold onto that.

Back to Ehrman who makes two important historical points: One is that there was a brand of Jews he calls the apocalypticists, to which he assigns both Paul and Jesus. Apocalypticists evolved the opinion that suffering in the world is because people sin against God, for which the sinner is punished. Essentially, evil, usually personified in the devil or as Satan, along with his followers, is aligned against God and thereby spawns global misery. This viewpoint began, according to Ehrman, 200 years before Jesus. They believed that God would soon destroy forces of evil, enabling the world to resume its utopia and for those people who were on the side of God—be they alive or dead, with the righteous dead being resurrected. God’s new kingdom would be here on Earth. However, as time went on, it was clear that the end times were, well, not on time. Or, at least, the end times weren’t on the early Christian timeline.  

But Jesus said...

Christ taught us that the Kingdom of God is coming. We tend to read that as the end of all time, Judgement Day, the Heavenly Kingdom. Ehrman makes a compelling case that Jesus didn’t so much believe in Heaven as an apocalypticist Jew, not in the separation of soul and body. God will destroy the forces of evil, raise the dead, and those who have been on God's side, especially those who follow Jesus' teachings, will enter the new kingdom here on Earth.

Ehrman says, “They'll be physical. They'll be in bodies. And they will live here on Earth—where the paradise will be. So Jesus taught that the kingdom of God, this new physical place, was coming soon, and those who did not get into the kingdom were going to be annihilated.”

“Please hold.”

When this didn’t happen when everyone, as in early Christians, thought, well, it must be that Jesus was talking a longer calendar. Consequently, Jesus must have meant that the coming of the Kingdom of God is in the afterlife. Thus, Paul concepted that the good would have residence with Christ in Heaven until the end of creation. This launches our idea of Heaven and Hell—continued existence without physical remains. If you’re good—you live in Heaven; if not so good, Hell. Gentiles bought into it because so many were converts were from Greek influences. These were people already accepting of life after death.

What about Revelations? My personal view is that Revelations is an allegory of the battle been early Christianity and the Roman Empire. Although, Revelations tracks with the apocalypticst viewpoint while being wholly counter to a forgiving God. Still, Ehrman makes a compelling point that screwing up for 70 years earning you an eternity or even trillions of years in agony seems pretty extreme.

Then, if Heaven and Hell as we’ve come to know them are seemingly constructs, then what is the afterlife and how does it relate to Heaven and Hell?

Here’s my thinking: If we are indeed imbued with an inherent spirit, intelligence, energy—all comprising the soul, then it is not something snuffed out by physical death. A star explodes and yet its remnants give birth to other stars. In other words, energy is infinite. I genuinely believe we exist beyond the body. Of course, Neil DeGrasse Tyson dismisses this because he asks, “Can you remember before you were born?” No, stupid, because I had not been created prior to conception. My soul had not existed prior to my conception. God may have known me before my creation, but that is only because God is infinite and not bound by linear time.

A sidebar, by the way, God is a very small word trying to encompass something way beyond our understanding. Keep that in mind.

River of dreams

Back to the soul and what happens after death. Imagine the afterlife is a community of souls. Earlier I used the analogy of a river or ocean of entities swirling together for the most intimate of relationships. This began from a film I saw as a boy that really resonated with me—to this day. Houseboat starred Cary Grant playing a character whose estranged wife died, and with whom his three children came to live. In a very cool scene where Grant explains the afterlife to his youngest son struggling to understand death and the loss of his mother, they’re sitting on the side of the houseboat floating on a river. Grant holds up a pitcher of water and says it’s like the boy's Mom, the pitcher is her body, and the water her spirit. He pours the water into the river. The pitcher is empty but where did the water go? That’s like death, Grant explains. Her spirit goes into the universe and a great river. She’s not gone.

It makes sense that all we are and know go into that great ocean of the universe—a community of souls. How intimate is it that our consciousness all intertwine and we genuinely experience communion. That’s not to say there isn’t some degree of punishment. After all, that community could know all that you’ve ever done or thought—know your sins. There would be some separation or rejection from those whom you’ve harmed over time, but then there would be infinite wisdom and forgiveness. Imagine that. Both Heaven and Hell as one, and within that—ultimate forgiveness.