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PALGRAVE STUDIES IN COMICS AND GRAPHIC NOVELS
REFRAMING THE
PERPETRATOR
IN CONTEMPORARY
COMICS
On the Importance of the Strange
Dragoș Manea
Palgrave Studies in Comics and Graphic Novels
Series Editor
Roger Sabin
University of the Arts London
London, UK
This series concerns Comics Studies—with a capital “c” and a capital “s.”
It feels good to write it that way. From emerging as a fringe interest within
Literature and Media/Cultural Studies departments, to becoming a minor
field, to maturing into the fastest growing field in the Humanities, to
becoming a nascent discipline , the journey has been a hard but spectacular
one. Those capital letters have been earned.
Palgrave Studies in Comics and Graphic Novels covers all aspects of the
comic strip, comic book, and graphic novel, explored through clear and
informative texts offering expansive coverage and theoretical sophistica-
tion. It is international in scope and provides a space in which scholars
from all backgrounds can present new thinking about politics, history,
aesthetics, production, distribution, and reception as well as the digital
realm. Books appear in one of two forms: traditional monographs of
60,000 to 90,000 words and shorter works (Palgrave Pivots) of 20,000 to
50,000 words. All are rigorously peer-reviewed. Palgrave Pivots include
new takes on theory, concise histories, and—not least—considered provo-
cations. After all, Comics Studies may have come a long way, but it can’t
progress without a little prodding.
Series Editor Roger Sabin is Professor of Popular Culture at the
University of the Arts London, UK. His books include Adult Comics: An
Introduction and Comics, Comix and Graphic Novels , and he is part of the
team that put together the Marie Duval Archive. He serves on the boards
of key academic journals in the field, reviews graphic novels for interna-
tional media, and consults on comics-related projects for the BBC,
Channel 4, Tate Gallery, The British Museum and The British Library.
The ‘Sabin Award’ is given annually at the International Graphic Novels
and Comics Conference.
Dragoș Manea
Reframing the
Perpetrator in
Contemporary Comics
On the Importance of the Strange
Dragoș Manea
English Department
University of Bucharest
Bucharest, Romania
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2022
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
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electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now
known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
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in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the
publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect
to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made.
The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and
institutional affiliations.
This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG.
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
To Mihaela and Eric,
may you always dazzle
Acknowledgments
vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
enough to explore many of the comics I analyze in this book. I’m thankful
to my friends George Birloiu, Dana Mihăilescu, and Andrei Nae for their
constant encouragement, advice, and support. I am especially grateful to
Alexandra Bacalu, who was always there with me through hard times and
helped me onward. Professor Mihaela Irimia and Professor Rodica
Mihăilă—my doctoral and postdoctoral advisors—greatly influenced my
development as a scholar and allowed for the genesis of this book. I owe
my frequent writing partner Mihaela Precup a special kind of gratitude for
the generosity with which she has helped shape this project—through
guidance and critique—across the years; no one has taught me more about
comics or the metamorphoses of life.
This book would not have been possible without you.
My work on this project was supported by grant PN-III-
P1-1.1-PD-2019-0460, no. 85/2020, The Representation of the Perpetrator
and the Ethics of Empathy in American Graphic Narratives, and PN-III-
P4-ID-PCE-2020-1631, no. 101/2021, Familiar Perpetrators: On the
Intimacy of Evil in Contemporary American Literature and Popular
Culture, offered by UEFISCDI.
An earlier version of Chapter 2 was published in Studies in Comics 8,
no. 2 (2017): 157–170.
Contents
1 Introduction:
Perpetration, Estrangement, and Historical
Debt 1
2 “Nothing
was spared”: Monstrosity and the Sympathetic
Perpetrator in Manifest Destiny (Chris Dingess and
Matthew Roberts, 2013–) 21
3 “Divine
the future, but beware of ghosts”: Romanticism,
Satire, and Perpetration in The New Adventures of Hitler
(Grant Morrison and Steve Yeowell, 1989) 51
4 “May
they never get their hands on a monster like that”:
Perpetration and Moral Ambiguity in Kieron Gillen’s
Über (2013–) 79
5 Who
are you crying for?: Perpetration and Punishment in
Nina Bunjevac’s Bezimena (2019)109
6 “Unable
to protect anyone”: Terrorism, Salvation, and
Cultural Intelligibility in Gene Luen Yang’s
Boxers & Saints (2013)143
ix
x CONTENTS
7 Conclusion191
Index195
List of Figures
xi
xii LIST OF FIGURES
Fig. 3.7 The future ghost of John Lennon in The New Adventures of
Hitler (1990, n. pag.). (© Fleetway) 74
Fig. 4.1 A depiction of the sexual violence practiced by the Red Army in
Über #0 (2013, n. pag.). (© Avatar Press) 90
Fig. 4.2 Double page spread depicting the mass murder of Soviet
prisoners of war in Über #1 (2013, n. pag.). (© Avatar Press) 94
Fig. 4.3 Superhuman violence in Über #0 (2013, n. pag.).
(© Avatar Press) 95
Fig. 4.4 The mass murder of Soviet prisoners of war from a different
angle in Über #1 (2013, n. pag.). (© Avatar Press) 96
Fig. 4.5 A contrast between the features of the rapist and the ethical
soldier in Über #0 (2013, n. pag.). (© Avatar Press) 99
Fig. 4.6 Churchill’s desecration in Über #11 (2014, n. pag.). (© Avatar
Press)105
Fig. 5.1 Stillness and abstraction in Bezimena (2019, n. pag.). (©
Fantagraphics)115
Fig. 5.2 Motion lines and the intrusion of sound in Bezimena (2019, n.
pag.). (© Fantagraphics) 116
Fig. 5.3 Superimposition suggesting conventional panels in Bezimena
(2019, n. pag.). (© Fantagraphics) 118
Fig. 5.4 An owl observing Benny in Bezimena (2019, n. pag.). (©
Fantagraphics)123
Fig. 5.5 A snake looking toward the reader in Bezimena (2019, n. pag.).
(© Fantagraphics) 124
Fig. 5.6 Becky’s sketchbook, mirroring the design of Bezimena (2019,
n. pag.). (© Fantagraphics) 134
Fig. 5.7 Bezimena’s central question (2019, n. pag.). (© Fantagraphics) 137
Fig. 6.1 Vibiana’s vision of Jesus Christ in Saints (2013, 158). (© Gene
Luen Yang) 149
Fig. 6.2 Lee Bao and Mei-wen’s dream of Guan Yin in Boxers (2013,
282). (© Gene Luen Yang) 152
Fig. 6.3 The depiction of the Gods of the Opera appropriates the
aesthetics of the superhero tradition in Boxers (2013, 128). (©
Gene Luen Yang) 166
Fig. 6.4 Saints largely appropriates the aesthetics of autobiographical
comics (2013, 55). (© Gene Luen Yang) 167
Fig. 6.5 Lee Bao’s last divine outfit in Boxers (2013, 128). (© Gene
Luen Yang) 180
Fig. 6.6 One of Lee Bao’s post-traumatic dreams in Boxers (2013, 191).
(© Gene Luen Yang) 183
Fig. 6.7 The employment of the YA love plot in Boxers, even after Lee
Bao has engaged in mass murder (2013, 267). (© Gene Luen
Yang)185
CHAPTER 1
In his poem “The Problem Is How to Thank,” John Dolan asks three
questions that I have often struggled with: “How do you thank the dead
Ukrainian?”;1 “What would be the perfect gift for the old woman who
stepped directly in front of Descartes when the Mongol aimed at him?”;
“What can you write on the thank-you card with its picture of a kitten to
the Persian archer who delayed Subotai a second or two so that Voltaire
could perfect his dialogue?” (1995, n. pag.). By playfully bridging the vast
historical distance that exists between the thirteenth-century Mongol
invasion of Kievan Rus’ and two of the foundational figures of Western
modernity, Dolan invites us to consider the historical debt we owe to vic-
tims that are absent from Western cultural memory, groups, and individu-
als we neither memorialize nor mourn. Yet he also signals another question:
To what extent have the last few centuries of Western domination over the
1
When I started work on this chapter in early 2022, I did not expect Dolan’s question—
“How do you thank the dead Ukrainian?”—to have the profound contemporary significance
it has today (February 25, 2022), shortly after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. This book is
probably not the proper place to discuss my views on the conflict (and I am neither a histo-
rian nor a political scientist working on Eastern Europe). Suffice to say, I think it is a dreadful
war, grounded in geopolitical concerns and the nationalist fantasies I decry later in this chap-
ter. My only hope is that my discussion of the Ukrainian question, inflected as it is by the
current context, can do its little part in drawing attention to the larger, bloodier history of
the region and to the many innocent lives lost in the name of conquest and expansion.
rest of the world been predicated on the sacrifices of people from what
some used to call the “second world,” those on the peripheries—who
enjoyed fewer of the benefits—of the European West? How should the
beneficiaries of historical tragedies think of the debt they owe to the dead
that are not their own?
More so, what do we owe the Mongols themselves? Without their con-
quest and crippling of China and much of the Middle East, the West might
not have enjoyed centuries of imperialism and prosperity. A historical acci-
dent—the death of the Great Khan Ögedei—prematurely halted the
Mongol invasion of Europe. Had Ögedei lived, the Mongols might well
have inflicted similar damage—the estimates range at about 40 million,
often brutal, deaths—on the great kingdoms of Western Europe. While
some contemporary historians are often quick to highlight the benefits of
Mongol rule—such as the imposition of order on the Silk Road and the
subsequent expansion of globalization—they have a tendency to down-
play, as Dan Carlin argues, the incredible cruelty that lay at the foundation
of the Mongol Empire: the casual dehumanization of the people they con-
quered and the terrible violence they often inflicted upon them (2012).
What do we owe to—and to what extent is our historical privilege
grounded in—the deeds of evil men?2
Like the Romans and other conquering peoples, the Mongols
murdered and enslaved millions. Yet, as revisionist historian Marie
Favereau argues in her book The Horde: How the Mongols Changed the
World, they also enabled what she calls “the Mongol exchange” (a refer-
ence to the more familiar Columbian exchange): “a monumental shift that
facilitated the flourishing of art, the development of skilled crafts, and the
progress of research in various areas such as botany, medicine, astronomy,
2
My use of the word “evil” in this book is largely consonant with Hannah Arendt’s under-
standing of it: “evil is never ‘radical,’ that it is only extreme, and that it possesses neither
depth nor any demonic dimension” (2007, 471). I employ it both because of its rhetorical
power and because I want to stress the importance of evil as a moral concept, one that allows
us to make a distinction between actions and inactions that are merely “very wrong” and
those that are qualitatively evil (Calder 2013). While I’m not trying to suggest any theologi-
cal or metaphysical dimensions—and I mostly follow Todd Calder’s argument that evil acts
can be distinguished by at least two components, significant harm and e-motivation—I am
aware that the vocabulary of evil and monstrosity potentially buttresses a popular under-
standing of evil that renders evildoers inhuman or beyond ordinary humanity, as well as “a
critical reluctance to fully surrender theological and occult figurations of these phenomena”
(Adams 2013, 3). My choice to employ this somewhat controversial term is grounded in a
belief that evil and monstrosity are not beyond human but inherently human.
1 INTRODUCTION: PERPETRATION, ESTRANGEMENT, AND HISTORICAL DEBT 3
What the rest of us dream of is the Khan’s horde: the black arrow that swept
across Eurasia like a hundred-mile wide cropduster, leaving utter silence in
its wake. Every boy who came on the Mongols in the “M” volume of the
encyclopedia slobbered over those black arrows on the map, placed the flat
of his hand over them and moved it forward following the path of the
Horde, making little hissing noises as he imagined the progress of Death
incarnate. (2002, n. pag.)
3
The Mongols have rarely been aestheticized and sexualized to the same degree as the
Nazis in the West. Often, they haven’t even been portrayed as perpetrators at all. Most of the
films that focus on Genghis Khan, for instance, concentrate on his rise to power and often
feature his romantic relationship with Börte, his first wife. The tagline to one of the posters
for Dick Powell’s The Conqueror (1956)—which absurdly stars an aging John Wayne as the
future Great Khan—reads: “I am Temujin… Barbarian… I fight! I love! I conquer… like a
barbarian!” The tagline neatly juxtaposes orientalist cliches of barbarian seduction with John
Wayne’s conventional white masculinity. The Mongol conqueror is instrumentalized in order
to fulfill Western fantasies of power.
4 D. MANEA
subjects “help propagate the legacies of historical violence and prop up the
structures of inequality that mar the present” (Rothberg 2019, 1).
While I am somewhat skeptical of the political potential of the cate-
gory—of its ability to substantially foster solidarity and social change—in
a world in which the comforts of privilege for many of us in the Global
North far outweigh our insubstantial pangs of conscience, I do think it
present us with an interesting ethical problem: how should we, by inhabit-
ing the position of implicated subjects, interact with narratives of perpetra-
tion that have substantially shaped the conditions of our everyday lives?
Chris Dingess, the writer of the comic book series Manifest Destiny, which
I discuss at length in Chap. 2, draws a parallel between the ideas that
grounded American colonial expansionism in the nineteenth century and
those that still shadow our existence today. In a rare editorial at the end of
issue 25—in which he endeavors to attract both attention and funding to
the Dakota Access Pipeline protests—Dingess writes:
Our heroes are terrible white men “of their time,” marching through our
infant nation doing horrible things while expressing ugly thoughts and
views on sex, gender, and race. Hopefully, it makes the reader consider if
these ideas are truly dated, or how many people hold them to this day […]
“Manifest Destiny” is not a thing of the past. The Dakota Access Pipeline
and the danger it presents to the Standing Rock Reservation is happening
today. (2017, n. pag.)
Dingess’s editorial lays bare, I think, both the ethical benefits of asking
readers to assume the position of implicated subjects and its potential limi-
tations. Despite Dingess’s avowed desire to connect the Native American
genocide—to which his series frequently alludes—to contemporary injus-
tices faced by indigenous people in the United States, one reader, follow-
ing the editorial, wrote back to ask Dingess and his team to “drop the
white privilege bullshit” (2017, Manifest Destiny #27, n. pag.), threaten-
ing to stop purchasing the comic, while another one entreated them not
to “make this book political” (2017, Manifest Destiny #30, n. pag.). Even
a work that directly—if sometimes perhaps too subtly—positions its read-
ers to consider the consequences of genocide cannot force them to do so.
The editorial’s overtness asks readers to engage politically; the series’ sub-
tlety only allows them a space in which to ponder their debt to colonialism
and the genocide that it entailed—but only to the extent that they are
willing to do so.
8 D. MANEA
The comics I discuss in the following five chapters are grounded in his-
tory—even as they are inflected by the often-estranging presence of fan-
tasy—and foster a sense of implicatedness; they connect us to a now distant
past that most of us have only experienced “prosthetically,” through media
representations (Landsberg 2004), but which still structures our present:
1800s America, as colonialism expands; Liverpool shortly before the
beginning of the First World War and Berlin moments before its fall in the
Second; a mysterious interwar city, hinting at the darkness that would
engulf Yugoslavia before its descent into civil war; and fin de siècle China,
a country ravaged by the exploitative excesses of European colonialism,
starting to fight back. The works I analyze remediate histories of violence
and perpetration but they often do so in a subversive manner. Instead of
solidifying “cultural memory, creating and stabilizing certain narratives
and icons of the past” (Erll 2008, 393), they work to actively destabilize
remembrance, allowing readers to reconsider histories that have far too
often been framed heroically.
In doing so, they enable what Susanne C. Knittel calls an “ethics of
discomfort,” a term she takes over from Michel Foucault and describes as
“first and foremost a willingness to tolerate ambiguity and uncertainty and
to question one’s own assumptions and the conceptual frameworks
according to which one apprehends the world” (2020, 380). For Knittel,
an ethics of discomfort also requires an acknowledgment of our implicat-
edness in contemporary “structures of inequality and political violence”
that are engendered in part by past instances of atrocity. Discomfort is
produced at the intersection between our nascent responsibility to critique
the structures that govern our social and political lives and our realization
that our individual power to foment change is profoundly limited. Knittel
argues that while this should not keep us from attempting to redress social
and political ills, an ethics of discomfort also implies “a form of modesty
regarding what one can achieve” (2020, 380). Manifest Destiny, for
instance, can suggest that the United States is built on a legacy of geno-
cide but it cannot persuade all of its readers. Despite this, the ethics of
discomfort that it produces has the potential to at least convince some of
its readers to consider the processes of perpetration that have given shape
to contemporary American society and to ponder the similarities that exist
between themselves and perpetrators of genocide.
1 INTRODUCTION: PERPETRATION, ESTRANGEMENT, AND HISTORICAL DEBT 9
military machine; Ulli Lust and Marcel Beyer’s Voices in the Dark (2017)
looks at Joseph Goebbels’ family life in the closing days of the Second
World War; Nora Krug’s Heimat (2018) recuperates her own family’s
involvement with the Nazi regime; and Joe Sacco’s famous works of
graphic reportage explore the legacies of genocide in Gaza, Palestine,
Bosnia, and Canada.
Comics scholars, likewise, have done important work on the representa-
tion of violence (Prorokova and Tal 2018; Hague, Horton, and Mickwitz
2019; Mickwitz, Horton, and Hague 2019), war (Earle 2017; Viljoen
2020), genocide (Pettitt 2018; Stańczyk 2019; Frahm, Hahn, and Streb
2021), perpetration (Polak 2017; in ’t Veld 2020; Manea and Precup 2020;
Precup 2020; Barlow 2021), and the documentary potential of comics to
portray traumatic events (Mickwitz 2016; Chute 2016; Mihăilescu 2020;
Davies and Rifkind 2020). Laurike in ’t Veld, moreover, has done ground-
breaking work on the figure of the perpetrator. In her excellent chapter
“From Gruesome to Grey: The Moralisation of Perpetrators”—in which
she analyzes Rupert Bazambanza’s Smile Through the Tears (2007), Paolo
Cossi’s Medz Yeghern (2007), Jean-Philippe Stassen’s Deogratias (2006),
Eric Heuvel’s The Search (2009), and Joe Sacco’s Safe Area Goražde (2000),
as well as earlier works such as Art Spiegelman’s Maus (1986 and 1991)—in
‘t Veld reveals the moral and visual framing of the perpetrator in comics,
from figures of extraordinary evil to ordinary human beings whose actions
are motivated by social and historical forces (2019, 83).
While most of the comics discussed by in ‘t Veld—and most of the
examples I’ve offered above—are beholden to a logic of realism,4 factuality,
4
Jean-Philippe Stassen’s Deogratias: A Tale of Rwanda, despite the fantastical conceit
implied on the book’s back cover—“Shattered with guilt, Deogratias became a dog”
(2018)—also follows a logic of realism (even on the back cover, a panel depicting Deogratias,
huddled and destitute but still very much human, assures us that we should not read the
description literally). In the 2018 edition of the book, the comic is moreover preceded by a
short introduction by Rwandan writer Beata Umubyeyi Mairesse, which serves to authenti-
cate the verisimilitude of the narrative. While the comic’s fantastical conceit—Deogratias’
PTSD triggers hallucinations that he is transforming into a dog—does offer a powerful visual
metaphor for the guilt he is experiencing, the comic book nevertheless strives to assure read-
ers that the sequences of the teenager’s metamorphoses are mere hallucinations. It is also
largely guilty of what Robert Eaglestone has called “the swerve,” the failure of perpetrator
narratives to come “to terms with evil,” even as they implicitly promise to do so (2017, 65).
Deogratias’ transformation into a perpetrator is briefly sketched out and his genocidal actions
are never depicted (only their aftermath is shown). Unlike Deogratias, the works I discuss in
the following five chapters do not renege on that promise by “swerving”: they confront evil
and largely render it human.
1 INTRODUCTION: PERPETRATION, ESTRANGEMENT, AND HISTORICAL DEBT 11
or reportage, the works I analyze in the following five chapters, with their
emphasis on fantasy and estrangement, reframe the larger conversation on
the graphic representation of perpetration, as they gesture toward a stance
that rejects the everyday and embraces the strange. Before I offer an outline
of the structure of this book, I’d like to briefly explore three comics that
also arguably belong to this tendency and which have yet to receive the
critical attention they perhaps deserve: Rasputin (2014–2015), Alex
Grecian and Riley Rossmo’s Russian-folklore inspired reimagining of the
life of the Russian political figure; The Goddamned (2015–), Jason Aaron
and R.M. Guéra’s dystopia of life before the flood; and Jonathan Hickman
and Nick Pitarra’s The Manhattan Projects (2012–2015), a dark and absurd
reimagining of the story behind the birth of the atomic age.
Rasputin and The Goddamned both portray globally famous perpetra-
tors in an often-heroic light. The former reimagines the life of the Russian
mystic and political figure by including elements from Slavic mythology—
such as Baba Yaga or Koschei the Deathless—that are to a certain extent
intelligible to Western audiences through other works that have tackled
the mythological tradition, such as Mike Mignola’s Hellboy (1994–) or
Catherynne M. Valente’s Deathless (2011). Rasputin—shorn of his pro-
found Christian faith—is transformed into a traditionally handsome young
man, who has the ability to heal people or even bring them back from the
dead. Rasputin is a man trapped between two overlapping worlds: that of
magic, where he is the descendent of a prince who stole the water of life,
echoing a popular Slavic mythological motif, and that of history, where he
is the peasant son of an abusive father, who beats Rasputin’s mother to
death in the very first issue (the series is frank about the kind of violence
women face in heavily patriarchal societies). His decision to bring his
mother back to life and not do the same for his father, who is later killed
by a bear (Rasputin decides to save the bear instead), marks him from the
beginning of the narrative as a man whose sense of ethics sufficiently mir-
rors our own.
The same is also true of Cain, the protagonist of The Goddamned’s first
story arc, which employs famous characters from Abrahamic mythology
and largely functions as a prehistoric dystopia. After the Fall of Enoch—
which Cain implies was the high point of technological progress—human-
ity has largely been reduced to tribes of hunter-gatherers who only appear
12 D. MANEA
5
In Grecian’s defense, the accusations of rape against Rasputin—although mentioned in
earlier biographies such as Edvard Radzinsky: The Rasputin File (2000) and Joseph
T. Fuhrmann’s Rasputin: The Untold Story (2012)—were possibly not as well-known before
the emergence of the #MeToo movement. Using the Wayback Machine to visit Rasputin’s
Wikipedia page, for instance, reveals no mention of rape in 2012–2014, unlike the current
version of his page, which dedicates an entire paragraph to it.
6
The Black Monday Murders (Jonathan Hickman and Tomm Coker 2016–) is another
comic book series by Hickman which deserves a mention. Reimagining financial elites—
especially those belonging to the great banks—as literal demon worshippers, the series inter-
rogates the excesses of late capitalism and our attraction to it as a mode of production. While
I am not altogether convinced that perpetration is the best critical angle by which to approach
it, the series does a very good job at depicting the allure of dominance and wealth—two fac-
tors that have been historically critical to the acceptance of perpetration. The Black Monday
Murders, moreover, involves real world banking institutions—such as Goldman Sachs or
J. P. Morgan—or the names of people associated with banking—such as the family name of
the Rothschilds—in its depiction of demonic conspiracy. Unlike The Manhattan Projects, the
series, as such, alludes to people who have long been identified as perpetrators of economic
violence—especially among the extreme right—even as it attempts to depict them in a some-
what positive light (Grigoria Rothschild, for instance, is secretly working against the interests
of the great banks).
1 INTRODUCTION: PERPETRATION, ESTRANGEMENT, AND HISTORICAL DEBT 13
Chapter Overview
Like Rasputin, The Goddamned, and The Manhattan Projects, the comics
I analyze in the following five chapters also engage with history, mythol-
ogy, and perpetration, but they do so in ways that are arguably more pro-
found, both formally and ethically. Moreover, they have also arguably not
received sufficient critical attention themselves, despite their novel contri-
butions to the larger discussion surrounding perpetration. In this book,
therefore, I offer detailed close-readings of the five works I have selected
in order to fully reckon with their specific—and innovative—approaches
to the representation of perpetration, while also exploring important ques-
tions that are adjacent to it, such as the ethics of justice, the poetics of
historical fantasy, weird fiction, and the romance, or the broader ethics of
adapting history.
Chapter 2, “‘Nothing was spared’: Monstrosity and the Sympathetic
Perpetrator in Manifest Destiny (Chris Dingess and Matthew Roberts
2013–),” considers the manner in which the series employs the conven-
tions of weird fiction and the frontier Gothic in its retelling of the
1804–1806 Lewis and Clark expedition. Alluding heavily to the Native
American genocide, Manifest Destiny reframes the Corps of Discovery as
perpetrators of mass murder on a secret mission to cleanse the frontier of
the fantastical—sometimes monstrous—creatures that inhabit it in the
name of colonial expansion. While the series refuses to justify their geno-
cidal actions, it does create a potentially productive space of ambiguity—
through the figure of the traumatized perpetrator and the sensation of
liminality often associated with the frontier—which might allow contem-
porary readers to ponder their position as beneficiaries of historical trag-
edy as well as the consequences—and continuities—of colonialism.
I continue the discussion of historical debt in Chap. 3, “‘Divine the
future, but beware of ghosts’: Romanticism, Satire, and Perpetration in
The New Adventures of Hitler (Grant Morrison and Steve Yeowell 1989).”
Exploring the formative years of the German dictator, the controversial
comic strip draws our attention to the broader imperialist context that
shaped the emergence of Nazism. Drawing on the probably fictitious
memoirs of Hitler’s sister-in-law, The New Adventures of Hitler depicts the
future Nazi dictator traipsing around Liverpool in search of the Holy Grail
in 1912–1913, with the help of his imaginary mentor John Bull. Unlike
Manifest Destiny—which reframes historical figures usually not associated
with perpetration as mass murderers—The New Adventures of Hitler
1 INTRODUCTION: PERPETRATION, ESTRANGEMENT, AND HISTORICAL DEBT 15
both familiar and strange. In doing so, they ultimately speak to the poten-
tial of comics—especially comics on the margins—to depict the act of per-
petration in ways that engender profound affective and cognitive responses
and cast new light on the figure of the perpetrator.
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20 D. MANEA
1
Manifest Destiny incorporates numerous departures from the historical record. As Dingess
himself attests in the letter section at end of issue 6 (2014, n. pag.), history in Manifest
Destiny is used to frame the story and not to drive it (the one departure that the writer has
promised not to make has to do with the expedition’s route, which Dingess says that he
intends to follow). Lisa Macklem notes that this is a depiction of history that is eminently
presentist, as it questions received historical knowledge, and foregrounds a number of
important issues that are still relevant today: from environmentalism to social inequality
(2015). For a historical account of the Lewis and Clark expedition, please see David
Lavender’s The Way to the Western Sea: Lewis and Clark across the Continent (2001).
suggests the men are merely following their orders; one soldier had earlier
described the Fezron as vermin—my primary interest here is with the par-
allel the series makes with the Native American genocide. In his narration,
Lewis notes that their actions could not have been unexpected or novel,
linking it with the time they had served “clearing the frontier of hostiles”
(Dingess and Roberts 2015, Manifest Destiny #18). In doing so, the series
seems to both recall—and subvert—the much earlier tradition of the fron-
tier Gothic and its representation of the Native American as a monstrous
figure. As Matthew Wynn Sivils notes:
The result of the literary marriage of Indian captivity narratives and European
Gothic was a distinctly American brand of Gothic literature, one that made
genuine use of inborn American anxieties about the perceived threat of a
dehumanizing wilderness, which served as both a site of and signifier for
violent reprisals at the hands of Native Americans. American Frontier Gothic
is perhaps best defined by its cultivation of often-unstable border zones, of
hazy demarcations between self-reliance and self-delusion, between the
humane and the monstrous. (2014, 93)
expedition. The skull is very large, with a single eye socket and a horn
protruding from its forehead. Despite its clearly non-human features,
Lewis dismisses Jefferson’s mythological interpretation of the skull, argu-
ing that it most likely belonged to “an Indian with a birth defect. Poor
bastard” (2014, n. pag.). Ironically, Lewis himself would employ the tradi-
tion of classical mythology in his attempt at categorizing the buffalotaur—
suggesting an inability to see the world beyond European conventions.
Yet Lewis’s misinterpretation also alludes to the series’ parallel between
the indigenous and the monstrous, a parallel that it will ultimately prob-
lematize throughout its run. By the latter issues of Manifest Destiny,
Lewis’s own love interest will come to describe him as a “monster” (2019,
Manifest Destiny #39, n. pag.), as the series will seek to question the con-
ventions that undergirded the frontier Gothic and the larger project of
European expansionism.
As such, perhaps the major question present in the comic book series is
whether it vindicates or discredits the genocidal doctrine of “Manifest
Destiny,” John O’Sullivan’s mid-nineteenth-century term for America’s
providential mission to expand westward (2001, 8). Needless to say, this is
a question that has divided critical opinion. In his CraveOnline review of
the first issue, Andy Hunsaker prophesized that “it may come to pass that
we begin rooting for the monsters to prevent the spread of Native
American genocide” (2013, n. pag.)—and the series may very well be on
the way to making his prophecy come true. Later plot developments in the
series reveal a narrative unafraid to challenge the various injustices perpe-
trated in the name of manifest destiny, and in doing so to question a pro-
gressive theory of history that would vindicate colonialism as, at worst, a
necessary evil. To summarize bluntly, in issue 18, the series’ heroes actively
and ruthlessly engage in genocide.
Manifest Destiny’s third arc, Chiroptera and Carniformaves, finds the
Corps of Discovery interacting with a strange tribe of highly intelligent
bird-like creatures, the Fezron. Their cognitive capacity and emotional
structure appear similar to those of a human being, as made evident by
their ability to speak—English or Fezron, as they refer to the language—to
reason and to care for their lovers and offspring.2 The Fezron themselves
2
In this, Manifest Destiny seems to privilege an understanding of the human—or human-
like—grounded in rationality and affect, which the more monstrous Vameter, which I
also discuss in this chapter, appears to lack.
2 “NOTHING WAS SPARED”: MONSTROSITY AND THE SYMPATHETIC… 25
are blue, short, and stocky and entirely covered in feathers, save for their
beaks, hands, and feet. The major threat they pose lies in their bite, which
infects victims with a highly dangerous poison, whose only known cure is
Fezron urine, as the Corps discover after capturing one member of their
species, Dawhog, following his attack. The Fezron later leads them to his
village, where they discover that his tribe has captured one of their men,
Charbonneau, and is preparing to cook him. To save the Frenchman, the
men, with Dawhog in tow, promise to kill the dreaded Vameter, a monster
that had been preying on the Fezron for generations and to whom they
had been sacrificing members of their tribe as a means of appeasement.
In many ways, the Fezron function as analogs for early nineteenth-
century Native Americans: they are tribal and largely non-literate, their
leader wears a headdress and staff that are reminiscent of South American
natives (Fig. 2.1), they engage in ritual sacrifice, and they appear to
Fig. 2.1 Fezron leader wearing headdress in Manifest Destiny #15 (2015, n.
pag.). (© Skybound, LLC)
26 D. MANEA
perform what Ian Dawe has identified as the trope of the “wisecracking
Native American,” as found in films such as Jim Jarmusch’s Dead Man
(Dawe 2015, n. pag.).3 The Fezron genocide that follows should thus
arguably be read in light of this analogy and it should be placed in the
context of the series’ larger depiction of colonial-native interaction. Such
a reading, I think, reveals that Manifest Destiny has been actively engaging
with the legacy of Native American genocide, which it has yet to whitewash.
The Fezron, though, are not perfect analogs: they are after all a differ-
ent species altogether, with a much lower life span (the adult Dawhog was
only a child when he first tasted human meat, about three years earlier)
and a poisonous bite that can pose significant problems to human beings.
As such, the Fezron could be rationalized as monstrous, although we
should bear in mind that such rationalizations could be—and were—
applied to Native Americans, as well in the period (Kennedy 2016, 135).
The very nature of the Fezron interrogates the divide between human and
non-human and calls into question our ethical relationship to people we
understand as being fundamentally different from ourselves. The repre-
sentation of the Fezron, I argue in this chapter, is essential for this effect.
The representation of the Fezron is not grounded in a logic of defamil-
iarization, a feature essential to weird fiction, but rather one of naturaliza-
tion (“the process of normalizing the alien,” as Simon Spiegel defines it
(2008, 376)). In making this claim, I am employing the two terms, as
understood by Spiegel, and articulated as a critique of Darko Suvin’s con-
cept of cognitive estrangement. Spiegel makes a further worthwhile dis-
tinction between defamiliarization—as a formal effect, present at the level
of rhetoric—and diegetic estrangement, which he defines as “a collision
[…] between two systems of reality, whenever a marvelous element is
introduced into a seemingly realistic world” (2008, 375). What is impor-
tant here is that the marvelous element too is framed according to the
same realistic system of representation.
The distinction between defamiliarization and diegetic estrangement is
particularly relevant for the scene in which Dawhog is revealed to be a
3
As Dawe notes, the Fezron initially appear to be smarter—or more aware—than their US
counterparts. This is suggested to readers through seemingly innocent matter-of-fact state-
ments that nevertheless prove to be rather insightful (such as Dawhog’s comment on
American identity and the English language, which I mention later in this chapter), dismis-
sive barbs, or sarcastic banter. Dawe connects this to what he calls the trope of the “wise-
cracking Native American”—a character who possesses greater insight than their (often)
white counterparts, yet sometimes disguises it through humor.
2 “NOTHING WAS SPARED”: MONSTROSITY AND THE SYMPATHETIC… 27
sapient creature (Fig. 2.2). As Lewis and Clark are shown quarreling—in
silhouette—a voice is heard from the box the Fezron was trapped in,
exclaiming “for the love of Glorgogg! Give it some rest! You two sounds
like an old nuptialed pairing.” The panel showing Lewis, Clark, and the
rest of the ship in silhouette gives way to a largely borderless frame—liter-
ally in the gutters of the page—depicting a befuddled Lewis and Clark.
The latter turns his head in confusion, half of his body trapped beneath
the previous panel, while the former points to the location of the cage, as
it had earlier been established. The sequence employs both diegetic
estrangement, in the sense that the strangeness of the creature’s exclama-
tion is marked by the inclusion of unfamiliar but understandable vocabu-
lary in a familiar turn of phrase (the replacement of “God” with “Glorgogg”
and “old nuptialed pairing” with “old married couple”) and formal defa-
miliarization, present in the way the narrative plays with silhouette and
panel positioning (2015, Manifest Destiny #15, n. pag.).
Through its use of the silhouette, the first panel creates an atmosphere
of the mundane—yet another discussion between Lewis and Clark about
their personal demons—which is interrupted by a marvelous and estrang-
ing exclamation (emphasized through the use of blue text in a jagged
word bubble). This appears to create a breakage in the very structure of
the narrative and the storyworld, as the protagonists are depicted in the
28 D. MANEA
4
For a discussion of the possible influence of H. P. Lovecraft—one of the original popular-
izers of the term weird fiction—on Manifest Destiny, please see Petrelli (2018).
2 “NOTHING WAS SPARED”: MONSTROSITY AND THE SYMPATHETIC… 29
and of the categories that we employ to make sense of the world. Darja
Malcolm-Clarke, drawing on the work of Geoffrey Galt Harpham, identi-
fies the grotesque as the mode most often used in weird fiction to depict
the body. She proposes a reading of the grotesque as “an unease that sug-
gests our way of classifying the world into knowable parts doesn’t get the
job done” (2008, 339). The physical representation of the Fezron is thus
not necessarily estranging—in fact, their bodies are in a sense already natu-
ralized or allow for easy naturalization (their anthropomorphic nature
makes them quite similar to other famous avian bipeds such as Donald
Duck or Daffy Duck). A much clearer instance of bodily estrangement
occurs in the encounter between the Corps of Discovery and the enemy of
the Fezron, the Vameter—a type of headless, bat-like creature, who steals
the heads of its victims and places them on its torso.
As a monster, the aesthetics of the Vameter defy easy categorization—
although it is likely influenced by the headless horseman and vampire
tropes—and this serves to create one of the series’ most powerful scenes of
body horror. Much like the Fezron, the Vameter also calls into question
the human/monster dichotomy by literally grafting the human onto itself,
but unlike the Fezron, it cannot be easily naturalized: its taking of Private
Jameson’s head is depicted as a transgressive violation (Fig. 2.3), and it
does not have the ability to speak or make itself understandable (it cannot
even control the head without using its small tentacle-like appendages,
which further suggests an inability to reach the rank of human). The kill-
ing of the Vameter can be read as a kind of communal catharsis, but the
way the series depicts the scene is a bit more nuanced and serves to inter-
rogate the ethical values of the Corps of Discovery. Right before Clark
cuts off the Vameter’s head using Jameson’s sword (his severed hand still
clutching it), a caption from Lewis’s journal reads, “And he made Jameson
useful one last time to boot.” In a sense, the human body is instrumental-
ized both by the Vameter and by Clark and this troubling parallel is made
even more palpable in the next panel (with Jameson’s head flying vertically
to his hand). The sequence in which the men chop up the Vameter is also
framed in a disturbing manner: first a panel depicting the corps in black
silhouette, over a gray-and-red background, and then three panels of
Clark, Lewis, and Collins depicted individually—no longer in silhouette,
but with red, black, and gray backgrounds—and describing their motiva-
tions. The darkness of the sequence arguably foreshadows the later Fezron
genocide (2015, Manifest Destiny #18, n. pag.).
30 D. MANEA
Fig. 2.3 The vameter grafting Private Jameson’s head onto itself in Manifest
Destiny #18 (2015, n. pag.). (© Skybound, LLC)
I will return to the scene of genocide later, but for now I would like to
suggest that what makes it particularly effective is that the series has made
readers sympathize with the perpetrators and that their act of genocide
also interrogates a long-standing white American identification with the
enactors and forerunners of the doctrine of manifest destiny (one founda-
tional narrative that still carries considerable mainstream cachet in the
United States). Characters with whom we have until then sympathized
skulk in the night and massacre each and every Fezron, adults as well as
children, in the name of obeying their orders and following their mission,
“to clear the way for peaceful settlement,” as President Jefferson puts it in
the briefing he issues the Corps (2013, Manifest Destiny #2, n. pag.).
To achieve identification, the series employs two major strategies. The
first is memorial—and this could even be called pre-identification, in the
sense that Lewis and Clark come to us as a known property: they are part
of American mythology, their journals are studied in schools and high
2 “NOTHING WAS SPARED”: MONSTROSITY AND THE SYMPATHETIC… 31
schools, and they are the subject of countless books, films, and documen-
taries. In this sense, they are part of American cultural memory, and they
do indeed function as figures of memory, to use Jan Assmann’s term
(1997, 11), both for the series core American audiences and for readers of
American history and mythology.5 Our familiarity with them, as well as
their privileged position in cultural memory, helps engender a sense of
identification.6
Furthermore, Lewis and Clark do largely perform their function as heroes
of American cultural memory, and this leads us to a second type of identifica-
tion, which is ethical in nature: the two men had, until the Fezron genocide,
generally acted according to twenty-first-century values. Both were generally
free of—or at least did not voice—any nineteenth-century prejudice against
women or (what readers would now consider) minorities (Lewis had engaged
the help of Magdalene Boniface, a widow they’d rescued, in his scientific
work, recognizing her as the better surgeon, while Clark had noted and
respected Sacagawea’s immense combat skill), both had never administered
unjust punishment or acted solely for personal gain; and both had repeatedly
risked their lives to save the men under their command. But I do employ here
terms such as “largely” and “generally” to imply that the series had neverthe-
less suggested a darkness at the heart of both men and that their actions at the
end of issue 18 should be read in light of it. One of the main areas this dark-
ness manifests itself is in their past interactions with Native Americans.
The series has long tackled the Native American genocide, rightfully
placing responsibility on the colonists and on American authorities. In
fact, images of genocide are usually connected in the series to Clark’s per-
petrator trauma.7 Three important narrative sequences deal with this
explicitly: after being swallowed by a plant monster, in issue 6, Lewis
dreams of an orgy, while Clark has a nightmare about the natives he has
killed and their revenge. When later questioned about his dream by Lewis,
Clark lies about it, ending the series’ first story arc with the curt “I don’t
dream” (2014, n. pag.). In issue 7, After Boniface discovers Lewis’s
5
For a more detailed discussion of Manifest Destiny’s adaptation of American history,
please see Fuchs and Rabitsch (2022).
6
For a critique of the concept of identification on both a political and a psychological level,
please see Barker (1989). Here I am only using the term as a shorthand for the cultural pro-
cesses through which we identify people long dead as sufficiently similar to ourselves within
the larger logic of the nation-state.
7
For more information on perpetrator trauma, please see Saira Mohamed’s “Of Monsters
and Men: Perpetrator Trauma and Mass Atrocity” (2015).
32 D. MANEA
Fig. 2.4 Clark sees one of his Native American victims in the flame in Manifest
Destiny #7 (2014, n. pag.). (© Skybound, LLC)
journals and secret orders, Clark suggests killing her, as she is guilty of
treason. When Lewis protests that they are not killers, Clark rhetorically
asks “we’re not?” looking into the lamplight and seeing a dying Native
American man (Fig. 2.4). And in issue 17, the issue right before the
Fezron genocide, Clark tells Lewis that a young soldier by the name of
Collins reminds him of Lewis, and we get a flashback to their fighting in
the Indian wars.8 In both panels, Clark looks proud of Lewis, while in the
lower corner we have a native woman crying over a murdered loved one.
With this last image, I think we have to bear in mind that perpetrator
trauma does not necessarily mean guilt or regret, but can manifest itself
simply as PTSD, with the traumatized subject regretting that he is suffer-
ing from the disorder itself and not his misdeeds.
The Corps of Discovery’s genocide against the Fezron should thus be
read in light of the series’ larger approach to the Native American Genocide.
8
This is a significant departure from the historical record, as the real Meriwether Lewis
never saw action, while he was stationed with Clark, nor fought in the Indian wars (Lavender
2001, 9).
2 “NOTHING WAS SPARED”: MONSTROSITY AND THE SYMPATHETIC… 33
The scenes of the slaughter itself are framed by excerpts from Lewis’s jour-
nal, which narrate their actions, as well as feelings. Lewis claims that all the
men had reservations, but that their mission is clear—they have to elimi-
nate all threats to colonial settlement—and that the Fezron had proven
themselves dangerous, despite their charm and occasional helpfulness, an
assertion that is juxtaposed with images of a cute, drunk, sleeping Fezron.
The scenes, therefore, also serve to draw our attention to the very much
real genocide of the Native Americans, who would in turn prove a problem
for white settlement. In this sense, I think it is important here that Lewis
claims that Fezron are murdered not for being monstrous but simply for
being a threat (2015, Manifest Destiny #18, n. pag.).
The perpetrator’s awareness of the moral ambiguity of his actions is evi-
dent. On the next page, as the Fezron leader sleeps peacefully alongside
several Fezron children, Lewis’s narration explains that he didn’t “feel
good about this” and that it was “a dirty bit of business” (the latter juxta-
posed to a panel where Lewis slits the throat of a frightened Fezron). Below
there are two contrasting panels, where one of the creatures—drawn in a
manner that places particular emphasis on its bird-like features—is shot in
the face, while Lewis’s narration mentions that the men have been pre-
pared for this moment by time spent clearing hostiles from frontier areas,
again connecting this particular slaughter to the larger Native American
genocide. Additionally, Collins is confronted by Dawhog, with whom he
had become friendly during the Vameter hunt and who was one of the first
people to pronounce his name correctly, thus signaling a greater affinity
than the one that he had felt with most humans. Collins hesitates to kill
Dawhog and is confronted with two external voices: Clark’s chastisement
and admonition to kill them all, and Dawhog’s call for him not to be “a
stupid” like the rest of them (Fig. 2.5). Dawhog looks particularly human-
like here9—his round, childlike eyes drawn larger for dramatic effect—and
his presence helps reinforce Collins’s understanding of the moral depravity
9
As Greg Garrard notes such representations of anthropomorphic animals evince a form of
Disnification (a term he takes over from Steve Baker): “Anthropomorphic animal narratives
are generally denigrated as ‘childish,’ thereby associating a dispassionate, even alienated per-
spective with maturity. The visual cue of disnification is ‘neoteny,’ or the set of characteristics
we instinctively associate with infant humans and animals: large eyes, a big head relative to
the body, short limbs and a generally rounded configuration” (Garrard 2004, 142). When it
comes to the representation of the Fezron, Manifest Destiny has a tendency to switch from
Disnification to other strategies that place more emphasis on their monstrosity in order to
guide reader affect.
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sought after, by the profession of the gospel, but a new heavenly life,
through the eternal Son of God, wrought in the fallen soul; there, the
spirit of satanic and worldly subtlety, will be church, and priest, and
supreme power, in all that is called religion.
Now whether this reason, broken off from God, contendeth about
the difference of scripture words and opinions, or reasoneth against
them, the same evil state of fallen nature, the same separation from
God, the same evil tempers of flesh and blood, will be equally
strengthened by the one, as by the other. Hence it is, that Papists
and Protestants are hating, fighting, and killing one another for the
sake of their different, excellent opinions, and yet, as to the lust of
the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, they are in the
highest union, and communion with one another. For if you expect a
zealous Protestant to be therefore alive to God, or a zealous Papist
to be therefore dead to all goodness, you may be said, to have lived
in the world without either eyes or ears.—And the reason why it must
be so, is because bad syllogisms for transubstantiation, and better
syllogisms against it, signify no more towards the casting Satan out
of our souls, than a bad, or better taste for painting.
*Hence may be seen, the great and like blindness both of Infidels
and Christians; the one in trusting to their own reason, dwelling in its
own logical conclusions; the other in trusting to their own reason,
dwelling in learned opinions about scripture words and phrases, and
doctrines built upon them. “For as soon as it is known, that God is all
in all, that in him we live and move and have our being; that we can
have nothing separately, or out of him, but every thing in him; that
we have no being, or degree of being but in him; that he can give us
nothing as our good, but himself, nor any degree of salvation from
our fallen nature, but in such degree, as he again communicates
something more of himself to us: as soon as this is known, then it is
known with the utmost evidence, that to put a religious trust in our
own reason, whether confined to itself, or working in doctrines about
scripture words, has the nature of that same idolatry, that puts a
religious trust in the sun, a departed saint, or a graven image.” And
as image-worship has often boasted of its divine power, because of
the wonders of zeal and devotion, that have been raised thereby in
thousands, and ten thousands of its followers; so it is no marvel, if
opinion-worship should often have, and boast of the same effects.
What poor divinity-knowledge comes from great scholars, and
great readers, may be sufficiently seen from the two following
quotations in a late dissertation on enthusiasm; the one is taken from
Dr. Warburton’s sermons, the other from a pastoral letter of Mr.
Stinstra, a preacher amongst the Mennonists of Friesland. That from
Dr. Warburton, stands thus: “By them (that is, by the writings of the
New Testament) the prophetic promise of our Saviour, that the
Comforter should abide for ever; was eminently fulfilled. For tho’ his
ordinary influence occasionally assists the faithful, yet his constant
abode and supreme illumination is in the sacred scriptures. ¹” Dr.
Warburton’s doctrine is this, that the inspired books of the New
Testament, is that Comforter, or Spirit of truth, which is meant by
Christ’s being always with his church.—Let us put the Doctor’s
doctrine into the letter of the text, which will best shew how true, or
false it is.
*Christ also saith, if any man love me, my Father will love him,
and we will come unto him and make our abode with him: that is,
according to the Doctor’s theology, certain books of scripture will
come to him, and make their abode with him; for he expressly
confineth the constant abode, and supreme illumination of God, to
the holy scriptures. Therefore (horrible to say) God’s inward
presence, his operating power of life and light in our souls, his
dwelling in us, and we in him, is something of a lower nature, that
only may occasionally happen, and has less of God in it, than the
dead letter of scripture, which alone is his constant abode and
supreme illumination—Miserable fruits of a paradoxical genius!
But if this must be said of all that, which the inspired apostles
taught in outward words, that it was nothing in itself, was without
power, without life, and only such a preparation towards life, as is
that of planting and watering; must not the same be said of their
inspired teachings, when left behind them in writing? For what else
are the apostolical scriptures, but those very instructions put into
writing, which they affirmed to be bare planting and watering, quite
powerless in themselves, till the living Spirit of God worked with
them? Or will any one say, that what Paul, Peter, and John, spoke by
inspiration from their own mouths, was indeed but bare planting and
watering, in order to be capable of receiving life from God: but when
these apostolical instructions, were written on paper, they were
raised out of their first inability, got the nature of God himself,
became spirit and life, and might be called the great quickening
power of God, or, as the Doctor says, the constant abode, and
supreme illumination of his Spirit with us?
I exceedingly love and highly reverence the sacred writings of the
apostles and evangelists, and would gladly persuade every one to
pay as profound a regard to them, as they would to an Elijah, a John
Baptist, or a Paul, whom they knew to be immediately sent from
heaven with God’s message to them.—I reverence them, as fitted to
do all that good amongst Christians now, which the apostles did in
their day, and as of the same benefit to the church of every age, as
their planting and watering was to the first.
But if this is not thought that fullness of regard, that is due to the
holy messengers of God; if any one will still be so learnedly wise, as
to affirm, that though Paul’s preaching in his epistles, whilst he was
alive, was indeed only bare planting and watering, but the same
epistles being published after his death, got another nature, became
full of divine and living power; such a one hath no right to laugh (as
the Doctor doth) at the silly Mahometan, who believes the Alcoran to
be uncreated. For wherever there is divine efficacy, there must be an
uncreated power. And if, as the Doctor saith, the scriptures of the
New Testament are the only constant abode, and supreme
illumination of the Spirit of God with us, all that is said of the eternal
Spirit of God, of the uncreated light, ought to be said of them; that
they are the WORD that was God, was with God, and are our true
Immanuel, or God with us.
I shall now only add this friendly hint to the Doctor, that he has a
remedy at hand in his own sermon, how he may be delivered from
thus grossly mistaking the spirit of the gospel, as well as the law of
Moses. “St. Paul (saith the Doctor) had a quick and lively
imagination, and an extensive and intimate acquaintance with those
masters in moral painting, the classic writers; (N. B.) all which he
proudly sacrificed to the glory of the everlasting gospel.” ¹
These two instances are proof enough, that as soon as any man
trusts to natural abilities, skill in languages, and common-place
learning, as the true means of entering into the kingdom of God, a
kingdom of God, which is nothing but righteousness, peace, and joy
in the Holy Ghost; he gives himself up to certain delusion, and can
escape no error that is popular, or that suits his state and situation in
the learned, religious world. He has sold his birthright in the gospel-
state of divine illumination, to make a figure and noise, with the
sounding brass and tinkling cimbals of the natural man.
Now let this simple question decide the matter: has this great
scholar any more power of saying to this mountain, be thou removed
hence, and cast into the sea, than the illiterate Christian? If not, he is
just as weak, as powerless, and little in the kingdom of God, as he is.
But if the illiterate man’s faith, should happen to be nearer to the bulk
of a grain of mustard-seed, than that of the prodigious scholar, the
illiterate Christian stands much above him in the kingdom of God.
But now, what follows from this new risen light? Why Aristotle’s
atheism, Cicero’s height of pride and depth of dissimulation, and
every refined or gross species of Greek and Roman vices, are as
glaring in this new enlightened Christian church, as ever they were in
old pagan Greece, or Rome. Would you find a gospel Christian, in all
this mid-day glory of learning, you may light a candle, as the
philosopher did in the mid-day sun, to find an honest man.
Who then can enough wonder at that bulk of libraries, which has
taken place of the short gospel? Or at that number of champion
disputants, who from age to age have been all in arms to support a
set of opinions and practices, all which may be most cordially
embraced without the least degree of self-denial, and most firmly
held without the least degree of humility.
This will be more or less the case with all the doctrines of Christ,
whilst under classical acquisition, and administration. Those divine
truths, which are no farther good and redeeming, but as they are
spirit and life in us, will serve only to help classic painters (as Dr. W. ¹
calls them) to lavish out their colours on their own paper monuments
of lifeless virtues.