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216 pages, Hardcover
Published April 30, 2018

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things
—1 Corinthians 13:11
Despair is veritably a self-consuming, but an impotent self-consuming that cannot do what it wants to do. What it wants to do is to consume itself, something it cannot do, and this impotence is a new form of self-consuming, in which despair is once again unable to do what it wants to do, to consume itself; [. . .] The inability of despair to consume is so remote from being any kind of comfort to the person in despair that it is the very opposite. This comfort is precisely the torment, is precisely what keeps the gnawing alive and keeps life in the gnawing, for it is precisely over this that he despairs: that he cannot consume himself, cannot get rid of himself, cannot reduce himself to nothing. (43)This experience of despair, though it changes a person, doesn't necessarily result in "maturity." Rather, it has more common with "dysmaturity": the syndrome of neonates born-too-late (after their due-date), characterized by long fingernails, growth restriction, and what we call, euphemistically, "meconium staining."
—Søren Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death (1849)
"The suicide discards a life that has become worthless, whereas the martyr yields up what he or she regards as precious [. . .] For the martyr, life is so sweet that even death must be pressed into its service [. . .] This is why it is hard to say whether she goes to her death willingly or not. If it is a free decision, it is also one forced upon her by unpalatable circumstance, like someone who leaps from a high building to escape a raging fire” (74)It seems that for the sake of Eagleton's project the notions of suicide and martyrdom have been completely reversed. Martyrdom means forfeiting a "life so sweet," discovering — despite oneself — that it's impossible to keep living; "continually throwing down one's adversary as if only to enable it to draw fresh strength from the earth — until finally a situation is created which renders all retreat impossible and the conditions themselves cry out: 'Hic Rhodus, hic salta,'" that is, suicide; and suicide means "hating one's life (and father and mother)" such that one discards it as the "worthless" vestments cloaking the spiritual body, that is, martyrdom. The case of "leaping from a high building to escape a raging fire" is particularly notable because neither Eagleton (not editor) appear to have noticed that the metaphor illustrating the "radical sacrifice" of martyrdom is, evidently, a manifest case of suicide.
"The ancient scapegoat is an ‘objective’ version of self-sacrifice [. . .] The scapegoat or pharmakos also involves a curious ambiguity, which is that the more besmirched it becomes, staggering under the burden of transgressions heaped on its head, the more admirably selfless it shows itself to be. Its redemptive power grows as its identification with human sin deepens, which is one reason why this sacrificial beast, like all sacred things, is both blessed and cursed [. . .] This creature cleanses by being contaminated. It is not sinful in itself, but as St Paul says of Christ, it is ‘made sin’ for the sake of others. [. . .] So the scapegoat is a device for transmuting guilt into innocence, or sin into saintliness" (114).Among those who use the term "scapegoat," few recall the goat's real situation. It's not the scapegoat himself, but his brother who is to be sacrificed. "Aaron shall take the two he-goats and let them stand before the LORD / [...] He shall then slaughter the people’s goat of sin offering / [. . . ] And he shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat and confess over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the Israelites, whatever their sins; and it shall be sent off to the wilderness" (Leviticus 16:7-21). Again, Eagleton's emphasis falls on the wrong (goat) foot. Radical Sacrifice (2018) seems inspired by the power of the Levitical ritual. It's talking-up the sacrifice, but already perceives (as did the ancients) that the death of something that didn't really want to die (a suicide) is insufficient. The sacrifice is compelled to repeat itself with a doubling gesture — hence the scapegoat — a piety and a purification. Intuitively, we read these movements in an agnostic light. There's no piety to be gained in the ritual sacrifice of another. The act condemns itself. And sins do not leave the body when they are sent off into the wilderness with the scapegoat, rather they conceal themselves deeper. Only the scapegoat itself is redeemed. And woe to both sacrifice and scapegoat who endure, under the weight of total despair, what is essentially unbearable. "The priest of the sacrifice approached the fence in his ceremonial dress and spoke to the goats as follows: ‘Why do you detest being taken to your death? I will fatten you up for three months [. . .] Then white grass mats will be rolled out for you and your limbs will be laid on carved trays. What more do you want?’ Then he thought what the goats would have preferred and he said: ‘They prefer to be fed on husks and bran and to remain in their sty.'" (Roberto Calasso, The Ruin of Kasch, 1986) And yet we find the movements of "radical sacrifice" described in this text with the levity of the Sunday School lesson. The act feels weightless because it has always already been accomplished. It's as if we were reading from a fairy tale and not from the papers of one still living. To write like this one must be a child or the kind of doctrinaire who, after a gestation of many years, and well past his due date, has perhaps been able to go very far in the academy — although Nota Bene the long nails and meconium stink of these scholars are perhaps signs of dysmaturity.