by Rachel MacNair

The planetarium presentation, as usual, was beautiful. Yet there was a disquieting aspect to language used. Stars were dying. Why not being transformed? These stars did something in a desperate attempt to prevent this. How can an inanimate object be desperate? One star taking material from another star was cannibalizing.

    The animation of the solar ray was as wonderfully dramatic as fireworks. Yet it was described as violent. It was doing what it was supposed to and not hurting anyone. In fact, it was most definitely doing the opposite – it was life-giving. We couldn’t be alive if the sun didn’t do this.

    Why all the battle language? Why not an analogy to cooking instead? They were giving the recipe for making a black hole.  We could suggest this is a male vs. female way of looking at it, but that’s unfair to men, most of whom spend more time cooking than battling. It’s a violent perspective on what are not violent phenomena.

    It reminded me of the Babylonian creation myth in which the god Marduk kills the dragon Tianmut, she being his own grandmother, and divides her body to make the earth and sky. This violence is a common feature of the mythologies of imperial cultures. When violence is entangled in the very core of governing, with war and execution, torture and genocide, infanticide and feticide, hunting for sport and slaughtering animals for meat, then violence is also entangled in the very creation of the universe. It’s understood as natural. It need not be avoided; rather, it’s celebrated as glorious and heroic.

    We don’t generally see stars as gods in our culture, but the planetarium show was treating them as beings with feelings and intentions just the same. Creation of new things was narrated with the language of destruction–as would be expected from a philosophy that sees the world through a violent lens. This is not science. Giving such a lens a scientific topic doesn’t turn it into science.

    The Babylonian myth was the one I thought of because it was countered by a group of the Babylonian empire’s conquered people. They came up with a story of creation where gods didn’t battle each other because there was only one. The stars were not gods, but good and useful items. The process was orderly, logical, and peaceful.

The story told by the rebels is the one most familiar to people nowadays; millions of people have it in their homes and it’s recited frequently all over the world as the first chapter of Genesis in the Bible. The Babylonian empire, on the other hand, is long gone, its myths only known to some. Ancient nonviolent activism made an enduring change.

Yet the impetus of seeing things through a lens of violence being at the core of the universe is still with us, and academics who themselves spend more time cooking than battling nevertheless find erudite ways of using violent metaphors. Of course, if they’re cooking meat, then the cooking includes violence, which daily bolsters the perception that violence is pervasive.

    I think this shows that if all the lethal violence we oppose starts in the thinking process before it makes its way to gory reality, we need to pay attention to opposing it even at the stage of simple imagery in language.

Copyright © Rachel MacNair

This article and photograph originally appeared in  Issue # 99 of the Peaceable Table. Used with permission of the author and Gracia Fay Ellwood of Vegetarian Friends.

Vegetarian Friends.net is the publisher of the monthly journal The Peaceable Table. We are dedicated to providing inspiration and support for Quakers and other people of faith in the practice of love for animals and a vegetarian diet. This journal is a project of the Animal Kinship Commitee of Orange Grove Friends Meeting.  To subscribe please go to: http://www.vegetarianfriends.net  Subscriptions are free.

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