Oh my. So many connections. Coincidentally, i have been thinking deeply about this notion of the forsaken for a long while and especially this past 24 hours given the heart-breaking revelations of Andrea Robin Skinner about the sexual abuse she suffered and her mother's simply awful response. We will probably never know how Alice Munro made sense of her daughter's suffering such that she could seemingly display such an incredible lack of empathy (never mind compassion). But I have seen this exact type of lack up close more times than i care to enumerate. And it never hits me more devastatingly than when it is a mother who is the one who fails to defend their child. (So, one thing I see in Botticelli's painting is the child's gaze at his mother who is looking past him at the pages of the book. What is he asking for, holding the instruments of his destined torture, and what is she choosing to see that is more important?)
I read Ursula Le Guin's The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas when I was 16 (and it might have killed me had I not almost simultaneously discovered Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning). It is a story of the "forsaken" that Dostoevsky (with an obviously intentional reference to Jesus) wrote about and William James, absent christian theology, posed as a moral dilemma in one of his famous lectures. And this notion of "forsaken" or sacrifice is as old a story as that of Abraham and Isaac (Genesis 22) and the Scapegoat (Leviticus 16). The old sacrificing the young is one of the oldest stories we know - whether codified in scripture, legislated in terms of sending (if not conscripting) the young for war, or practiced as part of the patriarchal violence against women (which, tragically, causes many women to act to perpetuate such - for diverse and complicated reasons).
Your attention to the three nails is brilliant. And i can't help but think about the way that abusers will resort to blaming the victim (child or otherwise) as having been responsible for the abuse - holding their own nails, as it were - as Munro's husband did with Andrea. Discovering the moral failings of our icons (if not loved ones) always challenges us to examine our own moral courage or lack of it. And there is so much to be done for which we need moral courage. Thanks for this poem.
Thank you for all your thoughts, Chris. And your literary references. I think few get closer to the nub of the matter than Frankl. The concept and experience of forsakenness runs deep, and can reach all of us personally, and does affect everyone in how our society is structured, how we tolerate a degree of expendability for some but not others. You brought Alice Munro's daughter to my attention here. What she says in reports is truly heartbreaking. Your personal take on the painting is illuminating to me, has me thinking in different ways about the mother and son, beyond what may have been Botticelli's intention, but also the father and son. And the idea of victim-blaming. I see that happening in different ways across the world. It is all too easy to do. I do appreciate your sharing your response and I think it will have an effect on how I approach poems I've yet to write on this work. Take care.
I appreciate you making note of "father and son" as part of all this. As a single father of a son (15) and being the son of a father whose failings were legion, that relationship is particularly fraught. I learned early what not to do and spent decades learning what is good to do. And life goes on.
Can't help but notice that Botticelli painted the nails in the form of arrows, and wonder if he wasn't playing off the common cherub (also called angels of love), but here the Child has gathered up the nails and will not be sending them off. They are a clear prefigurement, as you've interpreted, together with the crown of thorns.
Looking at the larger painting, I can't help but see the sad look of the Mother, knowing already, "This story will not end well."
Excellent observation, Ronald! That adds another dimension, for sure. Very glad you like this one, and that the subject matter appeals. No. 2 is coming up. :-) Thanks so much.
I don’t know if it qualifies as knowing “Christian iconography”, but I’ve seen a fair few Madonna and Child paintings in Italy. Like this one, they often contain a book, expressing, I suppose, the importance of literacy. Mother, presumably, is teaching the child to read (suggesting the importance of reading for both parties). I also wonder if, spiritually, child is teaching mother to read too.
I think it does, Thomas, by my understanding, and in fact, the book is the focus of an upcoming poem in the series! Your perspective about literary is valuable, thanks!
Your poem enlivens the whole painting!
Oh my. So many connections. Coincidentally, i have been thinking deeply about this notion of the forsaken for a long while and especially this past 24 hours given the heart-breaking revelations of Andrea Robin Skinner about the sexual abuse she suffered and her mother's simply awful response. We will probably never know how Alice Munro made sense of her daughter's suffering such that she could seemingly display such an incredible lack of empathy (never mind compassion). But I have seen this exact type of lack up close more times than i care to enumerate. And it never hits me more devastatingly than when it is a mother who is the one who fails to defend their child. (So, one thing I see in Botticelli's painting is the child's gaze at his mother who is looking past him at the pages of the book. What is he asking for, holding the instruments of his destined torture, and what is she choosing to see that is more important?)
I read Ursula Le Guin's The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas when I was 16 (and it might have killed me had I not almost simultaneously discovered Victor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning). It is a story of the "forsaken" that Dostoevsky (with an obviously intentional reference to Jesus) wrote about and William James, absent christian theology, posed as a moral dilemma in one of his famous lectures. And this notion of "forsaken" or sacrifice is as old a story as that of Abraham and Isaac (Genesis 22) and the Scapegoat (Leviticus 16). The old sacrificing the young is one of the oldest stories we know - whether codified in scripture, legislated in terms of sending (if not conscripting) the young for war, or practiced as part of the patriarchal violence against women (which, tragically, causes many women to act to perpetuate such - for diverse and complicated reasons).
Your attention to the three nails is brilliant. And i can't help but think about the way that abusers will resort to blaming the victim (child or otherwise) as having been responsible for the abuse - holding their own nails, as it were - as Munro's husband did with Andrea. Discovering the moral failings of our icons (if not loved ones) always challenges us to examine our own moral courage or lack of it. And there is so much to be done for which we need moral courage. Thanks for this poem.
Thank you for all your thoughts, Chris. And your literary references. I think few get closer to the nub of the matter than Frankl. The concept and experience of forsakenness runs deep, and can reach all of us personally, and does affect everyone in how our society is structured, how we tolerate a degree of expendability for some but not others. You brought Alice Munro's daughter to my attention here. What she says in reports is truly heartbreaking. Your personal take on the painting is illuminating to me, has me thinking in different ways about the mother and son, beyond what may have been Botticelli's intention, but also the father and son. And the idea of victim-blaming. I see that happening in different ways across the world. It is all too easy to do. I do appreciate your sharing your response and I think it will have an effect on how I approach poems I've yet to write on this work. Take care.
I appreciate you making note of "father and son" as part of all this. As a single father of a son (15) and being the son of a father whose failings were legion, that relationship is particularly fraught. I learned early what not to do and spent decades learning what is good to do. And life goes on.
Can't help but notice that Botticelli painted the nails in the form of arrows, and wonder if he wasn't playing off the common cherub (also called angels of love), but here the Child has gathered up the nails and will not be sending them off. They are a clear prefigurement, as you've interpreted, together with the crown of thorns.
Looking at the larger painting, I can't help but see the sad look of the Mother, knowing already, "This story will not end well."
Can't wait for the next poem on this painting!
Excellent observation, Ronald! That adds another dimension, for sure. Very glad you like this one, and that the subject matter appeals. No. 2 is coming up. :-) Thanks so much.
I don’t know if it qualifies as knowing “Christian iconography”, but I’ve seen a fair few Madonna and Child paintings in Italy. Like this one, they often contain a book, expressing, I suppose, the importance of literacy. Mother, presumably, is teaching the child to read (suggesting the importance of reading for both parties). I also wonder if, spiritually, child is teaching mother to read too.
I think it does, Thomas, by my understanding, and in fact, the book is the focus of an upcoming poem in the series! Your perspective about literary is valuable, thanks!
Looking forward to that next poem!