The Concept of Redemption in Cerebus - Part Three

You may remember that the multi-part essay "Religion in Cerebus" began as a digression from a discussion of the Concept of Redemption in Cerebus, and extended because it ended up sparking yet another reread of the whole saga through the lens of a topic that became, for me at least, more interesting than my original one.

However, with "Jaka's Story" I find I must return to the original theme, at least briefly, because here we find, not just a redemption story, but a truly Christian redemption story, rare in literature and especially rare in the kind of action/adventure literature that Cerebus must eventually be placed within, no matter how it struggles to free itself of the shackles of the genre. By this I mean that we have a redemption that is totally unearned, a gift of grace that saves the soul of an undeserving nasty man, redeeming him into a sympathetic character.

I'm talking, of course, about Pud Withers.

Our first sight of Pud is standing at the window, imagining the conversation he will soon be having with Jaka as she comes in to buy the day's groceries. He is interrupted by Cerebus, who is on his way down the mountain after the conclusion of "Church & State" and sees the sign and comes in for an ale.

When Jaka comes in, her reunion with Cerebus derails the expected conversation, and Pud is seen standing alone, holding a prized apple, an ineffectual, pathetic figure.

Ineffectual, pathetic, slightly sympathetic -- you almost can't help feeling sorry for the guy. That's Pud Withers as we first encounter him. Even when his imagined conversations begin to turn toward more intimate connections -- he talks about his wife having passed away, and how lonely he is -- we are at first only amused and saddened by his unrequited passion.

But passion is a dangerous thing, and before long the imagined conversations take on a darker tone. In the sequence on pp. 193-195, Pud imagines himself starting with the supposed death of his wife (he slips and says "mother" once and we realize Pud never had a wife) and leading up to telling Jaka, "There will have to be some . . . changes made." The sequence ends with the ominous reflection of Pud's face in a puddle of water on the floor that he is mopping, looking not at all harmless and ineffectual but dangerous and threatening, as he thinks, "Don't move, Miss Jaka. Please. I'm not going to hurt you."

At that moment Pud changes from comic relief to villain. It is clear that he plans to rape Jaka, if not literally and physically, then psychologically, by using her dependence on him to coerce her into sex.

The next night, it almost happens, but instead Jaka gets drunk and throws up on him, then runs home in disgrace. The next morning, shamed, she goes to his grocery store, but he makes light of the situation, tells her they're both going to forget the night before, and they have a bright conversation much like the one he imagined back at the beginning of the book, and everything seems to be as it was.

But when she leaves, he has the "Don't move" dialogue running through his head again. Pud is still set on a dangerous course. The reader is not at all sympathetic to him anymore. He is a Bad Guy, a threat to Jaka.

He begins to make his move on page 265. The conversation goes almost exactly as he has imagined it, word for word, right up to Jaka's reaction to his "There'll have to be some changes made."

"Changes, Pud?" she says. "What sort of . . . ?"

And then they are interrupted by the door opening and an old man, an old soldier it turns out, walks in, having been attracted by the Guffin (painted by Oscar) on the road. The old man orders an ale, Jaka dances, and much later, the old man leaves, promising to come back the next night. Jaka is exultant, sure that this is just the beginning and soon the places will be full of customers. She leaves. Pud is dejected. He goes and sits by himself and muses, having yet another imaginary conversation with Jaka on p. 279

Miss Jaka, I'm not a rich man. When . . . when Mama died she left me all the money she had made from her . . . her career. It was a lot of money, Miss Jaka. To me, anyway. Of course, I never got to use money until I was almost twenty-five and then it was only a few copper bits at the most and even then, it was only just to save her a few steps. She'd remember something she forgot to get and she'd give me a few coins and point me at the stall and say "Get me some eggs, would you, Pudley" of "See if Mr. Stephanie has that new spice I asked for, Pudley."

When Mama died.

When Mama died a man came to the door and told me how much money she left me. He wanted me to sign papers, Miss Jaka, and give power of something I forget the word but it was power of. I know, because I didn't like the sound of it, Miss Jaka, not one little bit. So I told him if the money was mine, I wanted him to bring it to me and I would have the power of it. That's exactly what I said to him, exactly. The power of it. So he'd know that I knew what he was talking about.

What I'm trying to say, Miss Jaka, is that that money's almost gone now. Between getting your costumes repaired and buying new costumes and beads and feathers and belts and . . . and the nuts and the apples and the tinned meats and . . .

All the money.

The money it took my mother a lifetime to save. In less than a year.

Tonight, Miss Jaka, tonight that little old man was here all night and he had exactly one ale. One ale, Miss Jaka. One half a copper bit. For the whole night.

I saw him give you two crowns, Miss Jaka. Two crowns for your dancing.

When the rest of Mama's money is gone. In a few weeks. Maybe a month. You and your husband will leave, won't you, Miss Jaka? Leave me. To die all alone. Without a copper bit. With mountain properties no one will buy since the Big Mountain Quake. You'll leave me just to starve to death. Just sitting here like I am now. Starve to death. Starve to death.

Or maybe I'll walk across the roadway, Miss Jaka. Maybe that's what I'll do. Just close my eyes and walk straight ahead across the roadway until . . .

At that point Jaka comes back in, on p. 280

JAKA: Pud! I almost forgot to give you these.

PUD: ut . . . Miss Jaka . . . that's your money. We agreed . . .

JAKA: Oh PUD! Don't be silly. I know our food costs you more than three bits. A lot more.

JAKA (cont.): Don't you worry. We're going to pay you back EVERY COPPER BIT! You'll keep all of my tips for the next few months. And Rick will find a JOB soon . . . and THEN. . .

JAKA (cont.): THEN, Mr. Pud Withers, I'M going to make this the busiest little tavern in IEST . . . and YOU . . . YOU I'm going to make into the WEALTHIEST tavern owner in ESTARCION. Just you SEE if I don't.

Pud's reaction to this is to fall on his knees in prayer.

Bless me, Tarim, for I have sinned

I have looked on a married woman with lust and I almost . . .

I almost

almost

Please, Tarim, have mercy on me and I promise, I swear to you I'll never do a bad thing again.

Ever

Please Tarim.

Oh, please

I'm sorry, Mama

I'm sorry

Pud is redeemed by Jaka's action. Fully and completely. When he is killed by the Cirinists less than a hundred pages later, it is a shock and a tragedy. He has become a sympathetic figure again, and we are saddened by his death rather than feeling, "Good. He got what was coming to him." He is no longer a Bad Guy. Through no action of his own, except sincere repentance and acceptance of the Grace that has been visited upon him, he has been redeemed.

This is an overtly and unmistakably Christian redemption story, and it's all the more remarkable to see it in a book written by someone who has never been a Christian or particularly sympathetic to the Christian point of view. We've already pointed out the lampooning of Christianity in "Church & State" especially, and even after Dave Sim became a monotheist, he still seems to have little use for the Christian concept of unearned redemption, as his answer to a Christian in the Blog & Mail of February 24, 2007 shows. And yet, here it is, perfectly displayed (as long as you allow Jaka to be an Angel, and not a Viper or a Scorpion, as it were -- little joke from WAAAAY up ahead, for those who haven't read the whole series yet).

The whole redemption question by Larry that began this series of essays was "What would have constituted Cerebus (the character) redeeming humanity." This is the answer. If somehow because of Cerebus, each and every individual on earth, or at least some substantial portion of them (Christians, after all, speak of Christ redeeming humanity when in fact most of them believe he redeemed only those who have accepted him as their Savior), were changed for the better the way Pud was changed for the better by Jaka, that would be redemption.

Of course, Mrs. Thatcher would be quick to point out that the evil Jaka redeemed Pud from was brought on by herself in the first place. If she hadn't danced in front of him in those flimsy costumes, if she hadn't aroused his lust in the first place, he wouldn't have needed redemption. I disagree with that position, but it's one that shouldn't just be ignored. I'm not going to do much more than acknowledge it here, however, because I haven't time to mount a serious refutation and it takes me too far away from the general subjects I'm working with here. Still, I thought it would be less than honest to close without at least acknowledging it.

But whether or not she was responsible for Pud's fall in the first place, Jaka is certainly responsible for his redemption. He is not. He is ready to rape her, or at best coerce her into sex, and after the interruption is so dejected at not having been able to carry out his designs that he is contemplating suicide. And after she comes back in, a simple act of generosity, of human goodness, turns him around, changes him into a better person.

May we all be aware at all times that our behavior can have affects both good and bad on other individuals, and strive to be like Jaka here in setting an example that will touch the hearts of those around us and inspire them to be better people, and may we all be better people in aiming for such an aspiration.

Religion in Cerebus - Part Seven

After being in the forefront for the massive length of "Church & State," religion retreats into the background in "Jaka's Story," although it's not completely missing. We have Oscar's arch comments in the "Jaka's Story" within "Jaka's Story" (aka "Daughter of Palnu"), and of course we have some pro forma Cirinist dogma from Mrs. Thatcher at the end -- although Cirinism is present in the story primarily as a governmental rather than a religious force, with the religion underpinning the government even further in the background than in "High Society."

However, the whole plot ends up turning on an incident featuring the most incendiary religious topic of our time: abortion.

When we last saw Jaka, after Red Sophia left and Cerebus told Bear to go get her, she was married, and she was going to have a baby. "I won't tell you that I love him," she told Cerebus, "He's good to me . . . I can rely on him . . . "

(We'll explore that thought in a moment)

"You don't love him, Jaka," insists Cerebus, "You love Cerebus and you know you do . . . "

"You may be right," she admits into her hands, which cover her face as she huddles up into herself. "It doesn't matter. It can't matter."

And the reason it doesn't matter is that she's pregnant.

"I didn't want a family this soon," she says. "We need the money I make in the tavern. It's going to be difficult."

Cerebus says that she's afraid, and she agrees. A blank panel follows, and then, a poignant little almost-funny throwaway scene that's full of pathos, but on rereading has an ominous tone:

Do you know what I'm most afraid of? The one thing I'm most afraid of . . . is that having a baby will make me ugly . . . and I won't be able to dance for a living anymore. Isn't that silly? Isn't that the funniest . . .

She stops, dissolving into tears, so of course it's not really "funny," in the sense of humorous. It's considerably less funny in retrospect, knowing that not long after this conversation she went out and had an abortion, precisely because of the insecurity on display here.

The first we hear about the abortion is a repetition of the lie Jaka has already told Rick, told now to Cerebus just after their reunion.

CEREBUS: Where's your baby?

(three silent panels)

JAKA: Do you know what a miscarriage is?

CEREBUS: Nay.

But of course, it wasn't a miscarriage -- or rather, it was -- the medical term for a miscarriage is, after all, "abortion," the only difference being that what we usually use that word for is an *induced* abortion. We don't see Jaka's explanation to Cerebus, because the scene cuts away, but this exchange takes place on page 49.

(A parenthetical insertion that has nothing to do with religion: this is another example of Dave's deliberate ambiguity regarding the passage of time. Cerebus was apparently on the moon for a fairly short time, and a "Note From the President" says that at the beginning of "Jaka's Story" a fortnight has passed since Cerebus and Jaka saw each other in the hotel on the side of the mountain. Yet many have pointed out that it seems more like a year has passed -- Jaka's hair is much longer for instance. And surely Cerebus wouldn't expect a woman who was not even visibly showing signs of pregnancy two weeks ago to have given birth already).

There is a subtle reference to the real reason for the abortion even earlier, in the parallel "Jaka's Story" (aka "Daughter of Palnu") that is being written by Oscar -- though we don't discover that for some time -- describing Jaka's upbringing as a young girl in Lord Julius' household. It involves Jaka's fantasies while riding on the mechanical horse, which she calls "Magic," imagining herself riding into the City Coliseum to wild acclaim, and her relationship with her doll, Missy.

It was never quite clear, in the Pageant Game, what it was that Jaka had done to merit the thunderous ovation that greeted her arrival at the stadium. But thunderous it was (without exception) and reserved for her alone: a solitary and noble rider, nodding first left and then right in stately and imperial fashion, acknowledging her tumultuous greeting (which greeting included her own Missy, face bright with adoration, slightly to the left and rear of the reviewing stand).

Jaka had once asked Nurse, in hopes of adding a certain authenticity to the Pageant Game, if Pageants were ever held to hornor little girls as they were held to honour war heroes and adventurers. Nurse had replied (most emphatically) that it was the duty of little girls to clean their plates so they grow up to be strong and healthy mothers and have many strong and healthy babies . . . and there were no Pageants to honour *that*, make no mistake, and there never *would* be.

Thus enlighted, Jaka had briefly considered that she was being honoured for having given birth to the strongest and healthiest baby of all time: Missy. Despite her best efforts to incorporate this new element, it became obvious that if Missy were, indeed, the strongest and healthiest baby of all time, well, it would only stand to reason that the strongest and healthiest baby of all time would *not* be at the left and slightly to the rear of the reviewing stand but *might*, rather, be something of an object of adoration herself.

Which led Jaka briefly (very briefly) to visualize herself seated on the reviewing stand while Missy rode Magic triumphantly before her, nodding in stately fashion as Jaka cheered herself hoarse, in concert with the hysterical throng.

Bad Missy.

Bad Missy indeed. Jaka needs to be the center of attention. She cannot contemplate having a child who receives the acclaim that is rightly hers. This is of course a very young Jaka (not yet five), moreover it is revealed to be a fictional Jaka on several layers of metafiction, derived from her selective memories, strained through whatever protective coloring they have been relayed to Rick, then based on which of these memories Rick told Oscar, and how accurately or not he may have relayed them, and finally what has been selected by Oscar for his own artistic purposes and how he may have arranged or even altered them.

Still, given the whole thrust of the book, it is difficult to escape looking at this passage in retrospect as representing the deep reason for Jaka's actions that she won't admit even to herself.

He's just so . . . so . . . impractical sometimes. Thinking we can life forever on three copper bits a day . . . and have a baby. I try explaining to him how much it costs to raise a child . . . food . . . clothing . . . schooling. And all he can talk about is buying the baby a horse. We live in an apartment on the side of a mountain. Where would we keep it? I ask him. What would we feed it? I ask him. "I'll figure something out" He always says that. "I'll figure something out." But he never does. It's just his way of ignoring the truth. That we're poor. We've always been poor and we always will be poor. Always."

This is Jaka, on pp. 202-203, finding her own way to ignore the truth -- for instance, that she's a Princess of Palnu and hasn't "always" been poor and is poor now by choice and could change that circumstance any time she likes. And of course, that although her critique of her husband's obliviousness to reality is quite valid, it is not, in the long run, the real reason why she had her abortion.

Jaka deals with inconvenient truths by simply ignoring them. When Mrs. Thatcher tells her that she's responsible for the death of Pud Withers, she broods on it and on their next meeting, the first thing out of her mouth is a demand to know why she said that. Thiis conversation ensues on pp. 436-440:

MRS. THATCHER: You KNEW dancing in taverns was illegal AND you KNEW that to EMPLOY a dancer was against the law as WELL.

JAKA: "Against the law! Yes -- but I didn't know you were going to kill him.

MRS. THATCHER: Now you know that's not true, my dear. You were QUITE well aware that employing a dancer WAS and IS a capital offense. WEREN'T you.

(silent panel of Jaka refusing to answer)

MRS. THATCHER: COME now, Mrs. Nash. We are ALways FAR better served by the TRUTH than were are by LIES . . . AREN'T we.

JAKA: I'm NOT lying.

(several panels of Mrs. Thatcher flipping through her book)

MRS. THATCHER: Ah. "Interview . . . Mr. Michael Cave, owner and proprietor, the Dog and Thrush Tavern." YOU remember Mr. Cave, DON'T you, Mrs. Nash. Mmm? "I told her she was always good for my business, but things were different now with the new laws! I told her I couldn't hire her and I told her she'd have to leave the premises -- I SAID TO HER . . . ! THEY'D SHOOT ME DEAD AS A DOG IF THE EVEN SAW YOU STANDING IN HERE"

MRS. THATCHER (cont.): The interviewer asks Mr. Cave to characterize your response. Mr. Cave replies "Se said she understood. She said she was sorry. And then she left."

We will see Jaka's ability to simply put inconvenient truths out of her mind entirely again in "Going Home."

This is what she has done with the abortion. When she talks about it with Cerebus, she's probably practically convinced herself that it *was* a miscarriage. And certainly she has convinced herself that the *only* reason for it was the impracticality of having a child at this particular moment in her life, that she and Rick need to take some time and settle into more stability first -- Rick needs to get a job first, for one thing. But that isn't the real reason. The real reason is hammered at us over and over, yet most readers, being more than half in love with Jaka themselves, refuse to see it, sharing Jaka's own attitude toward inconvenient truths (I know I was this way for years until my eyes were opened in the Yahoo Cerebus discussion group by rainmandu). Here's another example, from pp. 216-218:

JAKA: Pud . . . am I ugly?

PUD: What?

JAKA: AM - I - UGLY?

PUD: Why . . . Why NO, Miss Jaka

JAKA: I feel so ugly . . . so . . . ordinary

JAKA (cont.): It used to be . . . all I had to do was start getting ready for work . . . and I was Jaka! Not "Mrs. Nash." JAKA! With an exclamation mark . . .

JAKA (cont.): Now. Now I'm Mrs. Nash. ALL the time.

Jaka needs to me "Jaka!" with an exclamation mark. She is not happy being Mrs. Nash. She would be even less happy being Richard Jr.'s mother.

And that is why she had the abortion. And for all the talk about rape and incest and the like, the fact is that most of the abortions that take place in the U.S. are more like Jaka's than they are like the one that was denied Norma McCovey.

That's not to say that she didn't have other reasons, or that it might not have been, in the long run, the wisest decision. Rick was insufferably unrealistic and demonstrates a concerted laziness, as it were, almost a determination *not* to get a job that precludes any chance of him finding one. The very first day he gets up late, wears inappropriate clothes, having forgotten that it's market day and he was going to look for a job, then says that's it's really too late to find anything, but when Jaka reacts badly he does go -- but of course comes home without having found work.

The scene with Oscar on pp. 196-199 where his desire for a son and a horse come up ends with a repetition of this theme, and is a perfect demonstration of why Rick is a poor candidate for fatherhood:

OSCAR: And that's your heart's fondest desire? That's it . . . a son.

RICK: I close my eyes and I can see him. Literally see him . . . just as if he was standing right there. And he isn't a skinny runt like me, either.

OSCAR: No?

RICK: Heck no . . . He's a fighter! Tough as nails. I'm going to give him a foal when he turns ten years old. Ask me why I'm going to give him a foal when he turns ten years old . . .

OSCAR: Tell me, Richard. Why are you going to give your son a foal when he turns ten years old?

RICK: Every morning he's going to lift that foal over his head! Every morning.! For three years. So by the time he turns thirteen, he'll be able to lift a full grown horse over his head. That'swhy I'm going to give him a foal when he turns ten years old.

OSCAR: What a perfectly charming notion.

RICK: Of course, Jaka wanted . . . wants a little girl.

OSCAR: Mm. I have a publisher with the same preference.

RICK: Like I told her, first a son. Thenshe can have all the little girls she . . .

JAKA (offstage): Rick.

(Rick looks at Jaka in the door of their apartment)

RICK: WHAT?

(shot of Rick and Oscar)

RICK: WHAT?

(shot of Jaka in doorway)

RICK: (sigh)

(Rick goes over to Jaka. They talk -- argue really, though we don't "hear" any of the dialogue. A shot of Oscar observing the argument is interposed, then Jaka goes back inside, slamming the door. Rick returns to Oscar and begins putting his shirt back on.)

RICK: I can't help you paint any more today, Osar. It's Market Day. I have to look for a JOB.

OSCAR: Quel dommage, dear boy.

The anger on Rick's face over the fact that Jaka has (almost certainly) reminded him that he had already said he was going to go look for a job is eloquent.

So Rick is every bit as good at fooling himself as Jaka is. And he's *not* really father material.

Of course, we know that after being removed from Jaka, without the enabling of having her "income" to support him (the tight little economy of that hillside, with its endlessly circulating three copper bits, is another whole story in itself), Rick *did* find work, and even managed to bulk himself up. Perhaps if the baby had been born it would have forced him to mature, as babies so often do to their parents.

But we will never know. Jaka made her decision, a decision that she not only gave Rick no input into, but hid from him. She didn't just kill her baby, she killed his baby too, and he didn't even know until Mrs. Thatcher told him. Even most of us who think she should have had the right to make that decision think there's something wrong with that.

There's no simple "Jaka is evil because she murdered her baby" or "Rick is evil for hitting Jaka after finding out about the abortion" presented here, although both people do suffer negative consequences for those actions. Dave hadn't found religion yet, and didn't yet think abortion was a "sin" or "against God's will" or anything like that. But the seeds are sown here for the disenchantment with Jaka that Dave hopes his readers will have by the end of "Going Home." Jaka *is* shallow. Jaka *is* spoiled, if not in the obvious traditional way of needing and expecting lots of expensive material possessions. It is not material things that Jaka craves, but attention. She has to be "Jaka!" With an exclamation point. People have to notice when she comes into the room.

Not necessarily a terrible thing. Many people have far worse personality flaws. And yet, this one is responsible for the death of a child.

Religion in Cerebus - Part Six

Religion comes to the forefront of the Cerebus storyline in “Church & State,” when Cerebus becomes Pope again.

Again?

Cerebus was actually the acting pontiff during part of “High Society,” I refer the reader to pp. 427-428, when Cerebus has his conversation with the two drunken Bishops, where he learns the importance of the Albatross. On p. 428, we find the following exchange:

BISHOP: You were suppose’ a find th’ albatroz

CEREBUS: Cerebus was?

BISHOP: Yes! Yes! Yes! . . . With th’ inodux exward you technic’ly became th’ Eas’ern Pon’iff

The Bishop means “Exodus Inward,” of course, the Pope and all the top church hierarchy sealing themselves up and severing connection with the outside world.

This seems to have actually happened before the election, as it is later implied that Blakely and Filgate and the rest supported Cerebus specifically because of the Exodus Inward (when it ends, they decamp). So perhaps Gatson was “technically the Eastern Pontiff” for a short while. In any case, it’s another example of how “High Society,” ostensibly about politics, is in fact supported throughout by a superstructure of religion.

In any case, after trying to escape Iest and its intrigues and being dragged back by President Weisshaupt and made Prime Minister again, Cerebus is named Pope early in "Church and State" (technically, between issues 61 and 62, but we don't actually see him in his papal robes until #64). He immediately moves from the Regency, not to the papal palace and grand cathedral on the other end of the Upper City, but to a hotel "on the east wall." It's interesting to note that he chose a location that was neither in the Upper City nor the Lower City. He spends the next 85 issues in this neither/nor position, with time out for a trip to the Upper City for the Trial and, of course, his trip to the moon. Jaka and Rick's apartment is also on the wall, and Dino's Cafe is just inside the gate on the road to the Upper City. Cerebus is seen going out that gate into the Lower City on the penultimate page of Melmoth.

Clearly, the author of "Church & State" was extremely critical of the whole notion of religion and religious belief. The true believers in the story are the suckers who give their gold to Cerebus and the "limp-wristed pucker-faced sack of suet," Bishop Posey, a thoroughly ineffectual sort who ends up later martyring himself uselessly for his belief in Cerebus. The only believers in Tarim that we see who are not taken in by Cerebus are Powers and his fellow Western Church officials, who are not exactly presented as positive role models. Although before he became Pontiff we are twice told that Cerebus is an orthodox Tarimite and raised in the Church (once by Harmony IV, once by Sophia), once he ascends to the papacy he certainly acts like he has no real belief in Tarim -- wouldn't a believer be afraid that Tarim would strike him down for his misuse of His Name?

And yet, weirdly enough, he does act and speak as if he does believe, even though his belief is shallow and he remains self-centered. He seems to think that it must be Tarim's will that he be Pope, since he is, and therefore it's perfectly all right for him to do whatever he wishes and Tarim will approve. When he goes on the roof with Boobah to be "closer to Tarim" so he can say "the perfect things that come into Most Holy's head," he seems to be serious and sincere, even though the scene reveals just how shallow and simplistic Cerebus' thoughts are, and how self-centered he really is ("Most Holy has a feeling, Boobah, that Tarim wants to talk to Most Holy tonight. You must write down whatever Tarim says, because, in his own way, he is almost as important as Most Holy.").

Notice that "he," referring to Tarim, is not capitalized here. This is written down by Boobah, not the all-caps of captions and dialogue, so the non-capitalization is in the original -- and throughout Boobah's transcript. "Most Holy," on the other hand, is capitalized. Is this a mistake on Boobah's part? The result of instructions from Cerebus? Dave's own thinking on Tarim being a "god" not God so therefore not needing capitals (despite the Church of Tarim obviously standing allegorically for the Catholic Church that does worship God)? It's hard to say, but it's an interesting note.

While it makes dramatic sense, there's never a real explanation for why the populace becomes so overwhelmingly loyal to Cerebus. If previous popes had commanded that kind of loyalty, there wouldn't have been a need for an Inquisition. It's true that his popularity is largely among the "peasants and livestock," as Weisshaupt dismisses them early on, but Lord Draser is surely not the only member of the middle and upper classes to be withdrawing money from the bank, or the bank wouldn't be in such trouble. As Cerebus' demands for money are loosely based on televangelists like Jim Bakker and Oral Roberts, it's important to note that no single Christian leader -- even the Pope during the Middle Ages -- ever really had the hearts and minds of all the faithful, or even all the faithful in any large city, like Rome, to this extent.

Speaking of Oral Roberts, it's tempting to look back on Cerebus' "Tarim will destroy the world unless you give Him all your gold!" as lampooning Roberts' famous assertion that God would "call him home" if his flock didn't come up with $8 million in two months, but it is in fact one of those life-imitating-art instances. Cerebus #65 ("Anything Done for the First Time Unleashes a Demon," where Cerebus first makes his demand for gold, was cover-dated August 1984 (it may have come out in September or even October - Dave was running behind back then and would slip several months before finishing C&S, but still, certainly some time that year). Oral Roberts made his plea on January 4, 1987, with a deadline of March 1. (He claimed to have made it by the way, reportedly raising $9.1 million by the deadline, but of course, his books weren't open to the public so we have to take his word for it.)

Despite some indications of a sincere belief in Tarim, however, Cerebus seems to have no problem whatsoever using his new-found position in the most cynical and even vicious ways. Throwing the baby is almost accidental, an impulsive act without forethought, but kicking the old man off the roof is a deliberate and calculated act.

Cerebus apparently believes the words of the sermon he preaches in #65 that launches the influx of gold into his hotel:

Many of you have been told since you were small that Tarim loves you . . . That is NOT TRUE . . . Tarim loves rich people! That is why he gives them so much money . . . Tarim loves strong people . . . That is why he gives them enough strength to beat everyone up . . . Tarim HATES poor people which is why they don't have any money . . . Tarim hates weak people which is why they are always getting beaten up by strong people.

This sermon is intended to soften the huddled masses up for the pitch for gold, but it can also be seen as Cerebus' real beliefs. It seems certain that he is not orthodox in his beliefs, even if he is technically an Orthodox Tarimite. One can certainly see how what little we know of his early life would have led him to disbelieve the things he was taught about Tarim when he was small (and let's leave aside for now the probable upbringing of the barbarian we saw in the early episodes and accept as given that Cerebus was indeed brought up an Orthodox Tarimite in a small town in a place that more resembled Canada than some Conanesque barbarian hinterland).

Although this is the opening to a pitch, I think Cerebus is also being absolutely sincere here. He really does believe that it is self-evident that Tarim loves rich people, and that is why they are rich. Tarim loves strong people, and that is why Cerebus worked hard as a youth to make himself strong, to be the beater rather than the beaten. He believes that his elevation to the papacy is a sign of Tarim's favor. Whatever he does, Tarim approves of it. Tarim, after all, made him Pope. This even his explains his disregard of what many would consider his blasphemy -- he can't commit blasphemy. He's the Pope. Whatever he says, whatever he does, it's OK; Tarim has already approved it in advance by making him Pope.

Early on, he gets a warning that this may not be exactly true, when he tries to stop the rain. But Cerebus soon forgets this and gets caught up in his "perfection."

And what does Dave think of all this? It's often hard to tell, but I think the scene where he orders Bishop Posey around, orders his mother-in-law around, orders the rain to stop (actually, with his eyes cast skyward, he is literally ordering Tarim to stop the rain) and then settles for "two out of three" is a direct message from Dave -- not so much to the reader as to Cerebus, that he is not necessarily the Anointed of God, that his position is a fluke of circumstance and not the Choice of Tarim, and that he is about to get himself into deep, deep trouble.

Dave says that at this time he was an atheist. While I don't believe that's true, I think it's clear that his beliefs were extremely nontraditional, that he didn't believe in "God" as described by any mainstream religion. Church & State is intended, first and foremost, as a full-on critique of religious belief in general and religious power in particular.

In the middle of "Church & State," Cerebus' papacy is interrupted by Necross, the magician from issue #13, inside the big stone Thrunk, who shows up in papal robes claiming to be Tarim. He claims the gold and throws Cerebus off the cliff.

This sets us up for Michele's commentary early in the second volume:

For some reason you all apparently want to be Tarim. Not a pope or a prophet or even a messiah . . . you want to be the creator of all things . . . Well you can't be can you? I mean what would you do? Create the heavens and the earth again? You don't have to . . . they're already here

Of course, an interesting subtext here is that by now everyone who says "Tarim" means pretty much the same thing we mean by "God" with a capital G -- an eternal, unchanging being so far above the level of human experience, not at all like the small-g gods of pagan mythology ("He who is eternal . . . unchanging" says Powers at the trial), yet it's quite clear that there was a human being named "Tarim" who lived sometime long ago, probably about 1400 years ago, and is somewhat, at least, analogous to Jesus Christ. It's as if Christians never, ever said "God" but referred to Him only and always as "Jesus." But as logical as Michele's statements are, they are also contradictory, because Tarim himself did indeed do what she's saying can't be done, at least in the beliefs of the Church of Tarim, and if she's not a believer, then why does she use the name "Tarim" to refer to God?

Cerebus eventually meets George, the Judge, who says he's not Tarim and tells a story about Tarim that could only be true of some infinite being that George apparently calls Tarim for convenience but is obviously not the human being of that name. Eventually, it is clear that "Tarim" as a word is less analogous to "Jesus" than it is to "Yahweh" or "Jehovah" -- it is simply God's name. Dave will use this idea to establish his position that God does not have a name, that it is indeed blasphemous to put a name on God, but that's a ways down the road.

Part of the message in Cerebus' downfall and return is the fickleness of followers, for the people who cheered Cerebus' ruthlessness (calling for him to throw another cripple) now cheer his removal and turn their worship to the big stone Thrunk. Later, when Cerebus kills Necross they will cheer him from saving them from the "false pope" and go back to believing every word he says.

(Cerebus says, "Anyone who moves before Most Holy comes back out will spend the rest of eternity sipping lava through an iron straw!" Several hours later (the next day?) Cerebus comes out with Lord Julius, who refers to the still motionless crowd as a "rhapsody in rags still-life" and points out that one fellow was balanced on the big toe of his left foot. "I'll wager you could build a mighty fine suspension bridge with his tendons about now.")

The ending of "Church & State" seems to posit an almost wholly atheistic world, one in which any God that might exist doesn't concern himself with human affairs at all. Tarim is the Void. Terim has been exploded into all the suns and planets (this idea is actually not so far from Dave's eventual ending place in his spiritual search, with YHWH as the Earth and other YHWHs out there as other planets). The universe is a lonely place. The moon is not Vanaheim, but "a dead and nearly airless hunk of rock."

Of course, Dave still exhibits a serious lack of understanding about the fundamental nature of religion, based on his limited experience (apparently primarily from televangelists). According to George, after each and every one of the many "great floods" that have occurred, "The religious leaders tell them that . . . as long as they never have fun . . . Tarim will never make it rain that hard again." I suppose "never have any fun" could be an accurate-enough-for-satire depiction of American Protestantism and perhaps even the Judeo-Christian tradition as a whole, but it's hard to align it with, say Hinduism, with its Kama Sutra and Tantric sex practices. And although there's a long tradition of making fun of fundamentalist Christians that way, they would assure you that one doesn't need to engage in sinful practices like drinking and whoring in order to have "fun."

But let that go. Dave is obviously striving to tackle the Big Issues here, and doing a good enough job that he engages the reader on a far deeper level than mere entertainment, making you think about things and consider the positions Dave is outlining here. Even if you end up finding yourself at odds with his destination, following his journey is fascinating.