top of page

Why We Resist by Shmuel Pernicone (A Review)

Updated: Dec 13, 2020


What distinguishes humanity from other life forms might be our ability (and necessity) to create what we call "culture". Then again, study of group dynamics (or world history) supports an idea that all kinds of "cults" constantly emerge, grow, transform, fracture, or dissipate. Though they may undergo many changes, some cults may have served human interests sufficiently enough to have persisted (in name at least) for several millennia. What can we say then about the cult currently surrounding our current *president? This is the challenge addressed by Why We Resist by Shmuel Pernicone.


In a recent movie featuring the uncanny, the pivotal young character eats spaghetti while Nichole Kidman watches entranced. The Killing a Sacred Deer is not as funny (intentionally so) as The Lobster nor (perhaps) as interesting as Dogtooth. Colin Farrell and Alicia Silverstein are also featured so who knows what beset its core concept in the process of enlisting such Hollywood star power. What’s most significant here is that this character is achingly young. So painfully young he can proclaim with wide-eyed earnestness that EVERYONE eats the stuff the very same way — as dripping red pasta dangles from his maw leaving striped traces on his chin and shirt. Like a vast swath of young humanity, he is awkward, lost, yearning, and obtuse in an imperviously innocent way. Innocent in that same impervious way so many adults, including those fast approaching their dotage, might be perceived or earnestly feel themselves to be. As impervious innocent as so many who voted for trimp, or as so many who voted against him while still perpetuating a ghastly dynamic that somehow feeds us and which threatens to continue to feed on whoever come after us. The boy in this flick is as imperviously innocent as the thousands of spinsters, shopkeepers, grandmamas, mechanics, accountants, postal clerks, students, secretaries, farmers, hausfraus, and pensioners who voted for Hitler‘s party before — and after — Kristallnacht. As impervious innocent as many of our most frivolous, stolid, dour, or wistful neighbors.


Tens of millions of American citizens voted for trimp who only lost the popular vote by nearly six million (always to be questioned) ballots. Over five million votes might seem a solid popular victory, immune to rational processes of recount and beyond any reasonable evidenced based claims of voter fraud. But anybody who claims THIS election wasn’t too close is only whistling in the graveyard. A graveyard where something uncanny is already happening because the uncanny has always been here lurking, and has always reared into history from time to time in different places such as the genocide in Rwanda or the witch trials in early modern Europe. Innocent people who whistle in graveyards don’t literally believe some putrid arm covered with moldy gore is ACTUALLY likely to lurch from the churning mud to drag them down to hell. It’s just that they can’t shake such images from their minds, and perhaps even enjoy the sensations such specters generate in their viscera — especially once they are safe and sound outside the iron gates under the comforting glow of civilized streetlights where they can see shadows dance behind the closed shades of familiar neighbors.


Unless one investigates its title, The Killing of a Sacred Deer is likely to be written off as an autistic horror movie, a quirky take on an undead genre by a director known for his deliberately off-kilter stylistic moves. Long ago I saw a production of The Trojan Women done Kabuki style where the movements and utterances of the performers were as exaggerated as they were stilted. Once you accept its premise, nothing is exaggerated in this movie; everything is stilted. The effect is the same. Strange forms of destiny are inscrutable and irresistible. Whether imperceptibly or compulsively, it works through us despite our will, our wiles, our bargaining, or our most base or most elevated conceptions of justice.


The movie’s title references the impetuous killing of a deer sacred to the goddess Artemis by Agamemnon who is prevented, so sayeth the seer, from launching his thousand ships of war unless he “atones” by sacrificing his own flesh and blood. So, pressured by teeming hordes of bloodthirsty troops, daughter Iphigenia is slaughtered. Ten years later so is Agamemnon, quickly followed by his avenging wife with all those murders (and war dead) leaving their offspring to be eternally pursued by vengeful Furies. (Or something.)


I’m pretty sure the young man in the movie is not meant to represent evil. To be an oracle is to be condemned to struggle on under any one of a special variety of curses. (Ask Cassandra). In this particular movie the injured young man is a victim who is grotesquely re-victimized by becoming the unwitting portal of some ancient calculus meant to approximate a particularly savage form of justice. (For those of you over 18 living under amenable laws, it now occurs to me to suggest the movie which is probably a few nachos above your standard stoner flick might just be a tit more enjoyable when viewed under the effects of a moderate to tingling high of the sort cannabis can be cultivated to provide.)


This FINALLY brings us to Why We Resist by Schmuel Pernicone who is for now young (“just a kid” he reminds us and himself) but nothing like the unformed Sacred Deer protagonist EXCEPT that he might also be condemned to suffer under some version of something like the curse of prophecy. I believe “prophecy” to be a Greek term frequently used to refer to what went on amidst some dwellers in Canaan especially during the stretched decades before and after what they referred to as the “Exiles” when they permitted a particular form of this process to exert an enduring impact on the early process of becoming transformed from what might be called ‘Israelites” to what we might still called “Jews.”


There are so many kinds of curses and so many types of prophet. Now and then, at least since the seventies, Bob Dylan likes to joke(?) about being one. The epithet has also been hurled at (or invited by) Noam Chomsky. The first mostly explores and draws power from the mythopoetic currents that roil whatever is “America” which like other legendary entities is always undergoing strange transformations. America is always (at the same dreamtime) much more, and always so much less, than the “United States” continuously crafted by laws and constitution. The other prophetic exemplar is exactly the same as the first. It’s just that he tries to channel it all with the focus sometimes provided by precisely tilted and carefully polished mirrors of reason. Of course, those reflecting, distorting, shiny surfaces are partially constructed on and in the shifting fields we call language. Language is something both struggle with according to their own genius. Language and reason form an uncomfortable double helix, but these are the two guiding angels of Why We Resist which in December of 2020 focuses on the challenge provided to America and the United States by its current *president.


One thing that Why We Resist tirelessly documents is that whatever else is represented by trimp and trimpism, they embody a potentially devastating attack on what might ever pass for reason, sanity, human decency, or hope. And it’s just as clear that its young author is determined to assert the value of reason and to defend it in every way possible that might not betray what he is so ardent to protect and, if possible, advance. He has the wit and the courage to early on in his book set forth his own guiding principles which he valiantly invites the “fellowship of the sane “to affirm, build upon, or even to question (if the probes are intended constructively so that they can provide a firmer foundation). A direct quote:


That objective reality exists.
That we all live at various overlapping points within it, and can map the whole more truthfully or less truthfully.
That we are all surely wrong about something.
That Life can be made better and it can be made worse.
That errors of belief blot our maps and hinder our hopes to navigate a better Life, and so we all ought to diligently discover and correct these errors, as best we can.

My only quibble here is that our maps are not simply blotted by distorted ideas and beliefs. Nor are they incomplete merely because of our failures to piece together various perspectives in ways that don’t leave holes. I think there are limits to our powers of perception and discovery and that the very fabric of our reasoning (based as it is on language, mathematics, logic, and intuition) has gaps that can only be depicted vaguely by our rude maps. But this is simply a quibble because I do believe that what we can map, we can represent more or less truthfully.


Now, the subtitle of this book proclaims it to be a letter, and Shmuel Pernicone strives mightily to cleave to that form, often directly appealing to trimp supporters who might be willing to consider changing their minds, who might be willing to consider the truism that “thinking” is nothing BUT “changing one’s mind.” The preceding quotes are meant to mark the fact that I just mutilated one of a multitude of quotations and references included in this volume. The book is a letter, but Shmuel also calls it a “scrapbook”. If he’s entitled to reference it in that way, I’m entitled to try to characterize it less uncharitably. Y