It’s all going up in flames (poem)

It’s all going up in flames
It already was
Already was broken, cracking, brittle:
Already wouldn’t bend
Couldn’t mold to the shape
Of us:
Of our hunger, weariness;
Our disease.

Already driving and driving and driving
Past empty shops
The haze of hunger
Hung in the air
Before the smoke.


It’s all going up in flames
The sobbing in the alleys
The frozen stares in kitchens
As the bills roll in
Walking and walking and walking
Food parcels and petrol vouchers
Mental health plans
NDIS reviews
Assess us; ship us off to pick fruit
Quietly now; quietly
Shhhh.

Gross domestic profit
Missiles
Submarines
Guns, guns, guns
Guns, guns, guns, guns, guns:
It’s all going up in flames
It’s all going up in flames
It’s all going up in flames.

‘Progress’ and the 2020 Australian bushfire crisis

Australians are currently experiencing a whole lot of stuff that doesn’t reflect the suggested consequences of the economic tack that the West has taken, over the last two-hundred years. As time moves forward, we increasingly see that technological advancement alone cannot solve society’s problems: we need to also understand how to function collectively to benefit broadly from those capacities.

Conquest; progress; expansion; advancement are words that we associate primarily with the nineteenth century and early twentieth, in this rhetoric. More recently, arising out of US political discourse, the verbs deployed by our government in Australia are militarised. In this vein, the imagery that we see in Prime Minister Scott Morrison’s ‘informational’ videos, this week has drawn out the objections of the Australian Defense Association.  The ADA has emphatically articulated the importance of the convention of not involving our defense force in political posturing. Click here for a Guardian article on this.

Old White Dudes, progressing. Some of it was really useful.

I am interested, though, to recall what people were getting at when they first articulated these ideas of progress and advancement, in association with early scientific inquiry. In the first half of the nineteenth century, Church and State were closely intertwined across Europe, in various configurations. In Germany, particularly, in the 1830s and early 1840s, Hegelian theologians like David Strauss and Ludwig Feuerbach were writing about what faith was, in light of scientific progress at the time. Both posited that any belief needed to be grounded in perception, and that science was an important means of honing our perceptions in our understanding of the world.  Contemporary thinkers are mostly on board with these assertions, now.

More controversially, both also ventured to make statements that–indirectly but fundamentally–weakened the social legitimacy of leaders who leaned hard on religious doctrine as the established, exclusive framework for perceiving the world. We see an emphatic resistance to this tendency in contemporary Australian culture, which unfortunately sees faith groups drawn in to conflation with political leveraging of faith statements. These conflations alienate us from one another. Readers will have diverse positions about this (with my blessing), but the fact remains that we Australians are culturally resistant, for the most part, to having our leaders decide on our behalf that a particular set of doctrines is that of our whole nation.

In contrast, in 19th century Germany, both Strauss and Feuerbach, as theologians and therefore custodians of Church doctrine, were Staatsdiener, or public servants. At that time in Germany, theologians were part of State mechanisms for social cohesion and regulation. Feuerbach, in particular, was inadvertently quite influential on the young Karl Marx, and so it went, that these theological standpoints became enmeshed with political shifts that permanently changed the political landscape on the world stage. There were far more moderate responses to Feuerbach in the mix, and it shouldn’t be assumed that this was Feuerbach’s expectation in any way.

Both Strauss and Feuerbach studied G.W.F. Hegel’s work, gleaning from him the idea that community beliefs and values shift over time, adapting themselves to each cultural moment. This adaptation is how society grows and adapts… How we progress, you could say.

Marx’s revolutions were a violently abrupt shift to draw the disenfranchised and oppressed working classes back into conversations about what cultural beliefs constituted progress. While I wouldn’t presume to press Marx’s contribution onto my readers as some gold standard of social outcome, Marx does, nonetheless, serve as a strong warning about what can happen when the experiences of the community come to be at odds with what their leaders ask them to accept in their day-to-day lives (for the record, in my own work, I gravitate more towards George Eliot’s contribution of social regeneration via peacefully connected and collaborative community).

Let’s take a brief beard appreciation break:

The reception of these theologians in England occurred in the same circles as the early evolutionists that led up to Charles Darwin’s 1859 book, On the Origin of the Species. The idea that we respond to the conditions within which we find ourselves, and over time we adapt and change to flourish, resonates with the theologians who also spoke about progress and growth as attributes of the very basis of existence.

Returning to the Australian context, we are again finding ourselves out of step with what we are being asked for by our leaders, in many sectors of the community. We are, as Europeans in the 1830s and 1840s were, contemplating what it means to grow as a society at a time with no precedent. Many of us are dissatisfied with the deteriorating quality of public healthcare, wages have stagnated, towns are being vacated because their water supplies have been given/sold, instead, to large corporations that are not being held accountable. We also have the very distressing experiences of fire refugees who have been displaced. We bear a heavy burden of collective trauma. As a nation, we need to make some decisions.

It’s at odds with my values system to suggest that violence can be the solution under these conditions. I see that our community discourse is fundamentally uncoupled from the values of our current Prime Minister, and the (rapidly shrinking) collective who have supported these transgressive decisions about our collective well-being. A rift is developing in the community, as decisions are made that don’t serve the full community, but only those who the government has decided are well-enough resourced to fight back if they’re left out. Speculations about another Libspill are wafting through the rafters. Either way, we remain as a community, empowered to decide our collective values and culture for ourselves.

It’s simply historical fact that hungry people, burned people, displaced people, people dying of preventable health conditions… people in impossible circumstances, being asked for impossible things… eventually disengage from collaboration with the leaders creating those conditions, and there is always a proportion that get very angry. It is also a historical fact that leaders that are sufficiently out of step with the people they lead/rule, don’t get to keep being the leaders unless they engage in Really Nasty Behaviour. But society rights itself over time: the mechanisms for this vary between systems, ranging from the guillotines of the French, to the preferable mechanisms of elections and the like.

To use the latter in Australia, we’ve got a bit of a wait to go… a few years. In the meantime, progress and advancement actually belongs to us, just as it will after the next election. If I’ve noticed anything in the responses to Prime Minister Morrison’s recent pyro-bumbling, it’s that we, as a nation, are coming together to articulate what is and isn’t acceptable in how we respond to our collective needs. We are, together, stating our beliefs, in the legacy of thinkers like Strauss and Feuerbach who (somewhat inadvertently) helped initiate some of the cultural shifts that have led to the separation of Church and State. We get to choose what we believe (the history of our democratic system is peripheral to those guys, but not completely uncoupled), and we make fairly unencumbered choices about living out those beliefs, in community.

So, what do you believe you need to do now? What do you need? What do the people you live alongside need? It is up to you, and it is definitive of what happens next. Our systems, relationships, and processes consist of us, not our leaders. We survive; we grow; we rebuild; we learn. And we decide what we believe in, and what constitutes progress. Let’s evolve.

To my Mind (poem)

I can’t tell you
What I am.
I can tell you
What I hope to do
And how
In my backyard
The hens and the sparrows
Both eat the wheat
That I bought.

That the chestnut hood
Of the male sparrow
Is a glory to me
And that the cream-grey
Of the females
Is a fitting colour for a wedding gown…
To my mind, at least.

The industry of those hens:
Their cackling
They dig craters
And bathe in the dust
The sparrows among them
The ground stirring…
I don’t mind the eggs
But they’re here for the sheer beauty…
To my mind, at least.

I can’t tell you
What I am.
I can tell you
What I hope to do:
That if you were here,
In my backyard
I would see you
And you would be beautiful…
To my mind, at least.

Touching Faith (poem)

I do not need to touch
The hem of your robe
To know how much like Christ you are,
Emperor Nero.

I do not need to hear you
Close to my ear
Your breath on my cheek
To feel the shudder of your size
The churn of fear
At your immobile faith.

If we did touch
If you stepped so close
That I froze, and didn’t run
I am sure your cold coal heart
Would chill me
No matter how much heat
Was trapped beneath our smoky sky.

But,
If you took my hand
A spark would ignite us
And I would burn you to the ground.

The Cornucopia (poem)

The fear of twenty-nineteen
Could fill a cornucopia
And the stink of smoke and sacrilege
For Nigel’s new dystopia
Is spilling out from Kirribilli’s
Windows: New-Year’s Eve
Has nothing; no potential
For hope in this display of fire
Mingled among
The illegible stars.

But here we are, nonetheless
This red dawn of New Year:
The future menaces forward
Relentlessly unfolding
Like a headless snake at our feet
And we see
Face to face, for the first time,
That this thing; this superstition
Rushing towards us in the black of night
Has come
And we cannot control it
Our disfigured nation
Burning us
Until we are the ones afraid
Lost
Abandoned
Huddled on the boats
Beneath a wrathful red sky.

Lily-Pearl (poem)

Oh, my daughter
In our tradition
(In that of the poets;
The legacy of lovers
Of words and of justice)
I could write to you
Of who you could be
Of who
You could grow to become.

But, my daughter
My lily-pearl
Radiant and lustrous:
You are; you are; you are;
Myriad splendour
Bright light
Formidable benevolence.

My lily-pearl
Rounded and fair
Mighty
Crafted in the dark tumbling
Beneath an ocean of tumult
You are; you are; you are;
And in your reflection,
Here I am.

About the writer

Elise Silson is a South Australian writer who is finishing off her PhD in histories of religion, power and politics at Flinders University.

She works as a research associate, as well as a freelance editor, writer, communications consultant, and a horticulturist.

Please use the contact page to get in touch for further information on professional matters, or to request permission to use content from this page.

You Are

Ah.
You are; you are:
Divine ripples across a still surface
Sweet dew-crispness
Verdant lustre
Shimmering with the potential
Of your whole, brimming life.

Ah!
You are! You are!
This radiant awakening
Of your full mercy’s potential
You are stars in the dark
You are beams through the blackness.

You are.

Good Friday (poem)

Today I remember
The days we broke:
Our betrayals
And our many deaths.

Our litany of a thousand cuts
Perversely praised pain:
We were poured out
On the dust.

Divinity summons particles
Nestled among the sand
Soaked into the silt:
And we rise again
Not the same,
But broken seeds
Not tomorrow,
But soon.

King of Kings (poem)

There is a rumour
That there is a Messiah:
That he has come
To fight our wars.

That by his hand
We will crush the Canaanites
That in the crush
In the blood-flushed wrench
God will prevail:
And peace on earth.

But I meet with him
He is beside me
In the kneading of bread
In the planting of seeds
In the tending of tears.

There was a rumour
That there was a Messiah
That he had come
To fight their wars.

He stretched out his arms
So broad
So open
That living water, mingled with blood
Still seeps into
The kneading of bread
The planting of seeds
The tending of tears.