And so, we come to Exodus, the hotly anticipated sequel to Genesis. The sequel novel is a difficult creature, created under the inescapable weight of reader expectation. Exodus was a resounding success, however, and in many people's eyes, superior to the first book.
We follow once again the highs and lows of prankster and alcoholic God. He wakes up aghast, not knowing where he is. He is in Egypt, and his heart stops racing, when he he discovers the small tribes he swore to protect are well, safe in the bosom of the Egyptian largesse. However, upon closer inspection, God finds that the tribes of Israel are now in captivity; the Egyptians have taken advantage of defenceless foreign labour.
The tribes of Jacob call for help, and an irritable, hungover deity grumpily gets to work. Like all bosses who are hungover, he delegates the tough jobs to someone else. He finds his man in Moses, a charismatic old hand who does what he is told. Moses is remarkably calm when God introduces himself as a burning bush. He later saunters overs to his brother Aaron and asks him to join him in freeing the Israelites.
"You seem easily convinced by this God fella", Aaron remarks skeptically.
"I suppose he's got a flare for persuasion", Moses reassures him.
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| Moses at the first Burning Man festival. |
Moses is a cool cat and a legend. He leads the Israelites out of Egypt, parts the Red Sea, and communes casually with the most powerful of all beings. His greatest talent, however, is his uncanny ability to repeatedly ask an unwilling person to do something they do not want to do. Most of us would crumble under the pressure of placing oneself in such an awkward situation again and again. The suffocating cringe of hearing your voice ask for the same thing repeatedly would wear us down. All the halfhearted assertiveness, feigned playfulness, and passive-aggressive pleading would break lesser men, but not Moses. He went persistently to Pharaoh, making the supplication to let his people go:
"Hey, man. You know what I read is really good for your mental health…"
"Hey, bro. Slavery is a pretty dick move."
"Eh, hi… So… Em, I was wondering — now don't take this the wrong way! - but, yeah… I guess there's no way I can persuade you to free the Israelis, is there?"
"Look, Pharaoh, I love you and all, but I really have to protest…"
"What the fuck are you playing at? This is serious."
"It's going to happen anyway. You may as well get used to it."
"Look at the sign. What does it say? That's right: free the slaves."
"Sorry, buddy. I wish I could help, but my hands are tied."
"I just don't want you to get into any trouble… We're still pals, right?"
Luckily for Moses, his words are backed up by God's intimidating action. Not so luckily for everybody, God is still trying to retrieve his artistic glory days, and terrorises the Egyptians in the way only a desperate, reaching artist can. The classic thunder storms and drought are forsaken. Instead we get avant-garde plagues, more intricate than impressive. The eclectic choices really fail to come together to create a unified, memorable theme. Sobering up from eon-long benders, the insecure deity fears that he has lost the skill and artistic spirit that once allowed him to create the entire universe - an immeasurably intricate and awe-inspiring feat. Many of God's actions in Exodus make sense in this light, as we perceive the hopeless feeling that we have let the talents and potential which once defined us slip away.
Firstly, he turns the water to blood. The fish die and the place stinks, but the Pharaoh stands strong. Blood is an obvious choice after all, particularly for a pretentious artist. Pharaoh paces up and down, wondering how to reassure the thirsty people; Moses lounges back in his chair, offering unsolicited commentary. "It's all a bloody mess if you ask me."
Then God, the old prankster, sends in the frogs. The little critters get everywhere, even disturbing the Pharaoh during his coital duties. "Some people are just eager to jump into bed", Moses remarks, filing his nail.
With the Pharaoh still unwilling to let the Israelites go, God covers the land in flies. The Pharaoh is indignant, particularly when Moses and his people have been spared any of the hardship of the plagues. "It's not my fault. There are no flies on me."
God sends even more plagues: wild animals, diseased livestock, locusts, and thunderstorms of hail and fire. All predicable of course. Only the pandemic of boils stands out - perhaps the artistic highlight. The ninth plague is three days of total darkness. Nearly tripping over Moses' extended legs, Pharaoh inquires as to when the protracted night will end. "I can't see anything happening for the next while", he replies.
God's final plague is his most ambitious and avant-garde. He murders the first born of everyone — but with a clever little caveat: those who mark above their doors with lamb's blood will be spared. After this, Pharaoh gives in. The torment and the bloodshed are not worth the value the slaves bring to the labour market. That and Pharaoh fears what radical, artistic monstrosity lies ahead in the eleventh plague.
With that, Moses and his people leave Egypt. Pharaoh reneges on his promise and sends soldiers to haul all the Israelites back. Fortunately, God allows Moses to part the Red Sea, and the Israelites safely pass. The Egyptian soldiers surpass all standards of naivety, believing they will also be allowed to cross the parted sea. As they get swept away by the rejoining waves, Moses wryly observes that, "they're a little wet around the ears."
The Israelites journey onward for years. At Mount Sinai, they take rest. Moses ascends the mountain out of sight. Here God communes with him. Perhaps it is that Moses is such a credulous and faithful listener, or perhaps it is a deepening in God's insecurities, but the Lord Almighty goes full Patrick Bateman, devising the particulars of items of worship for three or four tedious chapters. Nothing is left to chance: tabernacles, candles, jewels, and bread are all prescribed in detail. When Moses descends the mountain again, his hand sore from jotting down all the intricate details, he finds his dumb brother and sheep-like people have begun worshipping a golden cow. Moses has it destroyed, and then, under the orders of their American Psycho deity, has about three thousand of the heretics stabbed to death.
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| "Do you like Phil Collins?" |
The temperamental artist is irate, and he calls them a "stiff neck people" (because they cannot see the breadth of his artist genius). He also avows to blot them out of his book (no doubt referring to some off-beat, coming-of-age novel he has been working on). Moses calms him down, and ascends the mountain again to privately commune once more. God invites him to look upon him. But not the face! A revelation that great would prohibit the mystique necessary to be a great artist. "You can look at my back part", he instructs Moses, as he poses erotically, painfully aware of his appearance and how it might best be viewed artistically, in a way that only bohemians know how. After another lengthy, indulgent lecture, God grows tired and retires to his tabernacle to rest. World-weary and cynical, he surrenders his eyelids to slumber.
Epilogue:
Exodus is most famous for being an epic emancipation of a people in bondage, a story of hope in dark times and the sacrifices one must make in order to succeed. However, as a sequel to Genesis, all this acts as a backdrop for the further development of God. He is a man past his prime, reaching back desperately for his glory days. "I am that I am" is how a fallen artist identifies himself, doubling down on pretentiousness when his former talents escape him. All the fine linen, gold, pomegranates, and special timber cannot make up for the abilities he has lost. His greatest plague on the Pharaoh (the murdering of all the first borns), is derivative of what the Pharaoh does earlier in the book. Irritable and missing his old drinking buddies, God is a clinging man, desperate to find a spark that will light the way back into greater times.
