Abstract
The otherworldly and extreme imagery of apocalyptic visions has always been a means of addressing contemporary concerns. Biblical prophecies are a case in point. In Daniel's vision, empires are portrayed as grotesque hybridised beasts. They sprout horns encrusted with eyes and lay waste to the earth (Dan. 7). In Revelation, John riffs on earlier apocalypses to unveil Roman power as both bestial and like a prostitute (Rev. 17). Even after these beasts are vanquished, John includes grisly details of birds gorging themselves on the flesh of the deceased monsters (Rev. 19:17). Despite the prevailing ultraviolence of these apocalypses, both Daniel and John have an ethical objective: to urge their audiences to recognise the true identity of empire and to live faithful, ethical lives in opposition to its reign. Nearly two thousand years later, contemporary apocalypses play a similar role in forming the ethical imagination. Sam Esmail's film Leave the World Behind (Netflix, 2023) lampoons the trappings of consumerism and corporate monopolies as the world ends. Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven (Picador, 2014) and Cormac McCarthy's The Road (Alfred A. Knopf, 2006) tell the stories of characters who attempt to protect a flame of love amid nihilistic violence. The hyperbole of apocalypse allows us to assess the integrity of our ethics when pushed to extremes.
Peter Admirand explores similar ideas through comics—a medium underrepresented in academic theology and ethics—in his book Destruction, Ethics, and Intergalactic Love—Exploring Y: The Last Man and Saga. The book closely examines the ethical questions that arise in the apocalyptic worlds of Y: The Last Man (Brian K. Vaughan, art by Pia Guerra, Goran Sudžuka, and Paul Chadwick; inks by Jose Morzan Jr., Vertigo, 2002–2008) and Saga (Brian K. Vaughan, art by Fiona Staples, Image Comics, 2012–2018 and 2022–present). Though not mainstream media, both comics have significant cult followings and, although infused with shocking violence, they display the disruptive and redemptive possibility of an ethical life as society spirals into hopelessness.
Admirand's reflections are timely, as apocalyptic fears, usually relegated to the realm of fiction, have bled into our daily lives. The book was published as the world emerged (or continues to emerge) from the Covid-19 pandemic and the onset of Putin's war on Ukraine (p. xii). The images of tanks rolling into Melitopol under the Orwellian title ‘special military operation’ is reality, not fiction. During such subterfuge and suffering, is an ethical life possible? Is nonviolence meaningless in the face of forces that obliterate everything in their path?
For the uninitiated, Y: The Last Man is set in a post-apocalyptic world where a plague has killed all males of every species except Yorick Brown and his pet monkey Ampersand (hence the title ‘Y’, referring to the chromosome). Agent 355 is tasked with protecting Yorick as he travels in search of answers and loved ones after the plague. A romance between 355 and Yorick also ensues. Saga, also written by Vaughan, is akin to a mashup of Romeo and Juliet and Star Wars. The plot revolves around the forbidden love between Alana and Marko. Alana is from the planet Landfall and Marko is from Landfall's moon Wreath. The war between Landfall and Wreath comes to encompass the galaxy, perpetuated by war profiteers. The story is told from the future perspective of Alana and Marko's daughter Hazel. As a living symbol of love between these supposed mortal enemies, her existence challenges the very basis of the war. Both comics depict hyperbolic violence (and in Saga, hybrid and horned creatures that, for me, recall the books of Daniel and Revelation). Yet, not unlike the aforementioned biblical apocalypses, the depiction of violence has an ethical purpose.
In the introduction, Admirand states that he is neither a science fiction nor a comics scholar, but clearly has a deep appreciation of the genres. He approaches Y and Saga as a ‘Catholic moral theologian’ (p. 9) trained in the Jesuit tradition (pp. 17, 19). The themes of the comics are a springboard for a broader interdisciplinary reflection on theological ethics, which he describes as ‘sharpened by my background in literature and my love of comics’ (p. 7). The significance of the questions raised by these works is evidence that the genre merits the serious academic engagement afforded to other so-called ‘higher’ forms of culture. Admirand proves himself to be a deft cultural exegete, with a range of cross-genre references that even readers unfamiliar with comics are likely to find resonant. There are references to Shakespeare, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Albert Camus, the video game The Last of Us, and Bob Dylan.
The diverse references coalesce around Admirand's proposal that love is the primary ethical imperative. If this sounds too ambiguous, Admirand grounds his reflections in focused discussions of nonviolence, gender, forgiveness, justice, diversity, and pluralism. This is not only in reference to the fictional worlds of the comics. Admirand also integrates personal experiences. While this may frustrate some academics, here the author shows how he has been influenced by liberation theology (p. 17), famously defined by Gustavo Gutiérrez as ‘critical reflection on praxis in the light of the Word’ (Gustavo Gutiérrez, A Theology of Liberation, Maryknoll, 1973, p. 13). Despite the theoretical discussions and fantastic worlds, the book is rooted in praxis.
After the introduction, the book is divided into four parts, each containing two chapters: one focused on Y and one on Saga. Each part is summarised by a helpful ‘reflection’, which draws together the major themes in Y and Saga. The first part offers a reception history of plague and its aftermath, with a focus on life in the post-pandemic world depicted in Y. This is juxtaposed with the ‘inky darkness and endless war’ (p. 75) in Saga. This section focuses on the nihilism of these fictional worlds, where ‘Meaninglessness abounds if not dominates’ (p. 78). The first chapter is a diagnosis of a problem that invites the rhetorical question: in the face of hopelessness is an ethical life possible?
The final three sections answer this question by mining the comics for redemptive examples of love embodied by their flawed heroes. In the second section, Admirand offers a moving account of his own experience of fatherhood. Here, the ‘ethical education’ (p. 128) provided by parents is posited as an effective act of resistance. Part three addresses the complexities and difficulties intrinsic to a commitment to nonviolence. The example of Saga's Marko illustrates this starkly. Despite occasional lapses from this ideal, his refusal to kill results in his tragic death. Admirand asks the question: ‘But can such love and ethical flourishing continue when the temptation to lash out is so tempting—even normalized?’ (p. 128). The answer is yes. Such sacrifice is a risk of adopting nonviolence, but it is the only commitment that does not perpetuate the cycle of reprisal and death. The fourth part discusses sexual ethics and gender through a critical engagement with post-Vatican II Catholicism. While acknowledging its failures in this area, Admirand concludes that religion can continue to play a redemptive role ‘after the plague’ (p. 207). The endurance of religion, it is argued, can happen when it embraces the kind of diversity championed by Saga's heroes, whose love spans galaxies and species. This leads Admirand, perhaps controversially, to suggest that ‘At their best, [religions] become deeply interreligious, learning and partnering with other paths and faiths, through interfaith and intercultural dialogue’ (p. 234; this is an area in which Admirand has extensively written about in other publications).
The conclusion brings together the various threads of the book in a reflection on love, framed by Paul's admonition in 1 Corinthians 13. Despite everything, Admirand locates hope in the everyday commitments to love. He summarises: ‘At its core, life should only be about love—that's it. So simple and banal’ (p. 246). Had such a conclusion come earlier in the book, it might have appeared saccharine, but he has shown his conclusion to be rooted in the praxis of diverse human relationships and nonviolence.
I came to this book as a casual admirer of both Y and Saga. Although this book will be of most interest to those who have immersed themselves in the worlds of either comic, Admirand helpfully guides the reader through the key plot points and character dynamics. The references to Saga are the most compelling in the book, probably because Admirand secured the inclusion of key works of art (p. xiv). Fiona Staple's arresting artwork effectively complements the book's key arguments. Though no fault of the author, the voluminous nature of Y makes finding the key references difficult for those (like me) who rely on public libraries.
Admirand's interdisciplinary and eclectic approach sometimes leads to inevitable generalisations or oversimplifications. For example, he suggests that ‘interpretations of Paul as anti-woman or as undermining the high status of women are now more widely discouraged by biblical scholars’ (p. 203). While this is generally true, only Garry Wills’s What Paul Meant (Viking, 2006) is cited in support. This is a solid popular account of Pauline theology, but academic scholarship of Paul (especially on the question of gender) has developed in the eighteen years since that book was published.
The writing is accessible and engaging. That said, there are occasional run-on sentences, linked by successive commas or semicolons. The sheer volume of interesting concepts lumped together creates a somewhat overwhelming effect (e.g. pp. 14, 108–109). However, Admirand also has a gift for memorable and eloquent statements. Some examples: ‘A theologian who seeks to proclaim or prove a God of unconditional love must somehow do so while staring into the abyss of the Holocaust, or the gulags, or the destruction of a plague’ (p. 234), and ‘Solidarity, especially with one's enemies, may be the greatest testament to any divinity within creation. But there is always a price to pay’ (p. 154).
Admirand's conclusions about the possibility of ethics in a world permeated by violence and meaninglessness are summed up in Marko's instruction to Hazel: ‘Honey girl, I don't care what you do, as long as you’re kind to everyone you meet’ (p. 242). For Admirand, the transcendental is made present through loving praxis for one's neighbour. His closing chapter is framed by Paul's words in 1 Corinthians 13. Admirand is right to see Paul's injunction to love as an ethical imperative with practical implications, but the context of Paul's letter is a community whose primary allegiance is to Jesus (1 Cor. 15:14); that is, the church. How Paul's particular Christian message can be applied more generally to interreligious faith goes unexplored. Regarding the letter to the Corinthians, it would also be interesting to know how Admirand would engage with the ‘apocalyptic’ school of Pauline interpretation. When Paul is understood as an apocalyptic theologian, the instruction to love is set within the trajectory of Jesus’ disruptive entry into human history and the hope for renewal of the cosmos at the parousia. Admittedly, the apocalyptic perspective on Paul is largely the preserve of Protestant biblical scholars. Nevertheless, this stream of Pauline scholarship would synergise with many of Admirand's ideas. Given the cosmic dimensions of Saga, this could help place his appeal for interpersonal disruptive love in the here-and-now within the eternal horizon of an eschatological hope for resurrection.
In conclusion, the book is a must read for anyone who is a fan of Y or Saga. Admirand takes the reader back to the source material, drawing out layers of meaning easily overlooked upon a first reading. For a wider audience, the book provides a fine example of interdisciplinary study done well and will hopefully encourage others to seriously engage with theological and ethical ideas in non-traditional places.