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Domination Review: Alice Roberts Explores the Unstoppable Growth of Christianity

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About 2,000 years later, Christianity remains a major religion

Sam Pelly/Millennium Images, UK

Domination
Alice Roberts (Simon & Schuster)

Alice Roberts’ latest book represents a distinct shift. In her earlier works, Basement and Burial, she combined her knowledge of osteophysiology, which examines preserved human bones, with more conventional historical strategies, such as analyzing ancient texts. Her blend of technical science and insightful discussions of historical records aimed to create a multifaceted perspective of past human life and culture.

In contrast, Rule: The Decline of the Roman Empire and the Ascendancy of Christianity largely steers clear of osteophysiology. Instead, it delves into historical documents. This isn’t necessarily a shortcoming; Roberts showcases her keen and deliberate approach to historical analysis, albeit this might necessitate an avid readership.

The focal point of her exploration is the ascent of Christianity from a modest Eastern Mediterranean sect to a globally dominant faith. Amid the disappearance of many other beliefs, what factors contributed to its supremacy?

Central to this narrative is the Roman Empire, which held sway over nearly all Mediterranean territories, extending from Britain to Syria when Christianity first appeared. Although the Romans worshipped numerous deities, Christianity gradually garnered more favor. Key moments stand out: Constantine I’s reign (AD 306-337) saw the decriminalization of Christianity (and possibly his own conversion), although Roberts identifies evidence gaps about this. Theodosius I’s rule (AD 379-395) marked another pivotal moment, as he made Christianity the state religion.

Roberts questions the conventional narrative which suggests Christianity was inherently more appealing or its followers exceptionally devoted. She contends that such assertions are mere Christian propaganda.

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The eternal truth is not theological: gods rise and fall, temples rise and fall, but business is always business.
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Instead, she asserts that the genuine key to Christianity’s success lay in its rapid infiltration of the upper echelons of Roman society. While Jesus associated with the marginalized, his followers targeted affluent Romans, soldiers, and educated elites for recruitment—this strategy proved tremendously effective. “Early adopters emerged from the middle and upper classes of urban centers, not merely the lower classes of the rural and imperial populations,” Roberts states.

Over ensuing decades and centuries, the church amassed a business empire. As Roberts articulates, “Stripped of religious pretense, what’s revealed is a vast, intricate network of interrelated enterprises: welfare, healthcare, law, agriculture, shipping, education, and beyond.”

The church also undertook charitable initiatives covering various state responsibilities, particularly in addressing poverty. However, this was managed with a clear veneer of cynicism. “Christian charity,” Roberts observes, “was never intended to eradicate poverty.” Instead, it enabled the church to position itself favorably across all societal tiers, suggesting to the poor that they would be compensated in the afterlife, while assuring the wealthy that their donations were the pathway to heaven.

This arrangement thrived amid the glaring social inequalities of the time, drawing parallels to modern billionaire philanthropy.

Ultimately, Roberts argues that the Roman economic landscape was thoroughly reshaped around the church, as educated elites pursued careers within its structure.

When the Western Roman Empire crumbled, the elite aligned themselves with the new leadership but retained existing power structures. “Regardless of the rhetoric or spiritual messaging, the whole system mirrored Roman commerce, as always,” Roberts notes. “The eternal truth is not theological; gods come and go, temples rise and fall, but business is always business.”

The opening of Domination may prove somewhat challenging, with a plethora of names to track and a non-linear narrative. However, once Roberts refines her argument, the narrative accelerates. The outcome is a sharp, thought-provoking, and at times contentious examination of one of humanity’s most significant organizations.

Michael Marshall is a writer based in Devon, UK

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Adam Roberts’ New Scientist Book Club Review: Lakes of Darkness – A Mixed Bag

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New Scientist Book Club has just read Adam Roberts’ Lake in the Dark

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Following the journey through Khalian Bradley’s *Time Saving*, the New Scientist Book Club ventured in the opposite direction for our latest read: the far future and some hard science fiction with Adam Roberts’ *Lake of Darkness*. Set in a seemingly utopian society, the narrative revolves around two spacecraft orbiting a black hole, and one captain receiving orders to kill all crew members as commanded by a voice from the depths of that black hole. Not quite utopia, but rather a chilling twist from Roberts’s protagonist, Saccadest in the century, as we delve deeper into this mystical entity.

The reception among our readers is varied; some found it thoroughly enjoyable while others felt its pacing was sluggish. Personally, I resonate with Paul Jonas, a member of the New Scientist Book Club. He shared on Facebook that he was “fascinated by the story” and “appreciated the hard science components relating to space travel, black holes, and utopian societies.” Paul’s insights into the philosophical elements tied to Deleuze’s thinking in this novel truly impress me.

I tend to be quite discerning when it comes to fiction, and rarely find books claiming to be humorous truly engaging (Terry Pratchett being the joyous exception). However, *Lake of Darkness* was different; I found myself intrigued at various moments, particularly appreciating how Roberts’ distant characters grappled with our own history while deciphering what they termed “so-called” *More’s Code*, the ancient system of long and short pulses each symbolizing a single glyph, alluding to the famous Beatles tune, *We All Live in a Yellow Submarine*.

Like Paul, I was captivated by the book’s portrayal of a future utopian society and the dilemmas it presents. During our discussion, Roberts expressed his intention to explore various subgenres of science fiction within his writing. While this perspective on utopia unfolds with its antagonist (spoiler alert – Satan), the idealized vision isn’t as appealing, given that all labor is assigned to “smart machines,” leaving people devoid of functionality. Time becomes filled with hobbies and fandoms, captured in the phrase, “Your people understand the value of everything but the cost. Without a cost, nothing holds worth. The best carries a significant price.” I found it quite delightful to navigate (and read) while contemplating this future society.

Charlotte Sye, another Book Club member, enjoyed listening to the audiobook and shared her enthusiasm: “I love the humor and hard science.” She added, “Life inside a black hole is particularly fascinating, as one character mentions, while there’s tremendous energy, is there really space and time?!”

Barbara Howe, however, had her reservations. She acknowledged the book’s “historical misconceptions” and “utopian critiques,” but felt that the depicted utopia was overly centered on trivial sexual themes, reflecting a male-centric viewpoint, neglecting notions like child-rearing or nurturing that are essential to true progress.

Barbara also pointed out a sentiment echoed by several other readers: she appreciated reading *Lake of Darkness* as an e-book, stating, “I had to look up more words in this single book than in my previous reads.” Alain Pellett echoed this, finding the vocabulary somewhat challenging and “offensive.” Jess Brady shared similar thoughts, enjoying the concept while criticizing the “slow prose.”

While such critiques weren’t particularly noticeable for me—possibly due to my willingness to overlook certain aspects—I did sympathize with Barbara’s assessment regarding the physics: “I tackle explanations of time travel alongside FTL (faster-than-light) travel. I accept these premises; they provide a thin veil of scientific reality over a fantastical plot device.”

Another prevalent criticism among readers was the lack of relatable characters. Alan expressed frustration, noting, “No one seemed sympathetic; their deaths evoked no remorse. They were all insufferable and dim-witted.” Karen Shees concurred, saying, “While the book initially caught my interest, I found the characters so unengaging that I wasn’t invested in their fate.”

I share this sentiment to some extent. Many characters were glaringly absurd, including guunarsonsdottir—distracting. Yet, I believe this serves a purpose, as I relished witnessing the turmoil of these intellectually lazy individuals as they navigated actual threats—through the seemingly redundant formation of another committee discussing their next steps. Moreover, I’m intrigued by the character Bartle Wasp; even the name piques curiosity.

Paul likely feels similarly. “Saccade was a compelling character. Living in a utopia surrounded by AI shapes her perspective. There’s no obligation to fully connect with every character; following their journey can be engaging even if they’re not traditional heroes.”

After finishing *Lake of Darkness*, I found numerous substantial concepts lingering in my thoughts. Did the black hole narrative hold coherence? Was the conclusion truly comprehensible? I’m still pondering—much like Barbara, who concluded that the novel “took unexpected turns and provoked thought.”

“In the latter part, I felt transported back to the 1980s,” she remarked, referencing Douglas Hofstadter’s *Godel, Escher, Bach: Eternal Golden Braid*. “It was a brief throwback, but the ending confuses me. Why did Joins act as she did? Did the entity achieve its desires?”

Paul similarly found the conclusion perplexing. “The ending likely bewildered many due to the complexities of black hole physics,” he noted. “Additionally, the geometric concepts about the inside/outside of infinite structures were truly mind-bending.”

However, let’s shift from the complexities of black holes to the anticipation for our next read. We’ll be diving into Circular Motion by Alex Foster. This captivating debut envisions a gradual acceleration of Earth’s spin, with increasingly disastrous consequences. I’m excited to share it and can’t wait to hear your thoughts! You can preview excerpts here. The narrative examines how this accelerated state might be humanity’s doing. I’ll be discussing the novel with him later this month, so feel free to drop any questions you have in our Facebook group.

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Source: www.newscientist.com

Lake of the Lake: Why Did Adam Roberts Opt for Utopia Over Dystopia in His Novel?

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Two spacecraft explore the black hole, highlighted in Adam Roberts’ novel.

Science Photo Library / Alamy Stock Photo

The foundation of this novel stemmed from my desire to craft utopian fiction, a first for me, as my earlier works primarily revolved around traditional science fiction. The concept of utopia—portraying an improved or ideal world—predates science fiction itself, famously introduced by Thomas More in his 1516 work, Utopia.

Intrigued by the evolution of this genre, I noted that More’s Utopia inspired numerous copies. Over the subsequent 17th and 18th centuries, a multitude of utopian literature emerged. It flourished in the 19th century and continued into the 20th with notable works like Samuel Butler’s Erewhon (1872), William Morris’s News from Nowhere (1892), H.G. Wells’s A Modern Utopia (1905), and B.F. Skinner’s Walden Two (1948). Edward Bellamy’s Looking Backward (1888) stands out as a significant American bestseller, catalyzing the establishment of numerous “Bellamy Clubs” and a nationalist movement aimed at realizing his vision of utopia.

But what about our contemporary landscape? Utopian narratives seem largely relegated, replaced by an overwhelming prevalence of dystopian themes—the dark antithesis. Think of titles like The Hunger Games, Road, Divergent, and The Maze Runner, alongside numerous cyberpunk realms, Battle Royale, and Oryx and Crake. This raises an intriguing question: why has utopia fallen out of favor while dystopia thrives?

One potential explanation is that utopia inherently lacks conflict. When aspiring writers present their imaginative worlds, I often query, “Where’s the conflict?” Without conflict, there’s no drama or narrative. Crafting a perfect utopia is challenging because, by its nature, a flawless realm might lack the tension necessary for storytelling. I’ve often contended that no one truly writes a utopia, to which some might counter with Iain M. Banks’s Culture series as an example. Yet, Banks seldom delves into the euphoria of cultural existence, focusing instead on the dangers surrounding its covert agencies. In my own narrative, the characters are extricated from their utopian comforts, thrust into peril, monstrosities, and adventure.

However, I aspired to delve deeper and scrutinize the very essence of utopia itself. Is the ideal world even attainable? “Can we make the world a little better?”—this is certainly achievable, but can we fully reorganize society to achieve a flawless utopia?

Some years back, I was invited to deliver a keynote address at the Utopialess Conference, an annual event across Europe. During my visit to Tarragona, Spain, I presented my ideas, which can be summarized as follows: Utopia, as a concept, cannot elude the nuances of human nature. Some utopias manifest in authoritarian structures (as seen in More’s original vision), where the authority must reconcile power with utopian ideals. Conversely, others are grassroots endeavors, suggesting that with the removal of material or psychological ailments, humanity can coexist blissfully. I must express my skepticism; as literary critic John Carrey posits, all utopias share a fundamental desire to sanitize reality, simplifying the existence of actual human beings.

In my Utopial speech, I proposed that the most compelling representation of utopia in modern culture is a television series: Teletubbies. These entities—whether genetically modified posthumans, or simply whimsical beings—embody utopian principles, existing in a bubble of childlike simplicity where their needs are easily met, leading to constant joy. Yet, it’s unlikely that adults would perceive Teletubbyland as desirable. This suggests that the concept of utopia is somewhat infantilized. Following my lecture, I mingled at the reception, engaging with attendees. Some were dismissive and turned away when approached, a reaction clarified later by organizers. The conference attracted both literary scholars and true Utopians—those genuinely seeking to realize their visions. They felt I was mocking their aspirations.

I regret they felt insulted, but I stand by my interpretations in Lake of Darkness, where I intertwine social theory, imaginative technological elements, and distinct characters to explore utopian ideals.

Adam Roberts’ Lake of Darkness (Gollancz) is the latest selection for the New Scientist Book Club. Join us and read together here.

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Source: www.newscientist.com