Martyr!
Chapter Twenty-seven [When asked about…], Martyr!
by Kaveh AkbarThe chapter opens with a reflection on Michelangelo’s approach to sculpture—removing excess stone to reveal the masterpiece within. This metaphor extends to life, where eliminating negative elements (toxic relationships, bad habits) is often mistaken for creating goodness. The author critiques the Abrahamic moral framework, arguing that avoiding wrongdoing doesn’t equate to active virtue. A rich man, for instance, may pride himself on not harming others while neglecting positive action, exposing the hollowness of morality rooted in abstinence rather than constructive engagement.
The narrative shifts to the author’s personal struggle with addiction, contrasting “normal” people’s view of recovery as mere abstinence with the alcoholic’s reality. For non-addicts, drinking is a removable activity, but for the addicted, it’s the foundation of their entire existence. Sobriety, therefore, isn’t about subtraction but about rebuilding an identity from scratch. The author emphasizes the monumental task of relearning basic human functions—eating, speaking, even sitting still—amid the wreckage left by addiction.
Central to the chapter is the rejection of passive morality in favor of active transformation. The author aspires to be “the chisel, not the David,” highlighting creation through destruction. Recovery is framed not as self-denial but as surrender to a sculpting process where survival itself is a triumph. The house metaphor—ripping up soiled carpets while trying to function—underscores the simultaneous demolition and reconstruction required in healing.
Ultimately, the chapter challenges conventional notions of virtue and recovery. It argues that true goodness requires proactive engagement, not just avoidance, and that personal transformation demands radical reinvention rather than simple abstinence. The raw portrayal of addiction’s aftermath serves as a microcosm for broader existential questions about how we define—and rebuild—a meaningful life.
FAQs
1. How does the narrator critique the concept of “goodness” as defined by abstinence in the chapter?
Answer:
The narrator argues that the Abrahamic world’s focus on “not-doing” (as exemplified by eight of the Ten Commandments) creates a flawed understanding of goodness. Merely abstaining from bad actions (like lying or stealing) doesn’t equate to actively doing good. The chapter critiques this passive morality through the example of a rich man who feels virtuous simply because he didn’t harm anyone, rather than actively helping the homeless. The narrator identifies this as a “rot at the root of everything,” emphasizing that true goodness requires positive action, not just the absence of wrongdoing (page 270).2. What does the metaphor of Michelangelo’s chisel reveal about the narrator’s view of sobriety?
Answer:
The narrator contrasts being the “David” (the finished product) with being the “chisel” (the tool for transformation). For them, sobriety isn’t about achieving perfection (“David”) but about the active, often painful process of reshaping one’s life (“the chisel”). The chapter describes recovery as a complete rebuilding of personality and daily existence—learning to eat, speak, and even sit still—rather than mere abstinence from alcohol. This metaphor underscores that sobriety is an ongoing act of creation, not a static state of avoidance (pages 270–271).3. How does the chapter differentiate between how “normal people” and alcoholics experience the idea of quitting drinking?
Answer:
The chapter explains that for “normal people,” drinking is just one activity among many, so quitting is like removing any other habit (e.g., deleting an app). For alcoholics, however, drinking is the foundation of their entire existence—every action (work, relationships, even crime) revolves around obtaining alcohol. Thus, sobriety isn’t about subtraction but about constructing a wholly new life. The narrator emphasizes that recovery requires building a new identity from scratch, making it far more complex than simple abstinence (page 271).4. Analyze the significance of the line: “You’re moving into a house the last tenants trashed.” How does this analogy reflect the challenges of recovery?
Answer:
This analogy illustrates the dual burdens of recovery: repairing past damage while simultaneously learning to live anew. The “piss-carpet” and “holes in the wall” symbolize the physical, emotional, and social wreckage of addiction, while “making rent” and “feeding yourself” represent the basic responsibilities of a sober life. The narrator highlights that recovery isn’t just about removing alcohol but confronting the chaos it left behind—all while trying to meet daily demands. This underscores the exhausting, all-encompassing nature of the process (page 271).5. Why does the narrator reject the idea of recovery as an exercise in “self-will”? What alternative framework do they propose?
Answer:
The narrator dismisses “self-will” because sobriety isn’t achieved through sheer determination (like white-knuckling abstinence) but through surrender to a transformative process (“the chisel”). They argue that addiction so thoroughly defines an alcoholic’s life that recovery requires complete reinvention, not just willpower to resist drinks. The alternative framework is active surrender—accepting the painful work of rebuilding rather than clinging to control. This aligns with the chapter’s broader theme that meaningful change comes from creation, not denial (page 271).
Quotes
1. “The whole Abrahamic world invests itself in this promise: Don’t lie, don’t cheat, don’t fuck or steal or kill, and you’ll be a good person. Eight of the ten commandments are about what thou shalt not. But you can live a whole life not doing any of that stuff and still avoid doing any good.”
This quote critiques passive morality, arguing that abstaining from bad acts doesn’t equate to positive goodness. It introduces the chapter’s central theme about the insufficiency of mere avoidance in ethical living.
2. “A rich man goes a whole day without killing a single homeless person and so goes to sleep content in his goodness. In another world, he’s buying crates of socks and Clif bars and tents, distributing them in city centers. But for him, abstinence reigns.”
This biting commentary exposes how privilege enables complacent morality. It illustrates the chapter’s argument about the moral bankruptcy of mere non-action among the powerful.
3. “For a drunk, there’s nothing but drink. There was nothing in my life that wasn’t predicated on getting drunk—either getting fucked up itself or getting money to get fucked up by working or slinging this drug for that drug or that drug for cash.”
This raw confession reveals addiction’s all-consuming nature. It provides personal grounding for the chapter’s exploration of transformation through active rebuilding rather than passive abstinence.
4. “Getting sober means having to figure out how to spend twenty-four hours a day. It means building an entirely new personality, learning how to move your face, your fingers. It meant learning how to eat, how to speak among people and walk and fuck and worse than any of that, learning how to just sit still.”
This powerful description of recovery as total reconstruction rather than simple abstinence perfectly encapsulates the chapter’s thesis about active transformation versus passive avoidance.