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Rev. Martin Bergmann - Obituary
The facts surrounding the death of controversial Anglican minister Martin Bergmann, in
Hammersmith, west London, last week, continue to be mysterious. Speculation as to the
events leading up to Bergmann's untimely death at the age of 39 is still rife, with
murder, suicide and death by misadventure all possibilities.
Police have so far refused to comment, saying that "investigations are in progress", but
others have not been slow in coming forward. Claiming that "there are many who would
want him dead", supporters and friends – all of whom declined to be named – said that
Bergmann's death was part of an international conspiracy of mind-boggling complexity,
in which P2, the enigmatic Vatican lodge rumoured to be behind the controversial death
of Pope John Paul I, is supposedly central. But members of the Church of England's
General Synod have moved to crush what they have called "these tasteless and
irresponsible rumours", putting Bergmann's death down to the "final act of a deeply
troubled mind, now, it is to be hoped, at peace at last."
The confusion surrounding Bergmann's final hours is all of a piece with the rest of his
life. Reliable facts about Bergmann are few and far between. The often viciously partisan
positions his extreme views have invoked meant that Bergmann was always surrounded
by a fog of often ill-founded rumours, a situation exacerbated by his refusal to
communicate with the media. Like one of his mentors, the Danish religious philosopher
Kierkegaard, Bergmann professed a deep hatred of the press; a contempt extending
beyond mere refusal to co-operate into occasional examples of outright violence. One –
notorious – incident last year, in which a photographer threatened a legal case for
assault, was ultimately settled out of court.
The "dark nordic prince" arrived in England under a cloud a decade ago, hounded out of
his native Norway for leading a rogue Protestant sect whose practices and beliefs,
according to one Norwegian churchman at the time, were "unspeakable and wholly
unacceptable." ("Only the C of E would welcome you with a CV like that," a senior
Church of England official remarked recently.) Some say that Bergmann "cynically and
wantonly" exploited the ailing Church of England's renowned tolerance "to a parodic
degree", using Church protection to disseminate beliefs "in every way contrary to
established Christian doctrine."
Fond of quoting Kierkegaard's dictum, "Christianity is what Christ came to abolish",
Bergmann developed what he called an "anti-Christian Gnostic Christianity". He
characterised established Christianity as "the cult of Paul" and decried church buildings
as "prisons for God." Drawing upon Gnosticism, he argued that the "Creator entity" – the
Judaic Christian God – was a "blind idiot god suffering from autism"; all creation – and
organic life in particular – were to be regarded as "foul excresences we must seek to
annul or to escape". But it was his persistent vilifications of the Roman Catholic Church
that proved the greatest source of embarrassment to the Church of England hierarchy,
whose declining congregations are one factor impelling an increasingly strong
ecumenical drive towards convergence with Rome. The vociferousness of his antiCatholicism was taken by some to be indicative of failing mental health ("he was totally
gone", one former friend said yesterday). Bergmann, however, claimed that "the only
rational view of the Roman Catholic Church" was that it was "a monstrous blasphemy of
transcendent evil: incomparably more corrupt than the Mafia (if indeed it can be
separated from organised crime, which of course it cannot)". His views, he said, were
backed up by "hard sociological data which even they can't suppress now" concerning
the – apparently endemic – problem of institutionalised child abuse amongst Catholic
clergy. But Bergmann alienated any of the few supporters he had even within
Protestantism by adding that "any religion that is serious about worshipping the FatherGod will always be about child abuse; the only difference between the religion of the
Paulites and that of the Abrahamites is that, in the Paulites' case, child torture spills over
into child murder. Despite tying and binding Isaac, the Jewish God ultimately spares
Abraham's son; but the Paulite God actually kills his own son."
Presenting a "Spinozist immanent critique" of Calvin, Bergmann argued that "the
Calvinists' biggest mistake was that they were insufficiently fatalistic. Evidently, fatalism
and morality do not mix. They confused an ethical and transcendental injunction – if you
eat the apple you will be ill – with a moral command – do not eat the apple." The
"specific and unique" contribution that Protestantism had to make had been
"systematically distorted into a dismal work-cult," Bergmann argued, "by a set of Stateloving, self-serving money-grubbers." Bergmann's well-known detestation of consumer
culture was based around an adherence to what he called the "category of the sufficient"
which had been "annihilated" by a capitalism "insisting you gorge yourself on more and
more things you don't want." Bergmann argued that "aseticism and self-denial are not
moral positions but very specific programs for the systematic dismantling of secular
identity, ways of opening up the body to the Utter Nothingness which is the reality of the
true God."
Unsubstantiated rumours suggest that the Church's tolerance of Bergmann was not due
solely or even primarily to the C of E's well-known spinelessness, but to his reputed
competence in the ostensibly discontinued practice of exorcism, a subject about which
the Church has been consistently evasive. But even Bergmann's purported expertise
here had a bizzare twist, since his technique as an exorcist was supposedly based on
"co-operating with demons" in an attempt to "free them" from "mammal meat." All of
which prompted an exasperated High Church spokesman to remark that, "Surely even a
Church as notoriously liberal as ours must abominate priests who openly sympathise
with demons, and who make no bones about their hatred of God."
There are those who claim that Bergmann had "never abandoned the harsh and pitiless
pantheon of dark gods" from his "ancient Norse heritage." But friends suggest that the
"rot really set in" when he began to take seriously the works of the late Science Fiction
writer Philip K. Dick. "Dick's sanity was questionable at the end," the Reverend Colin
Wemmick, an erstwhile associate of Bergmann's points out. "But Martin had become
convinced that Dick's [Gnostic-influenced] conviction that the Roman Empire had not
ended was a vindication of his own views of an unbroken continuity of Roman power."
According to his opponents, the discovery of Bergmann's body – masked, and trussed
with various kinds of harnesses - "make a mockery" of his theories of "anti-sexuality"
which argued that "sexuality" was "a secular hell people voluntarily enter; a meat prison
for the body." Others claim that the scene of Bergmann's death was "obviously faked by
his enemies – of which he had many." Yet the most intriguing suggestion comes from
those closest to Bergmann, who indignantly insist that, far from being some secret
sexual perversion, the apparatus Bergmann had assembled was part of a regime of
"systematic anti-sexual practice" ("he was building a machine to escape the meat"). A
series of unpublished writings on Masoch which reputedly argue that "the properly
religious attitude is always deeply masochistic," and which extol Masoch "as a profoundly
religious thinker," apparently confirm this interpretation.
In death as in life, little is certain about Martin Bergmann. Reverend Wemmick probably
summed up the situation best when he said, "when you look into Martin's life, you open
up a can of worms – a writhing mass of confusion." Those worms are likely to writhe for
some time yet.