The archaeology of memory and the issue of colonialism: mimesis and the controversial tribute to Caesar in Mark 12:13-17.

Abstract

This article explores the "tribute to Caesar" episode in the context of its embeddedness in the ancient Hebrew social memory of imperial colonialism by continuing a previous exploration of social memory in the First Book of Maccabees. It points to the importance of the "tribute to Caesar" in a Roman colonial period in which a social divide has been established within religion and politics, a divide that was challenged within the Roman and Syrian colonial period in Palestine. It further challenges biblical scholars to reopen debates on the meaning of biblical texts by asking questions about the discontinuities expressed by social memories within the texts rather than by producing cognitive explanations about the literary continuities and the "historical truths." Thus, the colonial and the postcolonial are products, not of a dysfunctional connection between cultures (Judean, Roman or otherwise) but of a contestation of memories, identities and social continuities.

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In my own exploration of the first book of Maccabees I have argued that "there are many representations and inscriptions of a particular period in the social history of a human community" and that "issues of history are certainly interrelated with issues of memory" (Aguilar 2000: 65; 2002). For example, I have questioned the dismissal of Flavius Josephus as a historian of the Maccabean period, simply because his situation was not different from others who had to live within a colonial occupation--either you become a revolutionary or you conform to the norms and laws laid out by the colonial oppressor. Indeed, Josephus' voice becomes one among many in a social memory of the period, that cannot be easily unified outside an interpretive framework of literary history.

A Tentative Archaeology of Social Memory

Memory is therefore a cognitive device that, while used by particular individuals, can be understood only as a social device that catalyzes emotions, senses, participation, pain, joy, togetherness, and ultimately community (Aguilar 1996; 1997). Thus, the so-called "collective memories" can be understood only in terms of social memories, where groups of people construct the present and indeed the future in relation to their memories of the past, with peaceful or violent outcomes (as it happens in the case of genocides, see Aguilar 1998). Collective memories are given a single authoritative narrative, while social memories include all memories, even when contradictory. As a result collective memories contribute to the process of imagining a subject, thus creating myths of nationalism and belonging, while social memories use social discontinuities that in turn produce social cohesion through an acknowledgment of social diversity and social difference (alterity).

Within such memories one can isolate elements, sometimes diverse and even contradictory, that create fragments of history to be discovered, compared, classified, analyzed, interpreted, and re-interpreted. From that point of view social memory should be used in the plural, as they are memories rather than a single unified narrative of identity and belonging. Further, social memories are to be understood within an archaeology of memory, i.e., community perception of historical events, "buried in the past, however relevant for the present and for the future of any given society or any community within a society" (Aguilar 2000: 65, see also the "epistemological mutation of history" in Foucault: 11). Literary texts as parts of such archaeology of community knowledge have contradictory elements, and any aspect of historical "truths" become inscribed elements of an historiography that evolves out of a "production of history" rather than out of an objective and scientific proof of fact (Cohen). Memories are produced and reproduced, and texts give us clues as to why people remember, how they remember, and what they remember, rather than clear answers as to what happened.

Within that production one recognizes that there are shared elements of cognitive and conceptual agreement that shape a group and therefore have implications for the future. But not all social memories can be analytically agreed upon. The case of the Gospels is a clear literary example in which there are shared memories that provide a common understanding (the kerygma), but encompass diverse understandings of an archaeology of Jesus' life that provide textual disparity and contradictory memories, not always akin with a simple identity theory model implying a "collective memory" that eventually shapes group identity. Following this line of investigation, the socio-scientific approaches to the study of the biblical texts have contributed to the exploration of social identities in context, but they have followed the path of using particular examples of social theory in order to analyze literary units as if this process were a scientific one with cause-effect, hypotheses, laws. In a way they have recovered the context of the text, but they have forgotten the contradictions by assuming a "collective memory" rather than a social memory (see Malina and the critique by Lawrence).

The concept of "collective memories," wrongly identified with a social memory, derives from the work of the French sociologists, particularly the disciples of Emile Durkheim, who perceived the primacy of society as necessary in order to understand the individual within it. The French sociologists' concern was to set up the foundations for an empirical sociology and to challenge the rise of European individualism by rigorous academic research and comprehensive reviews of sociological works through a journal--L'Annee sociologique (Durkheim 1982 [1895], Giddens: 18, Lukes). Within such a collective enterprise Durkheim developed concepts such as "organic solidarity"--a necessary chain that defines the possibility of human action within society by suggesting that to be human is to be social, and that to be social is to be, after all, a member of a group, a member of society (Durkheim 1984 [1893]). Thus, ritual and religion are social institutions that make such cohesiveness within society possible (Durkheim 1961 [1912]), and moments of personal rejection or societal escapism such as suicide and death are perceived as possibilities in which personal moments of truth and truthfulness create a contribution to such societal development and cohesiveness (Durkheim 1989 [1897]).

One of his disciples, Maurice Halbwachs, extended Durkheim's sociological theory of suicide, investigated the social framework of memory, and explored conceptual analyses of social needs in relation to social classes, budgets and consumption patterns (Lukes: 401, see Annee sociologique 8, 9, 10, 11, 12). It was Halbwachs that developed the notion of "collective memories" and suggested that memories are structured by group identities such as childhood in a neighborhood or one's work in factories or communities (Halbwachs 1980, 1992a, 1992b). Much later and as a product of the advancement of the individualist agenda, any idea of collective memories became outdated because such a notion does not take into account the individual qua individual. That was not the European context in which Halbwachs developed his thesis, i.e., in early 20th Century France or within the sociological laboratory of Durkheim's disciples.

In fact, within a contemporary understanding of intellectual expression regarding social memory one must recognize that European conceptions of the individual, particularly psychoanalytical and romantic notions, provide a concept of collective memory that can be understood only by examining the inner self and the individual creative feelings, of guilt, of hope or even of annihilation. The so-called "transcendent individual" goes beyond society and is able to create an individual memory that contradicts the national narratives of nations (Rapport 1997a). Nations, in turn, create grand narratives in order to unify the possible contradictions, the so-called "contrarieties" of group-identity. In the case of contemporary Israel, for example, a unifying memory that in the post-holocaust era unified the creation of a land set apart, and a contemporary nation that unified all aspirations of the Jewish Diaspora, becomes in the present contested and challenged, and, ultimately the source of conflict and strife.

Visitors to such reality, and all of us are visitors to a literary text, suffer the shattering of their dreamed nations and imagined states and realize that their own cognitive imagination has played tricks. There is no one single vision, no one and single knowledge, no one single, shared, common memory. Instead, and following Rapport's assessment of Israel,

   An appreciation of the way that "the mythic is lived in the present"
   translates, for me, into an appreciation of how, simultaneously,
   individuals may live in a diversity of constructed worldviews
   and identities, how their contradictory cognitions give onto
   a plurality of social worlds at any one time. Everyday worlds are
   neither neat nor singular, then; the symbolic classifications and
   social structures of human worlds do not stand alone or uncontested
   or in clear and coherent relationship to one another
   [Rapport 1997b: 671].

Social memory used as an exploratory device, and an interpretative one in most cases, provides the possibility of creating a memory that can be common to a group, and that at the same time embodies a diverse past experience, following the contrarieties of social life. However, such understanding of social memory "does not render the individual a sort of automaton, passively obeying the interiorized collective will" (Fentress & Wickham: ix). In that respect "memory is infinite; all consciousness is mediated through it" (Fentress & Wickham: x). In some cases social memories of a period of military occupation, violence, and deportation become similar due to "membership of a symbolic and textual community," whereby "history and culture combine to shape the memory of individual experience" (Skultans: 761, 763). Thus, social memories can be contradictory and can be unreal, but they can be included within conversations, songs and oral traditions that become part of an oral history, which in turn produces social memories, for the most part a shared narrative of social experience.

One must remember, however, that as in the case of the historian Josephus and his own perception of Israel's history, social memory is "often selective, distorted and inaccurate" (Fentress & Wickham: xi). In fact, the transmission of "truths" is not the most important part of a social memory but the social reflection on contradictory experiences that inform the present as they did in the past and that sometimes are mediated towards a unified truth by the production of a textual narrative, much later assumed as a truthful social memory.

The Commonality of the Archaeology of Colonialism

The historical period of the Maccabees in Judea and the period of Roman persecution alluded to in the literary text of Mark have several elements in common:

* A mighty oppressor has occupied public places and substituted the state religion of the colonial power for localized religions.

* The communities persecuted have shown ritual and social cohesion within such persecution.

* Both communities remember past understandings of ritual life and human sociability in order to understand their present situation.

* Present actions are understood as crucial to their community and their individual members.

It is within such semantic similarity that I explore the "tribute to Caesar" in Mark's Gospel. While I locate the text within a larger literary text and its complexity I am interested in an interpretative approximation to the text as part of a social memory rather than in an exegetical explanation of the passage itself. It is, after all, necessary to understand the conditions of colonialism as a social system in order to understand the social memories recorded in literary narratives.

Contemporary readers of Mark could forget that the text comes from a particular social world and that the historical question, that is, what the texts meant for their original audiences is rather important (Esler: 2). The text concerns a period of fear, anxiety and suffering in which it is clear that the authors have feared the destruction of Jerusalem and therefore had intimated an end to things as they were, an end of time. Even when the text suggests that Jesus was coping with such colonial uncertainties, there was fear among many of his followers.

The parables, riddles, and playful speech built into the literary text were written after the events and therefore transformed social fear into social fun. In fact, readers of the text, not having to deal with foreign soldiers, heavy taxation, and restrictions in movement, provided apologetic dialogues with humor and parody in them so that as in other situations of extreme violence and conflict, "the passage of time, and a comfortable distancing from danger, can work further transformations in the way bodily fear is remembered, even turning it into fun" (James: 127).

The process of colonialism, in this case of Roman colonialism, is a process of ordering and reordering. In the first place armies occupy territories and rearrange the local administration. Later, territories are incorporated into new maps, and religious systems are suppressed. Schooling and systems of local knowledge are quickly and effectively replaced with those of the colonial power, while younger generations learn new histories, religions and ways of doing things. Languages and taxation constitute ways of reordering the mind and the resources, within a colonial phenomenon that becomes a "science," perceived by the colonizer as orderly, objective, scientific, and therefore universal (Mudimbe 1994: 118). If resources are redistributed, places are rearranged so that colonial houses and residences are not placed directly beside the colonized and their religious sites are either incorporated into new ones or isolated from the possibility of affecting the colonial officers, their religious leaders, and their soldiers.

The rearrangement of colonial space is followed by the acquisition of colonial time, a Roman calendar rather than a Jewish one, and finally there is a reorganization of consciousness, of the cultural paradigm of understanding a moral code that comes from a different past and moves forward to a different future. Jewish martyrs obliged to recognize the divinity of the Roman emperor had to deal with these issues; some suggested that they could utter the words of recognition of Roman divinity without meaning, while others suggested that such a public display would mean apostasy--a public act of betrayal towards Yahweh.

The power of speech becomes central here as words have agency not only for the Jews but also for the Romans, who suggest that intention and action follow cause and effect and that such a process can be announced through words. Within the colonial enterprise of colonizing bodies and minds speech that challenges the established order needs to be changed, not crushed--redefined, not banned (Mudimbe 1998). It is through that speech that teachers challenge the colonial enterprise and the already established religious order due to the fact that colonial empires need a divine mission and that they bring their gods with them. The challenge of empire and colony is not who is stronger, there is no doubt about it, but who will be able to survive through periods of adaptation. The subjects of these two religious systems are the ones confused, who in turn ask questions about their own survival. Later, when texts are constructed relating social memories of those social contestations there will be a further problem, a contestation of memories. Indeed, "the conflict of memories can be seen concretely in the everyday life of real peoples" (Mudimbe 1994: 144).

Thus, the complexity of the tribute is the complexity of memories, whereby the action of a given moment permeates the social memories of contested communities that do not expect the possibility of serving God and the ruler at the same time while this is indeed their daily experience. Religious taxation assumes within a colonial setting the same meaning of state taxation in that both request a commitment to a way of life and a cosmology that provides the secure setting for confused peoples, who would prefer for the most part, to serve both masters and live in peace. Without such an understanding of the nature of a colonial period it would be difficult to attempt to understand a literary text that, after all, portrays not the colonial period itself, but a social memory of particularly selected stories related to such a period.

The Archaeology of the Tribute

The text of Mark's Gospel appears to be connected with Paul and particularly with the Jewish war (66-73 CE), because of the eschatological discourse in chapter 13 (Painter: 7). Thus, the setting of the production of the text is a colonial period of oppression and social tension, most probably that of Palestine or, as previously suggested by Christian tradition, that of Rome (Eusebius, HISTORY, 3.39.15). Within that persecution books that tried to predict events of the future, apocalypses, appeared, and, within this particular period the book of Daniel, for example, would have been well known. However, one of the most important features of that colonial period is the appearance of people chosen by God to antagonize and challenge the words, actions and world-views of the oppressor.

As in the case of the Maccabees, who challenged the Syrians and their gymnasium, the early Christian communities followed the basic Jewish line of remembering and reasoning as they developed their own ways of dealing with oppression. Jesus was from Galilee and had disputes not only with the Romans who occupied the province of Judea but also with different Jewish schools of thought that permeated life at the center of Judaism, Jerusalem.

The text concerning the "tribute to Caesar" reads thus:

   Next they sent to him some Pharisees and some Herodians to
   catch him out in what he said. These came and said to him,
   "Master, we know you are an honest man, that you are not afraid
   of anyone, because a man's rank means nothing to you, and that
   you teach the way of God in all honesty. Is it permissible to pay
   taxes to Caesar or not? Should we pay, yes or no?" Seeing
   through their hypocrisy he said to them, "Why do you set this
   trap for me? Hand me a denarius and let me see it." They handed
   him one and he said, "Whose head is this? Whose name?"
   "Caesar's," they told him. Jesus said to them, "Give back to
   Caesar what belongs to Caesar--and to God what belongs to
   God." This reply took them completely by surprise [Mark 12:
   13-17; cf. Matt 22:15-22 and Luke 20:20-26; for other related
   texts see Evans: 242-44].

In that particular social context Jesus' answer to such questions was going to be rather difficult. As Morna Hooker has insightfully commented, "It seems more likely that the saying was the result of long reflection on the problem, rather than an instantaneous response thought up on the spur of the moment" (Hooker: 279). On the one hand Jewish groups opposed the paying of taxes to Rome, while others suggested an indirect cooperation with the oppressors in order to survive. What is clear from the text is that Caesar and God stand in opposition. The answer provokes surprise because Jesus separates religion and politics, two spheres that were closely connected within Jewish history, particularly with the tradition of great kings that mediated between God and his people.

The Romans had imposed forced taxation in 6 CE when Judea, Samaria and Idumea were placed under Roman occupation. Judas and others revolted against that taxation (Acts 5:37), which implied the partition of Jewish land, a policy that led to the creation of the Zealot movement and the rising of CE 70 (Josephus, ANTIQUITIES XVIII: 1.1,6). It was therefore unlawful to suggest that taxes to Rome were not to be paid and it was contentious within a Jewish milieu to suggest that taxes to the oppressors should be paid. To suggest that taxes were lawful would have legitimized the Roman government and challenged the freedom of a Jew to serve God and pay God's taxes. The Roman coin, the silver denarius--worth a daily wage (Matt 20:2)--had the image of the emperor on it, following a Roman practice of engraving human likenesses, a practice that was rejected by the Jews (Exod 20:3), who used small copper coins. If commentators are correct, and the coin was minted by Tiberius in the 20s, its legend read TI CAESAR DIVI AVG F AVGVSTUS--Tiberius Caesar Augustus, Son of Divine Augustus, thus proclaiming the divinity of the Roman Emperor (Evans: 247).

The Jews resented economic colonial taxation as well as the fact that they had to pay taxes in Roman coins, offensive to their religious beliefs. Jesus suggests, however, that they should give, implying the existence of a debt, to Caesar and to God, who--following the previous parable (parable of the wicked tenants (Mk 12:1-12)--tends to be forgotten. It is implicit in this sentence that Jesus' followers interact with Caesar and with God, and that within such social interaction God has a role to play. The answer becomes then an implicit question to his opponents as to what belongs to God (Painter: 164). It is difficult to think that Jesus agreed with the payment, particularly as he had already been recognized by some as the possible Messiah, but in the synoptic Gospels he asks others, such as Simon Peter, to pay taxes (Matt 17:27). Nevertheless, he suggests that those who enter the Kingdom, and therefore become sons of God (as in Matthew 17) will not pay taxes, a saying that gets him challenged (Luke 23:2). It is possible that the ambiguous answer refers to the payment of taxes but not the recognition of the Emperor's divinity, as Paul was already adamant for Christians to participate in the social and political realm but without compromising their life as Christians (Rom 13:1, 7).

But the question is situated within a passage in which four difficult questions are put to Jesus: Roman taxation (12:13-17), the primacy of wives (12:18-27), the greatest commandment (12:28-34), and the Messiah (12:35-37). Parallel instances of such questions are found in Jewish literature and even in the liturgy of the Passover meal (Hooker: 278-79). There were four groups of local religious practitioners (Pharisees, Herodians, Sadducees, and scribes) that had been antagonized by Jesus and continued to seek an opportunity to prove that he was not really a teacher and that he was certainly opposed to God's covenant as embodied in the Temple and to Caesar's rule embodied in Roman law and the Roman occupation.

In all those occasions Jesus shows contempt for legalistic issues, and he acts with divine prudence in a way consistent with Mark's portrayal of him, so as to convince readers that he is the Son of God, who teaches with authority (Mark 11:27-33). Within this apologetic and this positive portrayal of Jesus the only way forward is that of discipleship, in which sharing a table with sinners occupies such an important place. The imitation of Jesus' life and actions becomes central to those reading Mark's Gospel, and so the mimetic act of imitation and following creates two kinds of opposed social beings: disciples and others. In fact, if Jesus was perceived as different by the Jewish establishment and the teachers of the Law, in Mark's text Jesus becomes the social norm of the Kingdom of God while the establishment becomes the Other, outside the new laws of discipleship, i.e. inclusion of sinners and prostitutes in the Kingdom of God due to repentance and baptism.

In fact, otherness and its creation become part of a narrative full of instances in which Jesus is asked why he does things in a different way, and therefore why his disciples follow his example. Thus, otherness related to those who did not follow Jesus becomes part of a social identity portrayed through the social memories of Mark's literary text, in which "conflict is the force that propels the story forward" (Kingsbury: 63). In the text otherness creates alterity, a social formation of difference, because all those outside the Christian community represent people who are different from those who repent, leave their families, give their property to the poor and follow Jesus up to Jerusalem, thus to death and resurrection. If Jesus was at the beginning of Mark's Gospel the "Other," the "tribute" already shows that Mark has managed to turn things upside down and make all others subjects of alterity through social memory. As a result, an interesting connection seems to appear between issues of colonialism (social oppression), mimesis (social repetition and memory), and alterity (social difference) that I shall explore further.

Social Memories, Mimesis, and Alterity

The social memory embodied in the Gospel of Mark is of an itinerant preacher from far away Galilee who calls disciples to accompany him on a journey of healing and forgiveness. Thus, the theme of discipleship becomes central to the composition of Mark's Gospel. Taken as a literary text that Gospel proves to be an interesting narrative in which no high theology is expressed but in which Jesus becomes a controversial figure who is finally arrested, killed and raised up again by the Father.

If one of the aims of this apologetic text is to explain how to be a disciple, the saying of Jesus regarding taxation does not have to be taken as a saying of Jesus himself. Indeed, whether or not it was part of a collection of sayings gathered within this text, it does not explain in itself why it was kept within the synoptic composition. However, if one were to assume that the "tribute" was important because there was a social memory attached to it, then the saying could become rather important, because Jesus' followers remembered this particular story. In fact, if social memories are to become ongoing social creations, so as to fulfil Mark's criteria of apologetic writing, they must relate to the possibility of imitation.

This is where mimesis as a human attribute becomes central to the issue of a social memory. Mimesis as an act of copying and of imitation becomes part of the transmission of social memories not because it allows memories to become tradition, otherwise the act of mimicry should be linked to history (and social historiography), but because it does not. Mimesis is directly linked to a social memory because it assumes a contemporary and future drawing of social creativity that does not correspond to a "collective memory" and is closely related to a gene out of a bottle, with authority but full of creative diversity and magic, rather than the knowledge passed on from a gene. Mimesis is a process whereby human beings remember and recreate once and again through social memories, rather than a moment of romantic realization of sociability and identity through unified social perceptions. In Taussig's understanding, "the wonder of mimesis lies in the copy drawing on the character and power of the original, to the point whereby the representation may assume that character and that power" (Taussig: xiii).

Mimesis has a power, human or divine, that the memory itself could forget it has. For the Greeks and the Romans memory had an intellectual and cognitive function, and therefore mimesis, as a tool of social memory, relies on cognitive abilities, human or animal. Thus, Halliwel has noted that in the history of aesthetics "it is dangerous to rely on the translation 'imitation' even for most early Greek occurrences of mimeis and its cognates, and far more fruitful to accept that from an early stage, when applied to poetry, visual art, music, dance, and the like, mimesis amounts to a concept (or family of concepts) of representation, which in this context can be broadly construed as the use of an artistic medium (words, sounds, physical images) to signify and communicate certain hypothesized realities" (Halliwel: 16). In a less fragmented world, however, the Jewish one, where the word has a bodily essence and where ideas arise out of human actions, mimesis requires the senses, that is smell, touch, vision, in order to create a memory.

This is what I would argue is different in a reading of Mark's depiction of the "tribute to Caesar." In a non-Greek or -European context such a moment of social challenge and political incorrectness provides a social memory that arises, not out of an idea about gospel, discipleship, politics, or religion, but out of a sensorial perception of a textual scene where sensorial memories act through mimetic gestures that enable new generation of believers (and unbelievers) to touch, smell, and, see not the same but the Others. If for a contemporary reader social memories are mimetic assertions of the self, for Jesus' contemporaries social memories are vehicles of political assertions and central to social covenants--specifically, that of God and Israel.

Conclusions: The Creativity of Mimetic Memories

If one goes back to Mark's depiction of Jesus' sensorial moment of confrontation with all Others, be they Romans or Jews, one can assume that this is not a social memory that ends, a limiting one, but a moment of openness rather than closeness.

Indeed social memory has a diachronic significance that expands through time and space. The "tribute to Caesar" pronouncement is only one among others, as one presumes that it was triggered not only by those practices of that moment but already suggests a social memory of previous taxations. It is important to distinguish between the synchronic and the diachronic within social memory, lest scholars provide a linear, westernized, rationalized and mechanical reading of the "tribute." Social memories are not linear devices with cumulative effect and objective facts. Instead, memories are reinterpretations of the past with a causative effect for the future, constructed in a present, full of questions and contradictions for the future.

Social memories, as outlined in the "tribute," are fragments of social existence that continue recreating human expression and that in the case of areas such as religion and politics show an inconsistency that speaks of cultural and contextual constraints and contradictions. Even if Jesus disagreed with such taxation he was forced to pay it and therefore his divine plans and messianic statements were dependent on political events that were shaping not only his mission but the challenges of his opponents and the understanding of his hearers. On the one hand, studies of oral history suggest that people are capable of passing on stories and important memories; on the other hand those memories are contextually recreated within a setting that cannot be the original one.

It is within such re-framing of context that the "tribute" appears contradictory and Jesus is perceived as a clever respondent to social challengers. His contextual setting is clear--a man who was a Jew and who believed in a God who was above emperors and kings, who had made a covenant with a particular people, and had established some law and order as well as an institutional framework to that covenant through royal dynasties, divine laws and sacred spaces. Any of those Jewish perceptions could not be compromised, but--as happened with Josephus--the colonial subject either cooperated with the colonial power or was in trouble. Jesus' appeal within the "tribute" is that he is able to live within two contested powers by suggesting that there are other social realities within a Kingdom that is not of this world, and in which neither Rome nor Jerusalem would be the leaders, but his Father.

Not to consider such a pronouncement a political opinion would be missing the point. Social memories of such a pronouncement point to the fact that the hearers of the discussion were happy with neither Roman nor Jewish taxation, a possible explanation of why the pronouncement was recorded. Indeed, most peoples would share that sentiment and actively seek to have less taxation of their incomes and assets.

It is clear that the issue of social memory remains a central factor in the composition of the Gospels. Writers and authors had choices in collecting documents, and audiences showed approval and excitement towards some stories and rejected others. However, within a colonial situation those choices were influenced by the oppression of a foreign power and could not be predicted by those who did not experience such persecution. Therefore social memory, with its functional use of mimicry and sensorial creation of social otherness becomes an important way of reading the Gospels, particularly those that have historical connections with varied colonial periods.

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Mario I. Aguilar, Ph.D. (London), author of ten books and several papers, is currently Director of the Centre for the Study of Religion and Politics. He lectures at the School of Divinity, St. Mary's College, University of St. Andrews, Scotland (e-mail: [e-mail]).