The Case For God

Years ago I bought and read Karen Armstrong's A History of God, which laid out the history of the three Abrahamic religions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. I saw The Case for God on the shelf at the Athenaeum, and was intrigued -- I expected a rebuttal to the strident modern atheists, like Dawkins and Hitchens, who put my back up with their simplistic, reductionist scorn for religion and spirituality. Well, The Case for God was partly that, but not until the very end of the book.

The Case for God is another historical and philosophical examination of human striving for the transcendent, from ancient rituals that embraced wordless mystery and induced an experience of the divine, through evolving ideas about the nature of God that gradually edged toward a conception of Him as a grand designer or remote creator, who ultimately proved to be unnecessary in a world that emphasises a material and scientific understanding of the cosmos, which is where Dawkins and Hitchens enter the picture. And yet, as Armstrong argues, humans still maintain a stubborn yearning for the sacred and sublime, a need for meaning and purpose in our brief, painful lives. 

I found Armstrong's claim that religion is not something we think, but something we do, to be incredibly powerful. The Case for God was written in the shadow of fundamentalist terrorism and the growing influence of Christian evangelism in the US, which has increased even more disturbingly in the 25 years since. I couldn't help thinking of right-wing Zionist actions in Gaza, too, cruelty and destruction in the name of a particular conception of God. What is at fault is our own shallow convictions that we can penetrate and solve the deep mysteries of existence: why are we here? What's the point of it all? And as Armstrong argues, paradoxically, enlightenment will only come when we can accept that we will never know the answers.
 

The Chronicles of Narnia and Philosophy

With the rather twee subtitle, The Lion, The Witch and the Worldview, The Chronicles of Narnia and Philosophy (2005) is part of a series that also contains titles about Seinfeld, baseball, The Matrix, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and many more pop culture products (the Woody Allen volume might not have aged too well). It's a collection of essays on various philosophical topics, for example, 'Trusting Lucy: Believing the Incredible,' 'No Longer a Friend: Gender in Narnia' (this came out at about the same time as Neil Gaiman's famous essay, The Problem of Susan), and 'Worthy of a Better God: Religious Diversity and Salvation in The Chronicles of Narnia.' You get the gist.

As with any collection, some of the essays are better than others, and there are quite a few from an openly Christian evangelical standpoint, which is not surprising. It was interesting to see how often the same moments in the Chronicles kept coming up, examined from different angles: when Lucy, but no one else, sees Aslan trying to lead them a particular way, and struggles to convince the others to follow him; similarly, Peter and Susan worrying about Lucy's sanity when she first returns from inside the wardrobe; the dwarfs in The Last Battle who refuse to see that they have entered Paradise; the Lady in The Silver Chair who tries to convince Puddleglum and the others that the underworld is the only reality, and that Narnia above ground is just a dream (it's all in Plato!)

It was interesting to note that there were relatively few references to my favourite of the books, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and many quotes from my least favourite, The Last Battle, which is the most obviously didactic and religious. I have always loved these books, they are part of the fabric of my imagination, and despite their many problematic aspects, I suspect I always will.
 

Right Story, Wrong Story

I'm worried about Tyson Yunkaporta. I was exhilarated by his previous book, Sand Talk, which threw open doors of perception and ways of seeing the world that I found bewildering, exciting and challenging. This follow up, Right Story, Wrong Story, strikes a darker note than the playful energy of Sand Talk; Yunkaporta reveals some personal tragedy and struggles in Right Story, Wrong Story, which may go some way to explaining why.

In this book, we ('us-two') are imagined in a self-built canoe, paddling our way through the circles of hell, a journey that introduces us to many other interesting thinkers and to some bleak subject matter. Yunkaporta structures Right Story, Wrong Story as a series of interconnected thought experiments, a conversation between himself, the reader and the various contributors we meet along the way. We discuss violence, technology, power and story, always int he context of being in either 'right relationship' or 'wrong relationship.' In Indigenous thinking, relationships are everything; no individual stands alone, there are no superheroes to the rescue, and solutions are worked out through collective contributions, often over a long time. If only the modern world could turn to this kind of problem-solving! Perhaps this is one cause of the suppressed rage and despair that bubbles through these pages.

I might not have enjoyed the journey of Right Story, Wrong Story quite as much as Sand Talk but Yunkaporta is always stimulating to read.

Piranesi

 

Susanna Clarke's novel Piranesi has been on my radar for a while, but I had a vague impression that it might be long and abstruse and difficult to penetrate, so I didn't go out of my way to get hold of it until a friend from book group (thanks, Pam) told me she thought I might like it. And I did! 

Piranesi was none of the things I feared it might be -- it was fairly short, entertaining, engaging and original. It takes the form of a diary, of a young man who lives in a vast house, empty of everything but mysterious statues and the in-rushing sea, and the Other, whom he sees from time to time but who is busy on his own researches. The mystery of this young diarist's identity, the nature of the House and how he has ended up there, unfold in an intriguing speculative fiction that has magical and philosophical elements, but is ultimately grounded in the real world. As more visitors appear in the House (which seemingly stretches for kilometres in every direction, made up of immense Halls and Vestibules, and the odd abandoned skeleton), 'Piranesi' comes to question everything he has taken for granted, and his whole reality is turned upside down.

Piranesi is beautifully written and elegantly designed and I was sorry when my wander through its majestic, mysterious and chilly halls was over. I'm counting it as adult fiction, but it could be young adult, too. One of the best books I've read this year.

Sand Talk (again)

The first day of a new year, the start of a new decade, and yet things feel sober, even frightening. The country is on fire; the planet is burning.

Re-reading Sand Talk confirmed for me: we are not meant to be living like this. 'Western civilisation' is built on a mirage, a concept of constant growth and expansion which is literally unsustainable. The things we have decided are important, the standards by which we measure success and survival (profit, consumption, economic growth), are killing us, and the precious, fragile world we live on. What would happen if we re-framed our ideas of what matters, to prioritise custodianship over exploitation, enough over more, connection over domination?

I don't know if it's even possible. Perhaps we are racing unstoppably toward our doom, the way so many past civilisations have collapsed, mutated, vanished. But there are small things I can do. They might just be gestures, flailing my arms before I topple into the maw of the apocalypse, but I'm going to do them anyway. Eating less meat. Trying to walk instead of drive everywhere. Buying less crap. We've installed a massive solar array on our roof; we might buy a battery next. We'll try to take care of the wild birds and creatures that live in our garden. I'll try to stay hopeful, try to look for ways to make things better, not worse.

Happy 2020, everyone. And if anyone wants to borrow Sand Talk, I'll lend it to you.

Sophie's World

I think I first bought and read Jostein Gaarder's bestselling book about philosophy for young people, Sophie's World, when it was first published in English (translated from the original Norwegian) back in the early 1990s. I revisited it for the Convent Book Group's Philosophy theme this month.

I did recall some elements of the book, but not the central twist (though I saw that coming). And alas, I had forgotten most of the actual philosophy information which was the whole point of the novel. I have to admit that this time around, I found those sections fairly hard-going -- talk about info-dump! But when the actual mystery/twist part of the book ramps up, I found myself more engaged, and the interplay between the philosophical debates and Sophie's personal situation is cleverly plotted.

I'd be interested to know if any young people actually read this book these days. It's a useful primer on the history of (Western) philosophy and much more fun than the textbooks I had to plough through at uni doing Philosophy 101 -- though that's not setting the bar very high!

Who Is Who? The Philosophy of Doctor Who

I once wanted to be a philosopher.

It was in the early 80s, when I was in my teens and starting to think about my future -- not very realistically, obviously -- and there was a show on the ABC which I've been unable to pin down, which consisted of interviews with philosophers. I found it absolutely thrilling: the notion that there were people who spent their days wrestling with big, important ideas, that this could actually be a JOB, was incredibly exciting and inspiring.

This ambition withered about six weeks into my first year philosophy course at uni, which was torturously dry and dull, all about Logical Positivism, rather than the meaty questions of ethics and values that I craved. I probably should have done History and Philosophy of Science instead.

And I must admit that I found parts of Kevin S. Decker's Who is Who? somewhat dry, even with the attraction of Doctor Who as source material. Also, it suffered from sloppy editing: for example, a single quote was not only repeated in the first few pages, it was attributed to two different authors!

For the most part, though, this was a fun excursion through questions of identity, political ethics, the nature of knowledge and other philosophical issues through the lens of Doctor Who. I would have liked a discussion of the new Doctor's gender switch and its implications, but alas, this book pre-dates even the Twelfth Doctor, let alone the Thirteenth! But I'm happy to add it to my collection.

And if anyone else remembers that philosophy show, please let me know! I'm starting to think I must have imagined the whole thing.

The Elimination Challenge

I had a brilliant idea for a blog the other day, but I'm not sure I have the guts to follow through with it (also, someone else has surely done it already).

I looked around my cluttered house and thought, what I would like to do is get rid of one thing every day for a year, and blog about it.

Oh, the first days - weeks, even - would be easy. The ill-fitting op shop skirt bought on a whim - GONE. The lumpy clay object that Alice made at kinder six years ago, gathering dust on a window sill - GONE. The manky old shampoo bottle that Evie plays with in the bath - GONE. Outgrown clothes, neglected toys, the jar of dried beans that's been in the back of the pantry for three years.

But then things might start to get a little tricky. There are books I could sacrifice. There are stuffed toys I would gladly see the back of. I could probably tip out the big fruit bowl full of accumulated crap and buy myself a month right there - scraps of wool, pencil stubs, tram tickets. But when all those easy items have been removed, what next?

What could I live without? Do I really need four vegetable peelers? Eight saucepans? A cupboard full of ancient lunchboxes and superseded drink bottles? All those frocks? All those BOOKS? Those essays from Year 10?

If I was brave enough, I'd go through every room of my house and apply the classic tests: is it useful? Is it beautiful? Do I love it for some other reason? (Because it was made by a child, or inherited from an ancestor, for example - the only possible reason for hanging onto Nana's old perfume bottle in my sock drawer.) And I wonder, at the end of it, what would be left. And I wonder how much resistance I'd meet from the rest of the family. Michael would be into it -- he's a great one for chucking out (sometimes a little too enthusiastic, if the truth be told). But the girls would HATE it.

What I really need is a catchy name for the exercise: My Year of Paring Down? The Simplification Test?

Yeah. That's what's stopping me.

Life Lessons Football Can Teach Us (An Occasional Series)

Part 1: The Sweetness of Victory Does Not Outweigh The Bitterness of Defeat

Last week my team got crunched by some cheeky up-and-comers. This week, we bulldozed an undermanned and reeling interstate team at home. It was nice enough. But it doesn't erase the pain and outrage of the shocking loss the week before.

Winning feels good. But losing feels really, really bad. When the Western Bulldogs finally win a premiership, will it really make up for the fifty, or sixty or seventy years of disappointment, anguish, heartache, betrayal, sorrow and grief that have gone before? How good could it actually be? Especially when you wake up the next morning and know that you have to start fighting all over again, for the next one?

I guess if I was actually a member of the team, maybe the player who kicked the winning goal on the final siren to seal the victory, I might have a different perspective. But think about it. Once upon a time, I vowed, if I ever get a book published, just one book, I will never be unhappy again. If I could win a literary prize, or get short-listed for a prize, I will never complain again. If I get a boyfriend... if I have a baby...

Well, I've done all those things and they are all wonderful, but the high fades away. Achievement is no guarantee of permanent happiness.

Unfairly, though, it seems the reverse is not true. The bad reviews and rejections and defeats still hurt, even though logic suggests that the pain should be wiped away by the joy of accomplishment.

So what can we draw from all this, class? This is what I think: it's a mistake to tie your emotional and mental health to any notions of "success" or "failure." Enjoy the little things in life, and pin your joy to them. In football terms, we should enjoy the spectacle of the game - celebrate individual acts of courage or skill - relish the small acts of sacrifice when the team works together - laugh at the freakish or the slapstick - scream with excitement. But don't let the result determine our mood for the whole of the next week, or season, or a lifetime.

Lucky I'm not an AFL coach!