Yes, I know I said I would be providing updates about the World Cup, and that what follows is hopelessly dated, but this last week has seen my computer (and my ISP) let me down badly, so I'm afraid you've ot what you've got. Now that things appear to have returned to something approximating normal, enjoy...or endure...
Netherlands 2 vs Denmark 0
This was a dour, charmless match in which the Danes defended in depth, while the Netherlands played a possession football that was more akin to a training run than to any serious attempt at play-making. Indeed, the crowd became so restless the perennial sign of spectator boredom – the Mexican Wave – made an appearance in force. After 20 mins of stultifyingly dull play, the Dutch bean to pressure the Danish defence, cutting down the right flank and breaking through the centre; but the resulting opportunities were all-too-easily defended. Against the run of play, a 26th minute break by the Danes saw the Dutch goal in serious danger without producing a result; likewise, similar thrusts in the 33rd and 36th minutes. Granted, after half-time, the game became somewhat more engaging – but this due almost entirely to a comical defensive error inside the 1st minute after the restart which gifted the Dutch the lead. Similarly farcical moments in the 50th, 75th, and 81st minutes almost repeated the gift, while the Netherlands made strong attacks in the 58th, 68th, and 72nd minutes without result. Finally, the pressure told: in the 84th minute, the Danish defence cracked at the seams, allowing the Netherlands to score for the second time; while a third goal was only prevented in the 87th minute by a frantic clearance off the Danish goal-line. Mercifully, the game came to an end shortly afterwards; the Netherlands walked away from a technically proficient but aesthetically sterile performance with a 2-0 win and all three points.
Italy 1 vs Paraguay 1
The outstanding feature of this match was the quality of both sides’ tackling and interceptions, a fact made all the more remarkable because of the wind and rains that prevailed during most of the match. Time and again, a player in seeming control of the ball was stripped of possession, or had his apparently clean pass cut off before it reached its target. Italy were the dominant team, and for most of the first half regularly pressed the Paraguayan goal, crossing looping balls from either flank into the teeth of the South Americans’ goal. But a combination of doughty defence by Paraguay and a small amount of fortune frustrated all of Italy’s efforts. The opening score, when it came in the 38th minute, surprised everyone: a rare Paraguayan thrust resulted in a beautifully delivered free-kick, the incoming ball slotted by a neat header into the back of the Italian net. Paraguay 1-0 at the break – who would have thought it? A tense struggle after the resumption resulted in unexploited goal scoring opportunities for both sides, until, in the 62nd minute, a perfectly delivered cross drew the Paraguayan keeper off his line, only for the ball to float into the path of an Italian striker who gleefully chipped the ball home. Thereafter, Italy continually pressed the Paraguayan goal, and after the 75th minute, launched repeated attacks, including an 82nd minute strike that required a brilliant diving save by Paraguay’s ‘keeper. But the South Americans remained calm under pressure, and manfully resisted every offensive. In the end, the 1-1 scoreline befitted a gripping contest in which one of the tournament favourites was forced to work hard in order to salvage equal points.
Cote D’Ivoire 0 vs Portugal 0
This match featured what is arguably Africa’s strongest team at this World Cup in the absence of African Cup holders Egypt, up against the enigmatic but hugely talented Portugal. Portugal dominated the opening stanzas, highlighted by a blistering 10th minute strike on goal the beat the Ivorian goalkeeper cold – but not, alas, the goal upright. A pointless free kick in the 13th minute gifted Cote D’Ivoire with its first scoring opportunity, while a deft 16th minute midfield steal provided a second; both opportunities were squandered. A bit of spite entered the game in the 20th minute, as both teams, seemingly frustrated by their inability to score, indulged in a series of ugly tackles, which in turn produced a flurry of dives, fouls, and bookings. The nadir came in the 28th minute: a crude Portuguese tackle inexplicably went unpunished by the referee, and play had to be halted so the unfortunate Ivorian player on the receiving end could be attended to by medical staff. Cote D’Ivoire started strongly in the second half, producing opportunities in the 47th minute (twice), 53rd minute, 58th and 59th minutes that failed to result in any change to the scoreline. In the midst of this barrage, a perfectly lofted 50th minute cross placed the Ivorian goal in severe danger, while a 57th minute ball from deep in Cote D’Ivoire’s defensive zone again had the defence scrambling. After the 65th minute, Portugal gained the upper hand, but were unable to convert several half-opportunities into anything more substantial; poor crossing from a number of corner kicks aided the Ivorian defence, while a long-range shot in the 78th minute and a free kick in the 79th flew high and wide. After the 80th minute, the match resembled and arm-wrestling contest between two equally matched and equally exhausted opponents, although an 83rd minute thrust by Cote D’Ivoire and an 88th minute counter by Portugal provided brief moments of excitement. The three minutes of penalty time were dominated by Cote D’Ivoire, with several desperate attacks repelled by an equally desperate defence. All in all, it was a slightly disappointing match, in which two teams rich in capacity produced very little of substance.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Showing posts with label Reviews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reviews. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The Cup From The Couch
Since it is the World Cup, and since I am undeniably a fan of football at this level, I thought while the tournament was on, I'd periodically give you my thoughts as they occur to me from my perch on the Couch. I can't claim that my musings will constitute "expert" opinion, either on the game in general or on the tournament in particular (and anyway, who could possibly know more than Les Murray?); I can't even claim that the matches I comment on will in any sense be important or vital to the outcome of World Cup 2010. But they will be games I have actually watched, so my ignorance will at least be "informed" ignorance...
South Africa 1 vs Mexico 1
The stand out feature of this match was the amazing foot-speed of the South African players, and their ability to disorient the Mexican defence and charge forward into attack, either from the wings or through the centre. The Mexicans were clearly the more experienced and skillful team, a fact reflected by their near dominance of possession in the 1st half; indeed, South Africa can thank the amazing atheletic skills of their goal-keeper for the fact that they weren't 2-nil down after the first 40 minutes. But then a sea-change came over the match: for the last five minutes of the 1st half, and for the first 25 minutes of the 2nd half, the South Africans ran rings around their more fancied opponents, breaking from deep within their own defence to regularly harry the Mexican goal. It was an inevitability when the South Africans slotted home the first goal of the match (and tournament); what was less expected was the Mexican equaliser against the run of play (due almost entirely to sloppy South African defence) and the return of the game to a more even keel. The last stanza of the match was a thrilling battle of skill against elan, in which both teams squandered opportunities to score the winner. In the end, a 1-1 draw reflected a just result to what was a cracking start to the tournament.
South Korea 2 vs Greece 0
In this match, Greece was cut to pieces by the precision passing of the South Koreans, who frequently threaded the needle of two or three apparently immobile Greek players in order to find a team-mate and retain possession. While the Greeks opted for long-range aerial delivery into their forward zone, the South Koreans displayed a cohesive integration of defence, midfield, and offence to switch the ball from deep within their own zone into the teeth of the Greek goal, playing with a fluidity that made their opponents look sluggish and out of form. Despite the fact that the Greeks had the best opportunity to open the scoring, from the 5 minute mark onwards, South Korea dominated, patiently retaining possession before launching lightning attacks down and across both flanks. The Greeks frankly looked flat-footed and lacking in match fitness, while the South Koreans visibly gained in confidence as the game progressed. Greece did manage to salvage some pride in the last 20 minutes of the match by threatening the South Korean goal as their opponents tired; but their numerous assaults proved fruitless, while the South Koreans were only prevented from extending their lead by the vicissitudes of fortune. Like the South Africa-Mexico contest, this was a match in which the underdogs upstaged their more highly credentialed rivals.
Serbia 0 v Ghana 1
This was a gritty arm-wrestle of a match, occassionally illuminated by moments of excitement, in which the momentum swung between two seemingly equally matched teams. The Ghanaians controlled most of the first half without really threatening the Serbian goal; their opponents then grabbed the initiative in the latter stages of the half and troubled Ghana's defence with a series of set-pieces squandered by poor finishing. The Ghanaian offensives, while exciting at times, tended to have a quality of sameness, relying mostly on dashes down the wings finished by long-range crosses into the centre. After half time, the momentum once again swung in Ghana's favour, but they were unable to convert a series of opportunities, two of which went close to breaking the deadlock. Against the run of play, Serbia almost scored twice in moves that opened up Ghana's defence; but these chances likewise failed to result in a goal. Interest was injected into the game in the 73rd minute when a Serbian defender received a 2nd yellow card and thus earned a send off; Ghana now found themselves one player to the good over their opponents. Yet it was the Serbs who siezed the initiative, forcing two terrific saves from the Ghanaian goalkeeper in the most exciting passage of play in the match. The denoument, when it came, took everyone by surprise: a Serb defender was called for handball in the penalty box (which, despite protestations to the contrary, was a spot-on call by the ref), which in turn produced a faultless penalty kick that put Ghana in the lead. The Ghanaians almost scored again in injury time as Serbia appeared to give up the game for lost. In the end, it was victory for Ghana; but a nil-all draw would have been a more accurate reflection of a match that, while interesting at times, never really climbed the heights.
Talk to you soon,
BB
South Africa 1 vs Mexico 1
The stand out feature of this match was the amazing foot-speed of the South African players, and their ability to disorient the Mexican defence and charge forward into attack, either from the wings or through the centre. The Mexicans were clearly the more experienced and skillful team, a fact reflected by their near dominance of possession in the 1st half; indeed, South Africa can thank the amazing atheletic skills of their goal-keeper for the fact that they weren't 2-nil down after the first 40 minutes. But then a sea-change came over the match: for the last five minutes of the 1st half, and for the first 25 minutes of the 2nd half, the South Africans ran rings around their more fancied opponents, breaking from deep within their own defence to regularly harry the Mexican goal. It was an inevitability when the South Africans slotted home the first goal of the match (and tournament); what was less expected was the Mexican equaliser against the run of play (due almost entirely to sloppy South African defence) and the return of the game to a more even keel. The last stanza of the match was a thrilling battle of skill against elan, in which both teams squandered opportunities to score the winner. In the end, a 1-1 draw reflected a just result to what was a cracking start to the tournament.
South Korea 2 vs Greece 0
In this match, Greece was cut to pieces by the precision passing of the South Koreans, who frequently threaded the needle of two or three apparently immobile Greek players in order to find a team-mate and retain possession. While the Greeks opted for long-range aerial delivery into their forward zone, the South Koreans displayed a cohesive integration of defence, midfield, and offence to switch the ball from deep within their own zone into the teeth of the Greek goal, playing with a fluidity that made their opponents look sluggish and out of form. Despite the fact that the Greeks had the best opportunity to open the scoring, from the 5 minute mark onwards, South Korea dominated, patiently retaining possession before launching lightning attacks down and across both flanks. The Greeks frankly looked flat-footed and lacking in match fitness, while the South Koreans visibly gained in confidence as the game progressed. Greece did manage to salvage some pride in the last 20 minutes of the match by threatening the South Korean goal as their opponents tired; but their numerous assaults proved fruitless, while the South Koreans were only prevented from extending their lead by the vicissitudes of fortune. Like the South Africa-Mexico contest, this was a match in which the underdogs upstaged their more highly credentialed rivals.
Serbia 0 v Ghana 1
This was a gritty arm-wrestle of a match, occassionally illuminated by moments of excitement, in which the momentum swung between two seemingly equally matched teams. The Ghanaians controlled most of the first half without really threatening the Serbian goal; their opponents then grabbed the initiative in the latter stages of the half and troubled Ghana's defence with a series of set-pieces squandered by poor finishing. The Ghanaian offensives, while exciting at times, tended to have a quality of sameness, relying mostly on dashes down the wings finished by long-range crosses into the centre. After half time, the momentum once again swung in Ghana's favour, but they were unable to convert a series of opportunities, two of which went close to breaking the deadlock. Against the run of play, Serbia almost scored twice in moves that opened up Ghana's defence; but these chances likewise failed to result in a goal. Interest was injected into the game in the 73rd minute when a Serbian defender received a 2nd yellow card and thus earned a send off; Ghana now found themselves one player to the good over their opponents. Yet it was the Serbs who siezed the initiative, forcing two terrific saves from the Ghanaian goalkeeper in the most exciting passage of play in the match. The denoument, when it came, took everyone by surprise: a Serb defender was called for handball in the penalty box (which, despite protestations to the contrary, was a spot-on call by the ref), which in turn produced a faultless penalty kick that put Ghana in the lead. The Ghanaians almost scored again in injury time as Serbia appeared to give up the game for lost. In the end, it was victory for Ghana; but a nil-all draw would have been a more accurate reflection of a match that, while interesting at times, never really climbed the heights.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Under Review II
As stated in an earlier post, I will from time to time publish on this blog reviews I've written and posted on my Facebook account. The reason being to make these reviews available to a wider audience than the select group of unfortunates who happen to be my Facebook "friends". Today's review concerns Walter M Miller's classic post-apocalyptic science fiction novel "A Canticle for Liebowitz".
A Canticle for Liebowitz by Walter M Miller
Walter M Miller Jr grew up in the between the wars American South, enlisting in the Army Air Corp in WWII and spending most of his time as a radio operator and gunner. One operation in which he participated was the infamous bombing of the ancient monastary of Monte Cassino in Italy; it was this experience, as well as his encounter with the horrors of war generally, that lead him to write "A Canticle for Leibowitz"
The novel covers a nearly 1800 year time span in which an order of monks adhering to the Rule of Benedict - called the Albertain Order of Leibowitz, named for the great medieval scholar Albertus Magnus, and a fictional scientist-martyr Leibowitz - struggle to preserve the relics of the "great civilisation" destroyed by nuclear war. Their task is rendered next to impossible by the fact that, after civilisation was destroyed, a further cataclysmic event called the Simplification resulted in the systematic annihilation of books, records, and technological implements of every kind. The Order was founded by a scientist named Leibowitz who was mob lynched during the Simplification; but not before he had managed to squirrel away a small collection of precious books and found the Order bearing his name.
The novel is constructed in three parts, the first ocurring approximately 600 years after the nuclear holocaust, the next about 500 years further on, and the final section another half milennium beyond that. In the first section, a rather absurd and hapless novice monk stumbles upon a fallout shelter which, among other things, contains a precious relic written by Leibowitz himself - a shopping list. In the second section, an abbot plagued by doubts and chronic ulcers debates whether to make available to the scientists of the newly emerging civilisations the technological secrets which the Order has preserved for so long. In the third section, a civilisation more advanced than the one destroyed by the nuclear holocaust advances inexoribably to its own horrible fate - but not without the Order managing to make sure a seed of hope survives.
This is a wonderfully told novel full of wit, sarcasm, humour, despair, compassion, and frustration. Having survived the horrors of WWII Miller was desperately concerned that human civilisation was advancing along a path of relentless self-annihilation, heedless of the warnings provided by the carnage of two global conflagrations. Haunting the novel is the unseen (and, from the point of view of the narrative, possibly fictional) personage of Leibowitz: the scientist-martyr who struggled to preserve what was best about civilisation - its accumulated knowledge - all the while knowing this was the very thing that had brought civilisation to ruin. Also haunting the novel is the figure of "the Jew", known as Benjamin bar Joshua, but quite conceivably Lazarus raised from the dead and unable to die. Is he an allegory for anti-Semitic persecution and the appropriation by Christians of Jewish sacred history and heritage? A symbol of human folly? Of sheer, bloody-minded determination? Of the human experience itself, its journey from savagery to civilisation, only to inflict upon itself more savagery?
Miller's placing of the struggle to preserve civilisation within the context of an enclosed monastic order reflects both the historical preservation of Western civilisation by Benedictine monastaries during the Dark Ages, as well as the perenniel tension between the truth of science and the truth of faith. This tension is emblematic of the tension between knowledge and wisdom; and Miller's seemingly gloomy conclusion is nonetheless punctured by the possibility of hope. Perhaps we are doomed to destroy ourselves; but even if we do, it just may be that something of ourselves - some of our greatness that transcends our shame - will survive beyond our annihilation, to be picked up and carried on by whoever comes after us.
A powerful, disturbing, thought-provoking novel, well worth reading and completely relevant in this day and age.
Talk to you soon,
BB
A Canticle for Liebowitz by Walter M Miller
Walter M Miller Jr grew up in the between the wars American South, enlisting in the Army Air Corp in WWII and spending most of his time as a radio operator and gunner. One operation in which he participated was the infamous bombing of the ancient monastary of Monte Cassino in Italy; it was this experience, as well as his encounter with the horrors of war generally, that lead him to write "A Canticle for Leibowitz"
The novel covers a nearly 1800 year time span in which an order of monks adhering to the Rule of Benedict - called the Albertain Order of Leibowitz, named for the great medieval scholar Albertus Magnus, and a fictional scientist-martyr Leibowitz - struggle to preserve the relics of the "great civilisation" destroyed by nuclear war. Their task is rendered next to impossible by the fact that, after civilisation was destroyed, a further cataclysmic event called the Simplification resulted in the systematic annihilation of books, records, and technological implements of every kind. The Order was founded by a scientist named Leibowitz who was mob lynched during the Simplification; but not before he had managed to squirrel away a small collection of precious books and found the Order bearing his name.
The novel is constructed in three parts, the first ocurring approximately 600 years after the nuclear holocaust, the next about 500 years further on, and the final section another half milennium beyond that. In the first section, a rather absurd and hapless novice monk stumbles upon a fallout shelter which, among other things, contains a precious relic written by Leibowitz himself - a shopping list. In the second section, an abbot plagued by doubts and chronic ulcers debates whether to make available to the scientists of the newly emerging civilisations the technological secrets which the Order has preserved for so long. In the third section, a civilisation more advanced than the one destroyed by the nuclear holocaust advances inexoribably to its own horrible fate - but not without the Order managing to make sure a seed of hope survives.
This is a wonderfully told novel full of wit, sarcasm, humour, despair, compassion, and frustration. Having survived the horrors of WWII Miller was desperately concerned that human civilisation was advancing along a path of relentless self-annihilation, heedless of the warnings provided by the carnage of two global conflagrations. Haunting the novel is the unseen (and, from the point of view of the narrative, possibly fictional) personage of Leibowitz: the scientist-martyr who struggled to preserve what was best about civilisation - its accumulated knowledge - all the while knowing this was the very thing that had brought civilisation to ruin. Also haunting the novel is the figure of "the Jew", known as Benjamin bar Joshua, but quite conceivably Lazarus raised from the dead and unable to die. Is he an allegory for anti-Semitic persecution and the appropriation by Christians of Jewish sacred history and heritage? A symbol of human folly? Of sheer, bloody-minded determination? Of the human experience itself, its journey from savagery to civilisation, only to inflict upon itself more savagery?
Miller's placing of the struggle to preserve civilisation within the context of an enclosed monastic order reflects both the historical preservation of Western civilisation by Benedictine monastaries during the Dark Ages, as well as the perenniel tension between the truth of science and the truth of faith. This tension is emblematic of the tension between knowledge and wisdom; and Miller's seemingly gloomy conclusion is nonetheless punctured by the possibility of hope. Perhaps we are doomed to destroy ourselves; but even if we do, it just may be that something of ourselves - some of our greatness that transcends our shame - will survive beyond our annihilation, to be picked up and carried on by whoever comes after us.
A powerful, disturbing, thought-provoking novel, well worth reading and completely relevant in this day and age.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Under Review
Since it's Christmas, and since Christmas is - allegedly - the season of giving, I thought I wouldn't be a total grouch and would join in the spirit of the season by giving you my thoughts on a few books I've read recently. These reviews have originally appeared on my Facebook page, but since I don't let any old riff-raff be my Facebook friend (you have to be special riff-raff indeed to be my Facebook buddy!), I thought I'd make them slightly more accessible and inflict them on the public at large.
The reviews I've written in recent times have been reasonably lengthy, but as a taster I thought I'd give you a couple of my shorter reviews for your delectation. So here goes...
The Shearer's Tale by Tom Molomby
Sydney lawyer Tom Molomby brings his precise forensic skills to bear on a case from the first half of 20th century rural Australia. When a shop keeper named Henry Lavers went missing near the NSW town of Forbes, an intensive manhunt failed to locate either his body or those responsible for his presumed murder. Ten years later, shearer Fred McDermott was tried and convicted for Lavers' murder. Thus began a struggle for justice which ended in a Royal Commission and McDermott's release - and yet, he was denied the justice that was his due. Molomby expertly dissects the case, revealing the failures in the system - and the questionable investigation - that resulted in McDermott's imprisonment, an experience that blighted the rest of his life. An engaging and disturbing read..
On. Off: A Novel by Colleen McCullough
Once you get past the somewhat melodramatic narrative style and the frankly absurd names attached to some of the characters, this is actually quite an engaging thriller set in provincial Connecticut in the late 1960s. A series of grusome murders centred on an elite medical research facility are uncovered - and the job of hunting down the perpetrator is given to police detective Carmine Delmonico (a man, despite the name). Thus begins an investigation into a group of frankly bizarre research scientists, one of whom hides a dark obssession. The pace is excellent, the characters well-drawn and multi-dimensional, the story told with sympathy, insight, and black humour. The identity of the killer is given away quite early (although you have to be paying attention to spot it) and the end carries a twist that is jolting if unconvincing; the minor sub-plot on race-relations is just padding and lets you now well in advance the killer's ultimate fate. But overall, an engaging, if not entirely satisfying, read.
Killer In The Rain by Raymond Chandler
What a delight! This superb collection of Chandler's shorter fiction introduces the characters Carmaday and John Dalmas - the prototypes for his much more famous creation, Phillip Marlowe. Nobody wrote noir fiction better than Chandler, and his prose is full of light and shadow, etching a wonderful portrait of the sleazy side of life in between-the-wars Los Angeles. Dalmas and Carmaday are tough, vulnerable, cynical, sentimental, wise-cracking smart-guys and occassionally bumbling saps with a taste for blondes and red-heads and a penchant for getting belted over the back of the head. Crackling beneath the surface tension and the headlong action of the plots is a profound sympathy for the down-and-outs, for those who've caught the bad breaks or just been worn down by the daily grind; Chandler's compassion for humanity combines with his clear-eyed understanding of the darker motivations of the human psyche to produce a body of work that found its ultimate expression in such classics as The Big Sleep, Farewell, My Lovely, and The Long Goodbye. What is truly fascinating about this collection is the clearly visible genesis of many of these later works in the collection presented in this volume - fans of Chandler will experience a jolt of recognition as they read classic scenes from his novels that had their first outing in his early short fiction. Entertaining and fascinating from go to woe. My favourite quote: "She had the kind of eyes and figure that would make a bishop kick a hole in a stain-glass window".
Well, that's your lot for the moment...more reviews to come!
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: Critics are merely failed writers - but then, so are most writers! (T S Eliot)
The reviews I've written in recent times have been reasonably lengthy, but as a taster I thought I'd give you a couple of my shorter reviews for your delectation. So here goes...
The Shearer's Tale by Tom Molomby
Sydney lawyer Tom Molomby brings his precise forensic skills to bear on a case from the first half of 20th century rural Australia. When a shop keeper named Henry Lavers went missing near the NSW town of Forbes, an intensive manhunt failed to locate either his body or those responsible for his presumed murder. Ten years later, shearer Fred McDermott was tried and convicted for Lavers' murder. Thus began a struggle for justice which ended in a Royal Commission and McDermott's release - and yet, he was denied the justice that was his due. Molomby expertly dissects the case, revealing the failures in the system - and the questionable investigation - that resulted in McDermott's imprisonment, an experience that blighted the rest of his life. An engaging and disturbing read..
On. Off: A Novel by Colleen McCullough
Once you get past the somewhat melodramatic narrative style and the frankly absurd names attached to some of the characters, this is actually quite an engaging thriller set in provincial Connecticut in the late 1960s. A series of grusome murders centred on an elite medical research facility are uncovered - and the job of hunting down the perpetrator is given to police detective Carmine Delmonico (a man, despite the name). Thus begins an investigation into a group of frankly bizarre research scientists, one of whom hides a dark obssession. The pace is excellent, the characters well-drawn and multi-dimensional, the story told with sympathy, insight, and black humour. The identity of the killer is given away quite early (although you have to be paying attention to spot it) and the end carries a twist that is jolting if unconvincing; the minor sub-plot on race-relations is just padding and lets you now well in advance the killer's ultimate fate. But overall, an engaging, if not entirely satisfying, read.
Killer In The Rain by Raymond Chandler
What a delight! This superb collection of Chandler's shorter fiction introduces the characters Carmaday and John Dalmas - the prototypes for his much more famous creation, Phillip Marlowe. Nobody wrote noir fiction better than Chandler, and his prose is full of light and shadow, etching a wonderful portrait of the sleazy side of life in between-the-wars Los Angeles. Dalmas and Carmaday are tough, vulnerable, cynical, sentimental, wise-cracking smart-guys and occassionally bumbling saps with a taste for blondes and red-heads and a penchant for getting belted over the back of the head. Crackling beneath the surface tension and the headlong action of the plots is a profound sympathy for the down-and-outs, for those who've caught the bad breaks or just been worn down by the daily grind; Chandler's compassion for humanity combines with his clear-eyed understanding of the darker motivations of the human psyche to produce a body of work that found its ultimate expression in such classics as The Big Sleep, Farewell, My Lovely, and The Long Goodbye. What is truly fascinating about this collection is the clearly visible genesis of many of these later works in the collection presented in this volume - fans of Chandler will experience a jolt of recognition as they read classic scenes from his novels that had their first outing in his early short fiction. Entertaining and fascinating from go to woe. My favourite quote: "She had the kind of eyes and figure that would make a bishop kick a hole in a stain-glass window".
Well, that's your lot for the moment...more reviews to come!
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: Critics are merely failed writers - but then, so are most writers! (T S Eliot)
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Just In Case You Were Wondering....
I know, I know, I've been neglecting this blog of late - well, alright, for about the last five months. But I've been busy! The thing is, it's not something I can sum up in a few words; nor is it anything that a few thousand words will explain (and who'd read that anyway?) So what I've done is reproduce a circular email I sent out recently to a few friends (who were as equally in the dark about my recent activities) to let them know that a) I was still alive, and b) what I've been doing.
So, with due apologies for ignoring you in recent months (and with a vague promise to not to so in future), my update for the last half year...
Dear Friends:
As it has been a while since I graced you with an account of my adventures, and since I know how much you all looooooove hearing from me, I thought I'd kick off the festive season with just the right spirit and bring you all up to date with what I've been getting up to (or away with, depending on your point of view!)
Ministry
This has been a very busy and challenging year, what with study, working a couple of nights a week at the local servo, and undertaking my first year of candidacy to the ordained ministry of the UCA. However, I am pleased to say that I have successfully completed Year One (as has my Dearly Beloved) and I am presently on placement over summer to the Black Rock/Beaumaris congregation.
Apart from being a very nice place to be over Summer, Black Rock / Beaumaris has two congregations (St Andrews Black Rock, and St Martin's Beaumaris) which mens two services every Sunday. The minister there is Rev Ian Ferguson, who is very gifted liturgically, and I am learning a lot from him in terms of making a service engage with people and drawing them into a space in which a service "speaks" to them. Ian goes on leave in January, so I'll be Johnny-on-the-spot for this congregation! Exciting but nerve wracking!
My Dearly Beloved and I have also done a fair bit of itinerant preaching and are both on the roster to be preaching regularly at the Hastings/Crib Point/Balnarring congregations - thank heavens for Eastlink! The formation process - that is what the official training program is called - has been very challenging and thought provoking. One of the interesting developments over the course of this year has been that when I first became a candidate, I assumed that I would be aiming for a congregational ministry once I was ordained; however, as a result of the formation process this year, I am now inclining myself more toward chaplaincy, and in particular, industrial chaplaincy. It seems to me (and this is an observation based on the many pastoral conversations I've had with many people over a number of years, including during my period of service in the union movement) that there is a great need for the church to be "present" in society in ways other than just congregations; and given that most of us spend most of our week at work, and given also how soulless and stressful many workplaces can be, a pastoral presence that meets people in their daily context is, it seems to me, a matter of some urgency. Still, the formation process is only one third over, and much thought and reflection and discernment still need to occur before the matter of where exactly I feel I am being called to is sorted out...hopefully, next year I will be able to access a placement in an industrial context that will enable me to reflect further on this notion.
Study
This year has been full on for study - I have effectively broken the back of my study load, meaning I'll be able to go back to two subjects a semester next year - but, boy, was it hard work! My academic results have been extremely pleasing - more than one High Distinction I'm delighted to say - but what has been truly rewarding have been the insights and sense of richness of faith and understanding that have flowed from my studies. In particular, the Old Testament studies I have undertaken this year have given me a completely new insight into the theological underpinnings of many of the prophetic and wisdom books of the OT, as well as the Book of Genesis. It seems to me that the ancients were not the primitives we often condescendingly imagine them to be - typified, for example, by the view that they heard thunder and imagined this to be God's anger - but that they were in fact sophisticated and subtle theological and philosophical thinkers whose portrait of God and faith is much richer and more complex than is revealed by our tendency to read sacred texts in literal terms. Indeed, the portrait of God and faith which the ancients who produced the OT paint is one that is subversive, dark, difficult, risky, ambiguous, and immensely powerful - but most of all, is one that undermines and overthrows the simplistic notions and presuppositions of both fundamentalist religiosity and fundamentalist atheism.
I have found this area of study so enriching that although I have completed the required subjects in this field for my BTheol degree - and next year I'm switching to Philosophy and Ethics - that I'll probably do a few more Biblical Studies subjects as electives.
Novel
I know you're probably all sick of hearing about this, but my novel Hunting the Shadows is now available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble - and for much cheaper than buying it direct from the publisher. So if you're looking for a gift for someone who's difficult to buy for (and loves crime fiction) or you are looking for a great read (even if I do say so myself!) you can purchase yourself a copy safely and securely online.
Benediction
I hope 2008 has been as rewarding and enriching for you as it has been for me - or, at least, that the prospects for 2009 will be as equally exciting or possibility-laden.
May your Christmas and New Year for you and yours be safe, happy, and refreshing and I look forward to maybe even catching up with one or two of you in 2009.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: News is merely that which someone who doesn't care much for anything wishes to read. (Evelyn Waugh)
So, with due apologies for ignoring you in recent months (and with a vague promise to not to so in future), my update for the last half year...
Dear Friends:
As it has been a while since I graced you with an account of my adventures, and since I know how much you all looooooove hearing from me, I thought I'd kick off the festive season with just the right spirit and bring you all up to date with what I've been getting up to (or away with, depending on your point of view!)
Ministry
This has been a very busy and challenging year, what with study, working a couple of nights a week at the local servo, and undertaking my first year of candidacy to the ordained ministry of the UCA. However, I am pleased to say that I have successfully completed Year One (as has my Dearly Beloved) and I am presently on placement over summer to the Black Rock/Beaumaris congregation.
Apart from being a very nice place to be over Summer, Black Rock / Beaumaris has two congregations (St Andrews Black Rock, and St Martin's Beaumaris) which mens two services every Sunday. The minister there is Rev Ian Ferguson, who is very gifted liturgically, and I am learning a lot from him in terms of making a service engage with people and drawing them into a space in which a service "speaks" to them. Ian goes on leave in January, so I'll be Johnny-on-the-spot for this congregation! Exciting but nerve wracking!
My Dearly Beloved and I have also done a fair bit of itinerant preaching and are both on the roster to be preaching regularly at the Hastings/Crib Point/Balnarring congregations - thank heavens for Eastlink! The formation process - that is what the official training program is called - has been very challenging and thought provoking. One of the interesting developments over the course of this year has been that when I first became a candidate, I assumed that I would be aiming for a congregational ministry once I was ordained; however, as a result of the formation process this year, I am now inclining myself more toward chaplaincy, and in particular, industrial chaplaincy. It seems to me (and this is an observation based on the many pastoral conversations I've had with many people over a number of years, including during my period of service in the union movement) that there is a great need for the church to be "present" in society in ways other than just congregations; and given that most of us spend most of our week at work, and given also how soulless and stressful many workplaces can be, a pastoral presence that meets people in their daily context is, it seems to me, a matter of some urgency. Still, the formation process is only one third over, and much thought and reflection and discernment still need to occur before the matter of where exactly I feel I am being called to is sorted out...hopefully, next year I will be able to access a placement in an industrial context that will enable me to reflect further on this notion.
Study
This year has been full on for study - I have effectively broken the back of my study load, meaning I'll be able to go back to two subjects a semester next year - but, boy, was it hard work! My academic results have been extremely pleasing - more than one High Distinction I'm delighted to say - but what has been truly rewarding have been the insights and sense of richness of faith and understanding that have flowed from my studies. In particular, the Old Testament studies I have undertaken this year have given me a completely new insight into the theological underpinnings of many of the prophetic and wisdom books of the OT, as well as the Book of Genesis. It seems to me that the ancients were not the primitives we often condescendingly imagine them to be - typified, for example, by the view that they heard thunder and imagined this to be God's anger - but that they were in fact sophisticated and subtle theological and philosophical thinkers whose portrait of God and faith is much richer and more complex than is revealed by our tendency to read sacred texts in literal terms. Indeed, the portrait of God and faith which the ancients who produced the OT paint is one that is subversive, dark, difficult, risky, ambiguous, and immensely powerful - but most of all, is one that undermines and overthrows the simplistic notions and presuppositions of both fundamentalist religiosity and fundamentalist atheism.
I have found this area of study so enriching that although I have completed the required subjects in this field for my BTheol degree - and next year I'm switching to Philosophy and Ethics - that I'll probably do a few more Biblical Studies subjects as electives.
Novel
I know you're probably all sick of hearing about this, but my novel Hunting the Shadows is now available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble - and for much cheaper than buying it direct from the publisher. So if you're looking for a gift for someone who's difficult to buy for (and loves crime fiction) or you are looking for a great read (even if I do say so myself!) you can purchase yourself a copy safely and securely online.
Benediction
I hope 2008 has been as rewarding and enriching for you as it has been for me - or, at least, that the prospects for 2009 will be as equally exciting or possibility-laden.
May your Christmas and New Year for you and yours be safe, happy, and refreshing and I look forward to maybe even catching up with one or two of you in 2009.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: News is merely that which someone who doesn't care much for anything wishes to read. (Evelyn Waugh)
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Marvellous Manuscripts
My Dearly Beloved and I recently went to the State Library of Victoria to view the Medieval Manuscripts exhibition.
The hall in which the exhibition is staged isn't quite ideal for the purpose - a tad cramped, inclined to be stuffy, and the information signs were frequently too small or badly placed to read - but these minor inconveniences were easily overshadowed by the treasures within.
And what marvels they were! Beautifully rendered manuscripts, many of them illuminated with extraordinary illustrations, and characterised by the most astonishing penmanship. There were breviaries, lectionaries, hymnals, bestiaries, editions of Ptolemy and Livy and the Augustan History...a wonderful variety of precious manuscripts, created with exquisite care and painstaking attention to detail.
But for me, the two most captivating aspects were:
The hall in which the exhibition is staged isn't quite ideal for the purpose - a tad cramped, inclined to be stuffy, and the information signs were frequently too small or badly placed to read - but these minor inconveniences were easily overshadowed by the treasures within.
And what marvels they were! Beautifully rendered manuscripts, many of them illuminated with extraordinary illustrations, and characterised by the most astonishing penmanship. There were breviaries, lectionaries, hymnals, bestiaries, editions of Ptolemy and Livy and the Augustan History...a wonderful variety of precious manuscripts, created with exquisite care and painstaking attention to detail.
But for me, the two most captivating aspects were:
- The miniatures. These were pint-sized books that nonetheless were as embellished and beautiful as their larger counterparts. How extraordinary was the penmanship, line after line of tiny handwriting reproduced with disciplined and unwavering hands. The effort that creating these miniatures must have taken is almost incomprehensible - you can certainly understand how and why more than one scribe went blind creating these marvels.
- The hymnals. What was most intriguing about these were the musical notations: they were different and yet vaguely familiar as well. Certainly, you could identify the origins of the modern musical system, given the notations were set against the familiar five line stave. But the notations themselves lacked stems, meaning they were identifiable through their different shapes and whether or not they were solid or hollow. Also, the elaborate script that accompanied the music must have been hard to read, especially by candle light!
So if you're looking for a diverting hour or so wondering at the industry that produced these manuscripts, and admiring their sheer beauty, get along to the State Library. It's well worth it!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: The library: a sort of harem. (Ralph Waldo Emmerson)
Saturday, April 19, 2008
China Review: The Great Wall
The Great Wall of China has to be seen to be believed.
Unlike other engineering projects of the ancient world, such as the Pyramids of Giza, the Great Wall was not entirely a single construction undertaken at a specific period of time. During the Spring and Autumn and the Warring States periods (8th-3rd centuries BC), China was divided into a number of petty kingdoms constantly at war with one another, and with surrounding peoples. Many of the northern kingdoms built local walls as a defensive measure against their nomadic tribal neighbours. However, after China was unified by the Emperor Qin Qi Huang in 222BC, he decided to create a single defensive wall to protect his northern border.
The result was the Great Wall, which linked the local walls together and created vast new stretches of wall. To be sure, later dynasties carried out their own works on the Wall, extending and strengthening the existing battlements (indeed, the Great Wall as it is seen by most tourists is the product of extensive Ming Dynasty construction); but the Great Wall as it essentially exists was the product of the Qin Dynasty.
It is reported that more than one million Chinese worked on the Wall, and for most of them, being drafted into the workforce was a death sentence - or, at the very least, a decree in effect that they were to be permanently relocated. It is estimated that thousands of labourers died during the Wall's construction from a variety of causes ranging from exposure to the elements, lack of food, construction accidents, and sheer neglect by imperial officials. When you consider that the population of China at this time is estimated to have been about 5 million people, the scale of the project - and the human suffering it engendered - becomes apparent. And simply beggars belief.
We went to the Wall near a place called Simatai, about two hours out of Beijing. Unfortunately, the smog from the city followed us all the way out to the countryside, although it was nowhere near as bad as Beijing itself, and in any event did not spoil the spectacle. The landscape appeared dead and barren, nothing more than dry, brown grass and rocky earth. This was a stark reminder that the land approaching Beijing is an upland plateau, where sparse rain and seasonal cold combine to produce what is essentially tundra. Indeed, the winters are so harsh that the grass is either burned off or falls dormant - which accounts for the brownness of the land.
Simatai itself is a remote valley nestled amid steep mountains. Relatively few tourists go there (which is precisely what attracted us to the location), but there were nevertheless the ubiquitous stalls at the entrance selling all sorts of nik-naks to the tourists. Up until this point, I had managed to avoid playing the tourist, but on this occasion I succumbed and bought a fur-lined army hat with ear flaps and a bright red star at the front. It made me look very silly (or sillier than I normally look, if you insist on absolute accuracy of reporting!); but I can assure you, I was extremely grateful for the ear flaps once we climbed up onto the Wall itself!
Our first glimpse of the Great Wall was both breath-taking and daunting. High above the valley floor, running along a line of razor-back ridges, the Wall lept from precipice to precipice almost like a living creature - no wonder it was often called the Great Dragon. At regular intervals, square towers jutted toward the sky like the remote eyries of some bird of prey. With a sense of foreboding and anticipation, we started the climb toward the Wall.
It was exhausting! The path to the Wall was smooth and well-made, but the land rose in sharp inclines that taxed our stamina - and as most of you will know, I have very little of that to begin with! Once we met the ruined turret where the path met the Wall, we were faced by long, seemingly endless banks of steps to the next watchtower. Needless to say, I only managed a modest amount of climbing before enough was enough. Others of our party, much fitter than Yours Truly, managed to climb to impressive heights. Indeed, Gary, the other adult on the trip, was virtually skipping up the inclines, with a smile on his dial and a song on his lips - much to my annoyance!
Even so, the view from the watchtower where I stopped to rest/have a coronary was extraordinary. The valley of Simatai lay before me, while to either side, the mountains rose to even greater heights. In the distance, the vista consisted of line after line of jagged peaks, much like the serried ranks of approaching warriors. A chill wind whippd across the Wall, forcing me to once more don the jacket I had stripped off during the climb - and making me glad of my furry hat!
It struck me that life for the soldiers garrisoning the Wall must have been pretty miserable; but for those troops stationed along this particular section, their existence must have been especially wretched. Each watchtower looked like it could house between 20 and 50 soldiers, and it would have been their lot to pace the Wall, keeping a lookout for incursions from the wild tribal lands beyond. The conditions in which they did so ranged from freezing cold to blistering heat, and like all frontier troops, they probably suffered from a combination of boredom, exposure, poor supply, and the depradations of a remote, indifferent officialdom.
And the reality is that, impressive an achievement though it undoubtedly is, the Great Wall was relatively ineffective. It was too static a defence to deal with the highly mobile tribal nations of the north, and the troops were spread far too thinly along its great length to be of any use to any particular section that was under attack. Certainly, the Great Wall proved entirely ineffective against Genghis Khan and his Mongols, as well as against the later Manchu invaders who established China's last dynasty, the Qing.
But all of this was of little moment as we contemplated the views, marvelled at the titanic scale of the construction, and pondered the enormous human cost that accompanied the Wall's completion and maintenance. Words do not do justice to the spectacle of the Wall, and pictures can only convey a partial image, at best. The Great Wall really has to be seen to be believed!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Let observation with extensive view, survey mankind, from China to Peru; remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, and watch the busy scenes of crowded life. (Samuel Jonson).
Unlike other engineering projects of the ancient world, such as the Pyramids of Giza, the Great Wall was not entirely a single construction undertaken at a specific period of time. During the Spring and Autumn and the Warring States periods (8th-3rd centuries BC), China was divided into a number of petty kingdoms constantly at war with one another, and with surrounding peoples. Many of the northern kingdoms built local walls as a defensive measure against their nomadic tribal neighbours. However, after China was unified by the Emperor Qin Qi Huang in 222BC, he decided to create a single defensive wall to protect his northern border.
The result was the Great Wall, which linked the local walls together and created vast new stretches of wall. To be sure, later dynasties carried out their own works on the Wall, extending and strengthening the existing battlements (indeed, the Great Wall as it is seen by most tourists is the product of extensive Ming Dynasty construction); but the Great Wall as it essentially exists was the product of the Qin Dynasty.
It is reported that more than one million Chinese worked on the Wall, and for most of them, being drafted into the workforce was a death sentence - or, at the very least, a decree in effect that they were to be permanently relocated. It is estimated that thousands of labourers died during the Wall's construction from a variety of causes ranging from exposure to the elements, lack of food, construction accidents, and sheer neglect by imperial officials. When you consider that the population of China at this time is estimated to have been about 5 million people, the scale of the project - and the human suffering it engendered - becomes apparent. And simply beggars belief.
We went to the Wall near a place called Simatai, about two hours out of Beijing. Unfortunately, the smog from the city followed us all the way out to the countryside, although it was nowhere near as bad as Beijing itself, and in any event did not spoil the spectacle. The landscape appeared dead and barren, nothing more than dry, brown grass and rocky earth. This was a stark reminder that the land approaching Beijing is an upland plateau, where sparse rain and seasonal cold combine to produce what is essentially tundra. Indeed, the winters are so harsh that the grass is either burned off or falls dormant - which accounts for the brownness of the land.
Simatai itself is a remote valley nestled amid steep mountains. Relatively few tourists go there (which is precisely what attracted us to the location), but there were nevertheless the ubiquitous stalls at the entrance selling all sorts of nik-naks to the tourists. Up until this point, I had managed to avoid playing the tourist, but on this occasion I succumbed and bought a fur-lined army hat with ear flaps and a bright red star at the front. It made me look very silly (or sillier than I normally look, if you insist on absolute accuracy of reporting!); but I can assure you, I was extremely grateful for the ear flaps once we climbed up onto the Wall itself!
Our first glimpse of the Great Wall was both breath-taking and daunting. High above the valley floor, running along a line of razor-back ridges, the Wall lept from precipice to precipice almost like a living creature - no wonder it was often called the Great Dragon. At regular intervals, square towers jutted toward the sky like the remote eyries of some bird of prey. With a sense of foreboding and anticipation, we started the climb toward the Wall.
It was exhausting! The path to the Wall was smooth and well-made, but the land rose in sharp inclines that taxed our stamina - and as most of you will know, I have very little of that to begin with! Once we met the ruined turret where the path met the Wall, we were faced by long, seemingly endless banks of steps to the next watchtower. Needless to say, I only managed a modest amount of climbing before enough was enough. Others of our party, much fitter than Yours Truly, managed to climb to impressive heights. Indeed, Gary, the other adult on the trip, was virtually skipping up the inclines, with a smile on his dial and a song on his lips - much to my annoyance!
Even so, the view from the watchtower where I stopped to rest/have a coronary was extraordinary. The valley of Simatai lay before me, while to either side, the mountains rose to even greater heights. In the distance, the vista consisted of line after line of jagged peaks, much like the serried ranks of approaching warriors. A chill wind whippd across the Wall, forcing me to once more don the jacket I had stripped off during the climb - and making me glad of my furry hat!
It struck me that life for the soldiers garrisoning the Wall must have been pretty miserable; but for those troops stationed along this particular section, their existence must have been especially wretched. Each watchtower looked like it could house between 20 and 50 soldiers, and it would have been their lot to pace the Wall, keeping a lookout for incursions from the wild tribal lands beyond. The conditions in which they did so ranged from freezing cold to blistering heat, and like all frontier troops, they probably suffered from a combination of boredom, exposure, poor supply, and the depradations of a remote, indifferent officialdom.
And the reality is that, impressive an achievement though it undoubtedly is, the Great Wall was relatively ineffective. It was too static a defence to deal with the highly mobile tribal nations of the north, and the troops were spread far too thinly along its great length to be of any use to any particular section that was under attack. Certainly, the Great Wall proved entirely ineffective against Genghis Khan and his Mongols, as well as against the later Manchu invaders who established China's last dynasty, the Qing.
But all of this was of little moment as we contemplated the views, marvelled at the titanic scale of the construction, and pondered the enormous human cost that accompanied the Wall's completion and maintenance. Words do not do justice to the spectacle of the Wall, and pictures can only convey a partial image, at best. The Great Wall really has to be seen to be believed!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Let observation with extensive view, survey mankind, from China to Peru; remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, and watch the busy scenes of crowded life. (Samuel Jonson).
Thursday, April 17, 2008
China Review: Beijing
Those of you who follow this blog regularly may (or may not) have noticed that I've been a little quiescent of late. That's because I've only just come back from a three-week trip to China with my Dearly Beloved, Gary, a former colleague of my Dearly Beloved's, and 21 teenagers. (Well, okay, I've been back a week or so -details!).
The reason why this trip was undertaken lies in the fact that my Dearly Beloved teaches Chinese as a Second Language to high school students, as part of which, she has for many years now been taking groups of students on trips to China as part of their language and cultural development. She changed schools at the start of 2008, but this trip was her last task for the old employer; and Yours Truly and Gary were the other "responsible adults" (in my case, "responsible" was utilised in its broadest possible context) taken along to give her a hand.
I have to admit, I was slightly nervous at the prospect. I have never been to China, and despite the fact that I love Chinese history, I was vaguely aware that I was travelling to a country whose way of life and worldview would be entirely different to mine. So there was very much a sense of "the other". On the other hand, I was also quite excited; the prospect of seeing marvels such as the Great Wall and the entombed warriors of Xi'an was a history buff's dream come true. So it was with mixed feelings that I boarded the plane at Tullamarine Airport for the long haul to Beijing (via Sydney and Shanghai).
I won't bore you with the details of the flight. I had intended to keep a diary, and managed to do so for the first week and a bit; but then the constant travelling and the fatigue this induced mitigated against doing so. Thus, I have determined to break my recollection of events into bit-sized chunks following a basic format. Hopefully, this will give you an insight into my thoughts and feelings at the time, as well as the results of post-event processing in what passes for my mind.
Overview
Beijing is an astonishing megalopolis. Just imagine the high-density, built up CBD of an Australian city extending for square mile after square mile, and that is what Beijing looks like. Or, rather, that's what Beijing looks like when you can see through the smog. I kid you not, the smog has to be experienced to be understood; you know you're in a polluted city when you know there's a skyscraper 100 yards away, but it is completely obscured from view by a thick, yellow pall of smoke, dust, and fumes. On the other hand, there are days in Beijing when the sky is blue, the sun is bright, and the air is clear; on these days, you appreciate just how vast a city Beijing is. Beijing is a place of extraordinary contrasts: of extremes of wealth and poverty; of ancient monuments and ultra-modern construction; of hectic pace and serene, contemplative peace. You have to hit the ground running when you land in Beijing, otherwise it can mess with your head!
Highlights
Without a doubt, the historical monuments, many of which have undergone considerable preservation and renovation in recent years, were the highlight. The Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven, the Forbidden City, and the Yonghe Gong (Lama) Temple were all endlessly fascinating. The first three are monuments to the secluded splendour and majesty in which the Chinese Emperors lived, vast projects involving the construction of palaces and temples, lakes and artificial mountains. It is truly astonishing to think that these seemingly boundless reserves of material and human resources were all at the disposal, and deployed for the enjoyment of, a single individual. The fourth is a precinct of calm and serenity in the midst of Beijing's chaotic sprawl, an operating temple still reverently attended by Buddhist monks where people still come to pray and undertake their religious observances. A lovely complex of gardens and temples and courtyards, it culminates in a colossal (and yet oddly inconspicuous) carving of the Buddha, wrought from a single piece of white sandalwood and standing three stories high!
Beijing also has two lovely gardens, Beihei Park and Jingshan Park, which were once exclusive imperial domains, but are now open to the public. You can stroll through lovely gardens, sit in exquisite pagodas, or contemplate the scenery. On the weekends, the Chinese flock to the parks in droves, making their own entertainment in dance, music, public speaking, or having their photo taken with foreigners. (I declined.)
Lowlights
The smog, the general pushiness of the average Beijinger (precipitated, I suspect, by the fact that life for the average Joe in Beijing is pretty hard), and the presence of snooty ex-pats from all over the world presently resident in Beijing who tend to be arrogant and condescending to both tourists and the locals alike (largely because they're making a fortune from China's economic boom and enjoying a life denied to most Chinese - and even themselves, were they still living in their native country).
The Traffic
The first thing you notice about Beijing is the traffic. There's lots of it, and it is constantly moving. This makes being a pedestrian extremely dangerous, a hazardous condition not helped by the fact that it appears that cars have the right of way. And they come at you from every direction. And yet, oddly, the whole system seems to work, not least because everybody's doing the same thing; but also because the traffic seems to operate on the very Taoist notion of flow and movement - water moving around the rocks, as it were. People just change lanes at will (and are let in); merging traffic just merges on the (correct, as it turns out) assumption that others will make way for them; and pedestrians and bicycles just ease their way through the interstices between vehicles. It's frightening until you get used to it; but once you are, you can appreciate the internal logic. And the thing is, there are hardly any traffic snarls or backlogs in Beijing; by an ironic twist, the only traffic jams we encountered were in Shanghai, which seems to have replicated the West right down to the level of traffic gridlock!
Food
Generally speaking, the food was great. And the reason I enjoyed it was because it was completely unlike the "Chinese" food you get in Australia - this was the real deal! No sweet and sour, no lemon chicken, no banana fritters; just good, honest, north Chinese fare. Ironically, this was the very cause of the teenagers' discontent; they were used to the "Chinese" they'd grown up on in Australia, and couldn't get their heads (or their taste buds) around the genuine article. Sure, there were one or two dishes I wasn't keen on, and I haven't lost my preference for south Asian cuisine; but let me say right now, I discovered a new appreciation for authentic Chinese cooking. Yet the irony is that the culinary highlight wasn't Chinese but Tibetan; the roast yak steak we had at a Tibetan restaurant in Beijing was just sublime, like the best lamb shanks I've ever had - but even better! And the cumin spicing that went with it just added an extra dimension of flavoursomeness, none of which was spoiled by the smooth and hugely enjoyable Tibetan beer. Yum!
Well, that's a snapshot of Beijing. Next: the Great Wall! PS: Why are there no photos - long story, will tell you later!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: May you live in interesting times. (Chinese curse)
The reason why this trip was undertaken lies in the fact that my Dearly Beloved teaches Chinese as a Second Language to high school students, as part of which, she has for many years now been taking groups of students on trips to China as part of their language and cultural development. She changed schools at the start of 2008, but this trip was her last task for the old employer; and Yours Truly and Gary were the other "responsible adults" (in my case, "responsible" was utilised in its broadest possible context) taken along to give her a hand.
I have to admit, I was slightly nervous at the prospect. I have never been to China, and despite the fact that I love Chinese history, I was vaguely aware that I was travelling to a country whose way of life and worldview would be entirely different to mine. So there was very much a sense of "the other". On the other hand, I was also quite excited; the prospect of seeing marvels such as the Great Wall and the entombed warriors of Xi'an was a history buff's dream come true. So it was with mixed feelings that I boarded the plane at Tullamarine Airport for the long haul to Beijing (via Sydney and Shanghai).
I won't bore you with the details of the flight. I had intended to keep a diary, and managed to do so for the first week and a bit; but then the constant travelling and the fatigue this induced mitigated against doing so. Thus, I have determined to break my recollection of events into bit-sized chunks following a basic format. Hopefully, this will give you an insight into my thoughts and feelings at the time, as well as the results of post-event processing in what passes for my mind.
Overview
Beijing is an astonishing megalopolis. Just imagine the high-density, built up CBD of an Australian city extending for square mile after square mile, and that is what Beijing looks like. Or, rather, that's what Beijing looks like when you can see through the smog. I kid you not, the smog has to be experienced to be understood; you know you're in a polluted city when you know there's a skyscraper 100 yards away, but it is completely obscured from view by a thick, yellow pall of smoke, dust, and fumes. On the other hand, there are days in Beijing when the sky is blue, the sun is bright, and the air is clear; on these days, you appreciate just how vast a city Beijing is. Beijing is a place of extraordinary contrasts: of extremes of wealth and poverty; of ancient monuments and ultra-modern construction; of hectic pace and serene, contemplative peace. You have to hit the ground running when you land in Beijing, otherwise it can mess with your head!
Highlights
Without a doubt, the historical monuments, many of which have undergone considerable preservation and renovation in recent years, were the highlight. The Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven, the Forbidden City, and the Yonghe Gong (Lama) Temple were all endlessly fascinating. The first three are monuments to the secluded splendour and majesty in which the Chinese Emperors lived, vast projects involving the construction of palaces and temples, lakes and artificial mountains. It is truly astonishing to think that these seemingly boundless reserves of material and human resources were all at the disposal, and deployed for the enjoyment of, a single individual. The fourth is a precinct of calm and serenity in the midst of Beijing's chaotic sprawl, an operating temple still reverently attended by Buddhist monks where people still come to pray and undertake their religious observances. A lovely complex of gardens and temples and courtyards, it culminates in a colossal (and yet oddly inconspicuous) carving of the Buddha, wrought from a single piece of white sandalwood and standing three stories high!
Beijing also has two lovely gardens, Beihei Park and Jingshan Park, which were once exclusive imperial domains, but are now open to the public. You can stroll through lovely gardens, sit in exquisite pagodas, or contemplate the scenery. On the weekends, the Chinese flock to the parks in droves, making their own entertainment in dance, music, public speaking, or having their photo taken with foreigners. (I declined.)
Lowlights
The smog, the general pushiness of the average Beijinger (precipitated, I suspect, by the fact that life for the average Joe in Beijing is pretty hard), and the presence of snooty ex-pats from all over the world presently resident in Beijing who tend to be arrogant and condescending to both tourists and the locals alike (largely because they're making a fortune from China's economic boom and enjoying a life denied to most Chinese - and even themselves, were they still living in their native country).
The Traffic
The first thing you notice about Beijing is the traffic. There's lots of it, and it is constantly moving. This makes being a pedestrian extremely dangerous, a hazardous condition not helped by the fact that it appears that cars have the right of way. And they come at you from every direction. And yet, oddly, the whole system seems to work, not least because everybody's doing the same thing; but also because the traffic seems to operate on the very Taoist notion of flow and movement - water moving around the rocks, as it were. People just change lanes at will (and are let in); merging traffic just merges on the (correct, as it turns out) assumption that others will make way for them; and pedestrians and bicycles just ease their way through the interstices between vehicles. It's frightening until you get used to it; but once you are, you can appreciate the internal logic. And the thing is, there are hardly any traffic snarls or backlogs in Beijing; by an ironic twist, the only traffic jams we encountered were in Shanghai, which seems to have replicated the West right down to the level of traffic gridlock!
Food
Generally speaking, the food was great. And the reason I enjoyed it was because it was completely unlike the "Chinese" food you get in Australia - this was the real deal! No sweet and sour, no lemon chicken, no banana fritters; just good, honest, north Chinese fare. Ironically, this was the very cause of the teenagers' discontent; they were used to the "Chinese" they'd grown up on in Australia, and couldn't get their heads (or their taste buds) around the genuine article. Sure, there were one or two dishes I wasn't keen on, and I haven't lost my preference for south Asian cuisine; but let me say right now, I discovered a new appreciation for authentic Chinese cooking. Yet the irony is that the culinary highlight wasn't Chinese but Tibetan; the roast yak steak we had at a Tibetan restaurant in Beijing was just sublime, like the best lamb shanks I've ever had - but even better! And the cumin spicing that went with it just added an extra dimension of flavoursomeness, none of which was spoiled by the smooth and hugely enjoyable Tibetan beer. Yum!
Well, that's a snapshot of Beijing. Next: the Great Wall! PS: Why are there no photos - long story, will tell you later!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: May you live in interesting times. (Chinese curse)
Friday, February 29, 2008
Redemption and Grace
I recently watched a little film called My House In Umbria. It's a film I first saw at the flicks a couple of years ago, and then my Dearly Beloved bought the DVD, which we've both since re-watched a number of times.
The film stars Dame Maggie Smith, dear old Ronnie Barker (in the last film he made before he died), the noted English comedian Timothy Spall, and Italian actor Giancarlo Gianini (who looks very much like an Italian Ian Turpey!). The plot is simple enough: a group of strangers are travelling on a train in Italy, when a bomb in their carriage explodes, killing some and seriously wounding the others. The survivors end up convalescing at the Umbrian country home of Emma Delahunty (Smith), an English ex-pat with a checkered past who has made a living for herself writing romance novels. They include a retired English major (Barker), a young German political activist named Werner, and an American girl who retreats into silence as a result of being traumatised by the explosion. All three are mourning the loss of loved ones in the bombing; while their hostess, who lives alone (with the exception of her manager and groundsman, played by Spall) mourns a life of dashed hopes and ill-fated romances.
Slowly, the strange group begin to re-awaken a sense of purpose and meaning in life, primarily through a project involving the re-creation of an English cottage garden in Delahunty's sprawling, if ill-kept grounds. But their tranquility is threatened on two fronts: Inspector Giotto (Gianini) is determined to catch those responsible for the bombing, and makes frequent calls in which he asks uncomfortable questions; and the American girl's stiff-necked uncle has arrived to take custody of her, thereby breaking the bond of friendship the group has formed.
I won't tell you how these plot threads play themselves out. Needless to say, it's a simple story beautifully told through a combination of stunning cinematography and sympathetic performances. In particular, the scenes filmed around the small Umbrian hill-town near Delahunty's villa, and those shot in and around Sienna, are just breathtaking. Smith is superb as always, Ronnie Barker gives us a performance that reminds us he was a skilled character actor long before he achieved fame as a comedian, Spall is charming and ironic, and Gianini is urbane and graceful.
However, what most strikes the viewer about this film are the themes of grace and redemption that run like dual threads through the plot. All the characters (with the exception of the little girl, whose flaws are a consequence of her trauma) are broken people in one degree or another, burdened by loss, despair, and regret. But they are able to find redemption in the most unlikely of places: in one another's brokenness. The mutual encounter of their bruised and vulnerable humanity causes them to minister to one another; unconsciously at first, and then with a growing sense of warmth and intimacy as their shared sanctuary and desire to re-create the English cottage garden Delahunty longs for enables them to re-form the bonds of their common humanity. And with that humanity comes recognition of a shared need for human contact and engagement, irrespective of how many times that contact has hurt them in the past.
And herein lies their redemption: their capacity to find their way back to hope, to being able to see forward again, not in denial of the past, but in spite of it, even as they carry that past into the future. Their redemption is their capacity to re-affirm themselves, and one another, in the face of everything that negates their affirmation. It is the very weakness and vulnerability of their humanity, as a shared experience, that enables them to become more than the sum of who they are.
My House in Umbria is a modest film, simply made. It won't make anyone's Top Ten list. But it is an eminently worthwhile film to see, both for its own simple beauty, and because of the moving and affirming portrait of vulnerable humanity which it paints.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God. (Karl Barth)
The film stars Dame Maggie Smith, dear old Ronnie Barker (in the last film he made before he died), the noted English comedian Timothy Spall, and Italian actor Giancarlo Gianini (who looks very much like an Italian Ian Turpey!). The plot is simple enough: a group of strangers are travelling on a train in Italy, when a bomb in their carriage explodes, killing some and seriously wounding the others. The survivors end up convalescing at the Umbrian country home of Emma Delahunty (Smith), an English ex-pat with a checkered past who has made a living for herself writing romance novels. They include a retired English major (Barker), a young German political activist named Werner, and an American girl who retreats into silence as a result of being traumatised by the explosion. All three are mourning the loss of loved ones in the bombing; while their hostess, who lives alone (with the exception of her manager and groundsman, played by Spall) mourns a life of dashed hopes and ill-fated romances.
Slowly, the strange group begin to re-awaken a sense of purpose and meaning in life, primarily through a project involving the re-creation of an English cottage garden in Delahunty's sprawling, if ill-kept grounds. But their tranquility is threatened on two fronts: Inspector Giotto (Gianini) is determined to catch those responsible for the bombing, and makes frequent calls in which he asks uncomfortable questions; and the American girl's stiff-necked uncle has arrived to take custody of her, thereby breaking the bond of friendship the group has formed.
I won't tell you how these plot threads play themselves out. Needless to say, it's a simple story beautifully told through a combination of stunning cinematography and sympathetic performances. In particular, the scenes filmed around the small Umbrian hill-town near Delahunty's villa, and those shot in and around Sienna, are just breathtaking. Smith is superb as always, Ronnie Barker gives us a performance that reminds us he was a skilled character actor long before he achieved fame as a comedian, Spall is charming and ironic, and Gianini is urbane and graceful.
However, what most strikes the viewer about this film are the themes of grace and redemption that run like dual threads through the plot. All the characters (with the exception of the little girl, whose flaws are a consequence of her trauma) are broken people in one degree or another, burdened by loss, despair, and regret. But they are able to find redemption in the most unlikely of places: in one another's brokenness. The mutual encounter of their bruised and vulnerable humanity causes them to minister to one another; unconsciously at first, and then with a growing sense of warmth and intimacy as their shared sanctuary and desire to re-create the English cottage garden Delahunty longs for enables them to re-form the bonds of their common humanity. And with that humanity comes recognition of a shared need for human contact and engagement, irrespective of how many times that contact has hurt them in the past.
And herein lies their redemption: their capacity to find their way back to hope, to being able to see forward again, not in denial of the past, but in spite of it, even as they carry that past into the future. Their redemption is their capacity to re-affirm themselves, and one another, in the face of everything that negates their affirmation. It is the very weakness and vulnerability of their humanity, as a shared experience, that enables them to become more than the sum of who they are.
My House in Umbria is a modest film, simply made. It won't make anyone's Top Ten list. But it is an eminently worthwhile film to see, both for its own simple beauty, and because of the moving and affirming portrait of vulnerable humanity which it paints.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God. (Karl Barth)
Thursday, November 22, 2007
The Fall of Rome
The chorus to the James Reyne song Fall of Rome concludes with the following couplet:
Well, everybody might say that I can't do so, but staying home and thinking about the Fall of Rome is exactly what I've been doing in recent times. And my thinking has been prompted by an excellent book, The Fall of the Roman Empire: A New History by Peter Heather (Pan Books, London, 2006).
Heather's book is subtitled A New History because he takes issue with the view, inherited from a long line of historians starting with Edward Gibbon, that the Roman state collapsed under the weight of moral and political corruption generated by over-prosperity arising from the Empire's conquests and sheer, over-weening power. While Heather does not deny that internal factors - the limitations of an agrarian, pre-modern economy; the constraints imposed by primitive communications; the tendency toward civil strife inherent in any change of leadership in an authoritarian state; and the inability of the imperial tax system to respond to increased fiscal demands beyond a certain limit - were weaknesses that made the Empire vulnerable to collapse, he argues that these factors alone, individually and severally, were not sufficient to cause the fall of the Roman Empire in the West. Afterall, Heather argues, the Roman Empire survived in the Eastern Mediterranean for another 1000 years, even though it suffered from the same internal weaknesses.
Indeed, according to Heather, the late Roman Empire, far from being an ungainly edifice perched precipitously on the edge of inevitable disintegration, was in robust good health, internal weaknesses notwithstanding. It had survived the military crises of the 3rd Century AD more or less intact, had contained the threat of the rising Persian (Sassanian) Empire in the East, and was firmly in control of the territories it had ruled since the days of Augustus. And yet, in a mere matter of a decade, from 468-475AD, the Roman Empire in the West completely collapsed. Why?
Heather places the blame squarely on external sources. He argues that these sources did not act in isolation from the aforementioned internal sources, but neither did they merely exacerbate or speed up those internal weaknesses. On the contrary, the external sources, reaching back centuries before the final collapse, were primarily responsible for the fall of the Roman Empire in the West. The internal factors only become critical in response to the external sources; had those external factors never developed, the internal causes would have remained dormant, or taken centuries longer to become meaningful.
And what were these external factors? Heather identifies two major culprits: the Huns; and the Romans themselves.
Concerning the Huns, Heather identifies the rise and collapse of the Hunnic Empire as setting in train a series of events that were ultimately to lead to the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. The emergence of the Huns as a new power north of the Danube in the period 350-375AD caused massive displacement among the peoples living in these regions, especially the Goths and other Germanic peoples such as the Vandals (who were also accompanied by smaller, allied and vassal groups, such as the Suevi and the Alans). But what made these displacements unique when compared to earlier population movements was that they generated a nascent sense of nationhood among the refugees; the hardships suffered at the hands of the Huns, as well as the necessity for a unified response in the face of their overwhelming military power, drove home the advantages of acting and existing en bloc as opposed to operating in tribal and clan units. Thus, gifted barbarian leaders, through a mixture of persuasion, conquest, and the ready submission of potential rival groups, forged coherent national groupings where had previously existed, at best, loose confederations.
The significance of this was that, unlike previous occasions when eastern invaders drove barbarian peoples up against the boundaries of the Roman Empire, the Romans were faced not with a few hundred or a few thousand refugees, but tens of thousands, a suitable proportion of whom were armed fighting men. In the short term, the Romans were able to prevail militarily over such groups; however, whereas previously they had been able to enslave or absorb the civilian population and draft the fighting men into the field army, the new national groupings were far too large to be facilitated by such tactics; and their new-found nationalism meant they would resist any attempt to scatter and absorb their numbers into the Empire's wider population. Thus, the Romans were effectively obliged to settle such groups within the Empire in autonomous or semi-autonomous enclaves, allowing them to live as unified communities in return for payments of tribute and military assistance.
To begin with, these settlements presented a benefit to the Empire. They solved the problem of migrating nations placing pressure on the frontier; they were a source of additional military manpower; they were confined to discrete regions and were thus militarily controllable; and they were a much need source of additional tax revenue. However, as more and more such groups sought entry to the Empire, the land resources available to satisfy the demands of these new groups grew ever scarcer, leading to an increase in conflict, both between the Romans and the newcomers, and between the different barbarian peoples themselves. This conflict resulted in some groups seeking to annexe parts of the Empire exclusively, while other groups sought to expand the size of their enclaves at the expense of others. For example, the Goths settled in south-western Gaul gradually began to increase their dominion, while the Vandals annexed the whole of Spain, eventually moving on to conquer the rich North African provinces. The net effect of this conflict was that vast areas of revenue-producing land were lost to the Roman Empire, undermining the tax base and the Empire's capacity to maintain its armies and resist further invasions.
However, what is most striking about Heather's book is that he sees the collapse of the Hunnic Empire as equally, if not more, significant than its emergence. At first glance this appears anti-intuitive, and yet further analysis reveals that it makes perfect sense. The powerful Hunnic military machine was based on a core of Hunnic fighters supplemented by the fighting-men of conquered peoples - much the same arrangement as that which the Mongols would use to such devastating effect a thousand years later. In order to maintain this machine, perpetual warfare and conquest was necessary, both in order to replace losses and to ensure the control of the Hunnic minority over their conquered subjects. The net effect of this was that the Hunnic Empire, while itself a threat to Rome, also helped contain the threat which the numerous other barbarian peoples also represented; their submission to the Huns neutralised their capacity to threaten the Empire.
However, when the Hunnic Empire collapsed after the death of Attila in 453AD, it released the bonds that tied the subject people to their Hunnic masters; the Huns were overthrown, and the newly-freed subject peoples began to struggle against one another for the resources previously controlled by the erstwhile Hunnic overlords. The inevitable result was that the losers of this brutal contest for survival inevitably sought refuge in the Empire, contributing to and exacerbating the tensions and difficulties created by the settlement of the earlier Germanic nation groups within the Empire. These later arrivals - Rugi, Herules, Burgundians, Sciri, Alemanni, and another group of Goths known as the Ostrogoths ("Eastern Goths") - all competed with one another for land within the Empire, and for positions of influence within the imperial administration that would ensure their success. The result was, after 454AD, a series of largely ineffectual Emperors who ruled at the behest of various barbarian warlords. Combined with the loss of revenue producing lands in Gaul, Spain and North Africa, the weakness of the central administration persuaded many of the rich provincial landowners to throw in their lot with the new barbarian kings, thus providing them with the nucleus of an effective bureaucracy, while further denuding the Empire of talent and sources of income.
The consequence was that the Roman Empire in the West did not so much "fall" as faded away. As central authority weakened and the flow of resources from the centre to the provinces failed, the infrastructure of Roman society gradually whithered away, reverting to village and small town based agrarianism. In the more central regions, barbarian kingdom replaced the Roman imperium; these new kingdoms continued to admire Roman systems of law and governance, resulting in the emergence of what would one day become the feudal bureaucracy of the medieval period, and also ensuring that Latin would transmute over time into the Romance languages of French, Spanish, Italian, Provencal, etc. Of course, the imperial authorities did attempt to fight back, and frequently gained short-term success; but their efforts were constrained by the inability of the Eastern Empire to provide sustained, large-scale support owing to its own military commitments on the ever-dangerous Persian frontier. And when the last attempt to recapture the rich provinces of North Africa in 468AD collapsed in ignominious failure, the writing was on the wall; the deposition of the last Roman Emperor in 475AD was not so much a coup as a formal acknowledgement of the prevailing state of affairs.
But what about that other external source, the Romans themselves? How is this possible? It is in arguing that the Romans themselves created the external sources of their own extinction that Heather provides his most original - and, given the state of affairs in the world today - his most perceptive analysis.
Heather's proposition is simple: through centuries of economic, political, and military contact, the Roman Empire demonstrated to the barbarian peoples along its frontiers the benefits of creating and preserving a unified national grouping. Centuries of trade between the tribes and the Empire lead to increased material wealth, creating economic and social elites among the barbarian nations that had not previously existed. Likewise, the coherent command and authority structure of the Empire's civil and military institutions was better able to respond to crises than the loose confederacy of the barbarians that was usually reliant on the individual charisma of a strong leader, and which was susceptible to being undermined by the rivalry and mutual hostility of the tribal and clan groupings. Further, the frequent punitive military expeditions that were part and parcel of the Empire's policy of dealing with, and ensuring the compliance of, the barbarian tribes ultimately resulted in those tribes developing both an intensified sense of their own identity (and the spirit of independence that goes with this) as well as a desire to create more coherent social and political structures that could better preserve the nation-group.
In other words, it was precisely because of the dangers - military raids, invasions, enslavement, and conscription into the Roman army - as well as the opportunities - enrichment, attainment of political legitimacy, access to material goods and weapons - which the proximity of the Empire afforded that set in motion, over a number of centuries, processes that were to transform the barbarian peoples of the Rhine-Danube frontier from loose tribal and clan confederations locked in ongoing rivalry and warfare to solidified national groupings conscious of their particular identity and prepared to act in its preservation. This process then "collided" with the shock caused by the rise of the Hunnic Empire: national identity was strenghtened as some groups sought to preserve themselves by fleeing into the Roman Empire and setting up enclaves, or as they watched for an opportunity to throw off Hunnic dominion at the least sign of the collapse of the Huns' power. The slow process of socio-political evolution created by Roman-barbarian contact was vastly accelerated by the intrusion of the Huns into Western Europe: and the consequence was a desire for political independence and control of resources that ultimately brought down the Roman state.
Heather demonstrates this thesis by comparing the fallout of the Hunnic invasion with that of the Sarmatian invasion of the 1st century AD. The Sarmatians, Iranian-speaking nomads from the central Asian steppes, overran much of Europe north of the Rhine-Danube frontier just as the Roman Empire was forming itself after the collapse of the Republic. The consequence was a tide of movement against the Empire's boundaries as various barbarian peoples sought refuge from the Sarmatian conquest. However, at this time, the barbarians were divided into many small tribes and clan groupings; their social structure was loose and undefined; their technological attainment had scarcely advanced beyond the early Iron Age; and they appeared at the various frontier posts in small groupings that were managed with relative - though not always complete - ease by the Romans. The upshot was a set of circumstances in which the Romans held all the power: in return for providing shelter, the tribesmen of fighting age had to agree to conscription into the Roman army, while the civilian population was settled in a manner convenient to the Romans. Consequently, the result was absorption of the population and neutralisation of any threat. By contrast, the Hunnic invasion, as we have seen, resulted in the migration of whole population groups conscious of the national identity and determined to preserve it; such groups were not able to be divided and absorbed, but were able to bargain from a position of power, forcing the Romans to allow settlement on generous - if initially controlled - terms. And when the circumstances allowed as the Roman state broke down under the pressure of the building external forces, these enclaves expanded into powerful successor kingdoms to the Roman state.
Thus, Heather skilfully weaves a dual narrative of the rise and fall of the Hunnic Empire, combined with the centuries-long consequence of Roman-barbarian contact, as the primary causes of the fall of the Roman Empire. But what is its relevance for today? Simply, this relevance is to be found in the very final paragraph of this fine, absorbing book: a paragraph that warns the American Empire may, like the Roman, be laying the groundwork for its own destruction. It reads:
BB
Quote for the Day: Who does not learn from the past is doomed to repeat it. (George Santayana)
Everybody says I can't stay home
Still thinking about the Fall of Rome.
Well, everybody might say that I can't do so, but staying home and thinking about the Fall of Rome is exactly what I've been doing in recent times. And my thinking has been prompted by an excellent book, The Fall of the Roman Empire: A New History by Peter Heather (Pan Books, London, 2006).
Heather's book is subtitled A New History because he takes issue with the view, inherited from a long line of historians starting with Edward Gibbon, that the Roman state collapsed under the weight of moral and political corruption generated by over-prosperity arising from the Empire's conquests and sheer, over-weening power. While Heather does not deny that internal factors - the limitations of an agrarian, pre-modern economy; the constraints imposed by primitive communications; the tendency toward civil strife inherent in any change of leadership in an authoritarian state; and the inability of the imperial tax system to respond to increased fiscal demands beyond a certain limit - were weaknesses that made the Empire vulnerable to collapse, he argues that these factors alone, individually and severally, were not sufficient to cause the fall of the Roman Empire in the West. Afterall, Heather argues, the Roman Empire survived in the Eastern Mediterranean for another 1000 years, even though it suffered from the same internal weaknesses.
Indeed, according to Heather, the late Roman Empire, far from being an ungainly edifice perched precipitously on the edge of inevitable disintegration, was in robust good health, internal weaknesses notwithstanding. It had survived the military crises of the 3rd Century AD more or less intact, had contained the threat of the rising Persian (Sassanian) Empire in the East, and was firmly in control of the territories it had ruled since the days of Augustus. And yet, in a mere matter of a decade, from 468-475AD, the Roman Empire in the West completely collapsed. Why?
Heather places the blame squarely on external sources. He argues that these sources did not act in isolation from the aforementioned internal sources, but neither did they merely exacerbate or speed up those internal weaknesses. On the contrary, the external sources, reaching back centuries before the final collapse, were primarily responsible for the fall of the Roman Empire in the West. The internal factors only become critical in response to the external sources; had those external factors never developed, the internal causes would have remained dormant, or taken centuries longer to become meaningful.
And what were these external factors? Heather identifies two major culprits: the Huns; and the Romans themselves.
Concerning the Huns, Heather identifies the rise and collapse of the Hunnic Empire as setting in train a series of events that were ultimately to lead to the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. The emergence of the Huns as a new power north of the Danube in the period 350-375AD caused massive displacement among the peoples living in these regions, especially the Goths and other Germanic peoples such as the Vandals (who were also accompanied by smaller, allied and vassal groups, such as the Suevi and the Alans). But what made these displacements unique when compared to earlier population movements was that they generated a nascent sense of nationhood among the refugees; the hardships suffered at the hands of the Huns, as well as the necessity for a unified response in the face of their overwhelming military power, drove home the advantages of acting and existing en bloc as opposed to operating in tribal and clan units. Thus, gifted barbarian leaders, through a mixture of persuasion, conquest, and the ready submission of potential rival groups, forged coherent national groupings where had previously existed, at best, loose confederations.
The significance of this was that, unlike previous occasions when eastern invaders drove barbarian peoples up against the boundaries of the Roman Empire, the Romans were faced not with a few hundred or a few thousand refugees, but tens of thousands, a suitable proportion of whom were armed fighting men. In the short term, the Romans were able to prevail militarily over such groups; however, whereas previously they had been able to enslave or absorb the civilian population and draft the fighting men into the field army, the new national groupings were far too large to be facilitated by such tactics; and their new-found nationalism meant they would resist any attempt to scatter and absorb their numbers into the Empire's wider population. Thus, the Romans were effectively obliged to settle such groups within the Empire in autonomous or semi-autonomous enclaves, allowing them to live as unified communities in return for payments of tribute and military assistance.
To begin with, these settlements presented a benefit to the Empire. They solved the problem of migrating nations placing pressure on the frontier; they were a source of additional military manpower; they were confined to discrete regions and were thus militarily controllable; and they were a much need source of additional tax revenue. However, as more and more such groups sought entry to the Empire, the land resources available to satisfy the demands of these new groups grew ever scarcer, leading to an increase in conflict, both between the Romans and the newcomers, and between the different barbarian peoples themselves. This conflict resulted in some groups seeking to annexe parts of the Empire exclusively, while other groups sought to expand the size of their enclaves at the expense of others. For example, the Goths settled in south-western Gaul gradually began to increase their dominion, while the Vandals annexed the whole of Spain, eventually moving on to conquer the rich North African provinces. The net effect of this conflict was that vast areas of revenue-producing land were lost to the Roman Empire, undermining the tax base and the Empire's capacity to maintain its armies and resist further invasions.
However, what is most striking about Heather's book is that he sees the collapse of the Hunnic Empire as equally, if not more, significant than its emergence. At first glance this appears anti-intuitive, and yet further analysis reveals that it makes perfect sense. The powerful Hunnic military machine was based on a core of Hunnic fighters supplemented by the fighting-men of conquered peoples - much the same arrangement as that which the Mongols would use to such devastating effect a thousand years later. In order to maintain this machine, perpetual warfare and conquest was necessary, both in order to replace losses and to ensure the control of the Hunnic minority over their conquered subjects. The net effect of this was that the Hunnic Empire, while itself a threat to Rome, also helped contain the threat which the numerous other barbarian peoples also represented; their submission to the Huns neutralised their capacity to threaten the Empire.
However, when the Hunnic Empire collapsed after the death of Attila in 453AD, it released the bonds that tied the subject people to their Hunnic masters; the Huns were overthrown, and the newly-freed subject peoples began to struggle against one another for the resources previously controlled by the erstwhile Hunnic overlords. The inevitable result was that the losers of this brutal contest for survival inevitably sought refuge in the Empire, contributing to and exacerbating the tensions and difficulties created by the settlement of the earlier Germanic nation groups within the Empire. These later arrivals - Rugi, Herules, Burgundians, Sciri, Alemanni, and another group of Goths known as the Ostrogoths ("Eastern Goths") - all competed with one another for land within the Empire, and for positions of influence within the imperial administration that would ensure their success. The result was, after 454AD, a series of largely ineffectual Emperors who ruled at the behest of various barbarian warlords. Combined with the loss of revenue producing lands in Gaul, Spain and North Africa, the weakness of the central administration persuaded many of the rich provincial landowners to throw in their lot with the new barbarian kings, thus providing them with the nucleus of an effective bureaucracy, while further denuding the Empire of talent and sources of income.
The consequence was that the Roman Empire in the West did not so much "fall" as faded away. As central authority weakened and the flow of resources from the centre to the provinces failed, the infrastructure of Roman society gradually whithered away, reverting to village and small town based agrarianism. In the more central regions, barbarian kingdom replaced the Roman imperium; these new kingdoms continued to admire Roman systems of law and governance, resulting in the emergence of what would one day become the feudal bureaucracy of the medieval period, and also ensuring that Latin would transmute over time into the Romance languages of French, Spanish, Italian, Provencal, etc. Of course, the imperial authorities did attempt to fight back, and frequently gained short-term success; but their efforts were constrained by the inability of the Eastern Empire to provide sustained, large-scale support owing to its own military commitments on the ever-dangerous Persian frontier. And when the last attempt to recapture the rich provinces of North Africa in 468AD collapsed in ignominious failure, the writing was on the wall; the deposition of the last Roman Emperor in 475AD was not so much a coup as a formal acknowledgement of the prevailing state of affairs.
But what about that other external source, the Romans themselves? How is this possible? It is in arguing that the Romans themselves created the external sources of their own extinction that Heather provides his most original - and, given the state of affairs in the world today - his most perceptive analysis.
Heather's proposition is simple: through centuries of economic, political, and military contact, the Roman Empire demonstrated to the barbarian peoples along its frontiers the benefits of creating and preserving a unified national grouping. Centuries of trade between the tribes and the Empire lead to increased material wealth, creating economic and social elites among the barbarian nations that had not previously existed. Likewise, the coherent command and authority structure of the Empire's civil and military institutions was better able to respond to crises than the loose confederacy of the barbarians that was usually reliant on the individual charisma of a strong leader, and which was susceptible to being undermined by the rivalry and mutual hostility of the tribal and clan groupings. Further, the frequent punitive military expeditions that were part and parcel of the Empire's policy of dealing with, and ensuring the compliance of, the barbarian tribes ultimately resulted in those tribes developing both an intensified sense of their own identity (and the spirit of independence that goes with this) as well as a desire to create more coherent social and political structures that could better preserve the nation-group.
In other words, it was precisely because of the dangers - military raids, invasions, enslavement, and conscription into the Roman army - as well as the opportunities - enrichment, attainment of political legitimacy, access to material goods and weapons - which the proximity of the Empire afforded that set in motion, over a number of centuries, processes that were to transform the barbarian peoples of the Rhine-Danube frontier from loose tribal and clan confederations locked in ongoing rivalry and warfare to solidified national groupings conscious of their particular identity and prepared to act in its preservation. This process then "collided" with the shock caused by the rise of the Hunnic Empire: national identity was strenghtened as some groups sought to preserve themselves by fleeing into the Roman Empire and setting up enclaves, or as they watched for an opportunity to throw off Hunnic dominion at the least sign of the collapse of the Huns' power. The slow process of socio-political evolution created by Roman-barbarian contact was vastly accelerated by the intrusion of the Huns into Western Europe: and the consequence was a desire for political independence and control of resources that ultimately brought down the Roman state.
Heather demonstrates this thesis by comparing the fallout of the Hunnic invasion with that of the Sarmatian invasion of the 1st century AD. The Sarmatians, Iranian-speaking nomads from the central Asian steppes, overran much of Europe north of the Rhine-Danube frontier just as the Roman Empire was forming itself after the collapse of the Republic. The consequence was a tide of movement against the Empire's boundaries as various barbarian peoples sought refuge from the Sarmatian conquest. However, at this time, the barbarians were divided into many small tribes and clan groupings; their social structure was loose and undefined; their technological attainment had scarcely advanced beyond the early Iron Age; and they appeared at the various frontier posts in small groupings that were managed with relative - though not always complete - ease by the Romans. The upshot was a set of circumstances in which the Romans held all the power: in return for providing shelter, the tribesmen of fighting age had to agree to conscription into the Roman army, while the civilian population was settled in a manner convenient to the Romans. Consequently, the result was absorption of the population and neutralisation of any threat. By contrast, the Hunnic invasion, as we have seen, resulted in the migration of whole population groups conscious of the national identity and determined to preserve it; such groups were not able to be divided and absorbed, but were able to bargain from a position of power, forcing the Romans to allow settlement on generous - if initially controlled - terms. And when the circumstances allowed as the Roman state broke down under the pressure of the building external forces, these enclaves expanded into powerful successor kingdoms to the Roman state.
Thus, Heather skilfully weaves a dual narrative of the rise and fall of the Hunnic Empire, combined with the centuries-long consequence of Roman-barbarian contact, as the primary causes of the fall of the Roman Empire. But what is its relevance for today? Simply, this relevance is to be found in the very final paragraph of this fine, absorbing book: a paragraph that warns the American Empire may, like the Roman, be laying the groundwork for its own destruction. It reads:
There is, I suspect, an inbuilt tendency for the kind of dominance exercised by empires to generate an inverse reaction whereby the dominated, in the end, are able to throw off their chains. The Roman Empire had sown the seeds of its own destruction, therefore, not because of internal weaknesses that had evolved over the centuries, nor because of new ones evolved, but as a consequence of its relationship with the Germanic world. Just as the Sassanians were able to reorganise Near Eastern society so as to throw off Roman domination, Germanic society achieved the same in the west, when its collision with Hunnic power precipitated the process much more quickly than would otherwise have been the case. The west Roman state fell not because of the weight of its own "stupendous fabric", but because its Germanic neighbours had responded to its power in ways that the Romans could never have foreseen. There is in all this a pleasing denouement. By virtue of its unbounded aggression, Roman imperialism was responsible for its own destruction. (p.459)
It's an analysis that certainly gives you pause for thought.
Talk to you soon,BB
Quote for the Day: Who does not learn from the past is doomed to repeat it. (George Santayana)
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Mmmmmmmm, Nigella (incoherent Homeresque gurgling)...
I've just watched the first installment of Nigella Lawson's latest cooking series, Nigella Feasts.
In the last week, I've read a few previews of this series, and I have to say they've focused on everything but the food. Comment has been made about Ms Lawson's physique, her manner in front of the camera, even the supposed hints of socio-economic elitism which her selection of ingredients and demeanor betray. These comments boil down to two basic categories: Nigella as porn and Nigella as snob.
The porn breaks down into two further sub-categories: gastronomic, and Nigella herself. Regarding the former, the observation seems to be that Lawson's use of food is somehow sexually suggestive. The way she kneads dough, for example, or the language she uses to describe ingredients, is said to be more about titillation than it is about cooking. Concerning the latter, Ms Lawson is routinely described as "buxom", "bosomy", "busty", "voluptuous", and so on and so forth. The suggestion seems to be that her body shape is somehow deliberate, a self-created pose whose sole function is to inflame passions and arouse lust.
Now, don't get me wrong. Nigella Lawson is indeed coquettish, and the way she glances strategically at the camera and employs double entendres does carry more than a hint of sexual suggestion. But let's face it: by the standards of most "reality" TV and what passes for "general" entertainment these days, Lawson is positively tame. Indeed, she seems to hark back to an earlier time of "nudge-nudge, wink-wink" that has its origins in the music hall tradition of Victorian England. Sure, I cringe at some aspects of Lawson's on-camera performance; sometimes the banter is a tad too obvious. But I can't help thinking that the reason why so many people seem to find her so captivating is that, if Lawson is indeed suggestive, it's precisely because she uses the power of suggestion to enthrall, as opposed to rubbing our faces in anything explicit. In other words, it's because she hints at something other than food creates the electric charge many react against; if she were to stand at her cooking station naked, she'd simply be dismissed - I doubt she'd raise an eyebrow (or anything else).
So, contrary to what most of the reviewers would have you believe, Ms Lawson isn't some gastro-nymphomaniac who overwhelms you with sexual electricity; on the contrary, it's precisely because she's so subtle (by relative standards) that she captures attention. It's because she stands in such stark contrast to the blatant exhibitionism of pop culture that she is noticed; quite apart from being one of the stew of "notice me" celebrities, she is, in fact, the (even if not complete) opposite.
Concerning the issue of snobbery, the allegation appears to be that Nigella is essentially a phoney: a silver-spooned private-school girl who is attempting to manufacture a "common person" identity which she patently lacks - indeed, which she would probably scorn in her private life. In other words, it's all a crock: Ms Lawson might appear on our TV screens, but she wouldn't be seen dead watching television with any one of us.
First, the disclaimer: I know next to nothing about Ms Lawson's life, background, and socio-economic circumstances. So I have no idea if she is actually a snob, or actually does possess what is called the "common touch". I have no doubt that she enjoys a more than financially secure lifestyle as a consequence of the success of her television series and their spin-off cookbooks. But I'm sure the same could be said of Jamie Oliver - and no-one seems to be suggesting that he's a phoney. Perhaps it's just Lawson's admittedly plummy accent that attracts the opprobrium; unlike Oliver, who says "pukka" a lot and speaks with an accent that, in my humble opinion, makes him sound like a severely mentally retarded five year old. Or maybe it's because Ms Lawson makes no attempt to be anything other than who she is that ticks people off; maybe she was expected to develop a "persona", a character that people could identify with (or which would make them feel less self-conscious).
So it could be that her "crime" is just to have exercised some integrity. I mean, she's no more plummy than the Two Fat Ladies, but nobody accused either of them of snobbery (possibly because they were old and eccentric, and therefore easily patronised). Mind you, if Lawson started saying "pukka" and ran programs for homeless kids who wanted to be chefs, I'm sure she'd also be accused of hypocrisy. Maybe this is just a "no-win" for her; damned if she does, damned if she doesn't.
So what's all this to me? Well, yes, it's because I am an unashamed fan of Ms Lawson. And no, it's not just because I think she's hot. My Dearly Beloved happens to think Ainslie Herriot is sex on a stick, but she'd bristle at any suggestion that was the only reason why she watches him. Hell, I like watching Ainslie myself - and for the same reason why I like Nigella. Because both have an unabashed enthusiasm for food. In this age of eating disorders and image consciousness, both have an almost visceral approach to food and eating that runs counter to the prevailing mood of pop culture. And it's because they're so counter-cultural that I like both Nigella and Ainslie: they like food, and they're not ashamed of the fact.
So, if you'll excuse me, I'll keep watching Nigella. I don't know about the porn, or about the snobbery; what keeps me coming back to Nigella is not the suggestive remarks or the raised eyebrows, but the fact that she enjoys food for it's own sake. She enjoys food because it looks good, tastes great, and sod the calories. That's good enough for me.
And besides - she's a babe...
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Sex is something that's allowed in Scotland only when Rangers beat Celtic. (Ronnie Barker)
In the last week, I've read a few previews of this series, and I have to say they've focused on everything but the food. Comment has been made about Ms Lawson's physique, her manner in front of the camera, even the supposed hints of socio-economic elitism which her selection of ingredients and demeanor betray. These comments boil down to two basic categories: Nigella as porn and Nigella as snob.
The porn breaks down into two further sub-categories: gastronomic, and Nigella herself. Regarding the former, the observation seems to be that Lawson's use of food is somehow sexually suggestive. The way she kneads dough, for example, or the language she uses to describe ingredients, is said to be more about titillation than it is about cooking. Concerning the latter, Ms Lawson is routinely described as "buxom", "bosomy", "busty", "voluptuous", and so on and so forth. The suggestion seems to be that her body shape is somehow deliberate, a self-created pose whose sole function is to inflame passions and arouse lust.
Now, don't get me wrong. Nigella Lawson is indeed coquettish, and the way she glances strategically at the camera and employs double entendres does carry more than a hint of sexual suggestion. But let's face it: by the standards of most "reality" TV and what passes for "general" entertainment these days, Lawson is positively tame. Indeed, she seems to hark back to an earlier time of "nudge-nudge, wink-wink" that has its origins in the music hall tradition of Victorian England. Sure, I cringe at some aspects of Lawson's on-camera performance; sometimes the banter is a tad too obvious. But I can't help thinking that the reason why so many people seem to find her so captivating is that, if Lawson is indeed suggestive, it's precisely because she uses the power of suggestion to enthrall, as opposed to rubbing our faces in anything explicit. In other words, it's because she hints at something other than food creates the electric charge many react against; if she were to stand at her cooking station naked, she'd simply be dismissed - I doubt she'd raise an eyebrow (or anything else).
So, contrary to what most of the reviewers would have you believe, Ms Lawson isn't some gastro-nymphomaniac who overwhelms you with sexual electricity; on the contrary, it's precisely because she's so subtle (by relative standards) that she captures attention. It's because she stands in such stark contrast to the blatant exhibitionism of pop culture that she is noticed; quite apart from being one of the stew of "notice me" celebrities, she is, in fact, the (even if not complete) opposite.
Concerning the issue of snobbery, the allegation appears to be that Nigella is essentially a phoney: a silver-spooned private-school girl who is attempting to manufacture a "common person" identity which she patently lacks - indeed, which she would probably scorn in her private life. In other words, it's all a crock: Ms Lawson might appear on our TV screens, but she wouldn't be seen dead watching television with any one of us.
First, the disclaimer: I know next to nothing about Ms Lawson's life, background, and socio-economic circumstances. So I have no idea if she is actually a snob, or actually does possess what is called the "common touch". I have no doubt that she enjoys a more than financially secure lifestyle as a consequence of the success of her television series and their spin-off cookbooks. But I'm sure the same could be said of Jamie Oliver - and no-one seems to be suggesting that he's a phoney. Perhaps it's just Lawson's admittedly plummy accent that attracts the opprobrium; unlike Oliver, who says "pukka" a lot and speaks with an accent that, in my humble opinion, makes him sound like a severely mentally retarded five year old. Or maybe it's because Ms Lawson makes no attempt to be anything other than who she is that ticks people off; maybe she was expected to develop a "persona", a character that people could identify with (or which would make them feel less self-conscious).
So it could be that her "crime" is just to have exercised some integrity. I mean, she's no more plummy than the Two Fat Ladies, but nobody accused either of them of snobbery (possibly because they were old and eccentric, and therefore easily patronised). Mind you, if Lawson started saying "pukka" and ran programs for homeless kids who wanted to be chefs, I'm sure she'd also be accused of hypocrisy. Maybe this is just a "no-win" for her; damned if she does, damned if she doesn't.
So what's all this to me? Well, yes, it's because I am an unashamed fan of Ms Lawson. And no, it's not just because I think she's hot. My Dearly Beloved happens to think Ainslie Herriot is sex on a stick, but she'd bristle at any suggestion that was the only reason why she watches him. Hell, I like watching Ainslie myself - and for the same reason why I like Nigella. Because both have an unabashed enthusiasm for food. In this age of eating disorders and image consciousness, both have an almost visceral approach to food and eating that runs counter to the prevailing mood of pop culture. And it's because they're so counter-cultural that I like both Nigella and Ainslie: they like food, and they're not ashamed of the fact.
So, if you'll excuse me, I'll keep watching Nigella. I don't know about the porn, or about the snobbery; what keeps me coming back to Nigella is not the suggestive remarks or the raised eyebrows, but the fact that she enjoys food for it's own sake. She enjoys food because it looks good, tastes great, and sod the calories. That's good enough for me.
And besides - she's a babe...
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Sex is something that's allowed in Scotland only when Rangers beat Celtic. (Ronnie Barker)
Saturday, October 06, 2007
The True Power of Magic
In the last few weeks, I have been reading Ursula Le Guin's wonderful Earthsea Trilogy (it's now a sextet, but that's another story). This has partly been as a result of my improving eye sight after my surgery, and partly as a means of taking my mind off assignments and deadlines. But mostly it was prompted by the fact that, as part of the Selection Conference weekend when my Dearly Beloved and I had to convince the Uniting Church's Victorian-Tasmanian Synod Committee of our call to ordained ministry, we had to give a presentation of something about which we were passionate (outside church and faith).
I gave a presentation on my passion for literature and reading, and in particular, my love of writing. I did this by tracing my earliest experience with books at the local library, through my expanding repertoire of fiction and non-fiction - until I read a novel that awoke in me my talent for writing. And that book was The Tombs of Atuan, second in the Earthsea trilogy.
So it was in a mood of sentimental reminiscence that I started reading the original trilogy all over again. And once more I recalled the characters whose stories had touched me when I first read them all those many years ago, and on every occasion since. Ged, the main character, powerful and willful, possessed of great talent and deep power; his master Ogion the Silent, grave and silent, compassionate and without anger; Estarriol, Ged's wise and humble friend; Tenar, once Priestess of the Old Powers of Atuan, bringer of the Rune of Peace; and Lebannen, Prince of Enlad, the long-lost King whose destiny it is to travel with Ged across the dark lands of death in order to heal the broken Kingdom of Earthsea.
And I also read again the many passages by which I had been moved and remembered across the years: Ged taking leave from his master Ogion; Ged learning harsh lessons about power and its limitations when he tames the dragon Yevaud but cannot save a dying child; Ged receiving his faithful boat Lookfar from a poor fisherman, and in return healing the fisherman of the cataracts that were blinding him; the companionship of Ged and Estarriol as they face what they believe is certain death; Tenar being taken from her parents to serve in the Tombs of Atuan; Tenar and Ged escaping from the Tombs; Ged and Lebannen as they journey together to stop a great evil that is consuming the earth.
As I said, it was The Tombs of Atuan that woke in me my talent of writing. But it was the first novel, A Wizard of Earthsea, that I always treasured as a young adult; partly because I identified strongly with the main character, Ged, but also because I loved the character Ogion. He seemed to me to be the model of what it was to be wise: grave, silent, compassionate, without anger or vanity, possessed of a wry sense of humour, someone who acted only out of necessity, never in haste, never for reasons of self-aggrandisement or promotion, but because it was needful and just. These are not characteristics which I possess: but they remain a goal toward which I strive.
Now, however, its is the final book in the trilogy, The Farthest Shore, which has captured my allegiance. That's because it's the most philosophical of the three, the most contemplative; it is a meditation in life and living, of the joys and sorrows of being, of the pleasures and consequences of existence. And in particular, it's an exposition on power, on the use and abuse of power; and on how power is rarely what we imagine it to be. And there are some truly amazing passages, thoughtful and powerful in their insight:
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Only in silence the word, only in dark the light, only in dying life: bright the hawk's flight on the empty sky. (Ursula Le Guin)
I gave a presentation on my passion for literature and reading, and in particular, my love of writing. I did this by tracing my earliest experience with books at the local library, through my expanding repertoire of fiction and non-fiction - until I read a novel that awoke in me my talent for writing. And that book was The Tombs of Atuan, second in the Earthsea trilogy.
So it was in a mood of sentimental reminiscence that I started reading the original trilogy all over again. And once more I recalled the characters whose stories had touched me when I first read them all those many years ago, and on every occasion since. Ged, the main character, powerful and willful, possessed of great talent and deep power; his master Ogion the Silent, grave and silent, compassionate and without anger; Estarriol, Ged's wise and humble friend; Tenar, once Priestess of the Old Powers of Atuan, bringer of the Rune of Peace; and Lebannen, Prince of Enlad, the long-lost King whose destiny it is to travel with Ged across the dark lands of death in order to heal the broken Kingdom of Earthsea.
And I also read again the many passages by which I had been moved and remembered across the years: Ged taking leave from his master Ogion; Ged learning harsh lessons about power and its limitations when he tames the dragon Yevaud but cannot save a dying child; Ged receiving his faithful boat Lookfar from a poor fisherman, and in return healing the fisherman of the cataracts that were blinding him; the companionship of Ged and Estarriol as they face what they believe is certain death; Tenar being taken from her parents to serve in the Tombs of Atuan; Tenar and Ged escaping from the Tombs; Ged and Lebannen as they journey together to stop a great evil that is consuming the earth.
As I said, it was The Tombs of Atuan that woke in me my talent of writing. But it was the first novel, A Wizard of Earthsea, that I always treasured as a young adult; partly because I identified strongly with the main character, Ged, but also because I loved the character Ogion. He seemed to me to be the model of what it was to be wise: grave, silent, compassionate, without anger or vanity, possessed of a wry sense of humour, someone who acted only out of necessity, never in haste, never for reasons of self-aggrandisement or promotion, but because it was needful and just. These are not characteristics which I possess: but they remain a goal toward which I strive.
Now, however, its is the final book in the trilogy, The Farthest Shore, which has captured my allegiance. That's because it's the most philosophical of the three, the most contemplative; it is a meditation in life and living, of the joys and sorrows of being, of the pleasures and consequences of existence. And in particular, it's an exposition on power, on the use and abuse of power; and on how power is rarely what we imagine it to be. And there are some truly amazing passages, thoughtful and powerful in their insight:
"When I was young I had to choose between the life of being and the life of doing. And I leapt at the latter like a trout to a fly. But each deed you do, each act, binds you to itself and to its consequences, and makes you act again and yet again. Then very seldom do you come upon a space, a time like this, between act and act, when you may stop and simply be. Or wonder who, after all, you are." (Chapter Three)
There is a certain bleakness in finding hope where one expected certainty. (Chapter Three)
"Only one thing can resist an evil-hearted man. And that is another man. In our shame is our glory. Only our spirit, which is capable of evil, is capable of overcoming it." (Chapter Three)
"Do you see...how an act is not, as young men think, like a rock that one picks up and throws, and it hits or misses, and that's the end of it. When that rock is lifted, the earth is lighter, the hand that bears it heavier. When it is thrown the circuit of the stars responds, and where it strikes or falls the universe is changed. On every act the balance of the whole depends. The winds and seas, the powers of water and earth and light, all that these do, and all that the beasts and green things do, is well done, and rightly done...But we, in so far as we have power over the world and over one another, we must learn to do what the leaf and the whale and the wind do of their own nature. We must learn to keep the balance. Having intelligence, we must not act in ignorance. Having choice, we must not act without responsibility." (Chapter Four)
"This is. And thou art. There is no safety. There is no end. The word must be heard in silence, There must be darkness to see the stars. The dance is always danced above the hollow place, above the terrible abyss." (Chapter Eight)
"To refuse death is to refuse life." (Chapter Eight)
"The traitor, the self, the self that cries I want to live, let the world rot so long as I can live! The little traitor soul in us, in the dark, like the spider in the box. He talks to all of us. But only some understand him." (Chapter Nine)
"Only what is mortal bears life...Only in death is there rebirth. The Balance is not a stillness. It is a movement - an eternal becoming." (Chapter Nine)
"What is a good man? Is a good man one who would not do evil, who would not open a door to darkness, who has no darkness in him? Look again...Look a little farther." (Chapter Nine)
"You stand on the borders of possibility, in the shadowland, in the realm of dream, and you hear the voice saying Come. As I once did. But I am old. I have made my choices. I have done what I must do. I stand in daylight facing my own death. And I know that there is only one power worth having. And that is the power, not to take, but to accept. Not to have, but to give." (Chapter Nine)
"You fear them because you fear death, and rightly: for death is terrible, and must be feared...And life is also a terrible thing...and must be feared and praised." (Chapter Eleven)
"Look at the land; look about you. This is your kingdom, the kingdom of life. This is your immortality. Look at the hills, the mortal hills. They do not endure forever. The hills with the living grass on them, and the streams with water running...In all the world, in all the worlds, in all the immensity of time, there is no other like each of those streams, rising cold out of the earth where no eye sees it, running through the sunlight and the darkness to the sea. Deep are the springs of being, deeper than life, than death..." (Chapter Eleven)
"I have given my love to what is worthy of love. Is that not the kingdom, and the unperishing spring?" (Chapter Eleven)
"A living body suffers pain...a living body grows old; it dies. Death is the price we pay for our life, and for all life." (Chapter Twelve)
As one critic wrote of Le Guin's work: "If you've had enough of Harry Potter-style kid wizardry, Le Guin offers a powerful tonic. These tales are intense, moving, engaging, and best of all, character driven. Le Guin knows people, wizards or not."
I couldn't put it better myself. And that's why I'll always love this trilogy.Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Only in silence the word, only in dark the light, only in dying life: bright the hawk's flight on the empty sky. (Ursula Le Guin)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Beautiful Islamic Art
The Art Gallery of NSW is currently exhibiting a collection of magnificent Islamic art from the Khalili Collection, one of the largest and finest collections of Islamic art in the world.
Dr Nasser David Khalili is an Iranian Jewish scholar who collects art in order to promote understanding and peace between cultures. His collection ranges across the entire span of Islamic history, and includes manuscripts, statues, glassware, furniture, and jewellery, and totals over 20,000 objects. Dr Khalili is also involved with the Maimonides Foundation Trust, which promotes peace and understanding between Jews and Muslims.
Sadly, I won't be able to make it to Sydney in order to view the exhibition; but the Art Gallery has an excellent website - and although the site is incomplete (the online exhibition has yet to be posted), what's already there looks fantastic, and I'll be re-visiting the site to check out the exhibition images once they come online.
The music accompanying the exhibition also sounds wonderful; I'm thinking that when the CD becomes available, a copy might just join my collection of sacred music.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Dispute not, unless in kindly fashion, with the people of the Book, save with such of them as have acted wrongfully toward you; and say to them, "We believe in what has been sent down to us and sent down to you. Our God and your God is one, and to him we are self-surrendered". (Qur'an, Sura 26:45)
Dr Nasser David Khalili is an Iranian Jewish scholar who collects art in order to promote understanding and peace between cultures. His collection ranges across the entire span of Islamic history, and includes manuscripts, statues, glassware, furniture, and jewellery, and totals over 20,000 objects. Dr Khalili is also involved with the Maimonides Foundation Trust, which promotes peace and understanding between Jews and Muslims.
Sadly, I won't be able to make it to Sydney in order to view the exhibition; but the Art Gallery has an excellent website - and although the site is incomplete (the online exhibition has yet to be posted), what's already there looks fantastic, and I'll be re-visiting the site to check out the exhibition images once they come online.
The music accompanying the exhibition also sounds wonderful; I'm thinking that when the CD becomes available, a copy might just join my collection of sacred music.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Dispute not, unless in kindly fashion, with the people of the Book, save with such of them as have acted wrongfully toward you; and say to them, "We believe in what has been sent down to us and sent down to you. Our God and your God is one, and to him we are self-surrendered". (Qur'an, Sura 26:45)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Exams Schmexams!
Yesterday, I sat exams for the first time since I left high school - and the first of these was Greek!
You may recall from earlier posts my somewhat hysterical reaction to Greek; the complexities of its grammar, the convolutions of its noun declensions and verbal conjugations. Indeed, by the end of the first day of the pre-semester introduction, I was ready to chuck the whole subject in before I'd even started - that, and a good deal more besides! To say Yours Truly came close to a complete emotional breakdown is an understatement of vast proportions!
But I decided to stick at it - not so much from hope as sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. Even as other members of the class began to fall away and decide it was too tough to continue, I ignored the rising tide of panic within my cowardly heart and pretended to absorb the information my lecturer provided in ever-increasing abundance. Ultimately, as the class numbers stabilised, I found an effective mechanism for dealing with my fear: I resigned myself to failure.
Now, before you object too strenuously and start banging on about the need to keep up a positive attitude and all the rest of that optimistic guff, let me tell you that it worked very successfully. Resigning myself to failure meant I no longer approached my Greek classes with trepidation: indeed, an air of serene detachment seemed to pervade the whole of my being. And it must have done some good, because against all expectations, I kept on passing the weekly tests that were part of the subject assessment. And that's the joy about not having any expectations: because this state, being a form of expectation in itself, always produces joy when it is not fulfilled. The expectation that does not exist cannot be unfulfilled - it can only be joyously contradicted.
So do I think I've passed the subject? Who knows; for myself, a bare pass will be good enough, and anything beyond that an unlooked-for bonus. But let this be a lesson to the rest of you: never underestimate the constructive power of negative thinking.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Optimism is the digitalis of failure. (Elbert Hubbard)
You may recall from earlier posts my somewhat hysterical reaction to Greek; the complexities of its grammar, the convolutions of its noun declensions and verbal conjugations. Indeed, by the end of the first day of the pre-semester introduction, I was ready to chuck the whole subject in before I'd even started - that, and a good deal more besides! To say Yours Truly came close to a complete emotional breakdown is an understatement of vast proportions!
But I decided to stick at it - not so much from hope as sheer bloody-minded stubbornness. Even as other members of the class began to fall away and decide it was too tough to continue, I ignored the rising tide of panic within my cowardly heart and pretended to absorb the information my lecturer provided in ever-increasing abundance. Ultimately, as the class numbers stabilised, I found an effective mechanism for dealing with my fear: I resigned myself to failure.
Now, before you object too strenuously and start banging on about the need to keep up a positive attitude and all the rest of that optimistic guff, let me tell you that it worked very successfully. Resigning myself to failure meant I no longer approached my Greek classes with trepidation: indeed, an air of serene detachment seemed to pervade the whole of my being. And it must have done some good, because against all expectations, I kept on passing the weekly tests that were part of the subject assessment. And that's the joy about not having any expectations: because this state, being a form of expectation in itself, always produces joy when it is not fulfilled. The expectation that does not exist cannot be unfulfilled - it can only be joyously contradicted.
So do I think I've passed the subject? Who knows; for myself, a bare pass will be good enough, and anything beyond that an unlooked-for bonus. But let this be a lesson to the rest of you: never underestimate the constructive power of negative thinking.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Optimism is the digitalis of failure. (Elbert Hubbard)
Thursday, May 24, 2007
The Lost Cause
I have just finished reading a rather remarkable book: Last and First Men by Olaf Stapledon. It is a science fiction novel, originally published in 1931, and is a companion piece with its "sequel" Star Maker, published in 1938.
Olaf Stapledon was a British philosopher who lived from 1886 to 1950. Although he published widely on philosophy, ethics, industrial history, and psychology, it is as a science fiction author that Stapledon is best remembered. He used SF to disseminate his philosophical ideas, and was both commercial successful and critically acclaimed during his life. He was also deeply influential on the science fiction of writers such as Arthur C Clarke, C S Lewis, and Brian Aldiss.
Stapledon's philosophy was essentially existential, although he is now also regarded as one of the pioneers of the philosophy of transhumanism (the philosophy of improving humanity - whether physically or existentially - through genetics, integration with non-organic devices, psychological intervention, etc). The essential problem with which Stapledon grappled in his fiction is eloquently expressed by the Book of Ecclesiastes, 3:11 - God has put eternity into man's mind, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from beginning to end. In other words, the fact that humans have both an innate sense of eternity and of their own mortality and transience; and the question of how this conflict is to be addressed if we are not to lapse into either apathetic melancholy or outright insanity.
Last and First Men is a "future history", in this case, the future of humanity related as a past event by someone living in the remote future. "Future history" is a device that has frequently been used by SF writers from the inception of the genre, usually to extrapolate on a line of speculation arising from present social and/or technological trends. Writers like H G Wells went a step further; in novels like The World Set Free, and, most notably, The Shape of Things to Come, Wells articulated his expectation that humanity would bring itself to the brink of destruction and then establish a kind of utopia in which an enlightened cabal of scientists, technologists, artists and philosophers would assume control of human affairs to bring about genuine civilisation. In effect, these "future history" novels by Wells were extrapolations on Plato's Republic.
Stapledon also utilised a philosophical base for his "future history", although this time it was existentialism. In it, Stapledon depicts humanity's efforts over billions of years to rise above the limitations of its physical self, in order to become pure "intelligence" or "mind" that would be able to establish communion with the "cosmic mind" of all life within the universe. Stapledon did not imagine this "cosmic mind" to be God, so much as the "All Real" or the "Soul of All", the once and always awakening of all life within the cosmos to its own reality and worth, death and entropy notwithstanding. In other words, Stapledon's novel depicts humanity's struggle to understanding itself, to perceive, in objectively verifiable terms, its own "reality" as distinct from its mere existence.
This yearning, this search for transcendence from mere existence into awakened reality, is powerfully expressed toward the end of Stapledon's novel:
Moreover, one of the most startling - and to a modern reader, disturbing - aspect of the novel is the centrality of eugenics to progress human evolution. To be sure, the eugenics Stapledon depicts is not the "racial eugenics" of the Nazis. Rather, Stapledon saw no ethical quandary in humanity manipulating its own physical state - "remaking" itself - in order to improve its psychological/existential/emotional/spiritual condition. This has subsequently developed into the philosophy of transhumanism, and at the time Stapledon wrote, was a widely held and regarded possibility among many scientists and philosophers. Nonetheless, to modern readers it will seem vaguely sinister and disturbing, redolent of Nazi atrocities and nightmares about servile human or quasi-human underclasses (a la the "replicants" in Bladerunner).
Finally, the feature of Stapledon's novel that is most striking is his prescience in anticipating many things that have either come to pass, or which closely resemble what he thought the near future might look like. Granted, he missed his target in several respects - the effectiveness of the League of Nations, for example; the speed with which space technology would develop; the impact of coal burning on the environment; or the development of first atomic and then nuclear weapons - but many of his social and political anticipations are astonishingly accurate. How many of these were reasonably predictable in 1931 I have no idea, but the list is impressive nonetheless:
Olaf Stapledon was a British philosopher who lived from 1886 to 1950. Although he published widely on philosophy, ethics, industrial history, and psychology, it is as a science fiction author that Stapledon is best remembered. He used SF to disseminate his philosophical ideas, and was both commercial successful and critically acclaimed during his life. He was also deeply influential on the science fiction of writers such as Arthur C Clarke, C S Lewis, and Brian Aldiss.
Stapledon's philosophy was essentially existential, although he is now also regarded as one of the pioneers of the philosophy of transhumanism (the philosophy of improving humanity - whether physically or existentially - through genetics, integration with non-organic devices, psychological intervention, etc). The essential problem with which Stapledon grappled in his fiction is eloquently expressed by the Book of Ecclesiastes, 3:11 - God has put eternity into man's mind, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from beginning to end. In other words, the fact that humans have both an innate sense of eternity and of their own mortality and transience; and the question of how this conflict is to be addressed if we are not to lapse into either apathetic melancholy or outright insanity.
Last and First Men is a "future history", in this case, the future of humanity related as a past event by someone living in the remote future. "Future history" is a device that has frequently been used by SF writers from the inception of the genre, usually to extrapolate on a line of speculation arising from present social and/or technological trends. Writers like H G Wells went a step further; in novels like The World Set Free, and, most notably, The Shape of Things to Come, Wells articulated his expectation that humanity would bring itself to the brink of destruction and then establish a kind of utopia in which an enlightened cabal of scientists, technologists, artists and philosophers would assume control of human affairs to bring about genuine civilisation. In effect, these "future history" novels by Wells were extrapolations on Plato's Republic.
Stapledon also utilised a philosophical base for his "future history", although this time it was existentialism. In it, Stapledon depicts humanity's efforts over billions of years to rise above the limitations of its physical self, in order to become pure "intelligence" or "mind" that would be able to establish communion with the "cosmic mind" of all life within the universe. Stapledon did not imagine this "cosmic mind" to be God, so much as the "All Real" or the "Soul of All", the once and always awakening of all life within the cosmos to its own reality and worth, death and entropy notwithstanding. In other words, Stapledon's novel depicts humanity's struggle to understanding itself, to perceive, in objectively verifiable terms, its own "reality" as distinct from its mere existence.
This yearning, this search for transcendence from mere existence into awakened reality, is powerfully expressed toward the end of Stapledon's novel:
For, if ever the cosmic ideal should be realised, even though for a moment only, then in that time the awakened Soul of All will embrace within itself all spirits whatever throughout the whole of time's wide circuit. And so to each of them, even to the least, it will seem that he has awakened and discovered himself to be the Soul of All, knowing all things and rejoicing in all things. And though afterwards, through the inevitable decay of stars, this most glorious vision must be lost, suddenly or in the long-drawn-out defeat of life, yet would the awakened Soul of All have eternal being, and within it each martyred spirit would have beatitude eternally, though unknown to itself in its own temporal mode.Stapledon's conclusion is gloomy: humanity's efforts to rise above itself, to escape the limitations of flesh and become "spirit" or "mind" and enter into he cosmic communion of life and being are doomed by our species' nature as beings. Yet he also declares that the struggle itself, doomed though it may be, is heroic and beautiful and worth undertaking; it is an aspect of weltschmerz, the terrible cosmic sadness and beauty of being that is part of the whole symmetry and tragedy and glory of the universe.
Man himself, is music, a brave theme that makes music also of its vast accompaniment, its matrix of storms and stars. Man himself in his degree is eternally a beauty in the eternal form of things. It is very good to have been man. And so we may go forward together with laughter in our hearts, and peace, thankful for the past, and for our own courage. For we shall afterall make a fair conclusion to this brief music that is man.And it is this bitter-sweetness that underlines one of the most extraordinary aspects of Last and First Men: the very fact that its does not see man as immune from the effects of evolution and the operations of the physical universe. Time and again in the novel, humanity is brought low by cataclysmic environmental or geological or astronomic events; time and again, humanity has to adapt to drastically altered climactic conditions. And as a consequence of these changes, humanity evolves: indeed, Stapledon depicts seventeen different human species, each one radically different from its predecessors, but each one also recognisably human. And in doing so, Stapledon draws our attention to a very important point: the present human species is not the "end of evolution". There will come a time when homo sapiens is extinct, either because we have succeeded in destroying ourselves, or because we have (or have been forced to) evolve into a different human species. Just as homo neanderthalis no longer walks the earth, there will come a time when homo sapiens belongs exclusively to the past.
His existence has ever been precarious. At any stage of his career he might easily have been exterminated by some slight alteration of his chemical environment, by a more than usually malignant microbe, by a radical change of climate, or by the manifold effects of his own folly.
Moreover, one of the most startling - and to a modern reader, disturbing - aspect of the novel is the centrality of eugenics to progress human evolution. To be sure, the eugenics Stapledon depicts is not the "racial eugenics" of the Nazis. Rather, Stapledon saw no ethical quandary in humanity manipulating its own physical state - "remaking" itself - in order to improve its psychological/existential/emotional/spiritual condition. This has subsequently developed into the philosophy of transhumanism, and at the time Stapledon wrote, was a widely held and regarded possibility among many scientists and philosophers. Nonetheless, to modern readers it will seem vaguely sinister and disturbing, redolent of Nazi atrocities and nightmares about servile human or quasi-human underclasses (a la the "replicants" in Bladerunner).
Finally, the feature of Stapledon's novel that is most striking is his prescience in anticipating many things that have either come to pass, or which closely resemble what he thought the near future might look like. Granted, he missed his target in several respects - the effectiveness of the League of Nations, for example; the speed with which space technology would develop; the impact of coal burning on the environment; or the development of first atomic and then nuclear weapons - but many of his social and political anticipations are astonishingly accurate. How many of these were reasonably predictable in 1931 I have no idea, but the list is impressive nonetheless:
- The emergence of globalisation - the pre-eminence of industrial-economic imperatives in world affairs - in the late 20th century;
- The emergence of India and China as world economic powers
- The collapse of state totalitarian societies through their inevitable interface with, and dependence upon, market/consumer capitalism;
- The preservation in China of the facade of one party rule with a highly individualised society the underlying reality;
- The global dominance of American cultural, social, and economic values;
- The emergence of Christian fundamentalism in the US and its alliance with radical free-market capitalism;
- The philosophical sympathy between theoretical physics and theology;
- The development of chemical and biological weapons of mass destruction;
- The increasing specialisation and complexity of the various branches of science;
- The pre-occupation of industrialised society with economic growth and mass consumption to the point where resources are exhausted;
- The rapid exhaustion of reserves of fossil fuels and their replacement with renewable alternative energy sources;
- The illusion of material prosperity as an index of human well-being;
- The emergence of the cult of celebrity;
- The emergence of "extreme sports" as a distraction from existential ennui or in the increasingly desperate search for originality;
- The growing importance of "major events" as means of mass entertainment;
- The emergence of anti-intellectualism and the imperative on "practical" or "vocational" education;
- The emergence of existential nihilism as a consequence of excessive materialism.
All this can seem rather depressing, a litany of human failure in the midst of the splendour of being and the majesty of the cosmos. But Stapledon noted that humanity was in many ways a noble creature, striving to rise above its limitations, to become greater than the sum of its parts. Therein lay its great tragedy; but therein also lay its poignant beauty.
We, who have now learnt so thoroughly the the supreme art of ecstatic fatalism, go humbly to the past to learn over again that other supreme achievement of the spirit, loyalty to the forces of life embattled against the forces of death. Wandering among the heroic and often forlorn ventures of the past, we are fired once more with primitive zeal. Thus, when we return to our own world, we are able, even while we preserve in our hearts the peace that passeth understanding, to struggle as though we cared only for victory.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! (William Shakespeare)
Thursday, May 17, 2007
A Word About The Word
Last night, my Dearly Beloved and I had the very good fortune of attending a presentation by John Bell, a minister in the Church of Scotland and noted composer of hymns, who is also a member of the Iona Community.
The subject of the presentation was how we read the Bible, and how that reading affects the way we relate to and understand the Bible as the Word of God. He made the important point that the content of the Bible was originally composed by a predominantly oral-transmission society; that is, a society that was largely illiterate (from the standpoint of modern society) but which composed and transmitted stories across generations through a process of memorisation and embellishment and story-telling. The importance of this insight is that it points to the fact that the Bible is, for Christians, part of our lived history - but is too often approached from a literary (reading) perspective instead of from an oral / lived tradition perspective.
To further illustrate this point, Bell spoke about the traditions of sacred story-telling and poetry and hymn-making from the Celtic-speaking communities of the UK and Ireland, which were only written down and compiled in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Many of these poems and songs and stories are hundreds of years old; some, indeed, in one form or another, over a thousand years old. And yet they have been retained and transmitted across generations by the societies in which they were retained; partly as an aspect of those societies' cultural identity; but also as a vibrant and ongoing manifestation of the life of those communities.
But what needs to be particularly remembered is that these poems and songs and stories are part of these communities' understanding of, and engagement with, the text of the Bible - as this text was transmitted orally to those communities via the media of pictorial representation or dramatic presentation. By way of example, Bell read a poem from Ireland in which a woman talks about her desire to entertain Jesus and Mary and the apostles, and describes heaven as a lake of beer from which they might refresh themselves for all eternity. In a telling phrase, Bell described poems like this as "the argument between the common people and the text" - the word "argument" being used in its original sense as a conversation or dialogue. In other words, the text of the Bible wasn't simply a "dead weight" to be passively received; it was a living expression of faith which in turn prompted and inspired their own interpretation, their own understanding of and response to the Word of God.
However, one of the outcomes of the Reformation, and the invention of printing in the wake of the Renaissance, was that the Word of God ceased being a Word that was transmitted and served as a point of discussion and expression; instead, it became a matter of "black and white", a text which existed in an unchanging - or, perhaps more accurately, in a solid - form that could only be read, not listened to. And in this regard, Bell made some important points about the assumptions among Christians that this has lead to:
The subject of the presentation was how we read the Bible, and how that reading affects the way we relate to and understand the Bible as the Word of God. He made the important point that the content of the Bible was originally composed by a predominantly oral-transmission society; that is, a society that was largely illiterate (from the standpoint of modern society) but which composed and transmitted stories across generations through a process of memorisation and embellishment and story-telling. The importance of this insight is that it points to the fact that the Bible is, for Christians, part of our lived history - but is too often approached from a literary (reading) perspective instead of from an oral / lived tradition perspective.
To further illustrate this point, Bell spoke about the traditions of sacred story-telling and poetry and hymn-making from the Celtic-speaking communities of the UK and Ireland, which were only written down and compiled in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Many of these poems and songs and stories are hundreds of years old; some, indeed, in one form or another, over a thousand years old. And yet they have been retained and transmitted across generations by the societies in which they were retained; partly as an aspect of those societies' cultural identity; but also as a vibrant and ongoing manifestation of the life of those communities.
But what needs to be particularly remembered is that these poems and songs and stories are part of these communities' understanding of, and engagement with, the text of the Bible - as this text was transmitted orally to those communities via the media of pictorial representation or dramatic presentation. By way of example, Bell read a poem from Ireland in which a woman talks about her desire to entertain Jesus and Mary and the apostles, and describes heaven as a lake of beer from which they might refresh themselves for all eternity. In a telling phrase, Bell described poems like this as "the argument between the common people and the text" - the word "argument" being used in its original sense as a conversation or dialogue. In other words, the text of the Bible wasn't simply a "dead weight" to be passively received; it was a living expression of faith which in turn prompted and inspired their own interpretation, their own understanding of and response to the Word of God.
However, one of the outcomes of the Reformation, and the invention of printing in the wake of the Renaissance, was that the Word of God ceased being a Word that was transmitted and served as a point of discussion and expression; instead, it became a matter of "black and white", a text which existed in an unchanging - or, perhaps more accurately, in a solid - form that could only be read, not listened to. And in this regard, Bell made some important points about the assumptions among Christians that this has lead to:
- That understanding the Bible is an intellectual exercise. The point being that this assumption mistakenly believes that the intellect is the only vehicle through which the Word of God can be - or must be - understood. But as the poem from the Irish woman who depicted heaven in terms of hospitality and a lake of beer that lasted for eternity demonstrates, she was responding at a far more visceral and human level - a level that involved all her senses as well as her intellect. She was giving expression to her yearning to see Jesus and Mary and the apostles, and to incorporate the experience of knowing them into her life through the cultural and communal expressions of hospitality and the pleasure of food and drink. It is altogether beautiful and moving and deeply, intensely human.
- That we should be able to understand or "work out" the Word of God. Many Christians have a highly attuned sense of the transcendence of God, of the ineffability and mystery that is God viewed from the human perspective. And yet, when it comes to the Bible, especially if we approach it as a "text", we have this assumption that we should be able to work it out and understand it completely in all of its parts. In other words, while God is ineffable, a mystery, God's Word isn't! But of course this is absurd; partly because the humans who composed the Bible were themselves attempting to respond to, and make sense of, the mystery of God; and partly because, if "understanding" is the only point of the Bible, then it is in fact pointless. In other words, the point of the Bible is not "enlightenment" but response; it's not about "getting it", it's about how we find meaning, and how we incorporate that meaning into our lives so that God's Word becomes a lived experience.
- That people should take their Bibles to church and follow the reading instead of listening to it being spoken. Of course, Bell recognised that there were perfectly good reasons why someone might take a Bible to church and follow the reading; for example, those who were hard of hearing. But the point he was making was that, in assuming that we should "read along", we are in fact missing out on a crucial means by which the Word of God becomes a lived experience. Because the oral tradition was not simply about conveying a story; it was concerned with conveying meaning through speech, transmitting to the audience elements and ingredients of understanding and potential for response through the way the speaker delivers the text to the hearers. Cadence and inflection and all the modes and mannerisms of speech affect the outcome, affect how people will receive information and respond. But that is the very point of the oral tradition; and it is the very reason why we should listen to the Word of God, instead of merely "reading along".
In detailing these assumptions, Bell was making the point that although it is frequently pointed out to us that the Bible consists of many different literary forms, we are rarely - if ever - taught how to read those forms in a manner suited to them. More critically, we are not taught how to speak those forms or listen to those forms in a fashion that gives attention to their literary construction. Indeed, we tend to approach the Bible as though it were a homogeneous document written by the same person; as a result of which, we pass through the various literary forms in the Bible without changing our "perspective as reader". We read the poems as though they were prose; we read the historical chronicles as though they were fiction; we read the prophetic literature as though they were text books. The result is people who tend to read Scripture in one of two extremes: either in a dull monotone; or as though it were a production from an amateur dramatics society.
Bell's point is simple and important: different kinds of literature require different kinds of attention. They need to be approached in different ways and conveyed in different moods and voices. In order for the Word of God to be part of our lived experience, we must appreciate the textual diversity and richness of the Bible; we must listen to the different literary forms with a different ear; we must ditch our assumptions about the Bible and how we must approach it as God's Word; and we must view the text not as a "text" carved in stone, but as one half of an engagement - one half of an argument, a conversation, a dialogue in which both we and God are active participants, and in which we formulate and work through and live out our own response and understanding.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: The Bible is literature, not dogma. (George Santayana)
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