His dark intentions?

I recently finished reading Philip Pullman’s recasting of Milton’s Paradise Lost, the His Dark Materials trilogy. The first book (The Golden Compass aka Northern Lights) will soon be released as a movie this Christmas.

There appears to have been much debate about Pullman’s intentions in writing the trilogy, and the effect these may or not have on children who read it. From my reading, I wonder if this is simply falling into a trap to think along these lines. Although to my mind, the books seem quite dark (the concept of intercision, of separating a child from what is, essentially, their soul, is frankly nightmarish), and I wouldn’t rate them as the same ‘age range’ as Narnia, although it would seem Pullman hopes that they are, I don’t see why we need to submit our reading to Pullman’s intentions. Since when do you ask an author if the way in which you understand a book is ok with them?

Again, from my reading, I cannot see that the debates about atheism surrounding the book are necessarily the most obvious ones. For some interesting thoughts, try Kim Fabricious stopping by on Ben Myer’s blog (himself a Milton scholar).

Filed under: atheism, literature, observations , atheism, His Dark Materials, movies, Philip Pullman, storm in a teacup, The Golden Compass

Atheism for beginners

I’ve been reading the book of Isaiah.

The what? That is, the book of the prophet Isaiah that is found in the Jewish and Christian scriptures.

It’s a fascinating thing. And if you thought reading James Joyce or Derrida or Heidegger or Hegel or Levinas was hard, this is up there too. It’s complex and clever, it’s subtle, it changes pitch on you without telling you, leaving you to figure out retrospectively what’s happening.

As I’ve been reading it, I’ve been thinking about atheism. Get this: Isaiah is an atheist. How’s that go down for a prophet? His book is constantly on about how the gods of the nations of the world are just blocks of wood and carved metal. How can something a man has made control history, create the world, etc. Of course, it’s absurd.

Which makes you think, why then is Isaiah claiming to be relaying the word of God (the God who says he is the only God, that is, an atheist God)? Would Isaiah not be inconceivably stoopid to be making up a dialogue where God talks about how the gods are not gods at all, and that only he is the one true God?

It gets better. Isaiah’s book – or rather, the God in Isaiah’s book – predicts events that happen over 100 years after Isaiah dies. With startling accuracy. He even names names. In fact, Isaiah’s atheist God even cites this as a proof test for the fact that he is the only God, and that all the blocks of woods are, well, blocks of wood. Aaah, you say, but it probably wasn’t Isaiah writing it. It was probably someone else, a couple of hundred years later. OK, but would then this second person also be inconceivably stoopid for proposing a test of predicting the future and making it come about, all the while knowing that they were actually simply retrofitting their narrative? Would they not be laughed out of the house?

So what is one supposed to do with this book? Do you suppose that the whole thing – one of the greatest acts and foundational moments of literature in the Judeo-Christian history – was drummed up by a bunch of idiots, or do you have to accept the suggestion that something weird is going on here? Are there any other alternatives?

Filed under: Christian, Isaiah, atheism, literature

Thirst of the people

I went to see Michel Onfray at the Sydney Writers’ Festival on Sunday. An interesting time. One of Onfray’s books – The Atheist Manifesto – has recently been translated into and published in English. The queue for the ‘conversation’ between Onfray and Stephen Crittenden stretched a long way, and the venue was changed to accommodate the large numbers.

It was a very interesting event, with Onfray speaking on a wide range of topics; from atheism and the concept of atheology, concepts of the Enlightenment, Nicholas Sarkozy, through to a new vision of the (French) Republic and a new Europe. Unfortunately though, Onfray (who spoke through a translator) was not really pushed to explain his ideas more fully. It did seem evident, however, that his concern about ‘religion’, and in particular the monotheisms of Judaism, Islam and Christianity, (although he said pretty much nothing on Judaism), was largely with the perceived political outcomes of these. This noticeably pushes ones toward negative images – after all, a man helping his neighbour is not news, is it?

Moreover, the discussion did not evidence that Onfray had engaged much with what these monotheisms might actually hold to be true. In trying to build his concept of atheology, it seemed that much of what he was proposing, ‘a discipline which would deconstruct understandings of God, of Jesus’, was very similar to much contemporary theology in any case.

When the crowd was asked if they would like to pose questions, several people shouted for Onfray to continue without questions. One person shouted ‘More atheism, less politics’. It seemed to me that Onfray’s book, and others like it, sate a need that people feel at the moment, hence their popularity. There was a desire to keep listening to him, but not to enquire further into his ideas. Almost as if Onfray were a priest, absolving the fears of the masses.

Filed under: Michel Onfray, Philosophy, atheism