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Aristotle: De Poetica

I read this little item in anticipation of a stagecraft workshop I went to recently. I have worked with the speaker, Tom Lindblade, before and he is the best director I have ever met. He insists, as part of his directorial approach, that all theater, and in particular all acting, begins with Aristotle's Poetics. Naturally, I wanted to read more so that I would understand what he would speak about at this workshop. Imagine my surprise at learning that this supposedly seminal work is only thirty pages long. Furthermore, it spends the bulk of those scant pages iterating the difference between comedy and tragedy, between epic and dramatic poetry, and making other trivial distinctions. The one piece of useful information I gleaned was that the plot--or as Stanislavsky later clarified, the intention--is the first thing about any theatrical work. Second in importance is the character, followed by the thought or, in more modern terms, the meaning, the diction or language, and the song, which I take to mean the artistic embellishments. I believe this to be an entirely accurate and helpful hierarchy. As an actor, I tend to put the character first--ending up with what amounts to a caricature. An as an English major, I tend to consider the thought and the diction next in importance. It would probably be helpful not to ignore that which Aristotle thought most significant.

David Edmonds and John Eidinow: Wittgenstein's Poker

I suppose I should give this book a demerit for false advertising. I expected it to contain, as it claimed, an account of the notorious clash between philosophers Karl Popper and Ludwig Wittgenstein. Instead, all it has to say about the eponymous event is that nobody really knows what was said, although Popper seemed to think he emerged from the encounter victoriously.

Which is not to say that the book was without interest entirely, simply that it contained little philosophy. Instead, it detailed the very interesting personal histories of the two men, highlighting the many parallels. For instance, both were of Jewish descent and living in Vienna near the time of the Anschluss. The primary difference lay in the fact that the Wittgensteins were the Rockefellers of Austria-Hungary, and the Poppers were only respectably middle class. It is no wonder that Popper seemed to hold a personal vendetta against Wittgenstein when one considers that the former lost many family members during the holocaust and that the latter's family was able to preserve itself with its vast wealth.

And I suppose I did learn a bit about the two men's respective philosphies. Popper seemed preoccupied with so-called philosophical problems, such as that of induction, while Wittgenstein insisted that such problems did not exist and were simply tricks of language. I suppose neither side is particularly interesting to me, since I fail to see the practical relevance of such arguments. I am more of a Utilitarian, if you care about labels. I will say this for Ludwig, though. The point of philospohy may indeed be, as he put it, "To show the fly the way out of the bottle."

1 Esdras

What can one say about those books of the Bible which I call the list-books. Numbers, Leviticus, and likewise 1 Esdras, are so largely compsed of family lineages that any message they carry is almost completely obscured. I will say this: those glimpses of the man Ezra which the book grants are nice additions and serve as flavor to earlier books where he is only briefly outlined.

The Prayer of Manasseh

By the same token, this fleeting glimpse into one of my favorite characters in the Bible is savory indeed.

Psalm 151

One wonders if a Hebrew copyist simply limited the book of Psalms to 150 because he had OCD. Whether authentically written by David or not, this addition is touching and meaningful.

3 Maccabees

In the parable of the ungrateful slave, the character Christ spoke of a servant who was forgiven an enormous debt and subsequently raged against a fellow slave who owed him comparatively little. Although I'm sure the book of 3 Maccabees was not meant to paint the Israelites in such a light, such was the effect on this reader. Rescued by their God from imminent eradication (again), they pivot on one foot and execute all those of their number who "transgressed the divine commandments" (7:11). Not only is this the same kind of elitism from which they were rescued, but their reasoning is the same as their persecutors'. The Israelites were accused of being subversive due to "the ill-will [they] had toward all nations" (7:4). Their accusation against those of their own number was that "they would never be favorably disposed toward the king's government" (7:11). What ungrateful slaves. I would have smitten them if I was God.

2 Esdras

"And now I see that the world to come will bring delight to few, but torments to many" (7:47). This objection of Ezra to his prophetic visions is a persistent theme through 2 Esdras, and one never fully answered. The allegorical wild beats shown to Ezra, while of the same flavor as those shown to Daniel and John, are never explicated. God was kind enough to tell Daniel that the four-headed leopard meant Greece, the goat Medo-Persia, etc. But Ezra seems to awake from his visions confused. How frustrating it must have been to hear as the answer to his plea for understanding, "If, therefore, you will pray again and fast again for seven days, I will again declare to you things greater than these" (6:31). Always the angel Uriel replies with an instruction to fast for seven more days. At least on the fourth set of seven days, by which point Ezra must have been famished, the angel allowed him to eat wildflowers. But the answer is never given. Why must the vast majority of mankind be destroyed in the fiery wrath of a vengeful God? Are not all men equally guilty? "Quite so, Ezra," seems to be the reply. "But why?" he asks. "Quite so, Ezra."

BTD:54

Imre Kertesz: Fateless

I bought this book five years ago during a short-lived period of determination to read a work by every Nobel laureate. As usual, I didn't read it until I was meant to. Kertesz's work resonates with recent experiences of my own as it could not possibly have years ago.

To be specific, the numb terror of internment as Kertesz writes it is so accurate as to inspire pungent, nearly post-traumatic stressful memories on my part. The wound on Georg's leg, the morbid task of milking pus out of it daily to prevent infection, and especially the frustrating notion of hobbling on an unresponsive, doomed leg, are all within my own memory, and quite accurate. Which is not to praise the book in general, only to say that I related to it.

As to whether it was a worthwhile read, as opposed to merely another concentration camp memoir, I must say yes. The first thing that elevates it above that latter, compelling but meaningless, category is Kertesz's choice to write his own experience through a fictional person. Kertesz was himself imprisoned in Auschwitz as a boy, but he does not write about himself. Instead, he writes in the voice of Georg, a Hungarian boy of Jewish descent. This choice frees him to write a novel, not simpy of horror, but of philosophical merit. All around him, fellow prisoners are bewailing their fate, but Georg, who doesn't come from a religious family, has no frame of reference for this term. The brilliant recurring device of "The man with the bad luck," unimportant to the plot but crucial to the meaning, is the first hint of Kertesz's intention. He means, as one should have gleaned from the title, is to write a novel, not about concentration camps, but about the nature of fate. Perhaps the Jews are being punished for the sins of their race. Perhaps the horror of the concentration camps is unavoidable. Or is there some other answer?

Georg's youth grants him a unique capacity to answer this question. He often reminds the reader that he does not know what (such and such an experience) means. He is not concerned with meaning, per se. He simply reports his experiences as they occur, that is, until the final, brilliant chapter. "Do you want all this horror and all my previous steps to lose their meaning entirely?" he asks adults who insist upon his return to Budapest that all is fated. Why can't you see that if there is fate then there is no such thing as freedom . . . that is, we ourselves are fate?" The adults are, of course, horrified. How could people themselves be held responsible for their own persecution and extermination? "The point," Georg explains, "Is in the steps. Everyone stepped forward as long as he could . . . Now there is no other blood, and there is nothing but given situations and concomitant givens within them" (188,189). Here Kertesz finally reveals himself. Surely this is not fourteen year old Georg speaking at all. I mean really, concomitant? And what he says is ponderous. There is no fate. Only steps. The only thing to do, no matter how terrible the stench, how painful the pressure, is to put one stump in front of the other.

John Shelby Spong: Why Christianity Must Change or Die

I don't know why I should feel self-conscious when I fail to post here regularly. It's not like anybody reads this anymore. I will say this, though: the longer I wait after actually reading a book before writing anything about it, the less I have to say. When I orginally finished this particular book, I felt that I had volumes to say. But now it is all encapsulable in one saying from Spong's own Christian lexicon: new wine in old wineskins.

I don't fault Spong for phrasing the debate over the death of God in terms of his own staunch Christianity. He (understandably) feels compelled to reassert his own faith, perhaps anticipating criticism, perhaps vainly trying to convince himself. He admits that his persistent call to reform the Christian Church is a result of his own passage thorugh "the door of Christ," and his attachment to that path. But he also allows, "I will never again assert that my Christ is the only way to God" (239).

This is precisely the opening I need. You see, unlike Spong, I have no attachment to the path of Christianity. I have been trying to fit my own spirituality into that mold for some time, but it no longer seems necessary. I have not walked through the "Christ doorway," as Spong puts it, and have no desire to. It makes no sense to me, and the form of Christianity Spong proposes in this book may as well bear a different name entirely. He forces the truth about being into an old mold that will no longer bear it.

I will offer this commendation: Spong manages to capture a key to a central dilemma of worship. People fret over the "Will of God," and other such nonsense, when God is not a being. He is being itself. The God one must worship (although occasionally it helps, for sake of reference, to act as if God is a person) is the "source of life, the source of love, and the ground of all being." This is Spong's repeated framework for the divine, and it serves nicely, along with the accompanying exhortation to "Live fully, love wastefully, and enter into the fullness of being." that is a message into which I can jump with confidence.