Holiday Reading

Here are some mini-reviews of what I have been reading over my holidays.

The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens
At the end of semester I was reading masses of Dickens for an essay on his views on childhood, and I enjoyed him enough that I couldn’t put him aside altogether when the holidays came around. The Old Curiosity Shop is the tragic tale of Nell Trent, an orphan who lives in poverty with her foolish but loving grandfather. She is the victim both of a negligent guardian, an apathetic society and the sinister Quilp.

Nell, ultimately, is unconvincing as a character; she is simply too innocent and pure to have emerged from the corrupt world of the London slums. The novel is too long and the last third is predictable and fairly superfluous to the whole. That said, Dickens is always a pleasure, and the novel offers some wonderful characters.

The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane
I really enjoy Crane’s poetry, so I had wanted to read his prose for some time. And he didn’t disappoint. The Red Badge of Courage follows the experiences of a youthful recruit to the American Civil War. In his first battle the boy takes flight and wanders aimlessly coming to terms with his own cowardice and the ugliness of war. When he returns to his regiment he lies about having bravely fought at the other end of the battle. The title refers to the war wounds that attest to the heroics of a man, and the young recruits lack of wounds reminds him of his failure. Over the course of the novel we see him both grow into manhood and fall beneath humanity in the horrors and glory of war.

This is a fantastic discussion of youth and war and probably the most worthwhile read of my holidays.

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway
I had never read Hemingway and I came to the novella with pretty high expectations (it did win both a Pulitzer and Nobel Prize). It wasn’t what I expected.

It is very simple, reading like a child’s story. It only has two real characters, Santiago, an old Cuban fisherman, both honourable and skilful, but facing the realities of age, and Manolin, Santiago’s devoted protégé. Perhaps the third character would be the great marlin, with whom Santiago is determined to battle to the death. The old man has the highest respect for both the marlin and the sea, but these also serve as his fierce opponents throughout.
The story is essentially about Santiago – his relationship with the environment, his endurance, his triumph and his loss. The novella is endearing, but in the end I think I was hoping for a little bit more. Still, I would recommend it.

The Power and the Glory by Graham Green
Graham Greene is one of my favorite authors; his novels are beautifully written and always leave me thinking for weeks after I read them. Although I enjoyed it less then some of his other novels, The Power and the Glory was no exception in this regard. It is the story of a ‘whisky priest’ in Mexico at a time when Catholicism was outlawed. The priest travels around performing the Catholic rites and evading the government officials, who have placed a bounty on his head. Because of the bounty, he must also mistrust all others he comes into contact with.

I found that it took a long time for the novel to gain momentum as it jumps around a lot. The characters are, for the most part, very unpleasant. The ‘whisky priest’ is an alcoholic, who gambles, fornicates, lies, takes from the poor and lets the innocent die in his place. And he is fully aware of his own depravity, and someone he must reconcile this with his position of respect, which he refuses to surrender. The other main character is the lieutenant who pursues the ‘whisky priest’ and aims to eliminate Catholicism, which he perceives as a source of the poverty and ignorance of the populace. The lieutenant is devoted to his people, yet is willing to sacrifice individuals if it leads to the capture of the priest. His idealism, though admirable on one level, is dangerous in much the same way that the priest’s religion is considered to be dangerous – it acts as a justification for horrendous acts.

Power and the Glory is one of those novels where the author wants to feel to monotony of the characters’ lives. Often when this occurs you also start feeling that the book itself is monotonous. It was a worthwhile, if not a particularly gripping read.

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Short but dramatic. I read it in one sitting on the train, and then sat back for an hour trying to absorb the shock.
Lennie and George are drifters. They go from ranch to ranch trying to work up a stake, but are repeatedly forced to move on when the lumbering, dim-witted Lennie falls into trouble. Yet, George remains with Lennie as an alternative to the abject loneliness of those around them.

Life for those in the novel is an essentially lonely and disappointing experience. Many hold hopes of a better life – a life of fame, or of independence, or of respect. But, reality inevitably crushes these hopes and the individual is forced to settle for the cards fate has dealt them.

Steinbeck’s writing is simple, raw, and real. Almost every character is initially despised for their obvious flaws, but as the readers learns of their experiences they understand that all are simply victims of a harsh and corrupting world. I loved it.

The Rise of Christianity by Rodney Stark
After a series of novels, I felt I really needed some good non-fiction holiday reading. I generally read fairly little non-fiction just because I get so much in my course and prefer to relax with fiction. But I can only go so long before I need both.

The Rise of Christianity: How the Obscure, Marginal Jesus Movement Became the Dominant Religious Force in the Western World in a Few Centuries is impressive in the clarity and with which it answers a complex question of history. Stark is a professor of sociology and comparative religion at the University of Washington and he masterfully applies contemporary historical research and modern sociological and psychological principles to and age-old mystery. He shows how religious development in the first century essentially operated in much the same ways as it does in the twenty-first, and how the culture of the time suited the growth of a religion like Christianity.
It worth reading just for what it shows about life in the Roman Empire, whilst also enabling one to critically look at religious movements as a universal phenomenon. Highly recommended.

The Victory of Reason by Rodney Stark
Having enjoyed The Rise of Christianity so much, I was eager to hear Stark’s perspective on another of fascinating period of history – the Dark Ages. Starks sets out to prove that “Christianity Led to Freedom, Capitalism, and Western Success”, and he ruthless against suggestions that the religion did anything but. His writing is far more assertive, far less humble and, for me, less enjoyable.

Whereas The Rise of Christianity was structured around answering a few specific questions, The Victory of Reason sweeps through the centuries between the fall of Rome and the French Revolution showing how each and every development in industry, economics, technology and philosophy came from Christianity or the Catholic Church. He makes some huge claims without the evidence that he painstakingly put together in The Rise of Christianity. Yet, I do not question the validity of much of what he said, and it great learning experience for some so ill-versed in Medieval history as myself. A very worthwhile read, and inspiring enough that I may seek out another of Stark’s works in the future.

The novel ends with a quote from “one of China’s leading scholars”:

One of the things we [the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences] were asked to look into was what accounted for the success, in fact, the pre-eminence of the West all over the world. We studied everything we could from the historical, political, economic, and cultural perspective. At first, we thought it was because you had more powerful guns than we had. Then we thought it was because you had the best political system. Next we focused on your economic system. But in the past twenty years, we have realized that the heart of your culture is your religion: Christianity. That is why the West has been so powerful. The Christian moral foundation of social and cultural life was what made possible the emergence of capitalism and then the successful transition to democratic politics. We don’t have any doubt about this.

Gender and Twilight

I have had a number of conversations in recent months with girls who tell me they would not read the Stephanie Meyer Twilight series.[1] Not because it is trashy writing, but because they find the novels emotionally manipulating, likening them to pornography for girls.

The similarities with pornography are evident. Porn's attraction is that it baits a deeply embedded sexual impulse. It creates a fantasy world where these desires can be satisfied, free from the complications of a relationship. Time spent in this fantasy also affects the view of reality. So, acceptance of a fantasy world where women exist as nothing more than sexual objects, creates a real expectation that women will conform to this identity. Within a marriage, it also forces a women to compete with an impossible ideal, which can have a whole series of consequences.[2] The claim about Twilight is that it creates a fantasy world where a woman can assume the role of Bella and feel protected and loved by the adorable Edward Cullen. The more one feeds on this fantasy the more one's actual expectations of relationships change. Thus, readers of the novels will be expecting the impossible, the perfect man.

Yet, I don't really see the two as equivalent. Partly because Twilight presents what seems like a fairly positive ideal - a man who will sacrificially and unconditionally love - whilst pornography presents a very low ideal. Whilst the object of pornography may be physically perfect, they do not selflessly deny their desires, like Edward Cullen, but they have no desires of their own, apart from that of satisfying the consumer.

Also, I don't think the emotional desires of women which are evoked in the novels correspond to the sexual desires of men. Men have emotional desires which correspond far more closely.[3]

From my experience, I would say a novel like Tess of the d'Urbervilles might be the male equivalent to Twilight. Tess, by Thomas Hardy, is about a poor, naive girl who selflessly labours for the good of her family. Her naivety and good intentions are repeatedly abused by the men in her life, most notably in her rape [4] and her abandonment by her husband, Angel, on their wedding day. I once recommended the novel to a friend thinking that, because it had a female heroine, it would have a strong appeal to a female audience. It was only later that it really occurred to me that, although Tess is the protagonist, she is not a heroine. She is almost passive in her submission to the influences of Alec and Angel and her actions consistently lead her into, rather than away from, danger.

The novel very strongly brings out the protective instincts in a guy. Tess, beautiful and selfless, so clearly deserves a man who will protect her and appreciate her obvious virtue. The male reader observes how time and time again she is led into tragic circumstances, knowing that in each case that the male in her life - be it her irresponsible father, the cunning Alec or the unforgiving Angel - should have protected her. The man wishes he was in the story so that he could spare Tess from her suffering. So also the female reader of Twilight who wishes they were in the story so that Edward Cullen could love and protect them.

Bella is far from an ideal women - she is plain, uncoordinated and lacking in confidence. It is because of this that the novel is so emotive; the female reader is able to feel that they are more worthy of Edward Cullen than Bella. In Tess, Alec and Angel are so selfish they prove themselves unworthy of Tess. The bar is low enough that almost any reader is justified in feeling they are better equipped to protect and love Tess.

In both of these novels, there is a clear distinction in the gender roles of male and female: the man is the protector and the woman is the object of his protection. But the obvious difference is that Tess was written pre-feminism. It greatly surprises me that Twilight has been such a raging success in Western culture. Our society as a whole seems to be informing girls that gender distinction is not important, yet, when a novel emerges that seems to present the opposite message, it is a phenomenal success. American psychologist, Leonard Sax, has given this explanation:

Bella has broad appeal; as many girls can appreciate, she likes watching reruns of "The Simpsons" while she nibbles on Pop-Tarts. But the twist is that Bella's ideas about gender roles are decidedly unfeminist. The pairing of a modern setting and traditional gender roles is unusual in children's and teen literature…

Three decades of adults pretending that gender doesn't matter haven't created a generation of feminists who don't need men; they have instead created a horde of girls who adore the traditional male and female roles and relationships in the "Twilight" saga. Likewise, ignoring gender differences hasn't created a generation of boys who muse about their feelings while they work on their scrapbooks. Instead, a growing number of boys in this country spend much of their free time absorbed in the masculine mayhem of video games such as Grand Theft Auto and Halo or surfing the Internet for pornography. [5]

With the continuing popularity of Austen and the like, it is clear that there is a deep attraction towards traditional gender roles. But, at least in Austen the heroines are courageous and admirable, unlike Bella. Bella must be weak in order to highlight the strength of Edward, in much the same way that Tess's virtue is highlighted by the selfishness of the men around her.


[1] I have not actually read any of the novels, or seen the movie so it is quite possible that my observations of it are entirely false. If so, please leave a comment that says so. Thanks to my teenage sister, both the books and the movie are sitting around my house and I considered having a look at them before writing this post, but then I decided that I have far better things to do with my time.
[2] This presentation presents a fairly confronting description of the effects of pornography in relationships and society.
[3] However, I would concede that the emotional desires appear to be more powerful in women.
[4] The actual scene of the rape is not recounted, and it is never clear the extent to which Tess consented. But this is irrelevant since it is clearly Alec taking advantage of her sexually. As in case of the Matthew John's fiasco, it is clear that consent does not exclude rape.
[5] Leonard Sax, “'Twilight' Sinks Its Teeth Into Feminism”, The Washington Post, August 17, 2008

Total Depravity

I have recently been reading about the Stanford Prison Experiment - an 1971 psychology study of prison life by Philip Zimbardo. In the experiment twenty-four young men, chosen to be the most healthy and ‘normal’ available, were given roles as either prisoners or prison guards.

‘Prisoners’ were ‘arrested’, dressed in smocks, chained at the ankles and locked up in cells. ‘Guards’ were given khaki uniforms and wooden batons and told: “You can create in the prisoners feelings of boredom, a sense of fear to some degree, you can create a notion of arbitrariness that their life is totally controlled”.

Originally intended to last two weeks, the experiment was terminated after six days on the grounds that it was unethical. Over the six days the guards had “steadily increased their coercive aggression tactics, humiliation and dehumanisation of the prisoners," Zimbardo recalls. Prisoners were stripped naked and place in solitary confinement, forced to clean toilet bowls with bare hands, simulate sodomy, or urged to turn on their fellow inmates, with the worst instances of abuse occurring during the night when the guards thought the staff were not watching.

Most of the guards were upset when the experiment concluded early.

How, I wonder, could ordinary college students descend so quickly to this level of sadistic cruelty? And if they were just normal, young men does that mean I would have done the same in such a position? Of course I want to say I wouldn’t have, and never could; I want to say I am different in some essential way, but in the end I don’t think I am. I remember shamefully times in the schoolyard joining in the taunts of my classmates, deriding and humiliating an easy target.

I remember asking similar questions in Year 9 English when I first read Lord of the Flies - the William Golding novel about a group of British boys who, stranded on a inland, turn rapidly into savages. I don’t think I took as much away form the book as I should have. It was fiction, so I could distance myself from the implications. And there was Piggy, the boy who never forgot about that understandable and lawful world, even as it slipped away - perhaps he could be my moral equivalent. I guess I was clutching straws; anything that might suggest I wouldn’t be given over to the same desire to squeeze and hurt that the even Ralph found over-mastering.

Golding said of his novel: “The theme is an attempt to trace the defects of society back to the defects of human nature. Before the war, most Europeans believed that man could be perfected by perfecting his society. We all saw a hell of a lot in the war that can't be accounted for except on the basis of original evil.” I think we have fallen again into the trap of the pre-war Europeans - we believe we can protect ourselves from the beast within.

After the horrendous images emerged from Abu Ghraib prison we were prepared to point the finger towards the soldiers, and the army who failed to monitor the situation, and the war which put them there. But perhaps the only reason this happened was to avoid facing the obvious truth that any of us could have done this; the realization that all our feeling of moral respectability are as fragile as a house of cards, set to blow over with the next gust of wind.

What Is Man?

The book I am reading at the moment features a intriguing (fictional) conversation between a Nazi officer and an American Jew sympathiser named Chris towards the end of WWII. Reflecting on the Holocaust the Nazi officer would ask himself, I quote:

‘How could we do this? The fine, cultured German people, after which I rattle off the names of musicians, poets, doctors, and list all our gifts to mankind. How could we do this? It will take the great philosophical and psychiatric brains a hundred years to find a standard of morals to explain this behaviour’
‘I’ll simplify it,’ Chris said. ‘You’re a pack of beasts.’
‘Oh no, Chris, we are not even to be classed with the beasts. Man is the only animal on the planet which destroys its own species. But how in the devil did I get involved in this? I’m no more guilty than you are. Less, perhaps. I’m trapped. But you, dear Chris, are all the moralists in the world who have condoned genocide by the conspiracy of silence.’
- Leon Uris, Mila 18

I agree that man’s desire to do evil to his own differentiates him from the beasts. But does not our value of altruism also do so? So which is more characteristically ‘human’, a tendency towards good or evil?*

Well, quite clearly, most people value good more than evil. Most people believe it is valuable to pursue good. We expect this of each other (but certainly not of animals). But at the same time I feel as though the practise of evil is more frequent than the application of good intentions. But maybe I only feel this way because I am reflecting on the Holocaust, which hardly enhances faith in the virtue of man.

I suppose Platonic and much religious thought would suppose that evil is more characteristic of humanity in their earthliness and deficiency. Really, I don’t know whether good or evil better describes us, but perhaps the capability of the choice between the two does. Animals are not accountable for their destructive acts, but nor are they worthy personal merit, for they act without consideration of the morality of acts.

Acknowledging this, to deny the ability to choose is to reject one’s humanity. Thus, the Nazi officer in Mila 18 does position himself with the beasts when he claims to be ‘trapped’. He denies that he has the choice between good and evil, denying what is in essence ‘human’. I think morally, therefore I am human.

Mark Twain argued that, "Man [is a] machine - man the impersonal engine. Whatever a man is, is due to his make, and to the influences brought to bear upon it by his heredities, his habitat, his associations. He is moved, directed, COMMANDED, by exterior influences - solely. He originates nothing, not even a thought." (What is Man?)
I don't deny that, to some extent, a person is conditioned by their surrounds, however, this is not the sole determinate of actions. To argue such is to deny what it is to be human, and inevitably leads to fatalism - 'I can do nothing other than that which my upbringing has already determined I will do, thus none of my actions are my choice or of moral significance'. You may also have noticed that by Twain's own logic, his view is merely the product of his make and influences, and not based on the actual rationality or truth of such a view.

Richard Dawkins naturalist arguments are in a similar vein:
“We, and all other animals, are machines created by our genes...our genes have survived, in some cases for millions of years, in a highly competitive world. This entitles us to expect certain qualities in our genes. I shall argue that a predominant quality to be expected in a successful gene is ruthless selfishness. This gene selfishness will usually give rise to selfishness in individual behaviour. However, as we shall see, there are special circumstances in which a gene can achieve its own selfish goals best by fostering a limited form of altruism {enlightened self-interest) at the level of individual animals. 'Special' and 'limited' are important words in the last sentence. Much as we might wish to believe otherwise, universal love and the welfare of the species as a whole are concepts that simply do not make evolutionary sense." (The Selfish Gene)
So, in Dawkins' view, man is in essence selfish. But there is nothing distinctive to man, except its concentration of certain biological characteristics also apparent in any animal. We are all a 'pack of beasts' - and this accounts for and justified any possible action. But, of course, such claims make no 'evolutionary sense' as they purely determined by Dawkins' own genetic formation. Transforming man into a pile of genes denies what is essentially human, and its attraction is not based on reason, but on avoidance of the implications of morality. Admit morality, and you admit culpability.


* By my definition, ‘good’ is love of God and love of others. Evil is the lack of love for God and others, manifested in selfishness and destructive actions.

My hope is built

Can we doubt that presently our race will more than realize our boldest imaginations, that it will achieve unity and peace, and that our children will live in a world made more splendid and lovely than any place or garden that we know, going on from strength to strength in an ever-widening circle of achievement? What man has done, the little triumphs of his present state…form but the prelude to the things that man has yet to do.
- H. G. Wells, A Short History of the World (1937)

The cold-blooded massacres of the defenceless, the return of deliberate and organised torture, mental torment, and fear to a world from which such things seemed well nigh banished – has come near to breaking my spirit altogether… “Homo sapiens,” as he has been pleased to call himself, is played out.
- H. G. Wells, A Mind at the End of Its Torture (1946)*

So, I was reading these extracts and it got me thinking about what is man, and what course is he on.† We seem to have some vast potential, but will it ever be fulfilled? I cast my mind back to a particularly profound play:

I think everything on earth is bound to change bit by bit, in fact already is changing before our very eyes. Two or three hundred years, or a thousand years if you like I it doesn’t really matter how long – will bring in a new and happy life. We’ll have no part in it, of course, but it is what we are now living for, working for, yes and suffering for. We’re creating it, and that’s what gives our life its meaning, and its happiness too if you want to put it that way.
- Vershinin (Anton Chekhov, Three Sisters)

It’s quite an attractive theory to see us – homo sapiens, that is – as progressing along some path, predestined for glory. What hope! Such a theory places us as agents of remarkable power and prestige. And it answers all life burning questions – why are we here? why must we endure suffering? is our work, our achievements, our life of any value?

But take heed of Chekhov – the same scene offers another, more sobering view:

When we’re dead, people will fly around in balloons, there will be a new style in men’s jackets and a sixth sense may be discovered and developed, but life itself won’t change, it will still be difficult and full of mystery and happiness as it is now. Even in a thousand years men will still be moaning away about life being a burden. What’s more, they’ll still be as scared of death as they are now. And as keen on avoiding it.
- Tuzenbakh (Anton Chekhov, Three Sisters)

Looking back at all the promising developments of the past – drugs that would free us from disease, machines that would allow us to live lives of leisure, laws that would secure our security and happiness – what has really been achieved? We are richer than ever before, but apparently no happier. We fly, not in balloons but in rockets to outer space, yet no more understand life on our own planet. We know the intricate functions of organism in our ecosystem, are completely at odds with how to manage the environment. Our suicide rate swells with those running from life. But most of us are running from death. I see no development in human nature.

We are apt to exaggerate the abilities of man – but maintaining such faith is a great challenge. Men fail. Macbeth, Lord of the Flies, Animal Farm, Jekyll and Hyde - they all teach us that man is fooling himself with visions of progress and grandeur. Given the opportunity man will forsake any semblance of civilisation in order to fulfil his own insatiable desire for power. We are locked in a cycle from which we cannot save ourselves. Place too much faith in man, Wells' experience suggests, and you will end up with a hopeless, broken spirit.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make your paths straight.
- Proverbs 3:5-6


*okay, so I haven’t actually read any of HG Wells’ acclaimed works; these interesting passages were extracted from Tim Keller’s The Reason for God. highly recommend the book.
† apologies to any women out there who feel excluded by the generic use of ‘mankind’ – i didn’t invent the word, i just use it