Recently I had a long phone conversation with a friend who is working on a doctorate in philosophy. I expected a few questions about book recommendations and how to worship with the present pandemic, but the conversation was mostly spent on the object of his study, namely, the actions of the simple substances (angels) upon man. Without going into the points around which our conversation turned, the chief effect was that I wanted to fill in those gaps in my reading concerning the angels, what they are and what we can know about them, both from reasoning and from faith.
The first book I picked up to this end contained the Enneads of Plotinus, a philosopher who certainly speculated on the multitude of incorporeal beings. But realizing how “out of shape” I was philosophically, I retreated to more familiar ground. I found my copy of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, and started reviewing sections I did not remember well, namely, Book IX on actuality and potency and Book X on unity. Unlike a novel, where one can read continuously and reasonably hope that what is obscure will become clear later on, when something is obscure in Aristotle, I have to slow down. The questions I ask myself the most often when reading Aristotle are “Is this true?” and “How do I know that?” This is especially true when he talks about motion, about which he makes many universal statements. Aristotle did not grow up hearing about the big bang, the expanding universe, inertia and universal gravitation, atomic models, waves and particles, the death of stars, and so on; therefore, a contemporary person is reasonably skeptical when such a person makes a universal statement about motion itself. And yet, I have the same “macro” experience that Aristotle did. I should at least be able to understand why he thinks certain truths are self-evident or demonstrable. Continue reading
[I previously said I wanted to write on the Human Instrumentality Project from theological point of view, but as I continued thinking, I was taken in more by another aspect of the series.]
First of all, if you have not seen Neon Genesis Evangelion and you do not want any revelations about the final episodes, do not keep reading. From this point on, I will make no effort to conceal plot details.
Well, even with all the extra time, I somehow managed not to pick up a book since my last post. Between making family visits (before Michigan’s stay-at-home order went into effect) and unexpectedly changing my place of residence in the last couple days, I haven’t been sitting down all that much. Nevertheless, I still found a few things to ride about.
More Zweig. Driving around these last few days, I’ve listened to another three hours or so of Zweig. I must say, I feel like the classiest driver on the road while listening to the gentleman who narrates this book (apparently his name is David Horovitch). He goes on about the theater and the cafes where Zweig and his childhood companions learned about the greatest poets of their time before they reached fame, how they memorized entire collections of poetry by Whitman and Rimbaud, and submitted their own compositions for publication under pseudonyms since it was not possible for a young student to publish in his own name. Even when Zweig describes things as sordid as brothels or as insipid as the 19th century school system, he does so in a way that reveals the heart’s motion as it is affected or infected by these things. The worst part about this memoir are all the works of literature he mentions that are making my to-read list longer! I had never even heard of Hofmannsthal, but Zweig describes him as a genius who inspired an entire generation of literary endeavor, comparing him to Napoleon who showed that even a young person can rule the entire world without the favor of heritage. The most recent section in the book is talking about the Dreyfus Affair and the eventual introduction of Zionism by Theodor Herzl. When Zweig talks about the Jews in Austria, it is not just a discussion of his own ethnic background. He shows how the bourgeois Austrian Jews were important patrons of the arts and how their role in Austria at that time is an exemplar of the tolerance and lack of prejudice that existed at that time. With this explained, the fate of the Austrian Jews is an importance sign of the fate of Austria itself. This continues to be a very enjoyable read.
Neon Genesis Evangelion. Am I allowed to talk about things other than books on here? Of course I can: it’s my blog. Taking advantage of the fact that I can watch TV shows on my phone while getting my steps in, I recently watched the 26-episode Neon Genesis Evangelion and its follow-up movie End of Evangelion. I had probably seen an episode or two of this as a child (I remembered the penguin), but as the show became more grotesque, it made sense that my parents did not let me keep watching the show. What first looks like a beautifully animated robots-vs-monsters series with angsty teenagers, soon becomes much more than that. It’s hard to really talk about the themes of the series without talking about the end and where it goes, so I’ll save that for another post. Apart from the stunning animation, what makes the series intriguing is how it brings together things that don’t obviously go together: crippling depression and goofy breakfast scenes, technology and occult Jewish symbols, evolution and the nature of the soul. Even without going into the deeper questions of the series (which you end up having to consider), everything is so interesting that you just wonder: What are the Angels? What are the Evas? Why are children piloting these? What is the Human Instrumentality Project? What happened at the Second Impact? And so on and so forth. In the near future, I want to write from a theological perspective about the Human Instrumentality Project and the most difficult episodes of the series, but I’ll leave off here for anyone who doesn’t want the later episodes spoiled.
Now to go pick up a book!