Redemption comes in many forms. For some, the ultimate form of redemption is the journey from existential meaninglessness to assured faith in some Deity or other. For others it is the journey from alcoholism to sobriety. For Liam Gallagher it has been the journey from primitive vulture to a genuine appreciation for culture and the creative arts.
Nowhere is this more exemplified than in his personal fashion style. Cast your minds back, friends, to the glory days of 1996. Oasis were then at the top of their game musically. The world screamed along to Wonderwall and Roll With It as we embraced the life of carefree abandon that Oasis were espousing so convincingly. Liam Gallagher, the front-man par excellence, offered blokes a personality to resonate with. Here was someone that was essentially a working boy made good. That he had risen to the top and retained his working class roots was a source of inspiration to many a brick layer and labourer. His fashion style throughout this period reflected this well; flannel, soccer jerseys, trainers and oversized t-shirts.
As the years have progressed, however, Liam Gallagher has shown himself to resist categorization (like all true artists do) and has refused to rest on his past image. Whilst he has undoubtedly lost some appeal amongst the working class yobbos (sorry, I mean heroes) he has indeed crafted another style, another fan base and indeed another life. The Liam Gallagher of 2010 is the Liam Gallagher of high fashion and cultured refinement. The flannelette and Soccer jerseys have been replaced with a multitude of trendy scarves and mod jackets. This outward change has assuredly mirrored a deeper, more intellectual transformation. Old examples of Gallagherisms abound in crude humour; ‘I don’t want no fookin’ students listening to Oasis’, he once said, ‘they should go and listen to Radiohead.’ Nowadays Liam is far more eclectic and refined in his interests. Speaking of his new fashion label, Pretty Green, Liam writes, ‘I don’t really know where the shits made. It just looks good, and there is a massive shortage of shit hot Men’s clothing that I would wear.’ Such attention to the specifics of his personal style is an attitude completely at odds with the L.G of yesteryear. In this transformation we too are offered hope that we can also reclaim art and style from the bourgeois elite and enjoy some culture with our lager.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sax in the Spirit
Mental note: if you are going to play a free form chromatic improvisation please let the rest of the band know well in advance. This was the big lesson to be learned one fateful Sunday morning in 1997.
Each week my Mum struggled to gather musicians for the morning Church service. Such a task is difficult at the best of times but in the isolated rural town of Echuca it was nigh on impossible. Still, my Mum did her best and more often than not we got by with at least a piano and drums, although I was never really able to unleash percussive hell like my hero Keith Moon. Yet the piano-percussion combo did get old, and we craved new musical input. Most worship leaders I’ve met dream big, and my Mum was no exception. We envisaged a full band- brass, rhythm section, guitars and perhaps even strings for the more reflective moments. It was all possible if you just believed and kept a constant look out for potential talent.
It was this state of musical openness that led us to Dionne. If we were better resourced musically perhaps Dionne wouldn’t have slid through the cracks and onto the stage in the way she did. But given the circumstances it was perhaps inevitable that we decided to give Dionne a go. Her instrument of choice? The Saxophone.
Please don’t get me wrong, I love the music of Coltrane and Bird, but the fact remains that the Saxophone has a particular resonance that, in the hands of a monkey, rapidly becomes grating and oppressive. Much like the bagpipes or piano accordion. Yet Dionne represented the beginnings of our long-desired brass section (Mum and Dad were massive Phil Collins fans at this point), so we could hardly say no when She expressed a desire to be in the worship team. ‘Fantastic Dionne’, my Mum said. ‘Welcome aboard.’ No-one knew just how much we would soon regret this decision.
You see, practicing an instrument in the confines of your own home is one thing. It is something else entirely to practice with other musicians, which requires sensitivity, dynamic awareness and the highly developed skill of listening. I would argue that no matter how technically proficient you are playing solo, unless you have the ability to work in a band or ensemble you are no real musician at all.
That Dionne had had zero experience of playing with other musicians was obvious from the first (and as it turned out, only) rehearsal. As I recall, Dionne just stood on the spot and did not play a single note. Having said that, her eyes were closed in some sort of meditative trance, so maybe the spirit was calling her to melodic restraint. Who can say? In any case, we interpreted the silence as the eccentricities of an obviously brilliant performer and forgot about it. At the very least she helped filled up the otherwise sparse stage with another instrument. Dionne was rostered on for the following Sunday and we all retired, confident that we were one step closer to a full worship band.
Dionne’s debut Sunday morning arrived soon enough, and a few congregational heads turned in surprise as she unpacked the Saxophone case and assembled on stage. I knew this interest wouldn’t last long- a musician that doesn’t play a note can hardly expect throngs of adoring fans after the performance. Nevertheless, we did feel kind of good about the addition.
The first few songs of the service had Dionne lost in a flurry of spiritual intoxication that rendered her Saxophone useless. She was obviously too caught up in the moment to worry about playing, which was OK for an intro gig but would be hard to justify over time.
Things went wrong as we entered what was affectionately known as the ‘free worship’ time. For the blessedly uninitiated, free worship referred to that moment after a song when both the musicians and the congregation were at liberty to offer praise to God in their own unique way, free from melodic, rhythmic, harmonic and even thematic restraints. It was a concept inherited by the Pentecostal tradition that valued freedom of spiritual expression within the worship experience (at least in theory). It was basically a religious version of Ornette Coleman’s ‘free jazz’ experiments that became semi-popular in the 1970’s. Unlike Coleman, however, what resulted for us was a cacophony of clashing sounds that were indecipherable and incoherent.
In our Church, the free worship time did not usually take that long, as people tended to be afraid that they weren’t expressing their spiritual freedom in the correct way. The format was about 5 minutes of vague la la la’s and the odd bout of prophecy before it died down in a mesh of repetitive suspended 4ths. My Dad would then usually take the pulpit for the weekly sermon.
But on this Sunday morning we would all have cause to remember the free worship time. Just as the piano chords were beginning to die down, Dionne surprised us all by moving to the front of the stage, Saxophone poised and ready for action! At last we were about to hear what many of us assumed to be a closet virtuoso. Dionne was going to play!
What then came out of the Saxophone that day can only be described as musical vomit. Honestly, it sounded like a cosmic brass fart that kept repeating itself. There was absolutely no indication that Dionne had ever touched a Saxophone before that day. If this was the sound of the spirit of God, I was going to find another Deity. Of course, everyone noticed straight away, but they all shut their eyes and pretended one of two things a) that it wasn’t happening and was a weird sonic delusion or b) that their spirituality was not deep enough to appreciate what Dionne was playing. I fell into the former category.
5 minutes must have gone by before the spirit of the Lord called on Dionne to cease what everyone else thought was an infernal racket. The congregation had never been so happy to see my Dad stroll up to the pulpit. I remember stepping out from behind the drums and taking my seat in the front row. I had never felt so mortified in my life. What were we going to do next time she was rostered on? Maybe I could call in sick?
Well, as much as I would love to say that we told Dionne to sod off we actually kept her on for another couple of weeks. On each occasion the exact same thing happened, although she did offer some sonic variation in the form of a clarinet. We finally found our loophole when it transpired that Dionne was a complete fruit loop (it had just dawned on us, apparently) who was an incessant gossip and trouble maker within the congregation. It would be inappropriate to encourage such a person to contribute to the music team, we reasoned. We asked her to step down ‘for a time’. As I recall her final words had to do with us being complete and utter hypocrites and wankers. Well, I thought, at least my drumming doesn’t sound like a fart from the asshole of Satan!
Each week my Mum struggled to gather musicians for the morning Church service. Such a task is difficult at the best of times but in the isolated rural town of Echuca it was nigh on impossible. Still, my Mum did her best and more often than not we got by with at least a piano and drums, although I was never really able to unleash percussive hell like my hero Keith Moon. Yet the piano-percussion combo did get old, and we craved new musical input. Most worship leaders I’ve met dream big, and my Mum was no exception. We envisaged a full band- brass, rhythm section, guitars and perhaps even strings for the more reflective moments. It was all possible if you just believed and kept a constant look out for potential talent.
It was this state of musical openness that led us to Dionne. If we were better resourced musically perhaps Dionne wouldn’t have slid through the cracks and onto the stage in the way she did. But given the circumstances it was perhaps inevitable that we decided to give Dionne a go. Her instrument of choice? The Saxophone.
Please don’t get me wrong, I love the music of Coltrane and Bird, but the fact remains that the Saxophone has a particular resonance that, in the hands of a monkey, rapidly becomes grating and oppressive. Much like the bagpipes or piano accordion. Yet Dionne represented the beginnings of our long-desired brass section (Mum and Dad were massive Phil Collins fans at this point), so we could hardly say no when She expressed a desire to be in the worship team. ‘Fantastic Dionne’, my Mum said. ‘Welcome aboard.’ No-one knew just how much we would soon regret this decision.
You see, practicing an instrument in the confines of your own home is one thing. It is something else entirely to practice with other musicians, which requires sensitivity, dynamic awareness and the highly developed skill of listening. I would argue that no matter how technically proficient you are playing solo, unless you have the ability to work in a band or ensemble you are no real musician at all.
That Dionne had had zero experience of playing with other musicians was obvious from the first (and as it turned out, only) rehearsal. As I recall, Dionne just stood on the spot and did not play a single note. Having said that, her eyes were closed in some sort of meditative trance, so maybe the spirit was calling her to melodic restraint. Who can say? In any case, we interpreted the silence as the eccentricities of an obviously brilliant performer and forgot about it. At the very least she helped filled up the otherwise sparse stage with another instrument. Dionne was rostered on for the following Sunday and we all retired, confident that we were one step closer to a full worship band.
Dionne’s debut Sunday morning arrived soon enough, and a few congregational heads turned in surprise as she unpacked the Saxophone case and assembled on stage. I knew this interest wouldn’t last long- a musician that doesn’t play a note can hardly expect throngs of adoring fans after the performance. Nevertheless, we did feel kind of good about the addition.
The first few songs of the service had Dionne lost in a flurry of spiritual intoxication that rendered her Saxophone useless. She was obviously too caught up in the moment to worry about playing, which was OK for an intro gig but would be hard to justify over time.
Things went wrong as we entered what was affectionately known as the ‘free worship’ time. For the blessedly uninitiated, free worship referred to that moment after a song when both the musicians and the congregation were at liberty to offer praise to God in their own unique way, free from melodic, rhythmic, harmonic and even thematic restraints. It was a concept inherited by the Pentecostal tradition that valued freedom of spiritual expression within the worship experience (at least in theory). It was basically a religious version of Ornette Coleman’s ‘free jazz’ experiments that became semi-popular in the 1970’s. Unlike Coleman, however, what resulted for us was a cacophony of clashing sounds that were indecipherable and incoherent.
In our Church, the free worship time did not usually take that long, as people tended to be afraid that they weren’t expressing their spiritual freedom in the correct way. The format was about 5 minutes of vague la la la’s and the odd bout of prophecy before it died down in a mesh of repetitive suspended 4ths. My Dad would then usually take the pulpit for the weekly sermon.
But on this Sunday morning we would all have cause to remember the free worship time. Just as the piano chords were beginning to die down, Dionne surprised us all by moving to the front of the stage, Saxophone poised and ready for action! At last we were about to hear what many of us assumed to be a closet virtuoso. Dionne was going to play!
What then came out of the Saxophone that day can only be described as musical vomit. Honestly, it sounded like a cosmic brass fart that kept repeating itself. There was absolutely no indication that Dionne had ever touched a Saxophone before that day. If this was the sound of the spirit of God, I was going to find another Deity. Of course, everyone noticed straight away, but they all shut their eyes and pretended one of two things a) that it wasn’t happening and was a weird sonic delusion or b) that their spirituality was not deep enough to appreciate what Dionne was playing. I fell into the former category.
5 minutes must have gone by before the spirit of the Lord called on Dionne to cease what everyone else thought was an infernal racket. The congregation had never been so happy to see my Dad stroll up to the pulpit. I remember stepping out from behind the drums and taking my seat in the front row. I had never felt so mortified in my life. What were we going to do next time she was rostered on? Maybe I could call in sick?
Well, as much as I would love to say that we told Dionne to sod off we actually kept her on for another couple of weeks. On each occasion the exact same thing happened, although she did offer some sonic variation in the form of a clarinet. We finally found our loophole when it transpired that Dionne was a complete fruit loop (it had just dawned on us, apparently) who was an incessant gossip and trouble maker within the congregation. It would be inappropriate to encourage such a person to contribute to the music team, we reasoned. We asked her to step down ‘for a time’. As I recall her final words had to do with us being complete and utter hypocrites and wankers. Well, I thought, at least my drumming doesn’t sound like a fart from the asshole of Satan!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Technology and the Philosophy of Music-Making
It’s fascinating to me just how much the philosophy of technology has affected the philosophy of music making. To me, it seems that not enough bands and musicians are aware of the dominating ideologies that shape how technology is used in recording and playing music. Musicians know plenty about the function and capabilities of the gear itself, but very little in regards to how best to use it or, more importantly, how not to use it.
My central fear is that music making is fast becoming merely music editing and compiling with little in the way of actual organic input from the musicians themselves. Apparently, the role of the musician or band is to provide enough raw material so that the producer (or whoever) can then compile and edit it according to the preferences of interested parties (band, labels, fans etc.) Key concepts in the philosophy of technology are at play here- convenience, time management, ease of process etc. After all, why paly all 3 verses of a song when you can just play one and get the engineer to cut and paste the rest in?
All of this was demonstrated to me recently in a recording session in which my band was recording our album live to tape. According to our engineer, it seems that not too many bands can handle tape these days, preferring instead to adopt pro-tools as an auxiliary member of the band for editing and even compositional purposes. Our engineer relayed his experiences as soundman at a recent Lamb of God concert. Lamb of God (I’ll just call them ‘LOG’, like a piece of shit) are well respected amongst teenagers for their technical prowess, so the engineer was surprised to learn that the drummer, when playing live, did not even use the kick pedals but tapped away on the floor instead as the triggered samples did their work. Call me old fashioned but how the hell is this excusable? Is it really asking too much that bands actually have the ability to play their instruments?
Convenience and efficiency. To me these words are the driving conceptual backdrop for our relentless pursuit of technology. I worry because these anti-art concepts are cutting straight to the heart of how most bands make music, especially in the metal genre which so often prides itself on the organic nature of its performances. It seems that we are in love with the virtual representation, not an organic actuality.
Proper records, records that are actually made by humans, utilise technology as a servant not a master. If the band cannot perform what it wants to convey, it shouldn’t rely on technical wizardry to fill in the gaps.
My central fear is that music making is fast becoming merely music editing and compiling with little in the way of actual organic input from the musicians themselves. Apparently, the role of the musician or band is to provide enough raw material so that the producer (or whoever) can then compile and edit it according to the preferences of interested parties (band, labels, fans etc.) Key concepts in the philosophy of technology are at play here- convenience, time management, ease of process etc. After all, why paly all 3 verses of a song when you can just play one and get the engineer to cut and paste the rest in?
All of this was demonstrated to me recently in a recording session in which my band was recording our album live to tape. According to our engineer, it seems that not too many bands can handle tape these days, preferring instead to adopt pro-tools as an auxiliary member of the band for editing and even compositional purposes. Our engineer relayed his experiences as soundman at a recent Lamb of God concert. Lamb of God (I’ll just call them ‘LOG’, like a piece of shit) are well respected amongst teenagers for their technical prowess, so the engineer was surprised to learn that the drummer, when playing live, did not even use the kick pedals but tapped away on the floor instead as the triggered samples did their work. Call me old fashioned but how the hell is this excusable? Is it really asking too much that bands actually have the ability to play their instruments?
Convenience and efficiency. To me these words are the driving conceptual backdrop for our relentless pursuit of technology. I worry because these anti-art concepts are cutting straight to the heart of how most bands make music, especially in the metal genre which so often prides itself on the organic nature of its performances. It seems that we are in love with the virtual representation, not an organic actuality.
Proper records, records that are actually made by humans, utilise technology as a servant not a master. If the band cannot perform what it wants to convey, it shouldn’t rely on technical wizardry to fill in the gaps.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Men: A response to Fran
In response to my good friend Fran's post titled 'What is it about Men these days that makes them so different...?' I would like to suggest that we have a huge crisis of masculinity in this country.
Apparently real men do the following: pick up bitches for sex, drink to get shitfaced and aggressive, follow sport religiously and have multi-orgasmic experiences over car engines. Forget thinking, emotions and sensitivity, todays men just want to fuck, drink, eat and sleep. They also look hideous in the process; beer belly's and god awful polo tops with 'Holden' or 'Ford' logos.
The real benefit of such a crisis is that if you, as a man, resist these categories on some level you will find yourself the object of desire by more than a few females seeking something other than a monkey for a partner. Yes, even if you look like Bill Gates or Donald Trump, if you have an ounce of intelligence and sensitivity the future for you may well be a bright one.
Apparently real men do the following: pick up bitches for sex, drink to get shitfaced and aggressive, follow sport religiously and have multi-orgasmic experiences over car engines. Forget thinking, emotions and sensitivity, todays men just want to fuck, drink, eat and sleep. They also look hideous in the process; beer belly's and god awful polo tops with 'Holden' or 'Ford' logos.
The real benefit of such a crisis is that if you, as a man, resist these categories on some level you will find yourself the object of desire by more than a few females seeking something other than a monkey for a partner. Yes, even if you look like Bill Gates or Donald Trump, if you have an ounce of intelligence and sensitivity the future for you may well be a bright one.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Life as a Minister’s Kid #3: What about Me?
It was not a difficult request. All Sean had to do was use the hand held microphone and, in his best impersonation of God, gently say ‘what about me’ at appropriate cues throughout the drama performance.
This was made all the more easier by the fact that Sean was the Churches resident sound man. He would be safely tucked away behind the mixing console so he wouldn’t even have to be seen by anybody. Of course, this had the added benefit of enhancing the omnipotence of an invisible Divine being, but the main emphasis was on the P.A. system which would lend the softly spoken Sean an air of authority that might otherwise be lacking.
My Mum, god bless her, had decided to prepare a drama for Sunday nights Church service. The idea was to depict people in various states of day-to-day busyness and illustrate the point that it is all too easy to overlook spending time with God in a hustle and bustle world. For example, Roger was to take on the character of a frenetic ‘power’ business executive that was in the middle of closing lucrative international corporate deals. The actor would then turn to face the audience and say ‘I’m just so busy.’ All of a sudden, the richly resonant voice of Yahweh would ask over the P.A. ‘what about me’, a question that would hopefully give Roger pause to reflect on his priorities in life. I think there were several of these sketches planned, which would have the cumulative effect of convincing people of the need for creating time for personal relationship with God.
So with this theological rationale in mind the Actors shuffled into place whilst a (semi) eager congregation looked on. The drama began although I can’t remember exactly what scene happened first. However, I will always remember the awkward silence that followed the line ‘I’m just so busy.’ There was nothing, just dead silence. The actors looked at each other nervously. Perhaps God had departed? Maybe Nietzsche was right after all. The only thing left to do was continue the drama and hope for the best in the following scene. But alas, the same thing repeated itself. After an earnest ‘I’m just so busy,’ the congregation was again treated to another round of Divine indifference. My Mum shot furious glances in the direction of Sean (um, I mean, God), who was unfortunately obscured from sight by a wall of technical jiggery pokery.
Could things get any worse? As it turned out yes, they could. As the third and final performer began their depiction of a frenetically pre-occupied man of the cloth, a sound arouse from the back of the Church, faint at first but growing distinctly louder. It was soon clear what it was- snoring. It seemed that God had actually abandoned his creation and retreated into a world of ethereal slumber. The sheer resonance of the breath convinced me that he was indeed catching up on millions of years of creative endeavor, and no amount of earnest pleading from mere Church-goers was going to distract him. There was nothing left to do but finish the drama with as much dignity we could muster and face the inevitable fall-out that occurs in Churches whenever anyone tries to do anything creative.
As we took our seats, My Dad rose to deliver the sermon (looking rather red faced I might add). Again, I forget what he was talking about (I am sure it was vitally important though), but I do remember that just as he was making some point, a big, booming voice bellowed ‘WHAT ABOUT ME!’ through the P.A. system.
Talk about shock! Hallelujah! It seemed that God had awoken and returned to the house after all, although his timing was a bit off. ‘WHAT ABOUT ME?’ he continued to bellow two more times, perhaps wanting to make amends for missing the actual performance. For his part, my Dad took it in his stride and made some ministerial joke about how he was just there to give the sermon, he wasn’t expecting God to show up! By now the service had descended into general confusion. It seemed that after the drama my Mum had approached Sean who woke up startled, assuming this was his cue to go, which of course, it wasn’t.
It was only once we got home that we could laugh about it. And laugh we did, although it was that type of resigned laughter that’s more the result of the tragic-comic rather than pure frivolity. You know the laughter I mean- it usually always ends with a sigh.
You can imagine how I responded when some 20 years later a certain ex-Australian Idol pop-star released his version of the classic Aussie anthem ‘What About Me?’
As thousands of rural Australians belted their hearts out to Noll’s existential musings I could only think of soundman Sean and the God who wasn’t there.
This was made all the more easier by the fact that Sean was the Churches resident sound man. He would be safely tucked away behind the mixing console so he wouldn’t even have to be seen by anybody. Of course, this had the added benefit of enhancing the omnipotence of an invisible Divine being, but the main emphasis was on the P.A. system which would lend the softly spoken Sean an air of authority that might otherwise be lacking.
My Mum, god bless her, had decided to prepare a drama for Sunday nights Church service. The idea was to depict people in various states of day-to-day busyness and illustrate the point that it is all too easy to overlook spending time with God in a hustle and bustle world. For example, Roger was to take on the character of a frenetic ‘power’ business executive that was in the middle of closing lucrative international corporate deals. The actor would then turn to face the audience and say ‘I’m just so busy.’ All of a sudden, the richly resonant voice of Yahweh would ask over the P.A. ‘what about me’, a question that would hopefully give Roger pause to reflect on his priorities in life. I think there were several of these sketches planned, which would have the cumulative effect of convincing people of the need for creating time for personal relationship with God.
So with this theological rationale in mind the Actors shuffled into place whilst a (semi) eager congregation looked on. The drama began although I can’t remember exactly what scene happened first. However, I will always remember the awkward silence that followed the line ‘I’m just so busy.’ There was nothing, just dead silence. The actors looked at each other nervously. Perhaps God had departed? Maybe Nietzsche was right after all. The only thing left to do was continue the drama and hope for the best in the following scene. But alas, the same thing repeated itself. After an earnest ‘I’m just so busy,’ the congregation was again treated to another round of Divine indifference. My Mum shot furious glances in the direction of Sean (um, I mean, God), who was unfortunately obscured from sight by a wall of technical jiggery pokery.
Could things get any worse? As it turned out yes, they could. As the third and final performer began their depiction of a frenetically pre-occupied man of the cloth, a sound arouse from the back of the Church, faint at first but growing distinctly louder. It was soon clear what it was- snoring. It seemed that God had actually abandoned his creation and retreated into a world of ethereal slumber. The sheer resonance of the breath convinced me that he was indeed catching up on millions of years of creative endeavor, and no amount of earnest pleading from mere Church-goers was going to distract him. There was nothing left to do but finish the drama with as much dignity we could muster and face the inevitable fall-out that occurs in Churches whenever anyone tries to do anything creative.
As we took our seats, My Dad rose to deliver the sermon (looking rather red faced I might add). Again, I forget what he was talking about (I am sure it was vitally important though), but I do remember that just as he was making some point, a big, booming voice bellowed ‘WHAT ABOUT ME!’ through the P.A. system.
Talk about shock! Hallelujah! It seemed that God had awoken and returned to the house after all, although his timing was a bit off. ‘WHAT ABOUT ME?’ he continued to bellow two more times, perhaps wanting to make amends for missing the actual performance. For his part, my Dad took it in his stride and made some ministerial joke about how he was just there to give the sermon, he wasn’t expecting God to show up! By now the service had descended into general confusion. It seemed that after the drama my Mum had approached Sean who woke up startled, assuming this was his cue to go, which of course, it wasn’t.
It was only once we got home that we could laugh about it. And laugh we did, although it was that type of resigned laughter that’s more the result of the tragic-comic rather than pure frivolity. You know the laughter I mean- it usually always ends with a sigh.
You can imagine how I responded when some 20 years later a certain ex-Australian Idol pop-star released his version of the classic Aussie anthem ‘What About Me?’
As thousands of rural Australians belted their hearts out to Noll’s existential musings I could only think of soundman Sean and the God who wasn’t there.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The Spiritual Seeker and Sartre's Antoine Roquentin
It seems to me that the genuine spiritual seeker, whether Christian or otherwise, is in practice strikingly similar to the atheistic-existentialist struggles of Sartre's Antoine Roquentin. Both seek to come to terms with what is perceived as an indifferent universe. Of course, the spiritual seeker has the heavy burden of having to explain God's inaction or retreat from the world. The silent world of Deism, first coming to popularity in the Enlightenment, is certainly an option, as is the so-called 'Christian Agnosticism' endorsed by Cupitt and others. Both allow space for being an entirely free agent in the world and absolve the seeker of having to explain such pesky issues as the problem of evil (for which their is no credible theological response).
But like Nietzsche, I wonder if the spiritual quest is really primarily about spirituality and not more about survival in an uncertain world. It is a way of orienting ourselves, both internally and in relationship to society. Sprituality helps in this regard, as it reassures us that we are not actually so hopelessly alone as we may feel. The God who created the world is the same God who has an ongoing plan for the world. And not just for the world in macro, but for each individual also. Here I am not intending to deny the truth or validity of the spiritual journey, but am simply highlight its practical similarity to atheism AS A 'this-worldly' philosophy. Both spirituality and existential atheism are concerned with how best to exist in the world, and whilst both have different conclusions, both certainly tranlated to similar practice in everyday life. Spirituality may (traditionally) use God and theology, whilst Atheism may use science and philosophy. The comparisons could go on.
In contrast to the spiritual seeker, Antoine Roquentin struggles to find peace without recourse to a spiritual Deity or some other grand meta-narrative. Does this make him more brave? Is he more mature, less like a baby that is so utterly dependent on a parent? It is certainly tempting to interpret him this way. However, since the beginning humans have almost always concerned themselves with finding spiritual answers to existential questions. Is it not terribly arrogant to reduce the sum of life to cosmic indifference? Could the testimony of so many throughout history be so wrong?
In any case, talk of the spiritual versus the atheist is misguided, as there is an inherent link between the two that allows one a philosophy of existence, a way of coping.
Sartre, Jean-Paul, 'Nausea' (London: Penguin, 1965)
But like Nietzsche, I wonder if the spiritual quest is really primarily about spirituality and not more about survival in an uncertain world. It is a way of orienting ourselves, both internally and in relationship to society. Sprituality helps in this regard, as it reassures us that we are not actually so hopelessly alone as we may feel. The God who created the world is the same God who has an ongoing plan for the world. And not just for the world in macro, but for each individual also. Here I am not intending to deny the truth or validity of the spiritual journey, but am simply highlight its practical similarity to atheism AS A 'this-worldly' philosophy. Both spirituality and existential atheism are concerned with how best to exist in the world, and whilst both have different conclusions, both certainly tranlated to similar practice in everyday life. Spirituality may (traditionally) use God and theology, whilst Atheism may use science and philosophy. The comparisons could go on.
In contrast to the spiritual seeker, Antoine Roquentin struggles to find peace without recourse to a spiritual Deity or some other grand meta-narrative. Does this make him more brave? Is he more mature, less like a baby that is so utterly dependent on a parent? It is certainly tempting to interpret him this way. However, since the beginning humans have almost always concerned themselves with finding spiritual answers to existential questions. Is it not terribly arrogant to reduce the sum of life to cosmic indifference? Could the testimony of so many throughout history be so wrong?
In any case, talk of the spiritual versus the atheist is misguided, as there is an inherent link between the two that allows one a philosophy of existence, a way of coping.
Sartre, Jean-Paul, 'Nausea' (London: Penguin, 1965)
Friday, September 25, 2009
Critique of the Lovely Meyers
It has been said by one Benjamin Meyers that, given the alternatives, conservatism is a more desirable option than neo-libralism. According to Meyers, "it is easier to cool down the feverish than to warm up the undead."
I disagree with this conclusion. The main reason for this is that debates of this nature most often take place within the (unfortunately) insular world of the Church and/or theological academia. If we were to broaden the discussion to take into account the more secular observer we must surely recognise that conservatism is the more dangerous option. Why? simply because the conservatives usually always have the loudest voice, meaning that those who do not consider themselves Christian learn about Christianity primarily through the dictates of conservative theology. Meyers mentions Richard Dawkins in this particular blog entry, and it seems to me that he is a case in point. The type of God Dawkins reacts against is the type of God endorsed and defended by conservative theology. This is where his understanding of Christianity has come from. They may be passionate, but if their view of God is the dominant one heard, then we have a more significant problem than one of whose theological passion is strongest.
(P.S.- I think Ben is a champion guy and great theologian.)
I disagree with this conclusion. The main reason for this is that debates of this nature most often take place within the (unfortunately) insular world of the Church and/or theological academia. If we were to broaden the discussion to take into account the more secular observer we must surely recognise that conservatism is the more dangerous option. Why? simply because the conservatives usually always have the loudest voice, meaning that those who do not consider themselves Christian learn about Christianity primarily through the dictates of conservative theology. Meyers mentions Richard Dawkins in this particular blog entry, and it seems to me that he is a case in point. The type of God Dawkins reacts against is the type of God endorsed and defended by conservative theology. This is where his understanding of Christianity has come from. They may be passionate, but if their view of God is the dominant one heard, then we have a more significant problem than one of whose theological passion is strongest.
(P.S.- I think Ben is a champion guy and great theologian.)
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