What I'm Reading
My interest in blogging originally stemmed from a desire to keep a personal journal of my recovery, and of my life in general. After deciding to do it on the computer rather than write by hand, it was a no-brainer to post the whole thing. I mean, why not? I also keep a little handwritten log of stuff that's too personal for the public. But I figured a weblog was a good way of doing what we AAs call Twelfth Step work -- spreading the message of recovery. Simultaneously, I get to prattle on about a variety of other subects.
I mention my motives lest the casual reader be left to wonder why I bother posting information that may seem trivial or irrelevant. For instance, I don't have one of those "What I'm Reading" sidebar thingies yet, but I'm going to tell you what I'm reading anyway. I don't have the time right now to do the kind of thoughtful, in-depth analysis required of a decent book review, so I'll only comment briefly on my recent selections.
I must begin by mentioning a strange phenomenon I've noticed lately (i.e., in this period of recovery; the last few years). I've had a voracious appetite for nonfiction, but barely any attention span for novels. I've probably finished fewer than a dozen novels since I quit using, some of which I had read previously.
A few months ago, I decided to tackle Dickens' Great Expectations, which I remembered being surprisingly entertained by in 9th grade English. My wife had a copy, and I figured I might appreciate it even more now than I did at fourteen. (First, we watched the 1946 David Lean film adaptation, which was even better than I'd expected. Lately I've really been digging good black and white cinematography, and this movie had it.) I started on the book one rainy weekend afternoon, and was having a good time with it from page one. I loved how the narrator/protagonist, Pip, when reminiscing about his early childhood as an orphan, described how his young mind had formed impressions of what his parents must have been like based on their tombstones.
The shape of the letters on my father's, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, "Also Georgiana Wife of the Above," I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly.
As I progressed through the first chapter, my memory was refreshed of Dickens' masterful style, and I settled into my chair with the satisfaction of knowing I had a great tome to occupy me for at least a week. I was immersed in the story for most of the afternoon, stopping for the day as Pip stopped at Uncle Pumblechook's, on his way to visit Miss Havisham. So much more detail than the film, I marveled. I can't wait to see what happens next.
What happened next was, I moved on to a different book the next day, and haven't been back.
I've had similar experiences with other novels. I get a quarter or a third of the way into them, and stop. Now, this would be perfectly understandable if I decided I disliked the book (although I know people that finish what they started, no matter how much they hate it). But in my case, I'm rolling happily along . . . and then I just quit.
I would be tempted to chalk it up to a short attention span brought on by years of abusing my brain, considering the fact that when I was drinking heavily I couldn't stay with anything longer than a magazine article. But this phenomenon of mine only occurs with longer novels. If I can finish it in a day, fine. But if I put it down for the night, my eyes will be on something else the following day. I suppose it may just be that I've developed a strong interest reading non-fiction for pleasure. When I was in school, I was constantly reading (or avoiding reading) a variety of non-fiction subjects, so when I read for pleasure it was Stephen King, or Kurt Vonnegut, or whomever my favorite happened to be at the time. Now that I've been away from formal education for a long time, and have regained some mental clarity, I guess I'm just educating myself informally.
Sometimes I'll visit a used bookstore, and on rare occasions I'll buy a new book from Borders (with a gift card, when I have one), but most of my reading material comes from the public library. I like to keep my personal book collection to a minimum, considering how often I move, and factoring in the weight of the average box of books, so the library is a convenient option. And it's free! Free is good.
Anyway, my latest borrowed treasures are all non-fiction, and all from the Religion section. I've been focused, for the past couple years, on anything that reflects my newfound interest in Christianity, especially Catholicism. Of my current finds, the two that I've finished were both well worth my time.
Truth and Tolerance: Christian Belief and World Religions is a collection of essays by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, the current Pope Benedict XVI. Ratzinger was (in)famous as a Cardinal mainly for his strict defense of doctrinal orthodoxy, but he was also well-known for his intellect. That intellect is consistently displayed in these essays.
The questions at hand are at the philosophical core of most, if not all, religions in the modern world: Is truth knowable? If so, should it be hidden in order to promote tolerance and interfaith harmony? Ratzinger touches on the effects of Kant and Nietzche (among others) on theology, and displays a vast knowledge of history and world religions, as well. This probably isn't anyone's idea of light summer reading, but I'd say it's worth the effort if you find the premise interesting.
With Truth and Tolerance fresh in my mind, I forged ahead into Living Zen, Loving God, by Ruben L.F. Habito, a practicing Catholic and former Jesuit priest, who also happens to be an acknowledged Zen master.
I've been interested in Buddhism for a long time, especially since taking a Buddhist Philosophy course a decade ago. So, because I had found myself agreeing with Ratzinger's essentially conservative stance on Christianity, I wondered how this Buddhist-Christian hybrid in Habito's writing would hit me. I found that it worked out pretty well for me. First of all, Habito doesn't propose a melding of the two religions. Despite Buddhism's lack of traditional theistic beliefs, it would be impossible, I think, to combine the two systems without the fundamentals of one or the other being sacrificed.
No worries. What Habito does is to simply show how Christian teachings can be appreciated more deeply from a Zen mode of experience. He writes convincingly that Zen practice can deepen a Christian's faith without conflicting with Christian doctrine or practice.
I suppose my experience with Christianity as an adult had always been flavored by my (limited) knowledge of Buddhist thought. This book helped to clarify the parameters of the connection. I think Jesus would approve, and Cardinal Ratz might even back him up!