I'll Rise, But I Won't Shine

Mornings. The dreaded time of the day when one has to perform the most arduous yet perfunctory of tasks: waking up.

There’s nothing quite as vexing as being blissfully comatose and then hearing the galling shrill of the dratted alarm clock. With gargantuan effort (and much wailing and gnashing of teeth) one must haul himself, completely against one’s will (and hence waking up is a completely undemocratic endeavour), out of the seductive luxury of one’s bed.

Not many people share my loathing of getting outta bed, but there’s at least one feline who thinks alike. In his eternal words:



My secondary school friend used to quip that my temperament’s quite like the infamous Garfield, hmmm. I’m not a huge fan of Garfield comics and I think rotten pureed kumquats look better than that washed-out orange fur ball they tried to pass off as Garfield in the 2004 movie, but I gotta say he dishes out top one-liners:



When I was a kid, I used to execute some pretty slick kungfu moves on whoever has the temerity to rouse me from my slumber. I kicked them. My mum would describe the snarling and petulant yanking of feet with much bemusement. Of course, I could never remember them feats.

Mum also had a mild siezure when I was about to fly to London for my studies, and it was suitably premised on good reason. The question was, how on earth I would be able get out of bed without someone to pulverise and bellow at me.



The initial solution was to use four alarm clocks – strategically placed, no less – in different locations around my room so that I would be forced to hoist myself outta bed to turn them off when they ring. And all the alarm clocks were meticulously set so that they went off within 5 minutes of each other; so great was the allure to just tumble back into bed that it took repeated effort to procure success. It all reminds me of Italian opera – theatrical, painstakingly orchestrated with much fanfare and overwrought with emotional drama and shrieks.

It's an art form of the highest order, that.

Tags: Garfield, Jim Davies, Mornings, Waking Up

More Christmas Musings

Some pics from Christmas 2006. It was a surreal Christmas, that. Perhaps my back pains and the convalescence muted the festive cheer somewhat, but I just felt so... wearied amidst it all. Jaded and pensive, a tad reticent, I felt like a recluse, almost hole-ish. In a way I was grateful for the torrential downpours, for that gave me a reason to just do what I enjoy most nowadays - snuggled up in my bed and under the untidy heap that is my duvet, reading.

I went to a number of parties, but not with much zest nor alacrity, I must confess. It was kinda run-of-the-mill, and felt like a pub crawl. And this was one of the years during which I absolutely hated doing Christmas shopping (see the tirade on Vivocity below)... I don't like it most years cos of the crowds, but this year just seemed worse than before. Part of it was due to me hobbling around like a geriatric with a back gnarled by arthritis, but it was also due to a bout of mopish listlessness. So if you ain't got a Christmas gift from me this year, it's normal heheh.

The most I ventured was to battle the throngs at Orchard trying to find a book that my friend wanted for Christmas... cos he specifically asked, and more so because I am feeling rather bookwormish myself. Sigh... even in the province of gift-giving I am inexorably selfish. =)

Our unit (or half of it) Christmas party at Riverwalk.



The theme was Casino Royale, so we were supposed to be decked out in ridiculous garb... half-posh and half-casual; hence the furry top and berms.



The Bond girls.



Our care group and the visitors.



The Christmas party at my house... didn't take much pics, save of the food.



Uncle Donald man-handling the turkey.



One thing did touch me though this Christmas, and it was totally random, but therein lay its beauty. I was watching a program on Christmas in Disneyland, and the sight of all those life-size candied houses, Santa Clauses, magical castles, cobbled streets and fake snow made me feel like a child again. Most times I would have screamed, "Big steaming pile of flagrant commercialism!" (and it would be no more than it deserved) and turned my nose at such vapid frippery and artifice, but somehow there was something in the children's honest-to-goodness smiles that made it seem believable. I have been to Disney and frankly found the experience nothing to shout about, but when I looked at those kids donning their megawatt smiles, clapping their hands in unadulterated glee and abandon when Mickey appeared, suddenly I lost the heart to muster my cynicism.

Tags: Christmas, Santa Claus, Disneyland, Mickey Mouse

Christmas Musings

Of late I've been a walking bag of ailments, being down with a sore back, flu, a nose that drips like a tap and other sorts of maladies besides. But that itself was a blessing in disguise, cos the MCs and leave that I took gave me copious amounts of time to rest. So here's a low-down on the past few weeks.

Brokeback, Literally

It definitely ain't pretty walking (or limping, more like) around with a back that felt as though it has been ossified and fossilised since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but one great thing about it was that it gave me plenty of good reasons to lie down all day. And being somewhat infirm certainly had its perks, if but for a while, for I could enjoy my reading and watching of DVDs. And this I did without guilt - I've finished Mark Twain's The Prince And The Pauper, Tolstoy's A Confession And Other Religious Writings and Tolkien's The Silmarillion in a matter of weeks. Add to that three full length special extended DVDs of the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I almost felt as though I'm on holiday. It feels great to be lazy, once in a while.

Scribes In Office

My office has this Angel-Mortal game for Christmas, so one day a brainwave hit me and I decided to write a poem for my mortal, accompanied by a jar of orange sweets:

Wednesday and Thursday doth transpire
With no word from Angel, now that's queer.
"Have I been forgotten?" you rightly fear
No worries, your Angel's not quite so austere!

Friday's the day of rest and cheer
To down a hearty mug of beer.
Sing hey, ho! Your Angel doth appear
Bearing gifts this time of the year!

And she responded in kind, with a poem of her own (parts of it in French, to boot) and a packet of tea. Intrigued, I bought her two packets of snacks and placed them in a fancy paper bag and hung it outside her room, together with this poem:

O hark! What's this? Something's amiss!
A cryptic bundle you behold.
At start of day, and there it lay
Of hidden treasures yet untold.

Aha you see, your Angel's glee
Is wrought in secret and surprise.
When all is still, your Angel will
Come bestowing gifts ere sunrise.

And gifts for you, not one but two!
To show thy Angel's thanks to thee
For gladness thence, swift recompense
A poem sweet and pack of tea!

I loved our little exchanges of poetry, it was bucketloads of FUN. =)

The Great Ant Hill

I was down at Vivo City the other day, and it'd be an understatement to say that the experience was less than pleasant. Apart from having to suffer hours of pushing, jostling and having elbows, paper bags and hair shovelled in my face, my ears were almost cloven by the incessant din of inane chatter, babies' wails, and the manic, petulant screeches of children whose parents had the good sense to deny buying them their 100,000,001st toy. Plus, a tin drum band was snaking its way amidst the ever budgeoning crowds, clanging on the metal with nary a heed, and for a moment I thought I was gonna need hearing aid for the rest of my life. It was a throbbing, noisome, pestilential cauldron of babble, sweat and general pandemonuim.

As I looked down from the second storey, the sight of the swelling multitudes swarming the complex just reminded of a massive ant hill, with countless ants scurrying around and basically trying to trample all over each other. Man, was I glad to get out of that nut-house.

Middle Earth Art - Part II

Aragorn, Legolas And Gimli To Rescue Merry And Pippin

This marked the beginning of The Two Towers, when Merry and Pippin were carried off by the Uruk-hai. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli resolved to rescue them, but unwittingly, the hobbits strayed into Fangorn Forest where they befriended Treebeard.







Treebeard

Treebeard was an Ent and a shepherd of trees. Ents were steeped in wisdom and had a tarrying disposition. When asked by the hobbits whether there were any Ent children, or Entings, Treebeard mournfully replied that they have lost their Ent-wives.

In the movie, Treebeard was a life-sized animatronic touched up by CGI effects. The crew painstakingly compressed pieces of real tree bark into plastiscine which they used for the animatronic to give it a natural, rugged, hoary feel. Treebeard was also voiced by John Rhys-Davies, who played Gimli the Dwarf.





Edoras

Edoras was the capital of Rohan and home to King Théoden. The Golden Hall of Meduseld sat atop the city, and overlooked a lush, sweeping panorama of mountains. In the movie, the scenes depicting Edoras were filmed on location and not in a studio set. The crew were specifically looking for a lone hill framed by a mountainous vista, which was how Tolkien described it, and by sheer stroke of luck, they chanced upon Mount Sunday in the Rangitata Valley while scouting in a helicopter. I thought the location was perfect!







The Golden Hall Of Meduseld.



Frodo Threatens Gollum With His Blade, Sting

After being separated from the rest of the Fellowship, Frodo and Sam were attacked by Gollum. The movie scenes were almost an exact replica of Alan Lee's painting - in the first screen cap Frodo held his blade Sting to Gollum's throat, and in the second you could see Gollum's straggly limbs coiling around poor Sam, as it was in the drawing.







The Dead Marshes

A great battle of the Second Age was fought here, and those who have fallen, including Men, Elves and orcs, laid in the depths of the clammy, shadowy wasteland. Originally the scenes were to be shot in Kepler Mire in Te Anau, but due to a dearth of solid ground, the crew instead recreated the marshlands in a car park flooded with gallons of water. As such, save for one aerial shot, the Dead Marshes were artifically created, although that did not dent their spooky realism. The ominous dead bodies in the water were prosthetics made by WETA workshop.





Black Gate Of Mordor

Here Frodo and Sam decided to steal through the Black Gate unnoticed, but were promptly stopped by Gollum, probably out of fear of losing the Ring than out of real concern. Eventually, they took the alternative route up the stairs of Cirith Ungol, where Frodo was stung by Shelob.







Sam And Frodo See Oliphaunts

The trio were enthralled by mûmak in Ithilien. These gargantuan creatures were said to be ancestors of elephants, and were called "oliphaunts" by the hobbits.





Battle Of Helm's Deep

Helm's Deep was a great fortress of Rohan, and a massive rock bulwark which comprised the Deeping Wall, the tower of Hornburg, on whose top resided the horn of Helm Hammerhand (the movie had a fantastic aerial shot of Gimli blowing the horn). No enemy had ever breached the Deeping Wall, itself a formiddable span of solid rock. Saruman, however, perceived that the Wall's weakness was a small culvert at the bottom and in his devilry, conjured explosives to blast the defenses. Gandalf and the Rohirrim, led by Éomer, eventually came to Rohan's rescue and defeated Saruman's army.





Minas Tirith, The White City Of Gondor

Described as a massive white wedding cake by a spoof-writer, Minas Tirith was often referred to as the White City and was the capital of Gondor. Sauron's forces first took Osgiliath, a small Gondorian outpost, and then proceeded to overwhelm the city in the Siege of Gondor. The Battle of Pelennor Fields was fought, and Gondor eventually triumphed. King Théoden died in battle, crushed by his horse Snowmane. The Witchking, whom no living man could destory, was slain here by Éowyn, a lady (helped, of course, by a stab in its leg by brave hobbit Merry).





Inside Minas Tirith

The city was divided into seven levels and connected by a series of gates. The White Tower of Ecthelion resided on the top, as did the White Tree of Gondor. The Tree was withered when Gandalf arrived to help fortify the city, but it blossomed once more when Aragorn was crowned king.





Gandalf and Pippin Greet Denethor, Steward Of Gondor

Denethor was Boromir and Faramir's father, and the Steward of Gondor who ruled the city in the absence of a king. Pippin swore fealty to Denethor in payment of the debt he owed Boromir, for the latter died defending him and Merry. Consumed by a manic sense of hopelessness and despair, Denethor later tried to burn himself and Faramir in a pyre. Faramir survived, whilst his father suffered a grisly death. Denethor's ruinous despondency was in stark contrast to the chivalrous valour of King Théoden of Rohan.





Tags: Lord Of The Rings, Return Of The King, The Two Towers, Fellowship Of The Ring, Frodo Baggins, Aragorn, Legolas, Middle Earth, Tolkien, Peter Jackson, Elijah Wood, Sean Astin, Viggo Mortensen, Orlando Bloom, Ian McKellen, Alan Lee, John Howe

Middle Earth Art - Part I

Here is some of the concept art depicting Middle Earth, mostly by Alan Lee and John Howe. I've also appended the screen captures from the movies. The images were drawn way before the movies were made, and the similarities and attention to detail are staggering. All images are in original size.

The Shire

This was where it all began. The Shire was a simple, bucolic land inhabited by hobbits, whose livelihood was primarily agricultural. Hobbits ate at least six meals a day, including breakfast, second breakfast and elevenses, and were particularly fond of smoking pipe-weed.





Gandalf Arrives At Bag End

Bag End was the house of Bilbo Baggins and his nephew, Frodo. On his eleventy-first (i.e. 11st) birthday, Bilbo departed to live with the Elves at Rivendell, bestowing upon Frodo his inheritance, and the One Ring.





Inside Bag End

Hobbits, or Halflings, lived in smials which were cosy nooks dug into the hillsides, framed by the characteristic roundish doors.





Hobbits Hide From Black Rider

Black Riders (also known as Ringwraiths or Nazgûl) were formally kings and sorcerors who wielded great power. Enslaved by their lust, they were servants of the Dark Lord Sauron and became undead, their corporeal bodies wasted away and they being invisible save for their black raiment. They travelled on horses and winged Fell Beasts.





Arwen Rescues Frodo At The Ford

In the book, Frodo, after being stabbed by the Nazgûl in Weathertop, was rescued at the Ford of Bruinen by the elf-lord Glorfindel. The movie however axed this character and had Arwen in his stead. Arwen uttered an enchantment whereupon a plume of foam and spray bearing the visages of mighty horses swept the Nazgûl away.





Rivendell

Rivendell was home to the Elves, and was The Last Homely House East Of The Sea. There lived Elrond the Half-elven and his daughter Arwen Undómiel. Aragorn was also raised in Rivendell; in fact, he was a direct descendant of Elrond's bother Elros, making his wife Arwen his great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandaunt (!!!).

It was in Rivendell that Elrond healed Frodo of the wound from the Morgul blade, and here where the Council of Elrond was convened.





The Mines Of Moria

Moria was a mammoth subterranean city in the bowels of the Misty Mountains. It was tunnelled by the Dwarves, and held great reserves of precious mithril (which was also the material that Frodo's chain mail was made of, that which saved him from the cave troll's blow in Moria).







Gandalf Fights The Balrog On The Bridge Of Khazad-dûm

Balrogs were originally Maiar, of the same order as Gandalf and Saruman. They were corrupted by the Dark Lord Morgoth, and were almost entirely annihilated in the War Of Wrath. A few escaped, including the one which fought Gandalf on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. Both fell from the Bridge, and Gandalf battled the fell creature until he smote its ruin upon the mountains. Gandalf died, but was subsequently resurrected as Gandalf the White.





Lothlórien

Home to the Silvan elves, and to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. It was an exquisitely beautiful and enchanting abode atop sturdy, golden mallorn trees. Here the Fellowship had a respite after Gandalf's fall, and Galadriel gave them gifts, including the phial which contained the Light of Eärendil, which Frodo used to ward off the spider Shelob in her lair.





The Mirror Of Galadriel

This was a basin of water which revealed visions. In the book Sam was also allowed to look upon the Mirror, but only Frodo and Galadriel had this encounter in the movie.





Argonath

Shortly after departing Lothlórien, the Fellowship sailed down the great river Anduin. There they beheld the imposing Argonath, crafted in the likeness of Isildur and Anárion. Isildur was the character who cut off Sauron's finger with his father's sword Narsil. He later refused to cast the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom, despite the exigent urgings of Elrond, hence allowing the remnant of evil to survive. Aragorn was descended from Isildur.





Saruman's Tower Of Orthanc

This foreboding tower of black, gleaming rock was Saruman's stronghold where he bred an army of Uruk-hai to destroy those opposed to Sauron. Uruk-hai were a cross breed between goblin men and orcs, and unlike orcs, could travel in daylight. Subsequently, Orthanc was besieged by the Ents and Saruman himself died during the Battle of Bywater.





Tags: Lord Of The Rings, Return Of The King, The Two Towers, Fellowship Of The Ring, Frodo Baggins, Aragorn, Legolas, Middle Earth, Tolkien, Peter Jackson, Elijah Wood, Sean Astin, Viggo Mortensen, Orlando Bloom, Ian McKellen, Alan Lee, John Howe

Return Of The King Review

I just watched the telly premiere of Return of the King (ROTK).

First off, I’m a colossal Lord of the Rings fan. I absolutely adored the books. A friend puts it succinctly, “Tolkien spends two pages describing grass”…but it is precisely his devoted attention to detail that undergirds the brushstrokes with which readers paint, the arcs of vividness which weave together to bring life to the canvas of imagination.

When you witness a book you’ve loved as a child being weaved into reality (albeit on the screen) right before your eyes… it’s indescribable joy, muted only in the cognisance that it isn’t, after all, real.

Although the films have their blemishes and take more liberties with the plot than I'd have liked, the transgression of book to film was, for most part, handsomely crafted. I recall the very first moments of watching Fellowship of the Ring, when Gandalf rode into the hobbits' dwelling and Frodo was lying on a tree reading a book... my initial reaction was, "THIS IS THE SHIRE!!!!" The luxuriant grass, the smials, the overarching trees, the languorous waft of smoke emanating from Frodo’s pipe… everything just clicked into place. As I beheld the Shire, I felt as if the book had leapt to life.

And since I had just watched ROTK, I’ll do a stock-take:

Scenes That Screamed “Two Thumbs Up!!”

Frodo and Sam – I don’t think I can ever look at Elijah Wood and Sean Astin without images of curly hair, hair feet, lembas bread and elven cloaks cropping up in my head. I mean, they ARE Frodo and Sam. I could nitpick all day about the movie not giving enough screen-time and credence to the heartrending friendship between these two, but overall I am chuffed with the characterisation.

C'mon Mr Frodo! I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!



Sean Astin was lacklustre for the first two installments, but in ROTK he truly crawled into Sam’s skin. Many folks quibbled that Elijah Wood was too young to play Frodo (indeed, he was then 17 and Frodo was, shock shock horror horror, a 50-year-old), but his visage was perfect for a hobbit – pinchable cheeks, porcelain complexion, childlike countenance and all. And thanks to his large, liquid, beseeching doe eyes which made him look like a hypnotised wombat, he bore an ethereal quality that reminds me of Faramir’s quote that Frodo had an “elvish air” about him.

Minas Tirith – The lush, sweeping shots of the white city of Gondor were simply awesome. It was amazing how faithful they were to Alan Lee’s illustrations. And the scenes depicting the lighting of beacons were stunning cinematography.

Minas Tirith in the background.



Pippin sings – This scene was pure genious. Billy Boyd has a great voice and the lament was hauntingly wistful. After Denethor sent Faramir on his suicide charge, he proceeded, in good cheer, to have lunch – and looked disconcertingly like a participant in those "Eat 100 Hotdogs in 3 Minutes" competition, breaking the bones of the meat and having red tomato juice splattering on his lips – an imagery of death and blood, and a poignant reminder that this is indeed a cup of bitterness that he has mixed for himself.

Theoden leading the Rohirrim to battle at the Pelennor fields – Loved it when Theoden rode his horse and clanged his sword against the outstretched spears of his troops. And the build-up of the Rohirrim chanting "Death! Death! Death!" in a ominous timbre was so thuddingly resounding that I felt as though my eardrums were about to rupture (or was it just the sound system?). “Fell deeds awake! Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn! Forth Eorlingas!!!!!”

The Battle of the Pelennor Fields – The mammoth Oliphaunts trampling everyone in sight, the boulders catapulted from Minas Tirith, the macabre charge of Grond (i.e. Middle Earth’s equivalent of suckling pig) which sounded like a death knell on Gondor’s fortifications and the chivalrous, hopeless charge of the Rohirrim. Words can do no justice.

The Oliphaunts making human chowder of everything in their path.



Scenes That Inspired Psychotic Throwing Of Popcorn And Frothing At The Mouth

The Pyre of Denethor – What a scrappy, incoherent scene. Denethor came across as a surly, cantankerous one-sided curmudgeon, bereft of any vestige of pride and nobility. And Gandalf budgeoning Denethor on the head – what on earth is this????

Minas Morgul – A real disappointment which looked like some ice carving at a tacky wedding, with sleazy green lights emanating from it.

Aragron's Sissy Hair – Those who watched the first two installments would remember that Aragron was a greasy, bedraggled Ranger that looked like he needed sand-blasting - scruffy in that uber cool kinda way. In ROTK, however, he turned up looking all preened and - gasp! - clean. Worse still, his hair, once so gloriously stained with grime, was tied up in an effeminate schoolgirl do.

Aragorn looking neat - what's next - ribbons in his hair?!?



Peter Jackson’s Ninja Turtle Moments – The battle scenes were unfortunately marred by Jackson’s seeming chronic inability to refrain from gratuitous moments of cheesiness. Proof: That cliched smirk on chief orc Gothmog's face (as an aside, Gothmog looked totally like a cross between Miss Piggy and Quasimodo) after he dodged a boulder hurled by the Gondorians. Proof: Legolas' personal moment of bravura as he despatched the Oliphaunt... how many sickening vanity shots do we have to stomach of him just cos he's the goodlooking one? Must we really be subject to such an infantile, Streetfighter-ish farce of triumph?

Eowyn and Merry kill the Witchking – This one made me so angry that I want to bite off my tongue. It was so damn fast that I nearly missed Merry stabbing the Witchking. And woe is me, they divided the scene into two!! The sequence was absolutely butchered with the screen cutting to show Aragorn and co arriving in the Cosair ships. Plus, Eowyn removing her helm to reveal that she is female was totally unrealistic... stab the Darth Vader lookalike already, gal.

Frodo's lousy elvish – I laughed when he shouted "Aiya Eärendil elenion ancalima!" in Shelob's Lair. Nice take, but it just sounded... vulgar.

Frodo in Shelob's Lair.



The Eye of Sauron – Is it just me or did the Eye look terribly tacky in ROTK? It was roving this way and that, as though some washed-out, punk DJ from the 80s was trying to beam some cheap red disco light across Mordor… unforgivable.

Mount Doom – Love the way Frodo and Sam mirrored Isildur and Elrond in the Second Age but the CGI was a disappointment here, cos the lava was so articfically bright and jarring that the effect looked more like an angry child’s drawing with a fluorescent marker than the gazillions-of-dollars CGI you’d expect. Though Gollum’s demise was suitably sinister – he sunk into the lava painlessly, as though pain could no longer hurt him cos he was so obsessed with the Ring.

No explanation on why Frodo departed for the Grey Havens – There're a lot of interesting theories which posit the reason for Frodo leaving Middle-Earth. One thing that initially bugged me in the books is that Frodo never enjoyed the fruits of his labour. But in leaving everything for Sam, and making Sam the one who eventually savoured the completeness of what life on “this good earth” has to offer – this just enhanced the bittersweet ending for me. For is that not what epitomises sacrifice? "I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so Sam, when things are in danger, someone has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them." Whatever the interpretation, it is the most important sense of closure, and it was criminal to leave it completely unexplained.

But ultimately, after I watched ROTK, a part of me will be concluded and put to closure. The three movies (and the three years) have been one hell of a ride, and I'm grateful for this experience. In the eternal words of Bilbo: "I regret to announce that - this is the end." Yet, it isn’t quite over – the memory lies quiescent in the mind, waiting to be stoked, and then I must yield to the hearkening to read the books once every few years. That, I suppose, is the haunting beauty of coming across a darn good story – it never quite stays out of mind. =)

Tags: Lord Of The Rings, Return Of The King, Frodo Baggins, Aragorn, Tolkien, Peter Jackson, Elijah Wood, Sean Astin, Viggo Mortensen, Orlando Bloom, Ian McKellen

The Edge Of Reason

I used to sneer at Christians and their addled view of life cos everything which they could not explain by logic, they ascribe it to a nebulous and half-baked being called God, hence making it impossible to prove or disprove anything. The idea of an omnipotent, omniscient God, and hence the excuse, "I can't explain it, but God has a reason for everything - including wars, suffering and natural disasters" was so escapist, so convenient, so laughable.

Underlying their preposterousness, however, was the question - from where did they get this idea of a God who loves them?

What “Religion” Entails

In his essay Religion and Morality, Tolstoy posited that religion is the relationship which Man establishes between his own finite, vacillating existence and the infinite, changeless universe. There are three ways to perceive this relationship:

(i) The Primitive relationship, which regards Man as a self-motivated being and whose purpose is to attain the greatest possible personal well-being;
(ii) The State relationship, in which Man’s purpose is to maximize the well-being of an aggregate of people – be it the family, tribe, nation or State – rather than his own profit; and
(iii) The Christian relationship, where Man no longer endeavours to fulfill his personal ambitions of the ambitions of any aggregate of people, but acts solely in service to the Will that created him.

The Cognisance of God

Without sounding like arcane philosophical prattling, I can grasp the aforementioned relationships as what motivates Man’s actions – whether its self-profiteering, or “the abdication of individual will” to benefit a group, or to fulfill a higher Will. However I found it unsatisfactory one two counts – what causes Man to be aware of this Higher Being, and why would this awareness lead Man to submit to His Will?

I knew in my hearts of hearts that stashed somewhere in the deepest recesses of my being, there exists an innate cognisance of God. I may not wish to admit it, but it is existent. This was manifest in 2000, when I was travelling to Barcelona en route Paris, and the plane hit a particularly rough patch of weather. The turbulence was so bad that even the air stewardess fell down. In the pandemonium I prayed, cos I was, quite frankly, terrified, and it was like experiencing the tranquil repose in the eye of a storm amidst a frenzied, whipping cyclone.

Many people, including atheist friends, have had similar experiences. When people are driven to desperation and stand on the precipice of reason, they almost always pray and beseech that somewhere, out there, there would be a God who hears and hopefully, acts.

Believe In Me, Or Go To Hell!

But fear alone may motivate an awareness of a Higher Being, but it does not necessarily lead one to recognise who this indeterminate, cryptic Being is. Tolstoy wrote that the cognisance of God “is always evoked, not by frightening external phenomena, but by something internal that has nothing in common with fear: by a consciousness of his own insignificance, aloneness and sinfulness.”

Spot on. I have previously blogged about my conversion story, and that was exactly the gamut of emotions which I went through. I was not led to God through a brain-wrenching exercise in logical deduction, but simply by a sentience of sin, and a dire need for a saviour.

He further argued, with great cogency and elucidation, the shortcomings of philosophy and science in explaining this relationship between Man and universe:

"However much one implies or explains… that everything is made up of atoms, or… that heat, light, movement and electricity are… energy; however much you explain this to a man – a being who feels, suffers, rejoices, fears and hopes – it will not explain his place in the universe… to suggest that science as a whole can establish a relationship between man and the universe is entirely mistaken and is the main reason for the confusion… this relationship can only be shown to him by religion."

Or, in a more humorous take, Edward Boyd wrote:

So if I want to avoid hell, I presumably have to believe that a snake talked to Eve, that a virgin got pregnant from God, that a whale swallowed a prophet, that the Red Sea was parted, and all sorts of other crazy things… why does (God) make believing in Him so… impossible? Just write it in the sky, nice and big: “Here’s your proof, Ed. Believe in Me, or go to hell! Sincerely, the Almighty.”

That made me laugh, but there’s also an undercurrent of seriousness, namely, that whilst science cannot prove or disprove God, it almost takes a gargantuan suspension of reason and logic to believe in Him.

Taking The Plunge

To me, trying to rationalise God using scientific, empirical methods is like attempting to write a Chinese essay using an English typewriter. Whilst I don’t believe that science and God are incongruent; if one uses science as the sole spade with which to excavate this mammoth mystery, he would ultimately be stonewalled. Whilst logic can be building blocks for a bridge that can take you closer to God, the bridge ultimately remains unfinished – there is a gaping hole which can only be surmounted by a leap – of faith.

So inevitably, I am led to the conclusion that it is all quite ridiculous to rationalise that which cannot be rationalised, or what Tolstoy called “futile theorising.” So the very thing which I used to deride - that whenever Christians cannot explain anything, they'd cotton on to the idea of a God who knows better - and that this puerile, feeble explanation would save them some blushes - I found, to my horrors of horrors, that I too subscribe to this view. I make no excuses here - it is beyond the limits of my intellect, but it is a humbling, if somewhat sobering, acquiescence.

Tags: Leo Tolstoy, Tolstoy, Christianity, God, Religion