Zettel

I Think I Think, Therefore I Might Be

Zettel

France’s post-imperial stress disorder

A prizewinning novel explores France’s identity crisis with lyrical panache—and a painful look back at the not-so-glorious past. But hang on a minute. A weird undertow appears to suggest that the answer to present troubles lies in more, er, sexual congress.  Vraiment?  I thought it was more a matter of politics.

Alexis Jenni

L’Art Français de la Guerre (The French Art of War)

(Gallimard, Paris, 2013 folio edition, 776 pp)

 

France had a terrible 20th century.  One million six hundred thousand dead in a First World War that historians remain at a loss to explain. A squalid struggle with Britain for control of the Middle East, with a continuing legacy of seemingly endless violence.  Defeat and occupation in a Second World War that brought the additional ignominy of a puppet government collaborating with Nazism. Then a barbaric, failed effort to hold on to colonies in Indochina and Algeria. Finally, as the century drew to a close, propping up a crumbling dictatorship in Rwanda and intervening to protect its génocidaires. This was a long and hard fall for a nation whose 18th and 19th centuries saw prodigious scientific, intellectual and cultural achievement, prodigious imperial power, and prodigious belief in the virtues of French civilisation.

Misanthropology

“The Mountain People” by Colin Turnbull (1973, Pan, London; 253 pp)

In Uganda’s far northeast, bordering Southern Sudan and Kenya, the Kidepo National Park offers visitors a rare experience of African wildlife undisturbed by people. Road access is still difficult, but upmarket tourists can charter a light aircraft to fly in to a luxury tented camp where the abundance of game is matched by the abundance of culinary comforts. People who have made the trip say it is unforgettable. Now largely forgotten, however, is the human cost of creating this safari wonderland.

The lost knack of knowing when to shut up

April 21, 2010 - 9:00am -- Nick Young

‘The Case for God: What Religion Really Means’
by Karen Armstrong, Bodley Head 2009, 376 pp

Visiting the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence half a dozen years ago my daughter, whose eight years of life had been spent in China, asked her mother who the guy hanging on the cross was. To the brief explanation that followed Tian Tian reacted with the genuine shock of one from whose eyes the scales have fallen, revealing the banality of the world: “God was a man!!!???” We took this at the time as intuitive, pre-teen feminism (Why not a woman, an Earth Mother figure?) Recently recalling the event, Tian Tian clarified that, on the contrary, her remark was ungendered: what boggled her mind was the thought that God could begin to resemble, let alone be, anything so idiotic as a human being. Before she could read more than a handful of English sentences, she had grasped an essential thread of Karen Armstrong’s theology; and, as we shall see, that almost certainly had much to do with growing up in China—and not just because of the relative dearth of Christian icons there.

Peter Winch on divine omniscience

It was only after starting this notebook that I googled my old London University professor, Peter Winch, and discovered from Wikipedia that he died back in 1996, at the relatively early age of 71.

On ‘Nature vs Nurture’

Here’s a familiar topic: how much of what we are, our character, behaviour, interests and desires, comes from nature (construed as raw genetic material) and how much from nurture (environment, culture, education etc?) Supposing some very clever behavioural scientist came up with the answer: 62.4 per cent nature, 37.6 per cent nurture. How could this not be fatuous (whether asserted as a human universal or applied to a single individual?)

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