A picture's worth a thousand words?

Recently I saw the film 'The Book Thief', based on the book by Australian author Markus Zusak. Perhaps you saw it too. I enjoyed it despite the grim moments, and especially loved the wonderful characters and warm, quirky humour. But I had read the book, and there was something missing - as there often is when the book becomes a film.

When I read the book, I was struck by the many fascinating turns of phrase, the way words seemed to have been carefully chosen to stop you in your tracks as you were reading so that you would pay attention to the description and let it sit with you.

Here's an extract from the first chapter:

Of course, an introduction.

            A beginning.

Where are my manners?

I could introduce myself properly, but it’s not really necessary. You will know me well enough and soon enough, depending on a diverse range of variables. It suffices to say that at some point in time, I will be standing over you, as genially as possible. Your soul will be in my arms. A color will be perched on my shoulder. I will carry you gently away.

At that moment, you will be lying there (I rarely find people standing up). You will be caked in your own body. There might be a discovery; a scream will dribble down the air. The only sound I’ll hear after that will be my own breathing, and the sound of the smell, of my footsteps. (p.4)

The sections in bold are what I'm talking about - words put together (the technical terms is 'collocations') that are quite unusual, often because the verb typically calls for a particular kind of noun to be the 'do-er' or the 'done-to', but the noun chosen is of a different kind that would not normally be considered a good fit. It's not enough just to put a noun with a verb - under normal circumstances, you have to choose the right kind of noun with particular semantic properties in order for it to work well with the verb. But in literature, the writer can exploit and subvert these conventions in order to make very particular or vivid meanings.

'A color [excuse the American spelling] will be perched on my shoulder.' 'To perch' is a particular kind of verb that generally calls for a very tangible thing to do the perching - for example, a bird is the thing you would usually expect to find perched on someone's shoulder. Sometimes a building is said to be perched on a cliff top or other precarious position. But a 'colour' - that is certainly not a tangible thing. Colour is an abstract quality. So we can differentiate between two categories of nouns - concrete and abstract. Some verbs need a concrete noun, whereas others can take either abstract or concrete.

I'm still not sure what it means for the narrator (spoiler alert: the narrator is 'Death') to say that a colour will be perched on his shoulder. Perhaps Zusak means for us to be confused there - after all, we can't yet know what it will be like when we die. Or perhaps he's trying to make 'colour' more tangible here by its association with the verb 'to perch'.

A similar thing is happening with 'a scream will dribble down the air'. With the verb 'to dribble', we expect the thing that dribbles to be concrete, and more specifically, something liquidy. You can see now how specific the requirements of the verb can be in terms of what kinds of nouns are 'allowed' to hang around with it. But 'a scream'? - it's neither liquid nor concrete.

Likewise, the phrase 'down the air' subverts our expectations. We expect that if something dribbles, it will dribble down a tangible surface, such as a wall or window. But 'the air' is not a surface and so the whole clause jars you as you read. As I ponder it, I get a very vivid image of the way the sound of the scream might make an initial impact and then gradually die away, leaving some kind of mental or emotional trace, as liquid dribbling down a surface leaves a trace.

I expect it would be very difficult, no matter how good the screenplay, to capture in film the meanings made by these unusual collocations. There are lots of these examples in the book where abstract things are collocated with verbs that usually require concrete things, and the thing about abstract things is that they are abstract. That is, they are harder to convey in the visual medium of film, without using the original wording somehow in spoken or written language as part of the film. A picture may be worth a thousand words; but where the words precede the picture, there may be no picture worthy of the words.  

References

Zusak, M. (2008) The Book Thief. Sydney: Picador/Pan Macmillan.

Book Review: The Language of God (Francis Collins)

A few months ago I wrote that I had started reading Francis Collins’ book 'The Language of God’. I have now finished it! That took a bit longer than anticipated... So I thought I’d write a review of it, having also given a verbal review of it at training this week.

As I said in my earlier post, and as you can learn from the book’s blurb and Wikipedia, Francis Collins is trained as a physician and geneticist, and was head of the Human Genome Project which did some real ground-breaking work in the late nineties and ended up presenting the world with a complete ‘map’ of the human genome. He is now Director of the National Institutes of Health in the USA, having been appointed by Obama in 2009.

Although it’s called ‘The Language of God: A scientist presents evidence for belief’ it’s not really about trying to prove God with scientific evidence, which can’t ever be done as far as we know. The title is a bit of a misnomer in that respect. What Collins is trying to do is explain why he believes in God and why, for him, being a scientist does not present an obstacle to faith in God. It’s an argument about the compatibility of science and faith more than an argument for faith.

The book is set out in three parts: the first section is about the perceived chasm between science and faith; the second section is about questions of human existence and Collins’ findings from the human genome project and related investigations; and the third section is on the relationship between faith and science in the past, and the options for now, highlighting that even if people insist on choosing between science and God, they are still putting faith in one or the other.

I enjoyed the way the author shared his life story (as I mentioned in my earlier post), and the way he systematically explained his scientific observations and reasons for his beliefs about God and about the world. I found it clearly written and strategically crafted, and the scientific explanations (e.g. how human DNA works) were accessible but not patronising. The crafting of the book intrigued me because, for most of the book, there is no mention of Jesus; I wondered all along “so he believes in God, but what does he think of Jesus?”. That made me quite wary of his argument, not being very sure about where he stood in relation to Jesus. It’s only at the very end of the book, when he has made a very compelling argument for his beliefs, that he finally shares his testimony about how he came to realise that Jesus was Lord, and decided to follow him.

There were several ideas and debates that I thought were set out in a helpful way, for example different world views and objections to religion, and questions about human existence. There was also an interesting discussion of historical changes in the relationship between science and faith especially in relation to discoveries that we now take for granted (e.g. the earth revolves around the sun, not the other way around - a theory which brought Copernicus, its first advocate, strong criticism, and saw Galileo, a firm supporter, tried by the Roman Inquisition and put under house arrest until his death!). I also found the appendix on bioethics a very worthwhile inclusion, as it was generally well reasoned and sensible about issues that tend to be over-sensationalised in the public arena.

I did have a few reservations about the book, though. I’m not completely sold on Collins’ ideas about theistic evolution, and need to do some more investigation before I can come to my own conclusions. But I appreciate his strength of conviction and the reasoning he has gone through to get to his ‘BioLogos’ perspective on the way the organisms of the world came to be the way they are now. He is fairly critical of creationism and intelligent design, however, which has no doubt alienated a lot of Christians who identify strongly with those perspectives. I also thought that leaving his testimony right to the very end, while strategic in one sense, may mean that many readers never read it if they abandon the book part-way through (for whatever reason), and that would be a shame.

I would say it’s a worthwhile read for non-believers who are interested in reading a scientist’s testimony of their faith, as they get the science and the faith reasoned out together. It’s also a good place to go for people wanting to form a view on the evolution/creation debate - but just as one perspective. One would need to read other perspectives also, and make an informed comparison. I’ve been recommended ‘Unnatural Enemies’ by Kirsten Birkett, although this one is also from a Christian perspective.

The journey continues...

Real Dialogue #2: A Review

As I wrote last week, I had the privilege of moderating a public debate at the University of New South Wales between Dr James White and Abdullah Kunde on the question of ‘Can God become a man?’. It was indeed a privilege to be part of a dialogue conducted in such a thoughtful and civilised manner on one of the central issues over which Christians and Muslims are not able to agree. The debate should be available on YouTube in the near future (I’ll post a link here).

Both speakers acknowledged the value of the debate and treated each other with great respect, with Kunde acknowledging White’s seniority in both age and academic status, and White acknowledging Kunde’s scholarship in both Hebrew and (Old Testament) Biblical studies and Medicine (of which he is still a student). Both came across as being conversant with the sacred texts of the other faith. Neither speaker seemed to approach the debate as merely an opportunity to spend time in the spotlight or provide entertainment for the audience (although it was certainly entertaining at points); rather, they treated it very seriously as an opportunity to discuss at length and bring into the open the central issues that make the incarnation of God of utmost importance to Christians and an absolute blasphemy to Muslims.

The format of the debate was:

• 20 minute opening statement from each speaker
• 15 minute rebuttals
• 10-15 minute break
• 12 minute cross-examination (2 sessions each)
• 12 minute closing statement from each speaker

It was decided that it would be more valuable to let the speakers use the whole time to say what they wanted to say and clarify each other’s views rather than allow time for audience questions. That made my job as a moderator much easier! A text record of the debate has been published by someone who was there and took notes on the proceedings, which gives you a general idea of what kinds of ideas were tabled (until the video becomes available).

As in many debates of this nature, where each speaker prepares an opening statement in advance, this debate began with the speakers talking across each other to a certain extent. White offered his formulation of the central question: ‘Does God as creator have the power, ability, capacity to join a human nature to Himself if he pleases to do so? Upon what basis can anyone say God could not do this?’ but Kunde, as the second speaker, had prepared a statement with not one central question but a large number of questions, such as ‘if Jesus has both human nature and divine nature in one being, which part of him died – the human or the divine nature - since Christians believe God cannot die?’.

There were two parts of the opening section of the debate that I found really helpful. The first was White’s argument that the doctrine of incarnation doesn’t involve ‘a fundamental change in divine essence but a fundamental change in divine experience’. That is, from a Christian point of view, the incarnation of God does not change the essence of God, only the way that God interacts with the created world. The other was Kunde’s presentation of the Islamic beliefs about the attributes of God. This helped me understand why incarnation is such a difficult concept for Muslims to accept, namely, that because one of the necessary attributes of God is that he is dissimilar to created things, he could not become a man without ceasing to be God. Obviously these two points are related, and it was this issue of whether incarnation and the essential attributes of God that became the recurring theme throughout the night.

A few other key issues that I noticed over the course of the night were:

• The nature of the Trinity, which (as I understand it) is unique to Christian theology and involves a complementary relationship between the three persons of the Godhead rather than all three acting in exactly the same way all the time. The relationship of love between the three persons is also important for explaining the obedience of the Son to the Father and the desire of the Father to glorify the Son.
• What it would mean for a human to be ‘perfect’ – complete sinlessness or complete lack of limitations (mortality, temporality, intellect, power, etc). My impression was that Kunde was arguing that sinlessness alone does not make Jesus ‘perfect’ as Christians claim, since all the Muslim messengers are considered ‘sinless’ (because God protected them from sin) but not perfect. Perfection in his view seemed to be not just sinlessness but the state of being unlimited by temporality, mortality, knowledge, bodily frailty, etc. And these are all attributes of God…
• The nature of certainty in the two faiths. Kunde argued that the Muslim faith is built on certainty, promising believers paradise, whereas the Christian faith is ‘at best’ a sandy surface. But it was never made clear what the certainty of that promise of paradise is based on, or how believers can be certain they will see paradise. Christians are also given a promise – one of eternal relationship with God – and for me that promise is a certainty for a number of reasons. Firstly, it was promised very early on in the Bible (Genesis) and reiterated throughout the Old Testament. Secondly, Jesus fulfilled hundreds of prophecies from the OT about the one God was going to send to bring about the ultimate fulfilment of his promises. Thirdly, Jesus made it clear that the only way people could have any relationship with God the Father was through him, the Son of God, not by any good works they did, which could never be enough. They had to believe that Jesus could be (and had to be) a mediator between them (a sinner) and the Father (a Holy God who cannot abide sin). Fourthly, God raised Jesus from the dead and exalted him to His right hand to rule over all of creation, which demonstrates to me the credibility of Jesus’ testimony and also validates Jesus’ promise to his followers that he was going to prepare a place for them in his Father’s house and would bring them there later.

Real Dialogue

This evening there’s a public debate on the question of ‘Can God become a man?’ between a Christian professor, Dr James White, and a Muslim scholar, Abdullah Kunde. I was asked to moderate the debate, and this is a new experience for me – a new kind of register to negotiate.

I did some research about the speakers and their past debates to find out how similar events have been run (see e.g. this debate two years ago with the same speakers) and in one of the videos I saw online, the MC/moderator noted that, while public debates used to be a permanent and regular feature of university life, these days they only occur every so often. Academics themselves tend to have more opportunities to engage in debate and dialogue through their disciplinary conferences (although this is becoming increasingly more difficult because of lack of funding and time to attend them), but students in most disciplines would probably miss out. In the opinion of that MC, the lack of real public dialogue and debate about the big ideas meant that, instead of being taught how to think, students these days are being taught what to think. I think I can actually see this attitude in many of my students, who are often not interested in engaging with ideas themselves and coming to their own view, but want to be given the 'right' answer. When asked for their opinion in class they are often reluctant to say anything in case it's not 'right' (this is also partly a result of cultural differences in pedagogical values and practices).

Why would more public debating contribute to a general pedagogy of how to think rather than what to think? I suppose it's because participating in a debate involves fairly high-level skills of reasoning and rhetoric, and even watching a debate usually means that you are exposed to two opposing ideological positions on the issue so it’s up to the individual listener to sort through the ideas, weigh up the validity of the arguments, and make up his or her own mind.

It reminds me of an article I came across a little while ago about a father who, in the interests of family harmony, taught his children how to argue from a very young age. I don’t like argument for argument’s sake, but inevitably life involves negotiation – of ideas, positions, propositions, decisions – so being able to argue well and constructively must surely be a good thing.