like pearls instead of chains
you are a lucky man
from "Oh Lucky Man" by Alan Price
Alex has never stopped reading or collecting books, despite obstacles. He moved to Alice Springs in the late sixties after numerous adventures in South America. Alex had left the church in Brazil, shortly after being ordained. His passion for books had achieved exactly what the church believed it would: an open mind.
He began a series of jobs, including working as an accountant on the Argentinian side of Tierra Del Fuego. Still single, Alex could think of nothing better in the world to do with his money than buy books. As he recounts in the videoed interviews accompanying this text, he made money by buying and selling gold dust collected by prospectors from the ocean shores ... and spent it all on books. As his book collection grew he carted it all over South America and eventually in crates to Australia. And still it grew.
There are elements of compulsion and obsession in Alex's search. He is driven to search for answers, but is forever unsatisfied. Not only that, but any loss of memory and dimunition in his stores of knowledges causes him distress.
Despite abandoning organised religion, many of Alex's books are about theology and other religions. He subscribes to journals and annuals from the Jesuits and the Humanist Society. At one stage he embarked on a study of Prali - on top of the eight or nine languages he already had - so he could read original Buddhist texts. He deplores Islam more than any other religions, but has read the Koran and numerous texts about it. And although he ridicules religion, at the end of his life he is frustrated that he is unable to say what he actually believes. Is he an atheist or an agnostic? More on that matter in a future blog.
I remember reading as a youth about the various paths open to the searcher. The path of knowledge, the path of experience, the path of devotion .. what were the others? The path of knowledge seems a lonely path, although one meets many great minds. But who is there to share it with?
Alex has a strange and wonderful mind. His thirst for knowledge is so strong that it has a life of its own. For a period of several months he was beset by bizarre hallucinations, which he described to me. They consisted of hour-long or longer documentaries on subjects which he knew nothing about. One was about prostitution in China! Alex's sensation was that these "films" were mysteriously projected onto a screen "inside" his forehead.
For those who have lost their faith or never had it, it may be that we are compelled to acquire more and more knowledge in order to sustain interest in life and some sort of "happiness". I wonder if the reason that so many scientists seem to be agressively athestic is that they are sustained by this ongoing search for knowledge and the sense of excitement that it generates and snobbishly deplore other paths, such as devotion or experience.
Of course not every scientist ends up like John Dawkins. Whether their excitement stimulates primarily a sense of wonder or one of power would seem to be a crucial difference among them. In some sense these two feelings can be considered opposites ... in the sense that wonder can be a positive experience of one 's own powerlessness.
I haven't asked Alex if he feels powerless. I guess he does, either often or mostly. He is beset by chronic pains: a benign growth in his stomach that should have been removed years ago, sciatica and arthritis, not to mention headaches, nightmares and random plagues. It is obvious that knowledge has not freed him from suffering. But his most painful moments are when he is unable to read, because of headaches, or recently because of his dry eyes, the cause of which is yet to be diagnosed by his doctor.
Ultimately I have to ask myself what I get from reading. My aversion to fiction is nowhere near as strong as Alex's, but I am also inclined to the same subjects as he is, which is why I am so happy to sit among his books. (In fact, just knowing that the books he has even exist makes me happy ... and more so that they exist in one place.) In my own reading I experience both the power and the awe. Power of understanding, awe of amazement - as well as befuddlement as I realise my tiny brain is unlikely to put all this together and hold it. Certainly not to remember it.
Just today I revisited another library .. that of my dad who died in the year 2000. My mother in law had kindly offered to keep them while we sorted out what to do with them, but now herself is concerned about what she should do with them. When faced with this collection, much smaller than Prus's, but with its own potency, I find myself falling into a dither. Unless I were to retire now and take them with me to a cave, there is no chance that I could read all of them, but I find myself plotting how I could build a shed somewhere to store them. Could I let them go ... to Lifeline? To strangers, even the bin?
Most likely Prus will die close to his books, as my father did. You can't take it with you, not even knowledge. But, if in the process of accumulating knowledge, you have also gotten a little wisdom, is it possible the soul of your library will travel with you _ or at least sweeten your departure?
No comments:
Post a Comment