Genesis is the first book of the Bible and I was taught that Moses wrote it (as part of the Pentateuch—the first five books of the Christian Bible). However, being taught something, even believing something, does not necessarily make it true. So what is the evidence?
There is some evidence within the Bible itself. In the Old Testament, the law is often referred to as ‘the law of Moses.’ (Eg: Dan 9:13, Mic. 6:4) plus we read that Moses wrote down all that God told him. This does not necessarily mean he wrote the book of Genesis—he perhaps only wrote down the laws, and then passed them to the people. In the New Testament people also refer to the law of Moses, which falls into the same category. Jesus refers to ‘the book of Moses’ (Mk 12:26) and there are several places when Moses is described as having written the law. Therefore it is clear that the early church believed that the law came from Moses—but not explicitly that he wrote Genesis.
If I use a modern analogy, I can say that I tell my children Hans Christian Anderson’s story of The Ugly Duckling. Now, I have never actually read his original story (I do not read Danish) nor have I ever read a translation. But I know the story from my own childhood, and I trust that it originated with him, therefore I consider it truthful to say it is his story. I might even write it down, centuries after he died, and it would still be ‘his’ story, even if I wrote it in modern English. Of course, someone looking at my book in the year 3000 might notice it is not written in Danish, or even in English of the 1800s, and they might question whether it was really a story by Hans Christian Anderson. But I think this is an accurate description of the book. (Today, we would write a colophon, saying that the story was retold by me, and the dates, but in the ancient world, this was not a thing.)
What then do we find if we look at the writing of Genesis? We do not have any original texts, so we need to use the manuscripts that we do have. The oldest manuscripts show it was written mostly in Hebrew (just two words in Aramaic, in Gen.31:47). Like all languages, Hebrew has evolved over time, and the language is not consistent throughout. There are texts written in Archaic Biblical Hebrew, Classical Biblical Hebrew, and Late Biblical Hebrew. However, most of the texts were written in Classical Biblical Hebrew. This was used from about 9th century BCE to the 6th century BCE. Within this time frame, Classical Hebrew continued to evolve and some words began to be written in different ways. It is likely therefore that Genesis 1 (the 7 days of creation) was written later than the Eden creation story, even though it is placed first in the book.
As well as the style of language, some of the terms used also help to date the texts. For example, ‘Ur of the Chaldeans (Gen.11:28) must have been written (or added) after 700 BCE, yet the city Calah in Gen.10:12 must have been written about 880 BCE, because after 704 BCE it was part of Ninevah, not a separate place.
So what do we make of all this? And does it matter?
My view is that the best way to read Genesis is as openly as you are able, making sense of what the texts say, and asking God to reveal something to you while you read. That, I think, is how biblical texts should be read. Genesis is a place where you might encounter God.
However, from an academic point of view (which generally reveals very little of God, but is extremely interesting if you like that sort of thing!) Genesis seems to be a composite text, added to over centuries by various authors or schools of thought. Whether it began with a single author is impossible to prove. Personally, I do not like to examine the various sections in isolation, taking strands from various time periods and looking at them separately. I think they were combined for a reason, and to study them properly you need to view them within the context of the whole. But others disagree. What do you think?
Thanks for reading. I hope your day is a good one.
Take care.
Love, Anne x
My main source for facts was Ronald Hendel, ‘Historical Context’ in The Book of Genesis (Leiden: Brill, 2012) 51-82.
As I write this, I am ill (by the time it’s posted, I shall be better). No one enjoys being ill, and this virus is a particularly nasty one, possibly covid (which I have never had before, so I have nothing to compare it with). Anyway, I have had to cancel a lot of things in the diary (all fun things, which makes it worse) and poor Husband is back on animal duty and preparing his own food. (A lot of ready meals, I believe.) However, while I do feel pretty sorry for myself, I am a great believer in making the best of a situation—even a rubbish one. Always live the best day possible. I tried to think about what I could do to make life less boring. Being ill is incredibly boring. I started optimistically, with a large volume on Genesis that I want to read. But my brain is too fuzzy to concentrate, so that was a fail. I moved on to a book Husband gave me, but that too required too much concentration. Then I decided to read the farm books that I wrote. Now, writing a novel is great fun, and fully consuming, and you live inside your head for about a year, only properly emerging when it’s ready to be published. Publishing a book is absolutely AWFUL. Suddenly all those characters who you have loved and hated for months are released into the world, and other people will have opinions. Plus, although I have never read a book that didn’t have at least one typo, even expensive books by well known publishers, my own mistakes worry me. No matter how many people have checked and proofread, there are always some that are missed. Which is very embarrassing. Therefore, when a book is published, I do not read it again for a long time. In fact, I am not sure that I have ever reread my farm books. Now was the perfect time. To be honest, they are rather good! I worry that I perhaps introduced too many characters too quickly, but other than that, I really enjoyed them. They made me laugh (I guess it is my own humour after all) and in places, they even made me cry. (Though the virus might have had something to do with that!) Anyway, if I might be so bold, I thoroughly recommend them. You can buy them from any Amazon. I have been ill for 3 days now, so I’m bored again. I am quarantined in the bedroom so no one else catches it (very nasty germ) though Meg has decided this doesn’t include her. I’m too desperate for company to keep to the rules. I am regularly gargling with the mouthwash that my virus-expert doctor friend recommended, and drinking lots of water. I realise afresh what a wonderful gift good health is. Hopefully I will be fully better in a couple of days. Now I need to find something else to do that’s worthwhile, because I’m currently watching back-to-back Instagram posts of puppies. (Some of these make me cry too—definitely due to the virus!) Hope you stay well this week. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
Sent from my iPhone
Gargle 3x per day Not allowed in bedroom Considering options Technically, not actually ON bed…
I went to the summer conference of SOTS (Society for Old Testament Study). As in previous years, I was one of the least qualified people in the room (which is actually rather a safe position to be in, there is nothing to lose in the way of status).
I set off from home on a dull Monday morning, and caught the early afternoon train from Kings Cross to Durham. It happened to be an Edinburgh train, and I was tempted to just stay on it, and have a sneaky few days in Edinburgh while Husband did all my duties at home. When I arrived in Durham it was sunny, and I decided to walk to Collingwood College. I had not factored-in the hills; Durham has a lot of them. Or the lack of signposts; Durham has very few road name signs. I arrived at the venue resembling a witch recently evicted from a sauna. Everyone else stepped from taxis looking very smart and intelligent.
Not a pretty campus. My room was in that block.
I went to the reception desk, received my name badge (kept it round the wrong way until I had managed to tidy up a bit) and collected my room key. I set off to find my room, returned a few minutes later and was issued with a map—the campus is like a rabbit warren, it all connects (great if it rains) and lack of signs seems to be a feature of university campuses. Maybe it’s like in Malta, and they plan to confuse any invaders. My room, when I finally found it, was clean and uncomfortable, with a tiny shower room and paper-thin walls. It was also extremely hot, which seems to be another feature of university campuses. But it was a nice private space to escape to when I needed a break from trying to look intelligent.
This was my fifth conference, so I now recognise most people and would include some of them as friends—even though I see them only at conferences. There was a drinks reception, so I changed into a dress, combed my hair, and negotiated the rabbit warren back to the dining area. I remember my first SOTS, when I hid in my too-hot room, too nervous to join the reception until I was sure the cohort from my college had arrived. I am less anxious now. I recognise several people by their names, because they have written the books in the libraries, and it’s fun to meet them, to tell them I have enjoyed their writing, to discover whether the person matches the style of words. (They often do not, some of the people who write very clear, easy to understand books are less comfortable in real life.)
Therefore, only a few minutes after arriving at the university, there I was, drink in hand, chatting with a group of clever people who I have never met before, trying to look intelligent—or at least, not too stupid. But as I stood there, drink in hand, I was aware that I could feel an unusual crease in my dress, and the awful thought loomed—was my dress inside-out? I tried to remember whether I had actually looked in a mirror after changing, and I realised that no, I had checked my face when I combed my hair, but I had not looked in a full-length mirror at any time, I wasn’t even sure if there was one. (There was, I later found one inside the wardrobe door.) It was therefore completely possible that my clothing was the wrong way round. I daren’t look down to check, because I sort of didn’t want to know until I was alone, and could rush off to change. So I held eye-contact with the person talking, but I probably looked distracted. When the main group moved away, I glanced down. All was well; dress properly positioned. But I did make a note that in future, this is the sort of thing I should check before I leave the room. Although, if I am honest, it is possible that the sort of people who attend SOTS might not notice inside-out clothing anyway.
The conference continued with dinner, and then a lecture. This was the format of the whole week: food, lecture, coffee, lecture, repeat. It was fairly intense, because even during the mealtimes people continued talking about academic things. Even at breakfast, the conversation was intelligent, which was bit of a struggle for me. The lectures were interesting, and even when I didn’t understand the whole thing (there was one lecture with a lot of Greek discussed) there was usually something that struck a chord, a little oh, I didn’t know that, moment, which is always fun.
By the end of the conference, I was exhausted. I found it impossible to ‘switch off’ my brain after the evening lectures, and this combined with the hot room and uncomfortable bed meant I slept very little. I also missed my home. I was therefore very happy on Thursday morning, when I could abandon my room, and walk through the beautiful city of Durham to the station. I am really pleased that I attended the conference, and I learnt a great deal. But going home was wonderful.
I hope you have something to look forward to this week. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
I will write about some of the papers in another post.
Afternoon tea to welcome the new SOTS president.Beautiful Durham CityI crossed lots of bridges trying to follow Google maps!On the way home.
I was recently invited to lead a discussion on assisted dying. I had a few concerns, because I was keen that no one should be upset by the debate, and talking about death and dying will inevitably evoke painful memories, and possibly fear. As I don’t know the histories of the people attending the discussion group, I decided to be very safe, to keep the discussion as impersonal as possible and to encourage discussion at at a very broad, metaphysical level. I personally find details of the ‘mechanics’ of dying perturbing (I don’t think anyone needs to be reminded of what it looks like when food and water are withheld from a patient). I therefore wrote a little talk, to start the discussion and hopefully guide it in a direction that would be helpful, interesting, and not upsetting. This is what I said:
“The debate surrounding assisted dying takes place in a variety of arenas—I have attended debates in government and medical schools and universities. I argue that fundamentally it is also a theological issue—and perhaps it is the philosophers and theologians who should be the loudest voices, though in practice it is the medics and politicians who we mostly hear.
Even the semantics are emotive—are we discussing ‘assisted dying’ or ‘assisted suicide’ or ‘euthanasia’ or ‘mercy-killing’? The terminology can be confusing, so to clarify: ‘Voluntary Euthanasia’—means a doctor will administer medication (Netherlands and Belgium).‘Assisted Dying’—means the medication is provided by a medic, but the patient must take it themselves. (Switzerland, the state of Oregon, and Australia).
I hear people say that it should not be introduced, because ‘Humans are made in the image of God’ (I would love to know what they understand by the image of God) or, ‘Only God should decide life and death’ or ‘Assisted dying is murder, and murder is wrong’.
On the other side of the debate, I hear that ‘We would not allow an animal to suffer, it is cruel to make a human suffer’, ‘Palliative care cannot remove all suffering in all circumstances so we need another choice,’ or ‘Humans should be allowed dignity in life and dignity in death’, or ‘At the moment people have to travel alone to a different country so they can die with dignity’. All of these statements are both true and an over-simplification of the issue.
If we look to the Bible, the issue is one of finding an underlying ethic rather than finding clear examples in the biblical texts. Death in the Old Testament is seen as good (from God—we were created as mortal) and the ‘right’ end to life was die a natural death after a long life, and to be ‘gathered to the ancestors.’ Only premature death (by murder, killing or accident) was seen as a bad thing.
The Bible certainly does not condemn suicide in all cases, as Samson killed himself (and a hall full of enemies) when he pulled down the temple in Judges 17. There are only two cases of ‘assisted dying’ in the Bible of which I am aware. One is in Judges 9:54 (when a man has a millstone dropped on his head by a woman and he would rather a man killed him so he asked his servant to kill him before he died). The other is 1 Samuel 31:4, when King Saul asked his armour-bearer to kill him so that he wouldn’t die by the hand of the enemy. Both of these examples have reasons which today seem unacceptable—but I wonder if they are so different from the motivation today that is sometimes given, of not wanting to be a burden, or not wanting to lose one’s dignity. People want to be in control of their own life, and this includes their own death. In Oregon, reason for assisted dying is most often ‘loss of dignity.’
There are examples in New Testament about ‘laying down life’ for others—such as Jesus, and the good shepherd (for his sheep) and John 15:13 (Greater love has no man than this…) St Paul put himself in danger, and said ‘to die is gain’. This shows that death is not ‘to be avoided at all costs’. (p.35)[1]The New Testament teaches we should love others as Jesus loved us—but should there be limits on this? Should someone feel obligated to ask for assisted suicide, because they don’t want to be a burden on their family, or because they want to spare their family the upset of seeing them as their body deteriorates, or (worse) because they don’t want to use their children’s inheritance to pay for palliative care? How much should love for others obliterate our own rights?
I find it more thought-provoking that in the New Testament, there was the a case which one feels is an obvious time to mercifully aid death. When Jesus was on the cross, he was next to two men, who were also dying, in agony. Crucifixion can take many painful hours to die. One assumes that Jesus, who could summon healing from a distance, would also have been able to summon death, to stop the suffering of the men next to him, who were certainly dying, and who were in agony. Yet he did not. We know that Jesus died first, and that the men had to be killed cruelly (by breaking their legs) for the convenience of the soldiers. It provokes the question of why. Why would Jesus not accelerate death? Is it possible that in dying, people learn something?
Badham suggests the reasons people now want assisted dying are because:
1. People are now enabled to live much longer, and well past the point that they actually want to be alive. (He notes that pneumonia used to be called ‘old man’s friend’ but now it is almost always cured.) As statistics indicate that healthy lifespan is not increasing, the editor of Bulletin of Medical Ethics suggest that the NHS is basically simply involved in ‘the prolongation of dying’. (p.9)
2. People demand autonomy over every area of their lives. People who are used to being autonomous do not wish to be dependent. (p.13)
3. When the medical intervention is stopped (including feeding) death can be slow and painful. (p.14) Dying naturally might not be quick and easy.
Badham examines utilitarianism (the greatest good for the greatest number of people) and states that as 80% of people now want euthanasia in the UK, the law should be changed. (p. 47) He dismisses that this same ethic was used by the Nazis to justify euthanising the handicapped and infirm who did not want to die. (p.53)
In the UK, doctors can already give life-shortening medication, when death is ‘foreseen but not intended’ and therefore changing the law is simply clarifying what already happens, thus protecting medics from potential law suits. (p.105) At present, the doctor cannot discuss this possibility with the patient, they have to ‘intuit’ that this is what the patient and relatives want, which is open to abuse. Badham says there will be more trust if the situation is more open, and the possibility is legalised formally.
The work of Dr Monika Renz, who undertook research of dying patients in Switzerland, is also relevant.[2] As a psychotherapist and theologian, she helped many patients during the final moments of life, and she suggests that like birth, death is a transition from one state to another. She proposes that understanding this transition enables care-givers and relatives to both help the patient and to view death as a natural process that should not be shortened.
Renz has studied palliative care patients, and concludes that as they die, they pass through a process—which she names ‘transition’—whereby they reach a state where they welcome death and pass peacefully into it. She describes a ‘pre-transition’ phase, when patients often become agitated, they see various ‘visions’ or hallucinations, they feel the need to correct past wrongs or let go of certain relationships. They then reach ‘transition stage, when they relax and are peaceful and all awareness of self/ego appears to have completely disappeared. Like a return to the early stages of life, when a baby is unaware of what it looks like, and bodily functions are of no matter. Renz says this stage can be hard for other people to watch, but for the patient, it is a time of peace. They then gradually slip into death.
This view of death is a natural one. Death is not to be feared, but rather welcomed (and Renz warns against things that force a ‘return to life’ like a last ride in a car, or a visit to a certain place—the patient’s focus should be on letting go, accepting that they are dying.) This tallies with the few references we have of death in the Canon, whereby a character ‘lived to an old age, and then was gathered to their ancestors’.
The implications for assisted dying are therefore somewhat fuzzy. If this process, whilst possibly difficult is also natural, and helpful, and prepares a person for death, then to curtail it would seem wrong. Assisted dying would be akin to sudden unnatural death—which is portrayed as a bad thing in the Canon—like murder or accident. Assisted dying would be to deny a person the time to process what is necessary, to let go of life, to ‘transition’.
‘The inner world of patients and their changing perceptions is strongly related to the spiritual dimension of being, and many dying patients—religious (followers of all religions) as well as agnostic—have impressive spiritual experiences.’ p.6.
‘Nowadays, more and more dying persons proclaim a right to die, as if they owned life and death. The term “self-determination” is misleading: self-determination is important in life to prevent an individual becoming nothing but an object of others, power structures and medical systems. Self-determination however, finds its absolute limits in facing nature, fate, the earth or the divine.’ p.7.
She views humans as essentially spiritual beings (though she avoids using this phrase) and therefore dying is a process whereby a person, whether religious or not, gradually accepts their spiritual identity and moves away from the world with dignity. She writes: ‘such dignity touches on the divine realm, which in post-transition draws close and is almost tangibly present.’ p.43.
She disagrees with the ‘right to die’ or ‘dying with dignity’ campaigns, saying: ‘It is ‘a catchphrase that obscures the question of ultimate human dignity. It is assumed that dignity depends on the autonomous functioning and decision-making capacity of the ego.’ p.117. She goes on to argue that true dignity is found in ‘letting go’ of the ego, and is not something that exists only in relation to how other people view one. She uses children living in poverty as an example, people who have little to ‘offer’ and who suffer daily, yet they still have the right to dignity. She separates ‘dignity’ and ‘autonomy’, saying they are not the same thing and should not be linked. p.117. She views dignity as stemming from God. p.120.
Renz notes there is value in suffering and endurance, and modern society does not value these things and wants to remove them. She worries that health professionals are now pressured to do what people demand, and not what they consider to be right. p.121. (A similar point was made at the Edinburgh debate at the medical school Nov. 2024.)
Badham notes that for Christians, death is not the end—as Bonhoeffer said as he was taken to be hanged: ‘This is the end. For me the beginning of life.’ When Cardinal Hume phoned Timothy Wright, the Abbot of Ampleforth to say he had terminal cancer, the Abbot replied: ‘Congratulations! That’s brilliant news. I wish I was coming with you.’ (p.119)
Questions for Discussion
When you consider your own experiences of people dying, how much do you think they influence your view on assisted dying? Is this a good basis on which to form an ethical view?
From a biblical perspective, do you think assisted dying is right or wrong in any circumstances?
Should a person feel ‘obligated to die’ to spare their relatives inconvenience, embarrassment, sadness, financial loss?
Should doctors still adhere to the Hippocratic Oath?
In regard to assisted dying, is it possible to have a rigid ethic that applies to all situations in every age—or does everything depend on circumstances? In what situations do we think killing is definitely right, or definitely wrong?
Do we think the Bible is still relevant today when deciding contemporary issues?
The Old Testament presents death/dying as good, ordained by God, a natural planned part of life on earth. What do you consider the good aspects of dying are? What are the bad aspects?
If we consider the ‘bad aspects,’ which of these will assisted dying address? Could they be resolved differently?
Do you think that humans should be in control of their own death? If yes, would you place any limits on this, and why? If no, what are your reasons? Are individuals always competent to decide what is an ‘acceptable’ quality of life? If not, who should make that decision? Does dignity depends on the autonomous functioning and decision-making capacity of the ego.’
Monika Renz states that dying and birth are similar processes, and that in dying we are transformed into a different state. Which of her reasons for a ‘natural death’ do you agree/disagree with?
If we consider how assisted dying will be implemented, which do you consider to be the biggest problem that must be overcome?
How should vulnerable people be protected— how will they be protected from coercion?
[1] Paul Badham, Is There a Christian Case for Assisted Dying? (London: SPCK, 2009)
[2] Monika Renz, Dying a Transition trans. Mark Kyburz with John Peck (NY: Columbia University Press, 2015)
We have been married for a very long time, it has been mostly good, but undoubtedly I have changed during this time. If you are a long-term reader of my blog, you will notice that I have changed since I first began writing—for a start my hair is a different colour. I am aware that I have changed because when I meet people who I haven’t seen for a while, they do not recognise me, and I have to tell them to imagine I have black hair and am thinner—then they usually remember me. However, I am not sure that Husband always notices or remembers that I have changed. Often this is good. But when we go for walks, especially long walks in Italy, this can cause challenges. I don’t find adventures as relaxing as I once did.
Yesterday we went for a walk around a mountain lake. It was beautiful, not too far to walk, no danger of getting lost because we could see the whole perimeter. Lovely—but not without challenges. The first challenge was the lack of facilities—older bodies mean weaker bladders, and whilst this is not a problem for men, it makes for a slightly uncomfortable walk for women.
Then there was the ground, which was boggy in places where the snow was melting on the slopes. It was very pretty, with steams of water flowing into the lake, but not so easy to navigate in my not-waterproof trainers. There was quite a bit of leaping over stepping-stones, which with my lack of co-ordination and balance is a challenge. (I blame this lack of co-ordination/balance on the brain surgery, but if I am honest, I was never exactly athletic. I did read somewhere that people should practise standing on one leg while cleaning their teeth, to improve their balance. This means I fall over a lot when cleaning my teeth). But it was fine, the stepping stones were not too far apart, they didn’t wobble, my feet stayed dry and I was quite impressed with how far I can still jump.
But then we encountered an area that was basically swamp, with no dry ground at all. It was caused by a large area of snow halfway up the scree slope which was melting fast. The ground above the snow was dry, and Husband suggested we should walk up the slope, along the line where the top of the snow met the scree, then down the other side. It was bound to be a disaster, but I decided it didn’t look too difficult, off I set.
I walked up the scree, next to the heap of snow. As we approached, marmots (groundhogs if you’re American) scampered off and dived into their burrows. How cute. The terrain grew steeper, and less easy to walk, but we were nearing the top of the snow. Husband is very good at offering his hand for the more difficult parts, and he usually goes first and suggests the best footing. But somehow I managed to be slightly higher than him, and I started to slip, and needed to use my hands to avoid falling. I just needed to climb slightly further. My face was now right next to a marmot burrow, and I felt I could hear them watching, just out of sight, gnashing their teeth inches from my cheek. Not so cute. I climbed higher, level with the top of the snow now, maybe we could walk along it? Husband tested the footing and slipped—no, snow is too slippery to walk on in trainers. I searched for hand/footholds in the scree. There was nowhere to secure myself, I started to slip whenever I paused, I needed to keep moving sideways. Husband told me to wait while he found a route. I told him (very calmly, no panic at all) that I could not. If I kept still I slipped. I started to make my way back to where we had started. Sharp thorns were sticking into my fingers, my feet were skidding, there was an Italian man below shouting ‘Allez!’ which might have been nothing to do with us, but it added to the stress of the situation. I crawled/slipped//skidded back down to the swampy land. Avoided being attacked by marmots (they were probably laughing). Found a big rock and sat on it, waiting for Rambo Husband to join me. He went off in search of an easier route. There wasn’t one. We were halfway round the lake, and decided that perhaps this was as far as we could get. Walked back to the car. More of an adventure than hoped, but it was very beautiful.
We drove up to the San Bernado Pass, into France. Stopped for coffee and crepe (and washroom—yaay!). This bit I enjoyed.
Today Husband suggested another walk in another valley. I said I did not want any scrabbling, off we went. We drove into the mountains, and walked into the valley. Gushing rivers with little bridges, meadows full of flowers, very beautiful. The path wound upwards. Not so good, but okay so far. Then the ground got boggy, more melting snow, more jumping across stepping stones. Then, while perched on stepping stones, we noticed cows—frisky ones—walking up the hillside towards us. Worried we might get trampled. Noticed a thin blue line of electric fence and felt safer. Under the fence dashed two large dogs, barking loudly, hackles raised—felt less safe. I kept my arms tucked in, and spoke sternly, telling them to stay down (hoped they understood English). They circled us, but didn’t approach. A farmer further up the hill heard the noise, called the dogs. Husband asked if we were okay to walk, he replied with a thumbs-up, we continued. The electric fence crossed the path. It was nearly too high, but managed to step over it (held onto Husband for support). Then a little further on there was another wire—this one was too high for stepping over, so we crawled under it, hands and knees on the gravel. Old back protested, took some nurofen.
The rest of the walk was very beautiful, with stone bridges over bubbling water, and flowers and mountains, and all boisterous cows secured behind wires. But I felt a bit worn out. I do like walks in beautiful places, but I prefer less adventure. And definitely less scrabbling up scree or under fences. Being upright is very nice at my age. I don’t mind being older—I actually do not want to do the things that I did in my forties, I don’t want more children or to be worried about a career or to be planning to move house. Mostly I like being older. But as I cover my cuts with savlon and top up my nurofen for my aching back, I realise that I do not quite keep up with Husband anymore. I now prefer my adventures in books. I think I will take charge of planning the walks in future. They will involve only walking.
I hope you survive your day. Thanks for reading. Take care.
As I am writing this in Italy, and as the rest of the world appears to be in rather a mess, I thought I would pass on some excellent advice that first appeared in a letter to some Italians. The translation is my own (from the Koine Greek) so apologies for any mistakes. Here is a code to live by, illustrated below with some photos of modern Italy (to add to the wonder).
How to Live in a Crazy World
Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil, hold fast to what is good. Love each other with sibling affection. Outdo each other in showing respect.
Do not be lazy with enthusiasm, be fervent in spirit, serve God.
Be delighted in hope, be patient under pressure, continuing in prayer.
Give towards the needs of good people and strive to be kind to strangers.
Speak well of people who harass you—speak well of them and don’t wish them bad luck. Be joyful with those who are happy, cry with those who are sad. Live in harmony with each other. Do not be arrogant/smug, instead associate with poor/timid people. Never be wise in your own eyes.
Do not repay wrong for wrong, but think about what is good in everyone’s eyes. If possible, as much as you able, live in peace with everyone.
My friends, never look for revenge but leave it to God. It was written: ‘“Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” says God.’ Instead, if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty give him something to drink (for doing this is like heaping coals on his head).
Do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good…
I was tempted to paraphrase some of it, to change the ‘burning coals’ bit to ‘this will make him ashamed’ but I decided to leave it as a translation and let you decide for yourself what it means in the context of the whole.
Today I was cheered by something I read in the news. In Devon, two young bears had escaped. The zoo quickly phoned the police (standard procedure) and ensured all the staff and visitors were safely secured into buildings. When everyone was safe, they set about capturing the bears. This sounds fairly easy. Apparently, the escaped bears went straight to the food storage area, ate a week’s worth of honey in two hours, then went back to the cage to sleep it off. I love stories like this. Who doesn’t love a good bear story?
Image from BBC website.
I feel we need some cheering news at the moment—the rest of the world seems very insecure. I understand that Europe has become very popular for holidays this year, because no one wants to visit America due to Trump’s stringent border controls, and the Middle East is not looking safe right now.
Europe is nice though, and currently safe and welcoming (with variable food and weather, depending on which country you visit). We followed the trend and visited Italy. So far (two days in) it has been pretty perfect—though we did have bit of a worry the day before we travelled.
We had booked an Airbnb, which we have used several times, and they have always worked out well for us. This one was in La Thuile, which is our favourite place in Italy, and you will remember we have visited a few times in the past. However, the day before we were due to travel, the owner of the apartment contacted us, saying that the cooker was broken, so we were being offered a different apartment, further up the road. This was a worry, because La Thuile is in the Italian Alps, and a ‘bit further up the road’ might turn out to be up a long track, up a mountain, a long drive from anywhere. We asked for more details, and said that as we did not plan to cook, we didn’t really mind if the cooker didn’t work. Not much in the way of reply. Then some videos arrived, showing the new apartment, and directions so we could check the map. It looked fine. When we arrived it was fine, and the previous apartment was covered in scaffolding and had workmen renovating it. It looked to be rather more major than a faulty cooker!
Another unexpected thing was our favourite restaurant, where we usually eat every night, was shut. No info on the website, no response to phone calls. We tried our second-choice. They replied saying the season has a break in June, they reopen at the end of the week. Unexpected. We walked down the hill into town. This was the day we had arrived, after a 4am start, and a long drive from Turin airport. I was tired and hungry (but still pleasant, good company, completely reasonable, as you can imagine.) We found a restaurant that looked nice, booked a table for 7pm, when it opened, walked up the very long hill to our apartment. I napped.
At 7pm we went back down the hill to the restaurant. We were seated in a sort of cavern, with an arched ceiling, and given good red wine, and tasty food, and all was very good with the world, Well, with our little bit of it. Felt very happy as we made our way back up the hill/mountain (felt steeper than before) to our apartment.
I woke this morning to a view of the mountain, white with snow, and the blue blue sky. I notice how beautiful the world is. We went for a walk, along Rte 12, which is, without doubt, the most beautiful valley in the world. The sun was shining. There were butterflies and spring flowers, and cows with bells clonking on the mountainside. The air was clear, We walked for a couple of hours, This is why we came. At one point there was snow, which had slipped down the hill, covered in mud but still white underneath. It was icy, hard to scoop into a snowball. The path was wet with snow melting further up the mountain, and the waterfalls, which will be tiny springs in August, were racing foamy white torrents that rushed down to the valley.
At one point there was a rumble, distant, a deep shudder. Was it a plane flying high? Thunder? An earthquake? Noticed there was ‘smoke’ from the mountain on the other side of the valley and at first I thought they must be mining. Then I realised it was a rock fall, stones rolling down the mountain (probably due to melting snow), I was more watchful after than—didn’t fancy a rock on the head!
A lovely day, in a beautiful place. It’s good to remember that beautiful places, and good food, and cute animals, exist even when it seems like the world is going bonkers. Humans have not managed to ruin everything, there is still some wonder in the world.
I hope you find something to cheer your week too. Thanks for reading. Take care.
We returned from a 2 week holiday and collected a happy Meg from the kennels. She is always happy. The kennel staff obviously know her well, and talked about how she insists on carrying the biggest log whenever she’s out, and that she’s very bouncy so they don’t allow the pregnant kennel worker anywhere near her! They told us she is still aggressive towards other dogs when walking on the lead (though not when in the kennel). I haven’t seen this, so not sure what to do. They said it happens when other dogs approach her and aren’t recalled by their owners. I guess as she is on the lead, it’s the responsibility of the other dog owners to recall their dogs. But it’s a shame. I have noticed that when we’re in the car, Meg no longer barks at every dog we pass. I hope this continues. She must have got used to seeing other dogs when in her kennel, so hopefully they have become ‘normal’ in her world.
Before we collected Meg, I felt a bit depressed—I wasn’t sure that I wanted her back, life is so much easier without her. I never felt like this with our other dogs. When she first came home, Meg pretty much ignored me, and was much more excited about going into the garden to greet the gardener than greeting me. This was a low point in our relationship. Later, we had a lovely walk together and I realised that actually, I am very fond of her, but it’s easy to forget that. I hand-fed her for a couple of days to encourage her to bond with me again. But if I am honest, unlike Kia (my ‘velcro-GSD’) Meg would be completely happy whoever she lived with. If I was ill and needed to rehome her, I would have no worries about her settling in, she would forget me as soon as she left the driveway! Perhaps this is what makes working GSD so suitable for police and army work—they focus on the task and are less attached to a single owner. Meg does follow me round the house, but only because there is not a better option. She is good company unless someone/thing is more exciting, and then she leaves me without a backward glance. I find this difficult. Though it does mean I don’t feel guilty putting her into kennels. (I also wouldn’t worry if she was stolen.)
We collected cat-with-snapped-tendon from Son. She was happy there, and did not want to come home. She now has the utility room, so no longer caged, and Meg is not supposed to go in there. Of course, Meg is not keen on this rule. She came in with me today, when I used the washing machine. The cat was on top of her cage, Meg put up her nose, Milly slapped her, repeatedly. I stroked Meg, praised her for being calm, moved her away before she lost all control and bounced on the cat. It’s such a shame they aren’t friends. They would both enjoy the company.
The weather is sunny. This makes life easier as there are less muddy footprints on my kitchen floor. But it means I worry about leaving Meg in the car for too long, so when I go out she needs to be in her cage at home. Although she seems very happy in her cage, I don’t like putting her in there. When I’m home, she is free in the house all the time now, unless her feet are muddy. So far she hasn’t destroyed anything. Mostly she sleeps in whichever room I am working in.
We were having some shrubs planted, and Husband needed to put sticks in the ground so the gardeners knew where to plant them. There was no way we could let Meg witness this—she would have gone back and collected the sticks, and then when the shrubs were planted she would associate them with sticks and go and collect them too. We put her in the hall, where she couldn’t see what was happening. So far, the shrubs have survived.
I like throwing sticks for Meg, but there’s always a danger that she’ll try to grab them when I pick them up (and would break my fingers, she is so strong). Therefore, she is meant to ‘wait’ when I stoop to pick up a stick. Sometimes she grabs them anyway, and then I stand, and wait for her to drop it before I will throw it. Meg understands this, and stands close, looking at me, determined to not release the stick, waiting for me to continue the game with a different stick. I always refuse, it feels important to never let Meg win when we have a stand-off. (This is probably why she prefers everyone else in the world to me—I am the only one who insists she obeys!) This week Meg kept grabbing at sticks (I’m guessing because no one stops her when she’s in kennels) and our walk was very slow—lots of standing, not looking at her, waiting for her to release the stick. She is very determined, and will stand for long minutes, refusing to obey. But I am more determined. One day, I hope she will simply obey—it will make life easier.
One afternoon was perfect. We walked in the woods, I threw sticks, Meg charged backwards and forwards chasing sticks (picture a torpedo, taking down anything that stands in the way). She came when I called and walked next to me on the lead, along the edge of the road but ignoring the cars. We drove into town, and I walked to pay the friend who feeds the poultry when I’m away. Meg carried a stick, and walked next to me, through the station car park, up some steps, along the main road (for 1 minute) and although she was on full-alert she did not chase the cars that passed us. Then we went to Mum’s, and she slept in the back of the car. Then played with a ball while I cooked dinner. In the evening she lay watching telly with us, chewing her chew. Such a lovely dog. Perfectly behaved.
I hope you have something perfect this week too. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
‘Humans are different to animals because we have morals.’ But is this true? Is it true that animals do not have moral capacity? Do they act purely on instinct? This is a question I continue to wrestle with, but as ever with academic research, the journey itself has been fascinating.
This week, I decided to read what Kant wrote. Immanuel Kant was a philosopher who lived in Prussia in the 1700s. People still quote him today, which is a sign that someone’s work was significant (even at my most optimistic, I do not dream that anyone will be reading my work in 2325). He wrote a couple of books about the metaphysics of morals. I decided that before I could answer my questions about animals, I needed to define what I meant by ‘moral’ and ‘moral behaviour’. As this is not something I have considered before, I hoped Kant would help.
The problem was, I did not understand what I was reading — even his titles needed deciphering. I was reading a translation, with a commentary, but even the commentary was impossible! Now, this is not a rare occurrence when I read academic books. Some academics, especially those who are not also teachers, tend to use language that usually only appears in a dictionary. Kant has the added bonus of writing sentences that never seem to end. Reading very long sentences, full of unfamiliar words, makes for difficult reading. But never fear, I have a tactic.
Reading something difficult can be stressful, because we feel stupid. My tactic is to read it aloud, in my ‘telling a story to 5-year-olds’ voice, while recording it on my phone. I do not attempt to understand it (you don’t need to understand something to read it aloud, it’s like handwriting practise). I use accents for the quotes, different voices for certain phrases, lots of expression and a generally calm slow voice.
Then, when I am relaxed, perhaps on a train or baking a cake, I listen to the recording. The words are now in my own speech pattern, nothing is scary, I can listen properly, concentrating on the meaning. Now, Kant is still complicated, I still needed to pause the recording to check words in dictionaries or make notes. But by removing the stress, I can tackle the content. The recording isn’t perfect. I attempted a Prussian accent when reading direct quotes, and then giggled because it was so bad. Meg was with me, and did not appreciate Kant, so there are long groans from the dog, and at one point she came and panted into the mic and then licked the book, which sounds very weird. But I still found it helpful, and understood enough to give you a summary:
Kant was considering what makes good actions good. He described someone risking his life to save another person. He noted that even if they didn’t succeed in the rescue, or even if the person died in the attempt, we would still say their action was good. However, this is only good if their motive is good. If they were offered lots of money for the rescue, and especially if they believed there was no risk to themselves, then we would be less sure that their action was good. The motive matters. Kant decided that only motives of pure duty, with no other motives, means an action is moral. He said this motive (which he calls a maxim) should be as strong as a law. Other motives, like a reward, or because we like/want to do something, should not be a factor in how we decide to behave, as only an action based purely on duty an be called moral.
Now, I am not sure that I agree with him. I understand that reward muddles our motive (though I am not convinced it makes an action less moral) but I think that acting due to gratitude can also be moral. The idea of ‘not repaying good with evil’ is also, I think, a sign of morality. If someone helps me, and I therefore want to help them in response, I think this can still be moral. This is sort of the ethic of Christianity: God has loved me and that makes me want to be good— not because of what I will receive, but because of what I have already received. I think this is different to what Kant says — but I will continue listen to my Prussian accent while the dog groans a few more times, just in case I have misunderstood. I also need to decide how this applies to animals (the morality, not the groaning). Do animals behave in response to gratitude, and can this be called moral? More thought needed before I answer that one.
I hope you find ways to overcome difficulties this week. Thanks for reading.
As you will know if you are a regular reader of my blog, in June I was in Edinburgh for my annual assessment. This was rather scary. In the weeks beforehand, I completed an online form, and submitted a writing sample. I also sent an updated proposal. (A proposal is a document that describes what you want to research, and your method, and what literature already exists and how your work will be different.) In return, I was told where and when I would be assessed. As I said, all very scary.
On the day of my assessment I visited the washroom 376 times, and arrived at the room much too early. I was told to wait outside, while the panel of academics discussed their strategy. I worried I might need the washroom again. Or faint. Managed to not do either.
I was called into the room, introduced to the person on the panel who I didn’t know, and offered a choice of seats. I chose a low sofa, then instantly regretted it—it felt like the ‘naughty seat’ at school.
The panel consisted of three lecturers at the university, one of whom was my primary supervisor. They explained that my supervisor would say very little, as she already knew about my research, the questions all came from the other two. I was expecting questions about the writing that I had submitted, and I was ready to discuss what I had learnt, and the shape of my project to date, and some of the views of other scholars. I was wrong. They asked nothing about this.
Instead, they asked about where my research fitted into the academic world—which area did I feel it was addressing? Was it philosophy, theology, biblical studies, psychology? They noted that I had quoted scholars from all those fields, and appeared to be addressing many different disciplines. They asked which scholar, of the many I have read, did I most want to be like?—They then argued with my choice (which felt a little unfair). It was a very intense interview, and I felt very unprepared. Gradually, I worked out what they were saying—they felt my work was too broad, it covers too many disciplines, and will not go ‘deep enough’ if I continue on this trajectory. I need to narrow my research, focus on a single discipline and do it well.
I did not cry (though it was close). I tried to listen. I realised that what they were saying was correct, and they were trying to help me succeed. But to be honest, I have worked very hard this year, and what I really wanted was a sticker with a smiley face on it. I think perhaps universities don’t have those.
In some ways, the outcome of the review is a relief. I have been aware that I have been dipping into various disciplines (and it has been tremendous fun!) I have known, in the back of my mind, that trying to pull all my research into a single thesis would be a challenge, but I had decided I would worry about that nearer the time, assuming that it would become clear which areas I should ignore and which ones I should focus on. It will be easier to only focus on one area (biblical studies—because I really enjoy the Hebrew, and how it communicates meaning).
As I am a part-time student, I didn’t have to ‘pass’ this review (probably just as well!) That delight happens next summer. I spent time with my supervisor, and we planned a strategy for the next year, ways to improve my proposal and focus my research.
The rest of the week was spent attending seminars, and chatting to other students. Everyone who I spoke to had a similar experience in the review—no one received a smiley face. My supervisor explained that the first year of a PhD is all about exploring the field, deciding which area to concentrate on—and I hadn’t done anything ‘wrong’ but now it was time to focus. Several students had decided to change direction completely, and were now doing research in a different field. Mine has stayed basically the same—but with fewer dips into other interesting areas.
I was thinking about all this on the train ride home. It was not a fun activity, but perhaps honestly reviewing our performance, reassessing where we are heading, is often uncomfortable. It’s something we often ignore in ‘real life’ but I wonder if perhaps we ought to do it more often. What exactly do we want to be, and are we achieving it? I thought about some of the people who I had met—the extremely intelligent ones, the high-achievers, the academically gifted, the leaders. I don’t think I fit into any of those categories. I think I want to be the ‘safe’ one, the person who people feel comfortable with, the welcoming one. If I also end up with a PhD at the end of it all, that will be excellent.
I hope you achieve your aims this week. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
I will leave you with some photos of beautiful Edinburgh.
Anne E Thompson 