by James Clive-Matthews | 1 Apr, 2026 | Narratives & Meanings |
4/5 stars
An excellent companion to Rée’s superb Witcraft, his history of how philosophical ideas made their way into English (often with a considerable delay). The chapters here on Kierkegaard and Sartre neatly fill some gaps in that earlier book’s narrative, as it (mistakenly and frustratingly, in my view) ended the story largely with Wittgenstein. (Yes, Kierkegaard was earlier, but didn’t get translated into English until the early-mid 20th century.)
The introductory interview was also a nice touch, with Rée’s dislike of histories of philosophy – and especially of Bertrand Russell’s, and of Russell more broadly – an entertaining educated rant that helped shift my perspective on what has become one of my favourite genres of book over the last few years. I knew it’s not just me who sometimes, when reading the original works rather than someone else’s summary of them, struggles to understand and needs to re-read paragraphs repeatedly – but it was very reassuring to hear that the same is true for Rée.
Philosophy is hard, basically. Intellectual biographies and histories of philosophy may make it more accessible – but the point is philosophy is all about the act of thinking, not just understanding ideas.
This feels like a particularly useful insight in the age of GenAI, when it’s easier than ever to find a summary of an idea, and to have someone (albeit a bot) explain a complex concept in simple terms. This may be a shortcut to understanding, but sometimes this can mean your understanding is only superficial – by reaching your knowledge via an intermediary, rather than working at it yourself, you’re likely to be missing nuances and details, as well as to be picking up received wisdom and interpretative assumptions from other people, rather than determining your own understanding.
Taking shortcuts via other people’s interpretations isn’t always a bad thing, by any means – but it’s worth being aware of what you may be missing by doing so. I’m probably never going to read Heidegger’s Being and Time or Sartre’s Being and Nothing in English, let alone in the original German and French. I’ve always known I’m going to be missing something as a result – the summaries of these books that I *have* read have convinced me there are aspects of both I’d find fascinating. But Rée’s emphasis on taking the time to digest philosophical works, to ruminate on them, to make the effort to truly understand them has given me pause.
Much to think about here, in other words – not bad for what is at its core a collection of book reviews.
by James Clive-Matthews | 19 Oct, 2019 | Narratives & Meanings
4/5 stars
Still a solid four stars on a re-read, despite getting a bit unsubtle and preachy in places. Still kinda impressed that this got published as a book for kids 20 years ago, considering how soon after the pissy responses to things like The Life of Brian and The Last Temptation of Christ that was.
The strange thing is the logical inconsistency in the anti-religion message.
This is a book that basically says religion is actively bad – but:
1) The final message is that something went wrong when science arrived. It’s science that is the cause of Dust leaving the universe – in the age of religious credulity, which Pullman dislikes so much, Dust was stable and even growing. The only way to reverse the damage caused by the Subtle Knife (a product of the new science in the same way Newton was) is to meticulously fix the damage it’s caused and destroy the knife. The message there? Science is bad, and the universe was healthier in the age of religion.
2) At the same time, “The Authority” (aka God) turns out to be a delicate, senile, but seemingly benevolent being who – despite having been set up as something evil and a usurper – has himself been usurped by a much more malevolent, lust-filled angel (who used to be a man). Every other angel we meet is also benevolent. The implication? Not aspects of religion are literally true (god and angels both really exist, and are “good” despite the protestations that there’s no such thing as good and evil), and it’s only humans who have perverted it – be it ex-human angel usurpers or the fanatics of the Church.
3) The world of the mulefa – with its natural roads, seed pod wheels, and creatures perfectly evolved to use those wheels – is repeatedly hinted at being evidence of something closer to intelligent design than evolution. And “the Creator” is mentioned on a few occasions throughout the seriea in a way that heavily implies this was a literally true being, again supporting the core idea if (Christian) religion of a created universe.
4) The alethiometer allows Lyra to communicate with some kind of (never fully explained) higher power that reveals “truth” and appears to be omniscient, aware of the future as well as the present. This same force – and the witches’ prophecy – firmly underscore the idea that there is such a thing as fate / predestination. Despite suggestions that Lyra may not follow her fate, or that her destiny could be shifted by others, follow it she does. Is there actually free will in Pullman’s universe? It seems unlikely. Everything happens for a reason. The higher power, whatever it is, knows best.
The implication is, therefore, not that atheism is the way forward, as I remembered it, but only that organised religion has perverted the deeper literal truths underlying Christianity. Which makes this a much more conservative trilogy than I remembered it – effectively a fantasy version of Martin Luther.
by James Clive-Matthews | 29 May, 2019 | Narratives & Meanings
3/5 stars
Impressive in ambition, wildly erratic in execution.
Parts of this overview of Western philosophy and thinking (including psychology, science, and humanity’s understanding of the world in the broadest sense) are excellent – enlightening, clear, engagingly-written.
Others are waffly, repetitive, and lack sufficient context of explanation for newcomers to the ideas being discussed.
Yet others are actively confusing – not because they don’t make sense, but because it’s unclear how they could have been written by the same author.
The Epilogue is a prime case in point. This follows a strong chapter on postmodern thinking – one of the best in the book – that has emphasised the flaws in teleological / progress-driven / narrative interpretations of history and the universe. But the conclusion is explicitly, unashamedly teleological, expounding some grand theory of destined progression of thinking to wind up with a frankly rather patronising, paternalistic suggestion of what’s next.
Apparently the same author has also done a book on how astrology can explain key moments in history. Had I known that when I picked this up, I may not have bothered – and it does explain a lot about that conclusion.
But still, some strong chapters mean I don’t utterly begrudge the time spent with this one. A kinda useful companion to other histories of philosophy – albeit one with some very odd quirks.
