Small scale history of ideas

This is random, but I was reading old entries on my other blog and realized it is six years exactly since I discovered (and took the time to listen to) Dr Jordan Peterson. I consider this my official entrance into the club (?) of people finding their way through the “meaning crisis.” I was primed for admittance long before that, but it’s different when you put something into words, or hear someone else put it into words.


Subterranean Messages

I became pregnant for the second time shortly after I discovered the lectures. Listening to Maps of Meaning helped me cope with my brutal nausea in the early months. Several months later, I remember listening to one of the Bible lectures while lying inverted on an ironing board while my husband did moxibustion on my toes. (We were trying to get my breech baby to flip. It didn’t work but she was born just fine anyway.)


Total honesty moment: the thinkers and intellectuals who have had the most impact on me in recent years are the ones that help me to sleep and/or deal with anxiety and physical discomfort. What can I say. I like to think and learn and I never want to stop learning. But life is a lot more complicated than what goes on in anyone’s brain. For an idea to have staying power in my life, it has to seep into the fabric of every day. It needs to say something to me in the moments when I have it together and the moments I don’t. And it has to motivate me to keep going.

I only occasionally listen to JBP’s content these days, but when I do it’s usually interesting.

My blog about the Birthgap documentary

Other posts from this blog

Flashback to 2016

I was scrolling through some unpublished posts on my other blog, and I came across this one from October 15, 2016.  I titled it: "The things I have to say that don't fit anywhere."

At the time, torthúil journey had a small but established and homogenous readership. Just how homogenous, I started to realize after the 2016 American election, when I saw my small community all express essentially identical political and cultural views. It wasn't long before this started to bother me, not so much the views themselves, but the fact there were no dissenting or different voices. Furthermore, I didn't even see difference or dissent valued in the abstract. Naturally, I didn't share these raw thoughts on that blog. They seemed almost scandalous then. This was before I discovered Jordan Peterson and the movement some call the "meaning crisis," before I started learning about Christianity, including Jonathan Pageau and Fr. Stephen Freeman and others, before Covid, before I (mostly) quit social media. Since I wrote these words I have accepted these observations about myself, have thought about them and addressed them, have in some ways moved past them. But I thought they would be interesting to record and share, especially in the context of the post about books. I think my thoughts here go some way toward explaining why I am reading and learning about the things that I am.

They also mark a moment in time, and one that I am no longer self-conscious or embarrassed about. These things I had to say do fit: they are an important part of my journey.

The things I have to say that don't fit anywhere (October 16th, 2016)

Surrounded by propaganda. People taking "sides." Most of those sides don't fit with my questions, my concerns, my beliefs. It all leaves me with a feeling of unreality.  What is most obvious to me is that I've lost interest in culture. This might sound like an esoteric problem. Reading novels and going to concerts and comedy clubs and plays is hardly essential to survival, right? I'm reasonably healthy; I have a job, a family, a house, some (rather neglected) friends. But my avoidance of culture is a huge break from how I lived most of my adult life. Concert halls were a home to me as much in a way as my physical home. I identified with certain artists and felt they spoke for me, gave my inner life voice and connected me to a larger community. No more. I feel like when I go to an event, the artist (and the audience) is going to start signalling, openly or covertly, about which side of the culture wars they are on. I respect people's freedom of opinion. But the constant signalling/side taking leaves me with the feeling that the event I'm going to is meaningless in and of itself. The artist and their work is irrelevant, or at least secondary, an (possibly) amusing distraction. What truly matters, what people truly care about, is which side the artist is on and which side their audience is on. That is where the solidarity comes from, not from the fact we have all come to this place because we value the cultural artifact on display. So I end up not going. For a couple of days I make up my mind to go to an event; I might even tell Mr. Turtle that we should make plans. A few weeks later, I realize I never bought tickets, the event is passed and I don't really care. It has happened again and again. It's not just that I have a toddler and an intense job and I'm busy. I know I won't find the belonging and catharsis I'm looking for, but I will find more pressure and more propaganda. There is no appeal.

And novels. Why is it I enjoy novels? I can take another person's perspective. I can choose to believe in the alternate reality they create. Really, reading novels is like allowing another human to rent space in my brain. They can live there for a while, interact with my feelings and ideas, and when it's time for them to leave, I have a sense of what I learned from the visit and if I want them back. I've always been very generous with renting out my mental space and I enjoy the "visits" a lot. There isn't a type of book I regularly read; if it has words on the page I'll read it. In university I didn't specialize in any kind of literature, though I developed an interest in medieval literature in the later years. I studied with professors who had a variety of critical and ideological perspectives, and I got along well with all of them.

Lately, I have no desire to read novels. At first I thought that this was just because I am more interested in current events and non fiction. That is true. But there is something else going on. I don't want to rent out my mental space anymore. I am less willing (unwilling) to let someone else come into my mind to play. Again, I think it has to do with being surrounded by propaganda. I fundamentally mistrust the stories and messages I get from the media, and from my peers, and from the supposed arbiters of culture in our society, because I see the dishonesty and manipulation. Logically, then, why would I assume that a writer is any different? Why would I assume their morals and motivations are superior to those I see every day? Because they are published? Because somebody wrote a good review? Because a friend told me they were good? Because they are popular? I trust none of those things. But I should still be able to give a book a try and make up my own mind, right? In theory yes. But in in practice, I feel it is not worth the time or effort. What are the odds I will learn something of value, versus the odds that I will be bombarded with more of the same? I don't recall consciously making this decision, but somewhere along the way I decided the odds were against novels being enjoyable or useful. What about escape? I don't want to escape. Or, I feel there is no escape. I might long for it, but I know that escape amounts to surrender and denial. I am surrounded by corruption on a fundamental level, and I have no time for anyone who is not actively engaging with and challenging it.

The book post

I have been reading more lately, but when I tried to think of what books I actually got through last year, I had difficulty remembering. So I thought it might help to list the books I have been or will be encountering in one place. Here goes:

Currently reading:

The Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien (simultaneously listening to related episodes on the Amun Sul podcast)

The Language of Creation by Jonathan and Matthieu Pageau

Want to buy and read:

Face to Face: Knowing God Beyond our Shame by Fr. Stephen Freeman (READ)

Feminism Against Progress by Mary Harrington (you can read about some of Mary’s ideas here.) (READ)

This is Your Brain on Birth Control

 by Sarah Hill

The Sagas of the Icelanders  by Jane Smiley et al

On Fairy Stories by JRR Tolkien 

New Think 1 by Gregg Hurwitz

Competing with this wish list to some degree are blogs and Substacks, some of which I’m considering getting a paid subscription to. Then there are books I already own but haven’t fully read or benefitted from, mostly because they are challenging for some reason or other. I’m also on my second course from The Great Courses. So far I’ve been only buying the courses on sale, but they still cost as much as a hardcover book, at least.

Books I started and should finish some day, but don’t hold your breath: 

The Bible (no link needed, lol) I think I got to about Exodus? Update: I am now listening to the podcast 

The Whole Counsel of God where Fr. Stephen DeYoung reads through the Bible verse by verse and discusses, offering interpretation and background based on the Orthodox tradition and his own historical education.  I am finding this more engaging and meaningful than trying to slog through the Bible on my own. Plus I can listen while doing crochet or other repetitive work.

The Gulag Archepelago by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. I read a grand total of four chapters of this book in 2018, and blogged about it here: http://torthuilreads.blogspot.com/  Maybe one day I'll be back. But it's such an awful book to read and right now, I don't even want to try again.

The Wake by Paul Kingsnorth. I was reading this one last summer, and while I did appreciate it, it just wasn’t the right book to get me through some of the difficult stuff that was going on then.

Books I already own and want to read, but haven’t started:

The Unfinished Tales by JRR Tolkien (which was a birthday present along with The Silmarillion)

The Parasitic Mind by Gaad Saad (READ)

Prayers on the Lake by St. Nicholi Velimirovich

History and Presence by Robert Orsi (READ)

The last two were recommendations to me, for reasons that may become clearer when I actually start reading them. I have dipped into Prayers on the Lake and enjoyed the bits I read.

Some books don’t really lend themselves to a “feet up by the fire” reading approach. Something I’m challenging myself to do with The Language of Creation, and maybe with others, is to respond in a way that specifically isn’t writing. I’ve been doing a sort of visual journal for The Language of Creation, basically drawing or attempting to draw the images that come into my mind as I read it, or the particular passages that stand out. So far it's been a rewarding approach.

There you go, I may be back to add to this list or to say that I've actually finished a book!

Mental crossroads

I don’t remember what I was dreaming about early Sunday morning, but I woke up and decided I won’t call myself a feminist anymore. I don’t fully understand why I had this thought at this particular time, so this is a very roughed in post with ideas I need to think about and explore further. But I wanted to capture this moment, because this is actually how I build consciousness.

It’s not as if I have been advertising myself as a feminist, not lately anyway, and quite possibly never. I have rarely if ever actually said out loud to anyone or in writing “I’m a feminist!” (The only example I can recall right now was an email discussion with my brothers.)  But certainly I would claim to live by some feminist ideas or ideals at the least. I believe men and women are equal (but different too, so not necessarily equal on all objective measures). I believe in flexible gender roles, and certainly practice these in my marriage. I believe in independence. I believe women have their own “hero story” though it’s not identical to men’s either. And so on.

Most people who know me and care about such things probably assumed I am a feminist, and they wouldn’t have been wrong to do so. I thought of myself as a feminist too, but neutrally. I was feminist in the same way I am Canadian. I was born in Canada; I grew up with Canadian influences; there are things I like and appreciate about being Canadian. Likewise I grew up with feminist ideas and influences and some of them are positive as far as I can tell.  But I don’t think Canadians are superior, or that everybody should be a Canadian, or that people should admire me for being Canadian, or that Canadians should be above criticism. And I don’t believe any of those things about feminism or feminists either. I am 100% open to people saying feminists are full of shit and do not find that in any way offensive.

Where I’m most different from other self declared feminists is that I’m not oppositional. I don’t think that every problem in the world is caused by a person or group with malicious intentions. I’m not interested in “smashing the patriarchy,” probably because it’s never been very clear to me what “the patriarchy” is, exactly. In casual discourse, it seems to be a convenient stand in for “whatever is bothering the self-declared feminist at the moment.” Sometimes this is a serious issue and sometimes it’s something silly and trivial, and nobody seems to care either way, because, you know, it’s all The Patriarchy, and score points where you can.  Fuzzy terms and concepts are not helpful to me so this is one I can live without.

One reason that I find talk about “the patriarchy” suspect probably has to do with the fact I grew up in a pretty traditional nuclear family. My parents stuck to traditional gender roles far more than I do, especially during my childhood. My mom quit her job when she was married (even before having kids) and didn’t go back to work till I was a teenager. My parents never referred to themselves as feminists, at least not till much much later in life, when they might have in a cheeky way. However, there was NO devaluing of women in my childhood family. Mistakes and misunderstanding, sure, but not systematic disrespect. 

My dad would never allow anyone to refer to my mom as lesser. I was different from my brothers, with different interests and tastes, but there was never an implication that I should accomplish less with my life. Although my mom made the biggest career sacrifice, my dad made them too, and was open and unashamed of it. And when my mom did re-enter the workforce, my dad was very supportive, happily attempting to take on cooking and household tasks (not entirely successfully, but he tried.) The point is, my parents were family-focused. They respected each other and their children on that basis. It wasn’t about being a feminist, or a tyrant, or a selfish asshole. Although I don’t agree with all their values and I don’t want to replicate their life, there is no doubt it was built on something substantial. 

For as long as I can remember considering myself a feminist, I’ve been a “non-conforming feminist.” This means that I take from the body of thinking what makes sense to me, I test it in my life as I see fit, and I note the benefits and the limitations. I have always been happy to fail any real or subjective “are you a real feminist” test because, to hell with that.

So what’s changed now? I guess I want to become or grow into something that is beyond feminism or anything in its orbit. I feel no more personal attachment to the label. I don’t mind talking with feminists or having discussions about things people consider feminist but it’s not a map for where I want to go next.