A Review of The Server, a novel by Tim Parks

I was glad to read on Tim Parks’ website that he considers this novel a companion work to his Teach Us to Sit Still (my review). In Teach Us to Sit Still Parks recounted his troublesome prostate and how, after rejecting the cut and hope option offered by physicians, happened upon a suggested remedy that involved, of all things, sitting. This sitting led him into the foreign world of vipassana meditation (the Buddhist meditation practice from Southeast Asia associated with the Theravadan tradition). In The Server, Parks explores the stark contract between the austerity of a Buddhist meditation retreat center and our egoistic, narratives selves prominent in the in many contemporary lives. 

The first-person narrative is a running monologue in the mind of Beth Marriot. Beth is a vivacious but troubled young woman who comes to the center and stays to serve new participants by working in the kitchen. Her mind, when unleashed, recounts and rehashes issues with parents, a boyfriend, a girlfriend, an older lover, and a brush with death, among other things. After months at the meditation center, having apparently calmed her mind to some extent, it’s turned back on by discovering a diary of a participant who recounts his own narrative of woe, despite the ban on writing while participating in the retreat. After this discovery, Beth careens through thoughts and actions quite contrary to the austere and ascetic practice of the retreat. This clash of Buddhist austerity with the contemporary, narrative self drives the story. 

The story provides an excellent vehicle for pondering how this Buddhist world-view, what one may call a non-narrative approach to life, comports with our contemporary notions of self in the land of novels, Freud, and self-expression. (I suspect that these issues exist in the “East”, too; they wouldn’t have the antidote if they didn’t suffer the disease, would they?). Parks doesn’t attempt to answer how these two attitudes might be reconciled or whether one must ultimately prevail. One suspects that the two views, which have probably competed for the length of human history, will continue to lead an uneasy, but perhaps fruitful co-existence. 

The story makes for a roller-coaster ride—this young woman has lots of karma and vivacity (are they linked?) —and sometimes you want to tell her “whoa, slow down”, but she can’t, and that makes a trip through a meditation retreat a bit of a roller-coaster ride.

Nicolo Machiavelli, The Prince, translated by Tim Parks

I first encountered The Prince in the spring of 1972, a time when we might say an archetypical Machiavellian figure occupied the White House. I read it as an assignment in my introduction to political theory course. I don't remember a great deal about the book (although I do remember the "C" I took in the course!) Anyway, the topic of political theory took with me anyway, and I've returned to Machiavelli again by assignment and of my own volition. Why? He is (perhaps along with Thucydides) the supreme political realist. As James Burnham made clear in The Machiavellians, a keen understanding of how politics really works, as opposed to how we would like it to work, provides us with a knowledge that we can ignore only at our peril. Not that we shouldn't think or work for a better political system, but that we had better understand how it really is working.

For a paper for a course in Renaissance history, I wrote about the mirror of princes literature that preceded Machiavelli. These were medieval tracts that advised rulers to act according to the Church and Aristotelian standards. In other words, to act like goody-two-shoes. Then comes Machiavelli like a Tammany Hall ward captain at Girls State, pulling the would-be leader aside and telling her, "Hey, kid, listen up. If you wanna get ahead here, here's whatcha' gotta' do". The intuitive ruler always knew these things, or at least some of them, but never before had anyone of any notoriety ever stated the real practices so blatantly. (And, by the way, while Machiavelli didn't offer his advice to young ladies, he did write The Prince to try to woo the Medici family into retaining his services. It didn't work.)
  
I'd seen that #JLF speaker Tim Parks had recently completed a translation of The Prince and that Jared Diamond (who looks quite mellow) had given The Prince a shout out in an interview asking what he'd recommend to the president to read, so I took up Parks's translation. Parks, a Brit who lives and writes in Italy, and whose book Teach Us to Sit Still I greatly enjoyed, has performed a great service and provided us with a very useful translation. I don't have any expertise on translations, but Parks explains his intent in the introduction--to give a sense of the "handbook" style that Machiavelli wanted to use to convey his practical wisdom--and it works very well. For instance, Machiavelli's famous description of fortune (Fortuna) as a woman was not written--nay, was intentionally not written--to be politically correct. Parks recognizes this and translates the passage with the machismo that Machiavelli no doubt intended to convey. This everyday, contemporary English gives this translation a feel that matches its practical usefulness for today.

I was going to go on to discuss Machiavelli, who still intrigues and puzzles me. However, such an undertaking isn't easy, as he has perplexed and challenged thinkers since he published The Prince. But good luck rode to the rescue, and I happened upon this piece by Isaiah Berlin, the British political philosopher and historian of ideas, in which he thoroughly reviews the literature on Machiavelli and arrives at his own assessment. I can't do better and won't try, except to say that the "evil Machiavel" is worth the read to challenge and inform you. Here's a teaser snippet from Berlin's article that I'll close with: 

But the question that his writings have dramatized, if not for himself, then for others in the centuries that followed, is this: what reason have we for supposing that justice and mercy, humility and virtù, happiness and knowledge, glory and liberty, magnificence and sanctity will always coincide, or indeed be compatible at all? Poetic justice is, after all, so called not because it does, but because it does not, as a rule, occur in the prose of ordinary life, where, ex hypothesi, a very different kind of justice operates.

Jonah Lehrer on the Perils of Causation

Causation: Wow! What a fun & interesting topic--NOT!

Wait a minute! What is or is not "causation" is a profoundly interesting philosophical and practical question. As a lawyer, in most trials, civil and criminal, causation is a crucial issue. And in the world of medicine that I'm involved in both professionally (injuries and their causes constitute major legal issues) and as a layman (what causes this or that pain, which implies a course of treatment), I think an understanding of causation is very important. In addition, causation, as Lehrer argues in this piece, becomes more and more tricky as we seek to refine it. Indeed, one of my major gripes is that we seem to be constantly looking for "the cause" of "cancer" or "war" or you name it. But in fact, there is no "cause", there are many causes of complex phenomena and we have a heck of a time measuring the data. We try to isolate "the cause" and it's very, very difficult, and it's quite often deceiving.

This piece especially caught my eye because I have a wary attitude toward modern medications. Let me quickly say that I take medications and give thanks for the help modern medicines provide millions in alleviating pain and improving health. That said, however, I think that we look for some magic pill to cure all of our ills. For my view, every medicine is a poison in the wrong dose or circumstance, so we have to be very cautious.

I'm also intrigued about back pain, again for both personal and professional reasons. Professionally, persons injures in auto collisions or during work almost always hear the defense, "oh, look, your x-rays show you have degenerated discs, so you had pain anyway", although the client says "no" or "nothing like this". In other words, the views of degenerative or traumatic change don't tell the whole story. I'm also interested because I've suffered back pain (and now nagging pain in my hip). Surgery, drugs? Not for me. I'm trying physical work and some NSAID. I'm now trying somatics (Thomas Hanna, Martha Peterson, etc.) (which seems to be helping), Egoscue, and Yin Yoga, which also help. And what role stress? See John Sarno's work or Tim Parks's book Teach Us to Sit Still. Our body-minds are so complex that we must be cautious, gentle, and conservative from my point of view. Causation is so subtle and complex (see complexity theory) that we are best to use gentle, conservative treatments, I believe.

Anyway, read this article, and give thanks to that other (than Adam Smith) great figure of the British Enlightenment: David Hume.

Teach Us to Sit Still: A Skeptic's Search for Health & Healing by Tim Parks

The title, from a favorite poem, caught my eye, and a favorable review led me to grab this book when I saw it at the library. Mr. Parks, an Englishman who lives in Italy with his family and who as a career as a successful novelist (he's made it the Booker-Mann short list), developed severe problems with his plumbing, the the central culprit appearing to be his prostrate. N.B. Hear me knocking on wood, but the similar symptoms did not prompt my choice of this book. So far, so good. But as breast cancer seems a real threat to most woman, so the prostrate for men. Thus, some personal concern--but I digress. His prostrate, however, wasn't cancerous. It was . . . well, doctors weren't quite sure what was wrong. Urologists, in any event, recommended a roto-rooter of the nether regions. He didn't cotton to this idea. He searched, and then he came upon a book. Not to spoil the ending, but he ends up performing exercises and attending a mindfulness meditation retreat. All the while it seems, he protests, but it works.

I won't say more, but if you're interested in a very tell-told story of health and its elusiveness, of how our bodies and minds interact (or ignore each other), and how we can, if we open ourselves to experiences that the mind, a priori, wants to reject, we can experience some really amazing changes. A very good book and thought-provoking.