As I’ve said before, we write what we know. Part of what I know, or what I deem to be important in knowing, is an understanding of philosophy. Just as I consider it a necessary part of living life, the characters within my stories do the same. Why, because they need to.
As Ayn Rand put it, in Return Of The Primitive: The Anti-Industrial Revolution,
Philosophy is the science that studies the fundamental aspects of the nature of existence. The task of philosophy is to provide man with a comprehensive view of life. This view serves as a base, a frame of reference, for all his actions, mental or physical, psychological or existential. This view tells him the nature of the universe with which he has to deal (metaphysics); the means by which he is to deal with it, i.e., the means of acquiring knowledge (epistemology); the standards by which he is to choose his goals and values, in regard to his own life and character (ethics)—and in regard to society (politics); the means of concretizing this view is given to him by esthetics.
In the case of A Thousand Screaming Rabbits, Alasdair reacts to the world around him based upon his own philosophies. Which is to say, based upon much of my own philosophical views. I personally think it’s of the utmost importance to question and challenge and try to understand that which exists in this world. If not, what is the point?
The following is an excerpt from the novel. In it, Alasdair comments on the philosophical underpinnings of religion and, specifically, the failing dichotomy his father exemplifies.
After my mother died, I figured he’d change. I wanted so desperately for that to happen- for myself, for my sister, for my brothers, and for himself. But he did no such thing. He became worse. Only what was infidelity before became some grotesque display of prolonged middle age crisis. It was his arrogance. It was his insistent victimization at the hands of his almighty god, and the martyrdom that persisted at the hands of his forgiving god. It was his parade of the severest form of hypocrisy: a garbled, gargantuan mutant that amounted to all of the insincere, disingenuous, power-hungry musings of beltway preacher ebullience, television minister kitsch, and depression era fundamentalism. His struggle was not one that consisted of any form of what one could call a traditional good versus evil. His struggle was one that matched the vile machinations of his life as only human, forgiven, and blessed, to the vile hypocrisy in his life as esteemed presenter of the purity of religion, god, faith, and Christianity. His struggle, his life, was no longer mine.
It won’t be me. It can’t.
It’s coming along. It’s been a hectic few weeks. The wedding planning, work and countless other things we find to busy our lives- these all seem to have exhausted me to no foreseeable end. But I’m here. Trucking along.
[picapp src=”8/1/c/9/Greek_Thinkers_990a.jpg?adImageId=6891701&imageId=2947048″ width=”436″ height=”594″ /]