A Guide to Choosing Books, Films and Peace: Whatever is True, Noble, Pure, Lovely, Admirable, Phil 4:8

See, the mountain of books I was sorting has considerably shrunk

Phil 4:8 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. And the God of peace will be with you.

This is Paul’s prescription for peace: think about whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy. Perhaps these things, which flow from God, escort us into the presence of God, which is peace.

 * * *

You know, I never liked that verse. It seems so goody-goody and blinkered, as if one was deliberately ignoring all in life that is not noble, right or pure.

And would one not then be ill-equiped to deal with evil when it confronted you? Bruno Bettelheim’s study of fairy-tales, The Uses of Enchantment argues that fairy tales are a gentle introduction to the darkness the child will definitely face, within herself, as well as outside herself. (My children, very sadly, found Andersen too heart-breaking, some of Oscar Wilde, too cruel, and Grimm, well, too grim, so I didn’t read many fairy tales to them.)

* * *

I am reading One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp’s tribute to positive thinking and gratitude. How does dwelling on the pain and anguished of the world help the anguished? she asks.

But by gratitude for the goodness and joy in the world we help mend one of the cracks in the world: our own hearts, and our own ability to be rejoice and be glad.

And one whole, happy woman with overflowing joy is perhaps of more use to the world than a wide-eyed one, whose weeping eyes have been pierced by the Ice Queen’s shards.

·      * *        

Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy…

I have unconsciously adopted some of this as my mantra for some years. For instance, I resist seeing movies or reading books about the Nazi concentration camps; horrors of Communist regimes; pogroms or torture; the suffering of animals; or thrillers; or movies or books to be with violence, war or human degradation, or violent and degrading sex (as opposed to eroticism).

My children haven’t watched such films either, and are extraordinarily sensitive as a result. We’ve always been a no-TV household, which means we are very intentional about what we watch. (The decision not to have TV, taken when we got married was because skimming the papers was a better use of time than watching the news, as was watching DVDs of the best programs. Also, we wanted to have more family time, to have quietness in the house, to resist the pressures of consumerism caused by subliminal advertising, and to have children who would read because the atmosphere was relatively distraction-free.

* * *

I am winding down a little Amazon business I had, and sifting through thousands of books, deciding which ones to keep.

The verse helped me—books which deal with evil, suffering, ugliness, “sin” are chucked, unless they have extreme redeeming literary merit. I am not interested in bleak, dystopian views of the world.

Because, you see, I know I am acting in a comedy. I know how it is going to end. I have read Revelation. The world ends with a return to order, with a wedding, with dancing, feasting and merriment.

·      * *

So as I sift through thousands of books, I am using two principles as yardsticks

1) One is Matthew Arnold’s famous dictum, “Life is too short to read anything but the best which has been thought and said.” I probably will not get to read everything which interests me in “the best that has been thought and said” category. Why waste time with inferior stuff? So, if the book has little literary merit, off it goes.

Whereas in my twenties and early thirties, I used to be fanatical about trying always to read the best books, I am more relaxed now, and do read novels which are not “the best which has been said and thought” for relaxation. (In my teens, I read everything, thrillers, mysteries, romances… I have been a bit of a purist since then. I have barely read a thriller, a mystery or a romance since my late teens!!  Yeah, I guess my reading habits have been a tad rarefied!)

2) And the second yardstick I’ve used, very roughly, is Philippians. Does it deal with what is true, right, noble, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy?

And if it doesn’t, is it really, really well-written (for instance, I’ve real almost all of Rushdie’s novels, and listened to almost all of Toni Morrison’s on tape)? Or am I very interested in the subject matter?

There are bleak, brutal, scarifying novels, like Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things, which are exquisitely written and constructed. I have read it twice, both because it was set in the India of my childhood, an intimately familiar setting, and because I was interested in her experiments with language, and the structure of her plot. But I wouldn’t read it again.

If it fails both tests, what conceivable good is reading it going to do me?

Reading about evil weakens the spirit. It clouds it with fear. It shakes and depresses one. There is little conceivable good which can come of it.

But I am not going to content myself with a diet of Pollyanna either.

Thankfully, there is a huge middle ground between the Nazi concentration camps and Pollyanna.