Many of the personal struggles we face are not “psychological problems” of a more or less medical kind, but part and parcel of the confusing and often difficult search for meaning, value and purpose. Gardens, kitchens, literature, philosophy and art can all help in this quest. However, what is of value in them threatens to be lost or perverted if we turn all that is therapeutic into forms of therapy.
ReadIf someone has a terminal condition and the doctor knows how long she has left to live, does the patient have the right to be told? Virtually everyone thinks she does. So why should it be different if that terminal condition is life itself?
ReadIt is the policy-maker’s job to work out solutions to problems. The writer’s role is to direct the reader to the most important problems and make them worry about them. So it does not matter that some of Sven Lindqvist’s past pessimism, about third-world debt and ozone depletion for instance, have not been borne out. “I am not a fortune teller,” he said, and nor should any artist pretend to be.
ReadIt might seem odd but I, a convinced atheist, have recently completed a 10-day fast based on the Hindu festival of Navratri, which is being celebrated this week. These days, if we limit what we eat, it is almost certainly because we are trying to lose weight, detox or realise some kind of health benefit. The idea that we might seek to forgo certain foods for moral improvement seems bizarrely anachronistic.
ReadWe have taken our places. This evening’s performance, sold out months in advance, is about to begin. The programme, handwritten in a traditional script on a rolled parchment, tied with string, tells us to expect a prologue, two chapters and an epilogue, without interval. I’m nervous with anticipation but I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that it’s not because I am waiting for the curtain to rise on a Wagner opera or a Shakespeare play. I’m actually waiting for my dinner.
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