Which came first, the architect or the cosmologist? In Soleri’s case the question is moot. His designs for urban planning are part and parcel of a vision of universal process which he outlines in this book. Positing Man as a key station on the “bridge between matter and spirit”, Soleri proposes self-sufficient cities, called arcologies, which exist to foster the creative imperative of the human condition. He sees the universe evolving from an initial state of dispersion and randomness to a unified Omega point, where matter is subsumed into a divine unity, where everything that is and was will be resurrected in a solid-state matrix of significance and memory — God.

But Soleri’s God is not the lowering patriarch of the Bible. His God is one which must be created through conscious life, a god which exists not at the beginning of time but at the end. As conscious beings it is our responsibility to foster the creation of God from within ourselves, by aligning our lives with the functional thrust of evolution. To Soleri, evolution is a progression of increasing complexity, consciousness and interconnection, whereby matter bootstraps its way into new modes of becoming.

It is interestesting to read Soleri in tandem with de Chardin, whose vision shares certain parallels. But where de Charin sees cosmic evolution proceding almost inevitably along a natural axis, Soleri emphasizes the role of Humanity in making or breaking the Omega state. We can drop the ball, individually and collectively, and shirk our birthright as God-makers. The result is not punishment in Hell but perhaps dissipation into matter, a return to dispersion and determinism.

Also quite notably, Soleri has put his rather bold ideas into practice. Since 1970 he has been overseeing the growth of Arcosanti — a community in Arizona where his arcological theories can be tested and implemented. It seems to be a viable community; whether or not it truly embodies Soleri’s ideas is difficult to say from the outside. Perhaps participation in one of their 5-week architectural programs would help answer this question… [New York: Anchor Books]

The translation of Biblical writings is — or should be — a huge stumbling block to anyone proposing a dogmatic interpretation of this ancient book. The Hebrew in which the Old Testament was written is a heavy, elemental tongue which, in its more poetic applications, is capable of generating considerable ambiguity. There is often no simple mapping onto English, nor do vastly different historical and geographical conditions help clarify matters.

In reading a text like the Bible, my approach is not to search for Truth, but for meaning. If one assumes beforehand that there is some Absolute truth contained in these pages, than the need for translation stands only as an impediment to learning. But if it is meaning one seeks, then the opacity of language is an opportunity: knowing that I am reading a translation forces me to consider alternatives. It’s not that I doubt (or accept) the historical truth of the Bible — that’s a whole different project. No, this is an excercise in imagination. I let the words conjure up images of places and times, where life was immediate and intense, at times brutal, peppered with love and passion. Often the language used to describe these scenes is quite blunt, and in some of the more traditional translations this comes across as matter-of-factness.

Mitchell’s is the third and so far the best translation I have read in that it is a sincere effort to do justice to the original text. One way it does this is by comparing different versions of the same Biblical stories (such as The Flood). In this way it is seen that the Bible was written by different authors, each with their own unique style. Furthermore, Mitchell’s selection of English wording is honest, in that he uses his grasp of Hebrew to enter into the world of the authors and the characters they describe. The result is a refreshing change from both the stuffy formalism of literalist translations and the casual paraphrasing of most “modernized” versions. I applaud Mitchell on a job very well done. [New York: HarperCollins Publishers]

This Penguin 60’s sampler contains excerpts from Gibran’s The Prophet, The Madman: His Parables and Poems, and The Wanderer. These stories from a remarkable man resound with the poetic sensibility of Islam, speaking of genuine and elemental truths. While excellent individually, as a collection this tended a bit towards the moralistic. Perhaps one of these would be a good speech opener. [London: Penguin 60’s]

This 1973 text seems to be a lesser-known transitional work of the Old Man of Letters. A narrative like pond ripples, memories of lost days fading into the sky, backdrop of young boys fucking, animal smells, death training. Burroughs populates the devastation of an open, dissipating world with his trademark queer-cowboy machismo. The result is less a coherent story than an evolving cascade of associations, tugging sad soft memories behind it in the jelly-webbed morning light. [Berkeley: Blue Wind Press]

Davies makes a noble and informed attempt to translate the surprising strangeness and coherence of modern cosmology into layman’s terms. Unfortunately it failed to distinguish itself from a number of other books on the subject which got to me first. (cf. The Collapse of Chaos) Instead it merely rounded out the edges of my current understanding of cosmic order, without yielding any new poetic insights. [New York: Penguin]

I’ve glanced at other Rumi translations before, but this was the first time I really sat down with him and focused. Truly, there is great passion here, and occasional expressions of pure human longing. But something isn’t connecting for me. Frankly I enjoyed the biography of Rumi’s life and relation to Shems more than the odes themselves. My first instinct was to suspect the translation. I’ve felt the same gap with other Rumi I’ve seen, and perhaps something is inevitably lost from the original Arabic. Or perhaps it is Rumi himself, lost in the moment yet still unable to free himself from the coded sentiment of Sufi symbolism. If this is so then it fails as poetry, unable to convey a spontaneity which is encrypted in esoterica. Then again, the lack may be within myself; having never felt such depth of loss and longing, how could I possibly participate fully in such expressions? I intend to give him — and myself — more chances. [Rockport: Element]

It’s healthy, I think, to remind our well-fed modern selves sometimes just how bad things can get. The Holocaust certainly serves this purpose most persistently, but nothing surpasses the Black Death in terms of sheer powerlessness in the face of disaster. With mortality exceeding 50% in some areas, the plague had profound implications for the social and economic development of Europe. The single most salient feature of the plague is how powerless the most advanced socities of the day were to contain or resist its advance. The implications for our own world are humbling. [New York: The Free Press]