Quest Magazine

Doyle after Death

John Shirley
New York: Witness Impulse, 2014. 340 pp., paper, $6.99.

Everyone who tries to imagine the afterlife faces the same problem. On the one hand, it is not life on earth. On the other hand, our minds can only conceive of things on the basis of earthly perception: even the innumerable heavens and hells of all cosmologies are framed in earthly images.

John Shirley, author of many science-fiction novels (and of the article"The Apocalypse of Consciousness" on page 140 of this issue), grapples with this dilemma in Doyle after Death, a murder mystery set, peculiarly, in the afterlife.

Nicholas Fogg, an unsuccessful private investigator, dies in a seedy Las Vegas hotel room. Upon waking, he finds himself in a netherworld settlement called Garden Rest, in an environment that is both like and unlike the earthly plane. There are apparently many such communities in the other world. People still have bodies, and they still have appetites (especially for tobacco, which for some reason this particular bardo cannot produce), but other things differ significantly. There is no need for food, for example, because nourishment comes from opening oneself up to this world's sun, which not only gives sustenance but provides taste sensations that are at least as good as any on earth.

Fogg finds that one of his neighbors in this unassuming corner of the afterlife is Arthur Conan Doyle, best-known in real life for his Sherlock Holmes stories but also an avid investigator of spirits and mediums. Having been a detective on earth, Fogg joins Doyle in a hunt for a murderer who has inserted himself into Garden Rest. (Shirley does in fact explain how murder is possible in the afterlife.)

I don't want to spoil the details of the plot, but apart from it there are several things worth noting in this book."The afterlife described in the present novel," Shirley says in an author's note at the beginning,"has its own rules and peculiarities. I wish to assert that any conceivable afterlife would have consistent physics and biological principles." He illustrates these both in the course of the novel and in an appendix, where he spells out some of the ideas behind his vision in the form of a dialogue between Doyle and Fogg. (I found this section especially interesting and wished it might have been longer.)

In this nether realm, as in ours, the mind has creative power, but the power of the mind is greater in Garden Rest than on earth. Houses, for example, are not built but "formulated." They sprout up spontaneously through the directed use of the mind, the ground spewing out a kind of lava that soon solidifies into the desired shape."Formulating here is rather like what we used to call apportment," Doyle remarks."The most curious items would materialize in sances  would apport right there and then" (emphasis in the original).

Of course we too can formulate houses, but here they require hard work. What emerges from this picture is a realm that is slightly, but only slightly, more yielding to the power of the mind than ours is. Shirley is suggesting that there many realms in the other world, some subtler, some denser; some pleasant, some less so."There is no torturous hell, you know," Doyle explains,"just an exclusion from light, a dark place where misery-inducing souls are left alone with one another. Here in Garden Rest we are in one ' merely one! ' of the outer rings of light."

Souls do not stay in Garden Rest forever. At some point each resident will be given the"Summons" and will disappear. Where they go next is not spelled out, but Shirley implies that the soul moves on to higher and more rarefied realms, in a process that may be endless.

Doyle after Death is both highly original and evocative of many esoteric teachings, including Theosophy. Although it would be pointless to try to fit Shirley's afterlife tidily into the Theosophical schema of kamaloka and devachan, in this vivid and well-told story, he presents a fresh and charming view of what may befall us after death.

Richard Smoley

Sitting Still Like a Frog: Mindfulness Exercises for Kids (and Their Parents)

Elone Snel
Boston: Shambhal a, 2013. 106 pages + CD, paper, $17.95.

Thousands of years ago, the Buddha taught mindfulness to his monks through such texts as the Satipatthana Sutta ("The Foundations of Mindfulness"). Now comes Eline Snel with a "sutta" for kids titled Sitting Still Like a Frog.

For more than twenty years, Snel has been developing mindfulness training programs. A founder of the Academy of Mindful Teaching in the Netherlands, she began to teach mindfulness courses for adults, parents, and children in 2004. Sitting Still Like a Frog provides basic meditation techniques for kids from ages seven through twelve. In it, the author provides exercises for kids that are simple and direct and that parents can do along with their children. The exercises in this wonderful book are suitable for kids with ADHD, dyslexia, and autism spectrum disorders. They are not a cure-all, but they do offer ways to cope and grow in the process.

Kids are curious and inquisitive. They are keen to learn and can be extremely attentive. At the same time, they can be easily distracted. There is too much going on. Practicing mindful presence and awareness, kids learn to catch their breath and be in the present moment. The way out of "automatic pilot" is through friendly attention to everything they do.

As Snell reminds us, there are things in life that we just have to deal with. The sea can be turbulent as well as peaceful. You cannot stop the waves. What you can do is to learn to surf, to ride the waves, seeing them as they are.

Snel also reminds parents about three fundamental qualities:

Presence: Presence enables you to simply be there.
Understanding: Understanding enables you to put yourself in your children's shoes.
Acceptance: Acceptance is the inner willingness to understand your children as they are.

In this book, Snel has discovered a language that is as effective today as the one Buddha used in talking with his disciples. She talks about using the "Pause" button. She tells the kids about training their "Attention Muscle." Her description of sitting still like a frog is stunning in its simplicity: "A frog is a remarkable creature. It is capable of enormous leaps, but it can also sit very, very still. Although it is aware of everything that happens in and around it, the frog tends not to react right away. The frog sits still and breathes, preserving its energy instead of getting carried away by all the ideas that keep popping into its head. The frog sits still, very still, while it breathes. Its frog tummy rises a bit and falls again." It is a wonderful way to draw kids' attention to the rising and falling of the abdomen as an object of focusing.

One key aspect of mindful awareness is how to be in touch with one's feelings moment to moment. Snel has found a lovely way to relate to kids here. She asks them, "What is the weather like inside you? Do you feel relaxed and sunny inside? Or does it feel rainy or overcast?" This creates an instant relationship to what one is feeling without judging it as good or bad. We don't resist the storm, we just acknowledge it. This allows kids to look at their emotions and say it is OK to have them. Accept the weather, and understand at the same time that it will change too.

The child in me related to Snel's description of the conveyor belt of worries as a way of watching one's thoughts. It also related to the technique of bringing worries and thoughts down from the head to the abdomen. The rising and falling of the abdomen has no place for thoughts! We need not get carried away by feelings, but is OK to have them. Also, she speaks of a "first aid box for worries" as a way of distancing oneself from one's thoughts. Why not transfer the worries to the first aid box so we can watch them from a distance?

This book is a treasury of lessons and exercises that kids can relate to. It is accompanied by a CD with the exercises read by Myla Kabat-Zinn. This is homework for parents as well as kids, but this is homework that is far from agonizing. It has a liberating quality to it.

Dhananjay Joshi
The reviewer, a professor of statistics, has studied Hindu, Zen, and vipassana meditation for the past forty-five years. He is a regular contributor to the Indian periodical Lokmat.

Embattled Saints: My Year with the Sufis of Afghanistan

Kenneth P. Lizzio
Wheaton: Quest, 2014. xi + 231 pp., paper, $18.95

Embattled Saints is a "must read" for anyone with the slightest interest in Sufism, the mystical branch of Islam. The book is at once the author's memoirs of his year as a disciple of Pir Saif ur-Rahman, a Naqshbandi shaikh (master), and a well-informed historical and social overview of Afghani Sufism. It is also an extremely helpful analysis of the complex tensions between traditional Sufism and various reformist and Islamist movements of central and southeast Asia.

The book's subtitle is rather paradoxical, as Lizzio never actually sets foot in Afghanistan itself: his extended stay with the Pir and his numerous disciples takes place in the Khyber Agency, a district in Pakistan's Northwest Frontier province, to which the Pir had been forced to flee by the wars and conflicts in Afghanistan.

Lizzio first encounters the Pir while stationed in Peshawar in 1990 as a director of a U.S. project to help poppy farmers find viable alternative crops. Noting Lizzio's interest in Sufism, a local colleague takes him on visits to several sheikhs, culminating in the visit to the Pir, who has a reputation as a powerful dispenser of baraka (reputedly the grace of Allah channeled through the Naqshbandi lineage and transmitted to aspirants as a mysterious kind of transformative energy). Shortly after their meeting at the shaikh's compound, Lizzio's project loses its congressional funding, and he is forced to leave Pakistan.

It is not until 1996 that Lizzio is able to return, this time with the aid of a Fulbright research grant. On his original visit, the Pir had bid Lizzio adieu with the invitation to return only if he was prepared to become a Naqshbandi initiate and aspirant. This is no trifling requirement, as the Naqshbandi order's tradition is one of strict adherence to sharia (Islamic law) and sunnah (customs emulating the behavior and practices of the Prophet Muhammad). Lizzio, who has heretofore been a scholar of Islam and Near Eastern studies, makes the momentous decision to embrace Islam as a Muslim and an initiate in the Pir's branch of the Naqshbandi.

And so the author's journey begins. I will not steal his thunder by describing the remarkable phenomena ascribed to the Pir's baraka, but suffice it to say that it defies a purely rational or scientific explanation. As a “you are there” account of the intense spiritual life in the Pir's compound, Embattled Saints provides insights into traditional Sufism that I've not seen elsewhere.

But just as valuably, Lizzio's wider analysis of the competing interpretations and tendencies within Islam is an eye-opener. Western students of Sufism, particularly those under the influence of Hazrat Inayat Khan or Idris Shah (to name just two exponents), have tended to view Sufism as a liberal version of Islam or even a mystical stream preceding Islam itself. While both might be true in some fashion, the Sufism of Pir Saif ur-Rahman defies such easy descriptions.

As Lizzio makes clear, the Pir could be a nit-picking stickler for the fine points of sunnah â€” men's beards and trousers must be of a certain length, women are strictly segregated, and so on — to a degree that would be hard to distinguish from fundamentalist Islam. Indeed, the Pir had initially supported the rise of the Taliban in the region, mistaking their Saudi- and Wahhabi-influenced rigor as akin to his own traditionalist approach. However, the Naqshbandi rigor is in the service of a discipline leading to mystical breakthroughs, while the Taliban and other Islamists turned out to be hostile to mysticism and Sufism.

Lizzio describes the almost comical scene of outdoor loudspeakers at both the Pir's compound and a nearby hostile Islamic militant compound trying to drown out each other's vituperative condemnations of their neighboring enemies. All of this is embedded within a complex social geography of competing tribal interests and a shared opposition to Western-influenced modernization. I couldn't help wondering whether decades — indeed, centuries — of sustained warfare and conflict hasn't encouraged a tendency to fanaticism and hysteria among all conflicting camps.

In the author's prologue, he notes that he tries to "privilege the Naqshbandi worldview over the Western one," which is to say that he resists making value judgments about the culture's norms: if the traditional world the Pir struggles to preserve dictates women in burqas, so be it. But as becomes evident by the book's conclusion, that traditional world is increasingly embattled, and with the Pir's demise in 2010, his branch of the Naqshbandi order is an endangered species. If modernity doesn't nail them, there are plenty of Islamic militants who would be delighted to do the job.

Jay Kinney

Jay Kinney, founder and publisher of the late Gnosis magazine, is the author of The Masonic Myth (Harper Collins), which has been published in five languages. His article "Shhh! It's a Secret: Grappling with the Puzzle of Freemasonry" appeared in Quest, Summer 2013.

How Jesus Became God: The Exaltation of a Jewish Preacher from Galilee

Bart D. Ehrman
San Francisco: Harper One, 2014. 416 pp., hardcover, $27.99

It’s hard to write a cliffhanger about Jesus. But in a way the noted New Testament scholar Bart D. Ehrman did that with his previous book, Did Jesus Exist? (reviewed in Quest, Spring 2013). Discussing the evidence for  the historical Jesus, Ehrman stopped short of saying what he thought about the resurrection—the central claim of Christianity.

As he promised, however, he has dealt with this topic in his newest book, How Jesus Became God. Ehrman regards Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet much as many scholars have for the last 125 years. In this, he stresses, Jesus was nothing special; there were plenty of such prophets around. But, Ehrman writes, “what made Jesus different from all the others teaching a similar message was the claim that he had been raised from the dead.”

In saying this, Ehrman steers a middle course between the faithful, who say that Jesus really did rise from the dead, and the skeptics, who say that the resurrection was a legend that grew up after Jesus’s time. About the veracity of the resurrection itself, Ehrman points out, academic scholarship can say nothing. “When it comes to miracles such as the resurrection, historical sciences are of no help in establishing exactly what happened.”

Hence Ehrman argues not that Jesus was actually resurrected—this is a religious issue that he believes the historian cannot settle—but that the disciples had certain experiences that they equated with visions of the risen Jesus. And this, he contends, is all you can say when you are working with the rules of historical analysis. Such rules do not admit the possibility of miracles; at best, they can say that people believed that a given miracle had occurred.

This, in essence, is Ehrman’s argument. Taken this far, it is persuasive. Christianity cannot be understood, even historically, without accepting that the disciples must have had some experiences of this kind. After all, there were plenty of other messiahs running
around, and their followers were never able to create great world religions. Only the “Easter event,” as theologians sometimes call it, could explain this fact.

This issue takes up over half of How Jesus Became God and is by far the most interesting part. But the rest of the book has real value as well. It explores how over the centuries Jesus came to be proclaimed as fully God and fully man.

This question is a bit more difficult than you might think. Usually this process is seen as the gradual creation of a myth: little by little, Jesus grows from being a mere man (albeit a very special man) into the Second Person of the Trinity. But, as Ehrman shows, the picture is not so clear. For example, there is the problematic passage in Philippians 2:6–11, which may be dated as early as AD 56, and which speaks of Christ as a divine or semidivine being before he was incarnated on earth. Most scholars agree that this was a hymn that existed before Paul wrote this letter and that he is quoting it (probably with some side comments here and there). If so, this means that Jesus had been accepted as a semidivine being (an angel, say) very soon after his death—at least by some of his followers.

Ehrman takes his discussion forward to later parts of the New Testament and (briefly) to the theology of the church fathers, culminating in the proclamation of the Council of Nicea in 325 of Jesus as fully equal to and coexistent with the Father. But it is clear
that the Christology of the New Testament period is his chief interest, and it is in many ways of most interest to us.

Ehrman discusses how he personally went from being an evangelical Christian to becoming an agnostic, and his forthrightness about this fact is refreshing. I myself think his view of Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet is deeply problematic, but that is a subject for something much longer than a review of this length. All in all, in How Jesus Became God, Ehrman again shows that he is among the most balanced as well as among the most readable of New Testament scholars.

Richard Smoley