Maybe. In a pantheistic, philosophical way, an increase in a belief in God might occur. But while Yann Martel’s “Life of Pi” is an engaging modern fantasy, even I, a lifelong member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sees it relies a bit too much on philosophy and lot less on conversion via the spirit. This is a book that attempts to increase faith in God in the head, not necessarily the heart.
Others, of course, may have a different reaction. Others, of course, may see my church affiliation and scoff that since I believe in another “engaging modern fantasy,” – The Book of Mormon – my skepticism in Martel’s attempts at convincing others to believe in God is laughable.
That may be so. Through a different point of view.
“Life of Pi” is a tale of a modern spiritual journey, one that ends with the skeptics accepting the veracity of the tale of Pi, marooned at sea for 277 days with a zoo-kept Bengal tiger as his only mortal companion on a lifeboat on the pretext, it feels, of liking the story of Pi and the tiger much more than the story of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Lifeboat,” but with more murders. Pi argues he saw it all – and that he believes what he sees. He doesn’t believe in bonsai trees, brought up by his Japanese interrogators, because he hasn’t seen them. Voila, the story of Pi and the tiger must be true, the story tells the head.
And I too like the story of Pi and the Tiger – liked it when I saw the film, liked it still when I read the book. But to believe this book will change minds in the realm of spirituality is to rely too much on the world of philosophy than anything else. Which is what you’d expect from Martel or any other student of philosophy or rhetoric.
Those who believe in God will read the book and find the affirmation they seek. Those who do not are unlikely to find their thoughts changed after reading this story, even if they consider the philosophical implications.
That aside, Martel tells a wonderful story of journey that can hold its head high among the likes of Samuel Butler’s “Erewhon” and even Jonathan Swift’s “Gulliver’s Travels,” as it harks to the speculative nature of people who can look at a world thoroughly explored and still think, “There’s something new to be found out there.” Perhaps this is the central message to the novel, and if so it transcends a bit more the rather pedestrian arguments that come up to convince others to believe in a higher power. Like Butler and Swift, Martel brings us a highly fanciful tale, meant to put a pry bar in our minds to convince us that we don’t yet know the world we live in, neither through the windows of science, philosophy, and religion – which the book touches on. Only through a combination of these disciplines can we hope to find the fanciful. If we take the story on that level, maybe Martel does a better job at it than I give him credit for.
The tales Butler and Swift spin came at a time when great explorations were still being done across the globe. Martel’s comes in a time where such explorations only dredge up echoes of colonialism, oppression of native peoples – that might explain why his fanciful island is populated only by meerkats – and a roiling cynicism that makes any appeal to belief in deity seem a risky undertaking for a novelist.
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