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Roland in Moonlight
As everyone knows, the bond between homo sapiens sapiens and canis lupus familiaris has traversed the ages. But few could have anticipated the remarkable exchange here recounted between David Bentley Hart and a noble beast named Roland.
Roland in Moonlight breaks new ground within Hart's already astonishingly wide-ranging body of work. Eschewing the rigidity of the human either/or, Roland's diagonal approach offers secret illuminations and hidden affinities, as all and sundry come into his purview: paganism, dreams, language, myth, politics, American Christianity, Indian metaphysics, Japanese aesthetics... But perhaps most of all, the book is a kaleidoscopic exploration of the nature of mind and consciousness.
Woven through all this is a candid memoir, a story of loss and recovery, of personal trials and tribulations, with Roland "leading the way through the darkened rooms and the sporadic shafts of icy moonlight, his mottled coat a constantly fluctuating counterpoint of shadow and light"-a strange and sure balm for the soul.
Roland in Moonlight is a wholly unforgettable reading experience-a journey into the possible upon the wings of a heavenly discourse between man and beast, and the singular-indeed, blessed-rapport that guides their lives. It is impossible not to be swept along as Roland takes flight.
Roland in Moonlight breaks new ground within Hart's already astonishingly wide-ranging body of work. Eschewing the rigidity of the human either/or, Roland's diagonal approach offers secret illuminations and hidden affinities, as all and sundry come into his purview: paganism, dreams, language, myth, politics, American Christianity, Indian metaphysics, Japanese aesthetics... But perhaps most of all, the book is a kaleidoscopic exploration of the nature of mind and consciousness.
Woven through all this is a candid memoir, a story of loss and recovery, of personal trials and tribulations, with Roland "leading the way through the darkened rooms and the sporadic shafts of icy moonlight, his mottled coat a constantly fluctuating counterpoint of shadow and light"-a strange and sure balm for the soul.
Roland in Moonlight is a wholly unforgettable reading experience-a journey into the possible upon the wings of a heavenly discourse between man and beast, and the singular-indeed, blessed-rapport that guides their lives. It is impossible not to be swept along as Roland takes flight.
386 pages, Paperback
Published February 21, 2021
85 people are currently reading
360 people want to read
About the author
David Bentley Hart
44 books700 followersDavid Bentley Hart, an Eastern Orthodox scholar of religion and a philosopher, writer, and cultural commentator, is a fellow at the Notre Dame Institute for Advanced Study. He lives in South Bend, IN.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 36 reviews
April 1, 2021
This book is simply a delightful, enjoyable, thoughtful, moving, profound and engaging book. David Bentley Hart has already done the world a service with his previous works on everything from the character of God (The Experience of God) to the problem of evil (The Doors of the Sea) to Christian history (Atheist Delusions, The Story of Christianity) and the problem of hell (That all Shall Be Saved). He’s also written essays on wide-ranging topics and translated the New Testament.
In this book, Hart defies easy designation of genre. I suppose it might be best to qualify this as a memoir, but that’s not really correct. Perhaps it is some sort of fiction, as much of the book is conversations between Hart and his dog, Roland. And, I mean, we know dogs don’t talk, let alone write poetry, edit memoirs and pontificate on consciousness.
Do we?
Perhaps this book is philosophy, as large segments are reflections on consciousness and materialism. There’s bits on religion and theology as well though, with the funniest bits being Roland continually insisting that Hart is actually a Hindu.
Whatever genre it might be qualified as, this may be Hart’s best book to date. I say that as someone who has learned a ton from Hart. I hate to too easily call people or books “life-changing” but I think Hart’s writing (especially The Experience of God) has changed my life. But in his other works, Hart wrote as a theologian and philosopher. Sure, he was a bit more snarky and sarcastic in tone than other theologians I’ve read. In his essays he showed a wider range and I think its that range that flowers in this book.
In other words, this book is delightful and entertaining to read whether you agree or disagree with any of the philosophical ideas. Roland is a wonderful character Hart has created (or simply an extraordinary dog Hart has the privilege to talk with). I would compare Hart’s writing here to Marilynne Robinson, Frederick Beuchner, Anne Lamott or other all around fantastic writers (I’m sure more well-read folks than me could have others come to mind).
For a long time I’ve noted that too many Christian theologians are not imaginative enough. In previous generations we had writers like CS Lewis, George MacDonald, GK Chesterton and others who wrote fiction as well as their writings in theology and philosophy. Hart here reveals his imagination and I would love to read novels or short stories he might write (I know he has a collection of short stories which I’ve never read...maybe I should).
All this has been about Hart so far, but this is Roland’s book. Hart writes of Roland:
“We loved him at once and unreservedly, of course, as only a degenerate and soulless monster would fail to do on first coming to know a puppy. Even so, none of us just then even remotely suspected what an inscrutable and mighty soul entered our lives” (5).
Much later Roland tells the legend of how a great wolf saw early humans, piteous and weak, and laid aside his wolf nature to become a dog and help the humans survive. Dogs saved us, so the stories say, and without dogs life has no meaning.
Roland is delightful. He spends much of the book editing Hart’s great uncle’s papers and many of these poems end up in the book. I am not a big reader of poetry, but maybe I should try. Hart’s great uncle is almost as much a character in the story as Roland is. An unapologetic pagan, Hart is surprised to find his uncle had sympathy of the Christianity of his youth and wrote some poems with Christian themes that we find at the end of the story.
He also wrote poems with Buddhist themes. There’s a lot here on religion and more traditional Christian believers will find a lot to criticize. Of course, after his book on universalism, Hart probably has few traditional Christian readers left and I doubt he’d give a care if they are critical. He’d probably say they’ve lost too much imagination as, in one of the best parts of the book, he considers the most fundamentalist believers among us to be mere atheists trying to believe in belief:
“What’s a militant Latin Mass Catholic or a white evangelical fundamentalist from Tennessee other than an atheist who’s convinced himself that he truly, truly, truly believes by inverting his total, inescapable inward nihilism in the mirror of his despair? He doesn’t believe. He merely believes that he believes” (328).
Through read such reflections on belief and unbelief, nature and matter, I found myself, to be honest, looking for fairies and saying hello to trees. Roland affirms early on that he sees fairies and there is a melancholy tone throughout of what Western humans have lost. I’d say there are echoes of Charles Taylor’s writing on our secular age, an age of disenchantment. Roland, like the kids among us, can see. So one day while reading this book, I went for a walk with my dog. I tried to keep my eyes open to the sounds of birds and trees, chipmunks and blades of grass.
Then just yesterday we were on a family hike. I asked my nine-year-old daughter if she thought fairies lived in these woods.
“Of course,” she said. “And there are mermaids in that lake too.”
Adults like me who say we believe in God and the supernatural may smile, knowing there’s no such things as fairies. Roland would say my daughter sees what I’ve lost the ability to see. I mean, why wouldn’t there be fairies and sprites and pixies and spirits? Who said our disenchanted dead world is the real world?
Maybe we all need the wisdom from dogs and kids to remind us the world is more vibrant with life than we imagined.
In this book, Hart defies easy designation of genre. I suppose it might be best to qualify this as a memoir, but that’s not really correct. Perhaps it is some sort of fiction, as much of the book is conversations between Hart and his dog, Roland. And, I mean, we know dogs don’t talk, let alone write poetry, edit memoirs and pontificate on consciousness.
Do we?
Perhaps this book is philosophy, as large segments are reflections on consciousness and materialism. There’s bits on religion and theology as well though, with the funniest bits being Roland continually insisting that Hart is actually a Hindu.
Whatever genre it might be qualified as, this may be Hart’s best book to date. I say that as someone who has learned a ton from Hart. I hate to too easily call people or books “life-changing” but I think Hart’s writing (especially The Experience of God) has changed my life. But in his other works, Hart wrote as a theologian and philosopher. Sure, he was a bit more snarky and sarcastic in tone than other theologians I’ve read. In his essays he showed a wider range and I think its that range that flowers in this book.
In other words, this book is delightful and entertaining to read whether you agree or disagree with any of the philosophical ideas. Roland is a wonderful character Hart has created (or simply an extraordinary dog Hart has the privilege to talk with). I would compare Hart’s writing here to Marilynne Robinson, Frederick Beuchner, Anne Lamott or other all around fantastic writers (I’m sure more well-read folks than me could have others come to mind).
For a long time I’ve noted that too many Christian theologians are not imaginative enough. In previous generations we had writers like CS Lewis, George MacDonald, GK Chesterton and others who wrote fiction as well as their writings in theology and philosophy. Hart here reveals his imagination and I would love to read novels or short stories he might write (I know he has a collection of short stories which I’ve never read...maybe I should).
All this has been about Hart so far, but this is Roland’s book. Hart writes of Roland:
“We loved him at once and unreservedly, of course, as only a degenerate and soulless monster would fail to do on first coming to know a puppy. Even so, none of us just then even remotely suspected what an inscrutable and mighty soul entered our lives” (5).
Much later Roland tells the legend of how a great wolf saw early humans, piteous and weak, and laid aside his wolf nature to become a dog and help the humans survive. Dogs saved us, so the stories say, and without dogs life has no meaning.
Roland is delightful. He spends much of the book editing Hart’s great uncle’s papers and many of these poems end up in the book. I am not a big reader of poetry, but maybe I should try. Hart’s great uncle is almost as much a character in the story as Roland is. An unapologetic pagan, Hart is surprised to find his uncle had sympathy of the Christianity of his youth and wrote some poems with Christian themes that we find at the end of the story.
He also wrote poems with Buddhist themes. There’s a lot here on religion and more traditional Christian believers will find a lot to criticize. Of course, after his book on universalism, Hart probably has few traditional Christian readers left and I doubt he’d give a care if they are critical. He’d probably say they’ve lost too much imagination as, in one of the best parts of the book, he considers the most fundamentalist believers among us to be mere atheists trying to believe in belief:
“What’s a militant Latin Mass Catholic or a white evangelical fundamentalist from Tennessee other than an atheist who’s convinced himself that he truly, truly, truly believes by inverting his total, inescapable inward nihilism in the mirror of his despair? He doesn’t believe. He merely believes that he believes” (328).
Through read such reflections on belief and unbelief, nature and matter, I found myself, to be honest, looking for fairies and saying hello to trees. Roland affirms early on that he sees fairies and there is a melancholy tone throughout of what Western humans have lost. I’d say there are echoes of Charles Taylor’s writing on our secular age, an age of disenchantment. Roland, like the kids among us, can see. So one day while reading this book, I went for a walk with my dog. I tried to keep my eyes open to the sounds of birds and trees, chipmunks and blades of grass.
Then just yesterday we were on a family hike. I asked my nine-year-old daughter if she thought fairies lived in these woods.
“Of course,” she said. “And there are mermaids in that lake too.”
Adults like me who say we believe in God and the supernatural may smile, knowing there’s no such things as fairies. Roland would say my daughter sees what I’ve lost the ability to see. I mean, why wouldn’t there be fairies and sprites and pixies and spirits? Who said our disenchanted dead world is the real world?
Maybe we all need the wisdom from dogs and kids to remind us the world is more vibrant with life than we imagined.
September 19, 2021
DBH is a super-smart guy. Sometimes I wonder if he may a bit too smart for his own good. But his dog Roland is even smarter.
This book defies simple categorization, or even a satisfying description. It is part fictional (?) memoir, part treatise, part meditation, and part irony, as he even pokes fun at his own pretentiousness. There are some fascinating discussions regarding mind and consciousness, and about the value of religious myths in helping to understand ineffable truth and the mind of God. The story oscillates from self deprecation to self indulgence. From the humorous to the recondite. From the absurd to the profound.
I enjoyed most of the philosophical discourses with Roland, but the detours into poetry were only intermittently rewarding — Roland’s haiku about the fragrance of earthworms being a memorable exception.
Having read a few of DBH’s previous books, I was under the impression that he was a Christian of the Eastern Orthodox persuasion, but some of these reflections suggest he may be more Eastern than Orthodox. Roland repeatedly teases that he must actually be a Hindu. Since I possess only a passable understanding of Buddhism and Hinduism, the many references to religious myths of the East often left me either unmoved or frustrated, but at its best this book is in some ways reminiscent of one of my favorites, Gödel, Escher, Bach —playful, yet deep.
This book defies simple categorization, or even a satisfying description. It is part fictional (?) memoir, part treatise, part meditation, and part irony, as he even pokes fun at his own pretentiousness. There are some fascinating discussions regarding mind and consciousness, and about the value of religious myths in helping to understand ineffable truth and the mind of God. The story oscillates from self deprecation to self indulgence. From the humorous to the recondite. From the absurd to the profound.
I enjoyed most of the philosophical discourses with Roland, but the detours into poetry were only intermittently rewarding — Roland’s haiku about the fragrance of earthworms being a memorable exception.
Having read a few of DBH’s previous books, I was under the impression that he was a Christian of the Eastern Orthodox persuasion, but some of these reflections suggest he may be more Eastern than Orthodox. Roland repeatedly teases that he must actually be a Hindu. Since I possess only a passable understanding of Buddhism and Hinduism, the many references to religious myths of the East often left me either unmoved or frustrated, but at its best this book is in some ways reminiscent of one of my favorites, Gödel, Escher, Bach —playful, yet deep.
January 7, 2024
"'We're eternal, you and I,' Roland continued. 'There's a place of light that was there before all things and that will be there after all things and always is. There we've always dwelled together... where we were, will be, and even now are. In the Aeon. In the Dreamtime...'"
"We shall bring you...
Enchanted healing waters drawn from magic wells,
And fairy liquors made from spume of cataracts,
Anemones from soil where fair Adonis bled,
And asphodels plucked from the moist Elysian fields,
And blossom-petals from the mighty Bodhi-tree,
And peaches from Amida's Western Paradise,
And cherries from the ever-blooming boughs of Eden."
A very moving, very pretentious, very stimulating read. Hart is more than ever giving himself permission to be openly pluralist (omnist, perennialist? was he ever really hiding it?) and for me it's refreshing and timely as I find myself in a transitional place spiritually and religiously.
One is, no doubt, supposed to marvel at the breadth of Hart's knowledge and interests (why else would he write the way he does?) and yet I can't help but take the bait. I had to look up several words, and added a number of books to my ebook library.... some day I will read them.
A joyous fusion of neoplatonic musing, dreamy prose, philosophy of mind, Hindu metaphysics, Buddhist cosmology, Christian theology, Kabbalah, Australian Aboriginal mythology, political rant, and the kitchen sink... which is mostly filled with Hart's (pagan great uncle's) poetry.
Worth another read.
"We shall bring you...
Enchanted healing waters drawn from magic wells,
And fairy liquors made from spume of cataracts,
Anemones from soil where fair Adonis bled,
And asphodels plucked from the moist Elysian fields,
And blossom-petals from the mighty Bodhi-tree,
And peaches from Amida's Western Paradise,
And cherries from the ever-blooming boughs of Eden."
A very moving, very pretentious, very stimulating read. Hart is more than ever giving himself permission to be openly pluralist (omnist, perennialist? was he ever really hiding it?) and for me it's refreshing and timely as I find myself in a transitional place spiritually and religiously.
One is, no doubt, supposed to marvel at the breadth of Hart's knowledge and interests (why else would he write the way he does?) and yet I can't help but take the bait. I had to look up several words, and added a number of books to my ebook library.... some day I will read them.
A joyous fusion of neoplatonic musing, dreamy prose, philosophy of mind, Hindu metaphysics, Buddhist cosmology, Christian theology, Kabbalah, Australian Aboriginal mythology, political rant, and the kitchen sink... which is mostly filled with Hart's (pagan great uncle's) poetry.
Worth another read.
February 23, 2022
This book is great fun. However, I do think it would have been improved if the protagonist had been a cat. Even a casual observer of nature must conclude that while dogs may be loyal and good-hearted Epicureans, cats are the truly mystical poets and philosophers of the two species.
August 25, 2022
When famous or semi-famous authors pass away, there's usually a scramble for their literary executors to publish what I like to call 'desk drawer exercises', mediocre or failed manuscripts that could only be published posthumously, as no sane author in full possession of their faculties would ever willingly attach their name to them. With Kenogaia and Tradition and Apocalypse (and now, Roland), Hart has apparently started the posthumous process himself, for some reason.
Roland consists of very, very, VERY bad poetry; painfully awkward theological conversations between Hart and his pet dog (don't ask); impressively tedious autobiographical tangents . . . I dunno man. The actual theology/arguments about academic topics are fine, I guess?, but nothing new to anyone who has read Hart's better work.
Roland consists of very, very, VERY bad poetry; painfully awkward theological conversations between Hart and his pet dog (don't ask); impressively tedious autobiographical tangents . . . I dunno man. The actual theology/arguments about academic topics are fine, I guess?, but nothing new to anyone who has read Hart's better work.
November 8, 2021
The Great Voyage
I'm laying here after finishing this book before I rise to do my daily chores. I'm choked up- simultaneously in a state of bliss and one of loss. I've titled this review as a tribute to the final poem in this book, but it really represents what I've experienced. Words do escape me. How do you describe or review a book that has such a profound impact on you. A book where you laughed, cried, reached for Google so you could understand some of the references!! I've read about poetry, myths, religion, relationships all in one book. Please do yourself a favour and read this. It will change your life and you will see fairies
I'm laying here after finishing this book before I rise to do my daily chores. I'm choked up- simultaneously in a state of bliss and one of loss. I've titled this review as a tribute to the final poem in this book, but it really represents what I've experienced. Words do escape me. How do you describe or review a book that has such a profound impact on you. A book where you laughed, cried, reached for Google so you could understand some of the references!! I've read about poetry, myths, religion, relationships all in one book. Please do yourself a favour and read this. It will change your life and you will see fairies
March 11, 2022
"I don't know what I'll do with myself... how I'll possibly get by without you. I'll be so lonely."
"There's nothing to fear. Nothing at all. Over there, across the dark waters, on that far shore, there's only beauty. Dogs can see it, you know. We can peer through the thin places between the worlds -even through the veil between this life and the next. And over there you and I are already together, and always have been and always will be."
"There's nothing to fear. Nothing at all. Over there, across the dark waters, on that far shore, there's only beauty. Dogs can see it, you know. We can peer through the thin places between the worlds -even through the veil between this life and the next. And over there you and I are already together, and always have been and always will be."
June 22, 2023
A really beautiful, queer (as in peculiar), metaphysical fabulation. Go with it, trust it. Trust the talking dog, the panpsychist romance, the odd dithyrambic excursions, the platonic dialogues on dreams, Japan, Vedantic religion, Buddhism, consciousness, and animals. You won’t go wrong.
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June 6, 2023A theologian talks to his dog (or rather the other way around), about life, AI, consciousness, theology, philosophy, and death. The dog likes to read the poetry of a fake great uncle, and the story is set in a fictionalized version of the author's life. Pretty weird book!
I'm perhaps not quite well read enough to know if DBH's constant and varied allusions were pertinent and insightful, so I'll have to take it by faith that they weren't just extravagant displays of intellectual ego stroking. Nevertheless, between these near constant allusions, DBH does write some thought provoking and clear insights into the topics above; some that will stick with me for a while.
I'm perhaps not quite well read enough to know if DBH's constant and varied allusions were pertinent and insightful, so I'll have to take it by faith that they weren't just extravagant displays of intellectual ego stroking. Nevertheless, between these near constant allusions, DBH does write some thought provoking and clear insights into the topics above; some that will stick with me for a while.
July 16, 2021
It was one of those mesmerizing moments when everything seems to be in a state of subtle transition, quivering at the very edge of a revelation or a dream, and one feels as if one might just slip into another, parallel world if one is careless.
Aren’t there enough examples of these moments when the walls of material nature become like transparent glass— when a peregrine breeze momentarily lifts the veil aside and grants us a glimpse of what we shouldn’t be able to see if we were just biochemical machines—to qualify as established data? To merit investigation? Or just curiosity?
Now I too turned my eyes to the fabulous, moonlit, crystalline land outside. “A longing for what?”
“For a world that speaks,” replied Roland with a curiously morose intonation in his voice. “For a world that feels... that’s conscious and alive. For communion.”
“But now you’ve filtered so much of it out. That’s what the brain and nervous system are, after all: a filtration system, a way of reducing the totality of universal conscious communion to the manageable dimensions of particular, punctiliar subjective psychological experience. But now the filter has become practically opaque where certain aspects of reality are concerned. In the modern age—the age of the mechanical philosophy—you haven’t much chance of seeing those... those luminous dimensions of reality where fairies tend to flaunt themselves. Once the mechanistic method became a metaphysics, and then a habitual way of thinking about the world, so much that’s truly alive and beautiful and mysterious was lost to your kind. Living spirits especially. My people, fortunately, never succumbed to these frightful materialist superstitions, so I don’t have to work so hard to pierce the veil of the quotidian, and to descry the radiant figures that dance beneath the blazing moon, in the courts of that other kingdom.”
“Belief is such a slippery concept among humans. So often your kind professes beliefs that your actions belie. I scarcely know what the word means to you. All I know is that my instincts incline me in that direction. That’s the sort of fragrance that reality has in my nostrils, and so I keep them pressed to every trace of the transcendent within the immanent. Surely you know that the canine soul assumes that everything is alive.”
If we believe that the structure of reality can truly be mirrored in the structure of our thinking, then we must also believe that there is an ideal or purely intelligible dimension of reality that really corresponds to the categories and concepts that allow us to understand the world. We must believe that being in itself is pure intelligibility.
Perhaps, then, the best definition of mind is “a restricted instance of that unrestricted act”: like light captured in and refracted by a prism, being— which is consciousness—expresses itself in the faceted finitude of our natures. But it is God in himself who is the logical order of all reality, the ground both of the subjective rationality of mind and the objective rationality of being, the transcendent and indwelling Reason or Wisdom by which mind and matter are both informed and in which both participate.
“If we have but ears to hear,” said Roland, resuming his normal expression, “yes. The earth proclaims, and all that.”
“I suppose I already believed that,” I said. “But, being a modern man— unwillingly, in many respects, but modern nonetheless—I think there’s always a trace of doubt even in my faith.”
The more one contemplates the mystery of spiritual existence, the more tempting it is to adopt a kind of gnostic irony with regard to this world’s claim on us. How is it that something so luminous, so generous and precious and fragile, so consumed with the desire for goodness and truth and beauty, so purely simple in itself as the conscious soul ever came to be imprisoned in a reality like this? Tangled in the nets of material mortality and pain and ignorance? When you consider that miraculous beauty and then consider the horror of this world—the way pain and disease and loss are inextricably interwoven into every aspect of its pattern, the intricacy of its economies of life and death—you can’t help sometimes suspecting an infernal ingenuity at work in it, the malevolence of a jealous demiurge.
What really distinguishes a dream from wakefulness, after all? If experience is, say, just the phenomenal translation of some occultly noumenal res ignota —and I’m not saying it is, I’m simply posing the question—where can we really locate the boundary... the point of quantitative intensity within the qualitative continuum that marks the division between what we call dream and what we call reality? In a sense, the whole world in that scheme is the dream of the representing intellect. Or, better, the figural intellect.”
“You’re being a bit promiscuous with your syncretisms, aren’t you?” I interrupted with a laugh.
He closed his eyes and deeply drew in the fragrance of the grass through dilated nostrils. “I certainly hope so…”
Think—just think—of how much was lost when the Western barbarians came, and began to destroy the patiently accomplished agronomies of the native peoples of Australia, which had been the principal physical manifestation of the spiritual tact that made those peoples at one with their land. And consider how much continues to be lost as the children of those ethereal civilizations are still today being drawn away into the shrill, brittle, ever altering spectacle of modernity... into a world that never dreams, that’s always savagely awake... always awash in a grim fluorescent glare that makes everything look leprous...” Once again his voice suggested that he was floating away into his own reflections.
“Mind you,” he said, “I’m also not sure how much I trust in any arguments from statistical quantification. It’s always a strange sort of fiction, isn’t it? The statistical mean, that is? A sort of Euclidean abstraction of generalities, useful when describing—not explaining, that is, but describing—a distribution of possible results. I trust in the particular, however. A poem is the truth of poetry. And, after all, I have Aristotelian tendencies—as distilled through Neoplatonism of course—and so I’m content to say that perhaps a universe is of its nature a certain set of rational relations that ‘naturally’ subsist in any cosmological context. So, well, cosmological constants might simply constitute the equation, so to speak, that a universe is.”
For one thing, I don’t think that consciousness is a mechanical thing that can become entangled with a particle and multifurcated along its various consistent histories. I think that the mind’s intentionality is an act of attending to an object, and that in doing so it actually determines the object as something available to attention. Until then, all those histories really exist as potentialities, but thereafter one of them exists as an actuality.
“Only that what for us is a vanished possibility is always in some sense actual in God. In fact, that might be our best modal picture of God. As the infinite act of mind who is also the infinite act of being, he has no ‘real relation’ to this or that world as something over against himself. So what would the difference be for God between ‘imagining’ a world, so to speak, and creating? All realities are compossible in the divine nature, and so also actual in the divine nature. That creative potentia absoluta , or māyā or sakti or Sophia—that eternal divine dynamis that is the source of to dynaton here below— isn’t merely some logical or statistical possibility. It is for us —to us—that the collapse occurs, as a measure of our freedom as finite beings in our own rights. But the collapse isn’t a pathos for God as it is for us. It literally makes no difference in him.”
Translation is about meanings, and so the whole enterprise is dependent on a kind of spiritual tact—or on functioning spiritual senses, really, able to perceive implications, atmospheres, nuances... not only what an author expresses, but also what he doesn’t need to express. One renders discrete words into their most plausible equivalents, but by itself that accomplishes nothing. One translates the text as the product of an intentionality, with a purposive dimension that one has to share in to understand the work at all. That’s why there’ll never be a computer program for real translation. One has to know the whole before understanding the parts, and more than the whole before understanding the whole. One has to intend the author’s intention, and that means in part retreating to a level of consciousness prior to individual identity.
The vocation of the poet—the true poet, that is —is to overcome the fallenness of human language, in part through converting words that merely indicate into a music that truly expresses... truly means ... to overcome the schism between reflective thought and the immediate knowledge of the world... to reestablish communion by subordinating the words one speaks aloud to the silence of the inner verbum cordis . And, of course, the truly inspired poet, or truly poetic prophet, is always trying to reach that primordial word that, in being uttered, utters all things into being... the logos that discloses the depths of the origin, prior to this or that primate dialect. That’s what fascinated the Jesuits about Chinese ideograms you know— that they aren’t transcriptions of phonemes, but rather symbols of concepts. A Platonic form of writing. Edenic, perhaps... or as near as possible.
In the modern world, flooded as it is at all times by shrill, brittle electric incandescences, lit by the leprous white glow of computer screens, we desperately need more shadows... more love of shadow as such. We need those places and moments in which the mind sees nameless things moving in the obscurity, in the dusk, and occasionally even knows itself as conjuring the world out of a more primordial, more timeless dreaming.
Every person’s inner life is a mystery to everyone else, even to those who know him or her most intimately—which would be the greatest of tragedies if it were a limitation of our natures that should prove final and immutable, rather than one that we have some cause to hope will one day—on the other side of the veil or through the looking-glass—fall away.
But the deeper truth of both instincts, toward life and death both, however disfigured and dissociated from one another they might be by your wounded natures, is a more original longing for the ultimate, for the final divine consummation of spiritual love. Even the darkest impulses of self- destruction, even the pain of suicide—there’s a still more primordial innocence in that, one that can never be extinguished, one that makes it impossible for any final culpability to attach to it. It’s a damaged but at some level sincere expression of the same love that compels the contemplative to flee from his or her ego into a final unio mystica . Or that drives two lovers to seek release from themselves in emotional and sexual fusion, each in the other’s embrace. Or that prompts parents to have children, and thereby to will their own displacement by a succeeding generation. In either the tenderest or the most tragic surrender of the empirical ego to its own dissolution—in that final fatigue of the conatus essendi —there’s always the memory, the promise of an eternal longing not for nothingness, but for the whole of being... for liberation from selfishness, union with all... in a God who is all in all. At least, that’s how I interpret it. Again, there are mysteries in your kind that even the wisest of dogs can’t fathom.
True life is a dying into the now, and ultimately the fullness of life is a dying into the eternal now. And learning to live is learning the art of dying fruitfully. Unless the grain fall to earth and perish, and all that. To learn to die properly is to learn to live.
“It’s the richness of experience that determines the real length of life,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say the real depth of life. To you, a decade seems almost ephemeral, at least by comparison to the long, receding corridor of the remembered life you carry around with you as a middle-aged man. But for a dog every day is so full of the richness of sheer sensibility—so many reflections, so many scents, so many thrills of vitality, such deep communion with the invincible animal energy of life—that ten years is an age.”
Aren’t there enough examples of these moments when the walls of material nature become like transparent glass— when a peregrine breeze momentarily lifts the veil aside and grants us a glimpse of what we shouldn’t be able to see if we were just biochemical machines—to qualify as established data? To merit investigation? Or just curiosity?
Now I too turned my eyes to the fabulous, moonlit, crystalline land outside. “A longing for what?”
“For a world that speaks,” replied Roland with a curiously morose intonation in his voice. “For a world that feels... that’s conscious and alive. For communion.”
“But now you’ve filtered so much of it out. That’s what the brain and nervous system are, after all: a filtration system, a way of reducing the totality of universal conscious communion to the manageable dimensions of particular, punctiliar subjective psychological experience. But now the filter has become practically opaque where certain aspects of reality are concerned. In the modern age—the age of the mechanical philosophy—you haven’t much chance of seeing those... those luminous dimensions of reality where fairies tend to flaunt themselves. Once the mechanistic method became a metaphysics, and then a habitual way of thinking about the world, so much that’s truly alive and beautiful and mysterious was lost to your kind. Living spirits especially. My people, fortunately, never succumbed to these frightful materialist superstitions, so I don’t have to work so hard to pierce the veil of the quotidian, and to descry the radiant figures that dance beneath the blazing moon, in the courts of that other kingdom.”
“Belief is such a slippery concept among humans. So often your kind professes beliefs that your actions belie. I scarcely know what the word means to you. All I know is that my instincts incline me in that direction. That’s the sort of fragrance that reality has in my nostrils, and so I keep them pressed to every trace of the transcendent within the immanent. Surely you know that the canine soul assumes that everything is alive.”
If we believe that the structure of reality can truly be mirrored in the structure of our thinking, then we must also believe that there is an ideal or purely intelligible dimension of reality that really corresponds to the categories and concepts that allow us to understand the world. We must believe that being in itself is pure intelligibility.
Perhaps, then, the best definition of mind is “a restricted instance of that unrestricted act”: like light captured in and refracted by a prism, being— which is consciousness—expresses itself in the faceted finitude of our natures. But it is God in himself who is the logical order of all reality, the ground both of the subjective rationality of mind and the objective rationality of being, the transcendent and indwelling Reason or Wisdom by which mind and matter are both informed and in which both participate.
“If we have but ears to hear,” said Roland, resuming his normal expression, “yes. The earth proclaims, and all that.”
“I suppose I already believed that,” I said. “But, being a modern man— unwillingly, in many respects, but modern nonetheless—I think there’s always a trace of doubt even in my faith.”
The more one contemplates the mystery of spiritual existence, the more tempting it is to adopt a kind of gnostic irony with regard to this world’s claim on us. How is it that something so luminous, so generous and precious and fragile, so consumed with the desire for goodness and truth and beauty, so purely simple in itself as the conscious soul ever came to be imprisoned in a reality like this? Tangled in the nets of material mortality and pain and ignorance? When you consider that miraculous beauty and then consider the horror of this world—the way pain and disease and loss are inextricably interwoven into every aspect of its pattern, the intricacy of its economies of life and death—you can’t help sometimes suspecting an infernal ingenuity at work in it, the malevolence of a jealous demiurge.
What really distinguishes a dream from wakefulness, after all? If experience is, say, just the phenomenal translation of some occultly noumenal res ignota —and I’m not saying it is, I’m simply posing the question—where can we really locate the boundary... the point of quantitative intensity within the qualitative continuum that marks the division between what we call dream and what we call reality? In a sense, the whole world in that scheme is the dream of the representing intellect. Or, better, the figural intellect.”
“You’re being a bit promiscuous with your syncretisms, aren’t you?” I interrupted with a laugh.
He closed his eyes and deeply drew in the fragrance of the grass through dilated nostrils. “I certainly hope so…”
Think—just think—of how much was lost when the Western barbarians came, and began to destroy the patiently accomplished agronomies of the native peoples of Australia, which had been the principal physical manifestation of the spiritual tact that made those peoples at one with their land. And consider how much continues to be lost as the children of those ethereal civilizations are still today being drawn away into the shrill, brittle, ever altering spectacle of modernity... into a world that never dreams, that’s always savagely awake... always awash in a grim fluorescent glare that makes everything look leprous...” Once again his voice suggested that he was floating away into his own reflections.
“Mind you,” he said, “I’m also not sure how much I trust in any arguments from statistical quantification. It’s always a strange sort of fiction, isn’t it? The statistical mean, that is? A sort of Euclidean abstraction of generalities, useful when describing—not explaining, that is, but describing—a distribution of possible results. I trust in the particular, however. A poem is the truth of poetry. And, after all, I have Aristotelian tendencies—as distilled through Neoplatonism of course—and so I’m content to say that perhaps a universe is of its nature a certain set of rational relations that ‘naturally’ subsist in any cosmological context. So, well, cosmological constants might simply constitute the equation, so to speak, that a universe is.”
For one thing, I don’t think that consciousness is a mechanical thing that can become entangled with a particle and multifurcated along its various consistent histories. I think that the mind’s intentionality is an act of attending to an object, and that in doing so it actually determines the object as something available to attention. Until then, all those histories really exist as potentialities, but thereafter one of them exists as an actuality.
“Only that what for us is a vanished possibility is always in some sense actual in God. In fact, that might be our best modal picture of God. As the infinite act of mind who is also the infinite act of being, he has no ‘real relation’ to this or that world as something over against himself. So what would the difference be for God between ‘imagining’ a world, so to speak, and creating? All realities are compossible in the divine nature, and so also actual in the divine nature. That creative potentia absoluta , or māyā or sakti or Sophia—that eternal divine dynamis that is the source of to dynaton here below— isn’t merely some logical or statistical possibility. It is for us —to us—that the collapse occurs, as a measure of our freedom as finite beings in our own rights. But the collapse isn’t a pathos for God as it is for us. It literally makes no difference in him.”
Translation is about meanings, and so the whole enterprise is dependent on a kind of spiritual tact—or on functioning spiritual senses, really, able to perceive implications, atmospheres, nuances... not only what an author expresses, but also what he doesn’t need to express. One renders discrete words into their most plausible equivalents, but by itself that accomplishes nothing. One translates the text as the product of an intentionality, with a purposive dimension that one has to share in to understand the work at all. That’s why there’ll never be a computer program for real translation. One has to know the whole before understanding the parts, and more than the whole before understanding the whole. One has to intend the author’s intention, and that means in part retreating to a level of consciousness prior to individual identity.
The vocation of the poet—the true poet, that is —is to overcome the fallenness of human language, in part through converting words that merely indicate into a music that truly expresses... truly means ... to overcome the schism between reflective thought and the immediate knowledge of the world... to reestablish communion by subordinating the words one speaks aloud to the silence of the inner verbum cordis . And, of course, the truly inspired poet, or truly poetic prophet, is always trying to reach that primordial word that, in being uttered, utters all things into being... the logos that discloses the depths of the origin, prior to this or that primate dialect. That’s what fascinated the Jesuits about Chinese ideograms you know— that they aren’t transcriptions of phonemes, but rather symbols of concepts. A Platonic form of writing. Edenic, perhaps... or as near as possible.
In the modern world, flooded as it is at all times by shrill, brittle electric incandescences, lit by the leprous white glow of computer screens, we desperately need more shadows... more love of shadow as such. We need those places and moments in which the mind sees nameless things moving in the obscurity, in the dusk, and occasionally even knows itself as conjuring the world out of a more primordial, more timeless dreaming.
Every person’s inner life is a mystery to everyone else, even to those who know him or her most intimately—which would be the greatest of tragedies if it were a limitation of our natures that should prove final and immutable, rather than one that we have some cause to hope will one day—on the other side of the veil or through the looking-glass—fall away.
But the deeper truth of both instincts, toward life and death both, however disfigured and dissociated from one another they might be by your wounded natures, is a more original longing for the ultimate, for the final divine consummation of spiritual love. Even the darkest impulses of self- destruction, even the pain of suicide—there’s a still more primordial innocence in that, one that can never be extinguished, one that makes it impossible for any final culpability to attach to it. It’s a damaged but at some level sincere expression of the same love that compels the contemplative to flee from his or her ego into a final unio mystica . Or that drives two lovers to seek release from themselves in emotional and sexual fusion, each in the other’s embrace. Or that prompts parents to have children, and thereby to will their own displacement by a succeeding generation. In either the tenderest or the most tragic surrender of the empirical ego to its own dissolution—in that final fatigue of the conatus essendi —there’s always the memory, the promise of an eternal longing not for nothingness, but for the whole of being... for liberation from selfishness, union with all... in a God who is all in all. At least, that’s how I interpret it. Again, there are mysteries in your kind that even the wisest of dogs can’t fathom.
True life is a dying into the now, and ultimately the fullness of life is a dying into the eternal now. And learning to live is learning the art of dying fruitfully. Unless the grain fall to earth and perish, and all that. To learn to die properly is to learn to live.
“It’s the richness of experience that determines the real length of life,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say the real depth of life. To you, a decade seems almost ephemeral, at least by comparison to the long, receding corridor of the remembered life you carry around with you as a middle-aged man. But for a dog every day is so full of the richness of sheer sensibility—so many reflections, so many scents, so many thrills of vitality, such deep communion with the invincible animal energy of life—that ten years is an age.”
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 31, 2024
TL:DR- I want a dog. 4 stars purely because I'm not smart enough, and, with this being my ~third-ish book by Hart, the novelty of first being exposed to his ideas is a little reduced. Other than that, it’s a real treat and its a fantastic meditation on metaphysics.
"Roland in Moonlight" is an unusual and intentionally provocative book that takes the form of a Platonic dialogue between the author and his talking dog, Roland. The book uses this unconventional format to explore deep philosophical questions about consciousness, spirituality, and modern culture.
For those unfamiliar with his work, David Bentley Hart is one of America's most important living theologians. While his writing is often brilliant and a breath of fresh air in a world becoming all too mechanical, his ornate style can sometimes obscure the presentation of his ideas, making them less accessible than even dry academic prose. At least Hart isn't afraid to stand on business, but the fact that he does so with unashamed polemic rhetoric can alienate readers who might otherwise be receptive to his ideas. His forceful style, while intellectually honest, often prompts defensive reactions – leading some to dismiss his arguments based on tone rather than substance.
With that out of the way, some of the core ideas put forth:
At the heart of Hart's critique lies our modern predicament: a profound fracturing of human consciousness and experience. Through Roland's (the dog, stay with me) observations, we see how the dominant, modern mechanistic worldview has stripped the world of mystery, reducing living beings to mere machines and transforming vibrant ecosystems into abstract "resources" to be converted into profit margins. But Hart pushes beyond standard critiques of modernism. Through his discussions with Roland, he suggests that the internet age has created something far more devastating than mere echo chambers – what he calls 'homo interreticulatus', the networked human who inhabits "worlds within worlds, echoes within echoes, fantasies within fantasies." This multiplication of virtual realities doesn't just divide us politically; it dissolves our capacity for shared experience and moral consensus at a fundamental level. The result is a kind of spiritual poverty that manifests as both environmental destruction and cultural disintegration, where nothing remains "sacred in itself" and no mystery is honored.
Against the backdrop of this mechanistic reduction, Hart presents a reimagining of consciousness and nature. Through Roland's canine (woof woof) perspective, we discover a world where consciousness isn't some strange accident that emerged from dead matter, but rather the fundamental fabric of reality itself. Hart points to how plants communicate through vast underground fungal networks, how animals demonstrate not just learning but genuine invention and joy, and how the sharp division we draw between human and animal consciousness proves increasingly artificial under scrutiny. "Even plants can communicate with their kith and kin," Roland observes, while pointing out how materialist philosophy seems perversely eager to deny consciousness even in humans – as if, Hart caustically notes, "every aspiring young materialist dreams of growing up to be a robot." The book suggests that our failure to recognize consciousness in nature isn't just a philosophical error but a spiritual blindness that has devastating consequences for how we treat the living world around us.
Hart's treatment of suffering and evil is also pretty nuanced. He critiques any attempt to romanticize human suffering, dismantling the Werther-like aestheticization of suicide and despair with raw honesty about pain's true nature. Yet through dialogue with his dog (ok listen I know it’s a bit silly but stay with me), Hart suggests that our fallen state has a double aspect: it's both historical, written into our very DNA through the "phylogenic misery and slaughter" of evolution, and atemporal, existing in "some other world, some other kind of time." This leads to one of the book's most haunting insights about human nature: our sense of "original sin" might partly be an "organic recollection" of our evolutionary heritage, a kind of ontological guilt "indelibly inscribed on each mitochondrion." Beauty still emerges from this violent heritage – like "a delicate blue flower" springing up from decay – but Hart refuses to let this beauty erase or justify the underlying horror. Instead, he suggests that acknowledging both the beauty and the horror might be essential to understanding our true condition. To be honest, I think this is a creative way of making sense of 'the fall' but I'm not sure if I'm entirely sold.
The core of Roland in Moonlight rests on a bridge between old and new ideas. Hart uses classical philosophy - mainly Aristotelian and Neoplatonic thought - to suggest that modern quantum physics might actually support ancient metaphysics rather than disprove it. He even proposes that time itself might just be an effect of possibilities 'becoming real'. This leads him to find truth across many traditions, from Christianity to Hinduism to Aboriginal wisdom, while pushing back against both strict religious doctrine and scientific materialism. But Hart isn't just dealing in theory. Through Roland, he shows us a way forward: recovering what he calls "theophany" - the ability to see divine presence and 'divine particular' in everything. This means healing modern divisions between mind and world, between history and myth. "At one time," Roland tells us, "theophany was everywhere. When humans looked at anything, they also saw divine splendor."
Though we've lost this primordial vision, Hart suggests its recovery depends not on some sentimental return to pre-modern naivete, but rather on a fundamental reorientation of consciousness itself. This consciousness operates not as the materialist's ephemeral byproduct of neural chemistry, nor as Cartesian spectre haunting the machinery of being, but rather as a paintbrush drawn against reality's grain - revealing the theophanic depths that persist within what modernity has reduced to mere extension and force. The task, Hart insists, is to recognize that meaning and mystery aren't simply human projections onto an inherently meaningless universe, but rather constitute the ontological ground from which both mind and matter emerge. Our mechanistic prejudices have taught us to see consciousness as something added to reality, when in fact it is reality's first truth - the infinite act of mind that precedes and makes possible every finite instance of awareness, every momentary collapse of quantum possibility into actuality, every emergence of form from potency.
In the end, Roland in Moonlight revolves around a deceptively simple yet profound insight: "See the world differently and a different world will emerge." Through its deliberately meandering structure - moving between Platonic dialogue, personal reflection, cultural critique, and metaphysical exploration - the book embodies its own argument that consciousness shapes reality. Hart's conversations with Roland serve as more than literary device; they demonstrate how a shift in perspective can reveal hidden dimensions of existence. Whether discussing quantum mechanics, the horror of existence, ecological devastation, or the possibility of universal salvation, the work consistently returns to the primacy of mind and consciousness as the foundation of reality itself. This is not merely a philosophical treatise or spiritual manual - it's a book that, through its very form and execution, invites readers to experience the world-transforming power of seeing differently. In an time dominated by consumption and mechanical metaphors and digital fragmentation, Hart offers a way back to enchantment that somehow points forward rather than backward (or perhaps both? But my understanding of quantum theory kinda sucks so that part of the book lost me), suggesting that our future depends not on technological progress but on a fundamental restoration and eventual transformation of consciousness itself.
What makes Roland in Moonlight memorable is how Hart weaves personal vulnerability into his philosophical vision. When Roland licks away Hart's tears as he contemplates mortality and loss, we see how the book's grand claims touch ground in intimate human experience. This isn't just abstract theory about consciousness and reality - it's about how we face death, how we love, how we grieve. Hart's discussion of "spiritual tact" in translation mirrors his larger argument about how we might translate between temporal and eternal truths. The book suggests that our modern crisis of meaning isn't just about losing religious belief or succumbing to materialism - it's about losing the ability to see reality as what Hart calls a "theophanic cosmos" where every moment, every relationship, every consciousness participates in and manifests eternal truth. Roland in Moonlight doesn't settle on just presenting philosophical arguments but offers a way of seeing the world that might help us recover this lost vision while fully acknowledging the complexity and challenges modernity poses.
"Roland in Moonlight" is an unusual and intentionally provocative book that takes the form of a Platonic dialogue between the author and his talking dog, Roland. The book uses this unconventional format to explore deep philosophical questions about consciousness, spirituality, and modern culture.
For those unfamiliar with his work, David Bentley Hart is one of America's most important living theologians. While his writing is often brilliant and a breath of fresh air in a world becoming all too mechanical, his ornate style can sometimes obscure the presentation of his ideas, making them less accessible than even dry academic prose. At least Hart isn't afraid to stand on business, but the fact that he does so with unashamed polemic rhetoric can alienate readers who might otherwise be receptive to his ideas. His forceful style, while intellectually honest, often prompts defensive reactions – leading some to dismiss his arguments based on tone rather than substance.
With that out of the way, some of the core ideas put forth:
At the heart of Hart's critique lies our modern predicament: a profound fracturing of human consciousness and experience. Through Roland's (the dog, stay with me) observations, we see how the dominant, modern mechanistic worldview has stripped the world of mystery, reducing living beings to mere machines and transforming vibrant ecosystems into abstract "resources" to be converted into profit margins. But Hart pushes beyond standard critiques of modernism. Through his discussions with Roland, he suggests that the internet age has created something far more devastating than mere echo chambers – what he calls 'homo interreticulatus', the networked human who inhabits "worlds within worlds, echoes within echoes, fantasies within fantasies." This multiplication of virtual realities doesn't just divide us politically; it dissolves our capacity for shared experience and moral consensus at a fundamental level. The result is a kind of spiritual poverty that manifests as both environmental destruction and cultural disintegration, where nothing remains "sacred in itself" and no mystery is honored.
Against the backdrop of this mechanistic reduction, Hart presents a reimagining of consciousness and nature. Through Roland's canine (woof woof) perspective, we discover a world where consciousness isn't some strange accident that emerged from dead matter, but rather the fundamental fabric of reality itself. Hart points to how plants communicate through vast underground fungal networks, how animals demonstrate not just learning but genuine invention and joy, and how the sharp division we draw between human and animal consciousness proves increasingly artificial under scrutiny. "Even plants can communicate with their kith and kin," Roland observes, while pointing out how materialist philosophy seems perversely eager to deny consciousness even in humans – as if, Hart caustically notes, "every aspiring young materialist dreams of growing up to be a robot." The book suggests that our failure to recognize consciousness in nature isn't just a philosophical error but a spiritual blindness that has devastating consequences for how we treat the living world around us.
Hart's treatment of suffering and evil is also pretty nuanced. He critiques any attempt to romanticize human suffering, dismantling the Werther-like aestheticization of suicide and despair with raw honesty about pain's true nature. Yet through dialogue with his dog (ok listen I know it’s a bit silly but stay with me), Hart suggests that our fallen state has a double aspect: it's both historical, written into our very DNA through the "phylogenic misery and slaughter" of evolution, and atemporal, existing in "some other world, some other kind of time." This leads to one of the book's most haunting insights about human nature: our sense of "original sin" might partly be an "organic recollection" of our evolutionary heritage, a kind of ontological guilt "indelibly inscribed on each mitochondrion." Beauty still emerges from this violent heritage – like "a delicate blue flower" springing up from decay – but Hart refuses to let this beauty erase or justify the underlying horror. Instead, he suggests that acknowledging both the beauty and the horror might be essential to understanding our true condition. To be honest, I think this is a creative way of making sense of 'the fall' but I'm not sure if I'm entirely sold.
The core of Roland in Moonlight rests on a bridge between old and new ideas. Hart uses classical philosophy - mainly Aristotelian and Neoplatonic thought - to suggest that modern quantum physics might actually support ancient metaphysics rather than disprove it. He even proposes that time itself might just be an effect of possibilities 'becoming real'. This leads him to find truth across many traditions, from Christianity to Hinduism to Aboriginal wisdom, while pushing back against both strict religious doctrine and scientific materialism. But Hart isn't just dealing in theory. Through Roland, he shows us a way forward: recovering what he calls "theophany" - the ability to see divine presence and 'divine particular' in everything. This means healing modern divisions between mind and world, between history and myth. "At one time," Roland tells us, "theophany was everywhere. When humans looked at anything, they also saw divine splendor."
Though we've lost this primordial vision, Hart suggests its recovery depends not on some sentimental return to pre-modern naivete, but rather on a fundamental reorientation of consciousness itself. This consciousness operates not as the materialist's ephemeral byproduct of neural chemistry, nor as Cartesian spectre haunting the machinery of being, but rather as a paintbrush drawn against reality's grain - revealing the theophanic depths that persist within what modernity has reduced to mere extension and force. The task, Hart insists, is to recognize that meaning and mystery aren't simply human projections onto an inherently meaningless universe, but rather constitute the ontological ground from which both mind and matter emerge. Our mechanistic prejudices have taught us to see consciousness as something added to reality, when in fact it is reality's first truth - the infinite act of mind that precedes and makes possible every finite instance of awareness, every momentary collapse of quantum possibility into actuality, every emergence of form from potency.
In the end, Roland in Moonlight revolves around a deceptively simple yet profound insight: "See the world differently and a different world will emerge." Through its deliberately meandering structure - moving between Platonic dialogue, personal reflection, cultural critique, and metaphysical exploration - the book embodies its own argument that consciousness shapes reality. Hart's conversations with Roland serve as more than literary device; they demonstrate how a shift in perspective can reveal hidden dimensions of existence. Whether discussing quantum mechanics, the horror of existence, ecological devastation, or the possibility of universal salvation, the work consistently returns to the primacy of mind and consciousness as the foundation of reality itself. This is not merely a philosophical treatise or spiritual manual - it's a book that, through its very form and execution, invites readers to experience the world-transforming power of seeing differently. In an time dominated by consumption and mechanical metaphors and digital fragmentation, Hart offers a way back to enchantment that somehow points forward rather than backward (or perhaps both? But my understanding of quantum theory kinda sucks so that part of the book lost me), suggesting that our future depends not on technological progress but on a fundamental restoration and eventual transformation of consciousness itself.
What makes Roland in Moonlight memorable is how Hart weaves personal vulnerability into his philosophical vision. When Roland licks away Hart's tears as he contemplates mortality and loss, we see how the book's grand claims touch ground in intimate human experience. This isn't just abstract theory about consciousness and reality - it's about how we face death, how we love, how we grieve. Hart's discussion of "spiritual tact" in translation mirrors his larger argument about how we might translate between temporal and eternal truths. The book suggests that our modern crisis of meaning isn't just about losing religious belief or succumbing to materialism - it's about losing the ability to see reality as what Hart calls a "theophanic cosmos" where every moment, every relationship, every consciousness participates in and manifests eternal truth. Roland in Moonlight doesn't settle on just presenting philosophical arguments but offers a way of seeing the world that might help us recover this lost vision while fully acknowledging the complexity and challenges modernity poses.
October 13, 2022
"You know," he continued after a moment, looking away again, "there are a good number of persons out there who choose - choose - to live without dogs." "I know," I said somberly. "Where do they get their moral examples? Who are their paragons?" He sighed deeply and shook his head heavily. "Do you think their lives can have meaning?" "No," I said, "most certainly not." He nodded sadly. "And yet, perhaps, there can be a kind of grace even in meaningless lives." "I couldn't say," I replied.
I picked this one up purely on gut instinct, and it became one of my favorite books of all time. I wasn't even clear on what it was going to be about, except that it used narrative as a way to talk about a variety of spiritual, religious and philosophical topics.
This is the first of DBH's book's I've read, and before reading I only had a mild familiarity based on some youtube interviews I had seen. I was exposed to him through Rupert Sheldrake if I can remember correctly.
It would be damn near impossible to summarize all the main points made, because there's too many. The hardest hitters, though, would probably have to be the explanation of how he figures the "hard problem of consciousness" is resolved (it's the best explanation I've heard anyone give so far), and the cross-compatibility of different religious systems of belief (which I think, was also very beautiful and true in both how and what was said - like much of the book felt). Reading this book was the first time that I can say something of a genuine mystical experience (multiple actually) was brought on for me by an author explaining in somewhat (sometimes very) complicated, technical terms how they think this whole thing works. That, for me, makes me feel like it must be onto something.
All of this against the warm, classic, all-American backdrop of a tale of a boy and his dog. Except the dog talks, and is an extremely accomplished scholar of religions.
This book seamlessly streams from narrative, to poetry, to discussions about theory-of-mind, the nature of being/reality, religion (many), culture, mythology, literature, philosophy, psychology, the question of suicide... just a bunch of important things. It's funny, it's touching, it's interesting, and it keeps you hooked. I cried, I laughed, I shit my pants. I give it 5 stars, easily.
My criticisms: Probably the most common people have - David comes off a bit grandiloquent at times. I guess they're pretty words he uses, they sound nice, but I had to use my kindle's dictionary sometimes 3 times a page. And, much of the time, nothing came up (not including all the Latin, the French, etc.). I don't think I'm a dumb person - I'll admit, I didn't go to college due to health reasons, and maybe that made some of this book inaccessible to me. I made peace with it by the end of the book anyways. But it brings me to a larger feeling about DBH, and something I felt in watching videos of him earlier on before reading this.
This guy seems to hold some extremely valuable critiques of modern Christianity (or Christianity in general) and all that that entails (and I am 100% sure he is aware of how that interrelates with our politics). It just feels at times that he writes at a level that is inaccessible to people without graduate degrees in the related fields. Maybe he's just so used to being a scholar and doesn't expect to get much readership outside that scope. It sucks, because many more would benefit - and I would say are in dire need - of some of the insights he's gleaned from his years of being a scholar.
Modern Christianity is full of idiots, and that is why it is such a f**king scourge, to put it lightly. They need to be spoken to at or at least vaguely near their intellectual level. I'm sure David is an "old dog" and tired at this point, and is a scholar and not a preacher, nor a political pundit. And based on reading this book, it seems like the strain of using a normal American's vocabulary would probably give him an aneurysm. But I can't shake the impression that some of his insights and the language he uses hold the keys to the future of that religion - if there even is to be one. But it's inevitable that the past, present and future of America are bound up with Christianity, and that is why this is... just... so important.
His voice ought to be reaching more people. For chrissakes... so much is at stake these days.
Here's my plan: write the most inflammatory possible book, containing the most important social and religious insights stated in the most simple possible terms, pimped out to the biggest possible publisher, that can reach the most possible people. Controversy generates free publicity. That would be pretty cool if he did that.
Anyways, the book was beautiful.
March 22, 2023
Roland in Moonlight is a fictionalised account of a series of ontological & epistemological discussions between Hart & his dog, Roland, during Hart’s 3 year convalescence from an unspecified illness.
In Roland’s world, dogs are far superior beings to us “opthalmocentric apes”; they are here to act as moral guides to wean man from his “rude & violent ways and lead him on a better path”, until such time as, according to legend, the Great Wolf swallows the Sun and the World is made anew.
Roland also takes on responsibility for more practical aspects of Hart’s life including the curation of Uncle Aloysius’s prolific poetic output, applying for university positions on his behalf & submitting lengthy dissertations if deadlines are in jeopardy.
Whilst these activities would constitute a full time role for most, Roland also has a rich life independent of Hart - receiving critical acclaim for his second published book of haikus, fully equipping an outbuilding as an authentic Chinese scholar’s studio to name but two.
The quality of debate is impressive, to say the least. Hart is an eminent scholar of religion & philosopher who also displays more than a passing knowledge of quantum science. I had to Google a fair number of concepts to even get an approximation of meaning on quite a few occasions. You don’t have to, you can still get a lot of pleasure without a full understanding. It did make me acutely aware of how language defines our reality and the richer & more sophisticated the language the richer & more sophisticated our view of reality. It made the level of any God exists/no he doesn’t debate I’ve had feel primitive. Roland can always better him though & he often displays a fond indulgence for Hart’s basic misassumptions in the way of a loving father for a beloved child.
Despite his erudition, Roland never loses his “dogness”; encounters often end with a loving lick. Squirrels are “little chattering machines of obnoxious anarchy”. Roland’s disappointment in Hart’s ability to appreciate the richness of the ending of one haiku - “the scent of an earthworm” - is a prime example of the difference between human & dog senses as well as of the humour throughout the book.
It took me over a year to read this book. Now that I have, I’m sorry it’s ended. I think it will stay with me as long as my mental faculties remain.
On a final note.
When Hart touches on the shorter term of a dog’s lifespan & how hard it will without him, Roland responds with
“You’ll never be without me,” he said softly. “You never have been.”
“We’re eternal, you and I,” Roland continued. “There’s a place of light that was there before all things and that will be there after all things and that always is. There we’ve always dwelled together. You remember, we’ve said as much before: the myth of the celestial twin or double each of us has there above, where we were, will be, and even now are. In the Aeon. In the Dreamtime.
Which I crudely equate with the idea of quantum superposition. Whether or not it is true, it is comforting.
In Roland’s world, dogs are far superior beings to us “opthalmocentric apes”; they are here to act as moral guides to wean man from his “rude & violent ways and lead him on a better path”, until such time as, according to legend, the Great Wolf swallows the Sun and the World is made anew.
Roland also takes on responsibility for more practical aspects of Hart’s life including the curation of Uncle Aloysius’s prolific poetic output, applying for university positions on his behalf & submitting lengthy dissertations if deadlines are in jeopardy.
Whilst these activities would constitute a full time role for most, Roland also has a rich life independent of Hart - receiving critical acclaim for his second published book of haikus, fully equipping an outbuilding as an authentic Chinese scholar’s studio to name but two.
The quality of debate is impressive, to say the least. Hart is an eminent scholar of religion & philosopher who also displays more than a passing knowledge of quantum science. I had to Google a fair number of concepts to even get an approximation of meaning on quite a few occasions. You don’t have to, you can still get a lot of pleasure without a full understanding. It did make me acutely aware of how language defines our reality and the richer & more sophisticated the language the richer & more sophisticated our view of reality. It made the level of any God exists/no he doesn’t debate I’ve had feel primitive. Roland can always better him though & he often displays a fond indulgence for Hart’s basic misassumptions in the way of a loving father for a beloved child.
Despite his erudition, Roland never loses his “dogness”; encounters often end with a loving lick. Squirrels are “little chattering machines of obnoxious anarchy”. Roland’s disappointment in Hart’s ability to appreciate the richness of the ending of one haiku - “the scent of an earthworm” - is a prime example of the difference between human & dog senses as well as of the humour throughout the book.
It took me over a year to read this book. Now that I have, I’m sorry it’s ended. I think it will stay with me as long as my mental faculties remain.
On a final note.
When Hart touches on the shorter term of a dog’s lifespan & how hard it will without him, Roland responds with
“You’ll never be without me,” he said softly. “You never have been.”
“We’re eternal, you and I,” Roland continued. “There’s a place of light that was there before all things and that will be there after all things and that always is. There we’ve always dwelled together. You remember, we’ve said as much before: the myth of the celestial twin or double each of us has there above, where we were, will be, and even now are. In the Aeon. In the Dreamtime.
Which I crudely equate with the idea of quantum superposition. Whether or not it is true, it is comforting.
April 17, 2021
I have read several of this author's works, primarily those of a purely theological and/or philosophical subject matter. His perspectives in those areas of study have resonated with me in many ways. I also recently read a collection of his short stories in, "The Devil and Pierre Gernet" (reviewed elsewhere).
I really enjoyed this theological/philosophical "treatise" disguised as a heartwarming, thought-provoking novel featuring an academic theologian and his dog. While I would not consider myself an expert on the author, based on my readings of his works, this novel appears to be an autobiography of sorts. At the end of the book Hart comes out and identifies his own dog by this name and his fondness for him, so no great insight there on my part :-)
The exchanges between Roland (his dog) and the main character in the story (clearly Hart himself, but as I wrote this review I could not locate the name he gives his character in this novel), reveal what I know to be some of Hart's perspectives expressed in his academic works, and some ideas possibly held (definitely speculated if not held) of a more Buddhist and Hindu orientation.
I really enjoyed the portrayal of Roland. I have not had the company of a canine in a very long time, but I found the perspectives from a dog's experience of the world very insightful, and adding a richness to the story not possible from a purely human account of things.
I will conclude by saying, IMHO, if you are interested in knowing Hart as a person, as a theologian and philosopher, this is the book to read. Short of actually spending a good amount of time in person with this author getting to know him and his views, this book is the second best option for doing so. I highly recommend it!
I really enjoyed this theological/philosophical "treatise" disguised as a heartwarming, thought-provoking novel featuring an academic theologian and his dog. While I would not consider myself an expert on the author, based on my readings of his works, this novel appears to be an autobiography of sorts. At the end of the book Hart comes out and identifies his own dog by this name and his fondness for him, so no great insight there on my part :-)
The exchanges between Roland (his dog) and the main character in the story (clearly Hart himself, but as I wrote this review I could not locate the name he gives his character in this novel), reveal what I know to be some of Hart's perspectives expressed in his academic works, and some ideas possibly held (definitely speculated if not held) of a more Buddhist and Hindu orientation.
I really enjoyed the portrayal of Roland. I have not had the company of a canine in a very long time, but I found the perspectives from a dog's experience of the world very insightful, and adding a richness to the story not possible from a purely human account of things.
I will conclude by saying, IMHO, if you are interested in knowing Hart as a person, as a theologian and philosopher, this is the book to read. Short of actually spending a good amount of time in person with this author getting to know him and his views, this book is the second best option for doing so. I highly recommend it!
August 10, 2022
One can get a lot from this book. It tackles, on a highly intellectual level, many of today's most important questions, whether it's philosophy of science, art, religion etc... and does so with wits, grace and knowledgeable authority... drives another solid nail in the coffin of materialism, which is pleasurable for those of us who often felt exiled for rebuking the main propositions of physicalism. Written by a scholar, the writing obviously bears the mark of a scholar's style... And this might be its shortcoming: it's hard not to feel a bit annoyed by the author's obvious enamorment towards his own intellect... Forgive this, and you're in for a treat.
May 26, 2021
Hart is a brilliant writer, and he knows it. I loved passages in this book for the flowing imagery, for the character of Roland, for ideas re consciousness that resonated with me. For these reasons I can give it 4 stars, though in truth, I'd rather give it 3 for the pages upon pages of philosophical, esoteric and poetic self-indulgence.
July 16, 2021
A book that I read, starting to re-read and will likely have to put on the shelf and read again. It not only makes me want to get a dog for a pet, but hopefully one as smart as Roland and then again contemplate consciousness and the achievement or lack thereof in my 66 years on this planet.
Read
March 11, 2022This book is so good. And it’s very fun to see DBH outdone again and again by his kind, wise, master-philosopher dog — all the while knowing that DBH is smart enough to speak for the both of them.
December 30, 2025
A book to impart the wealth of Creation upon you in literary and emotional form. At once beautiful, philosophical, sorrowful, awful, funny, witty, and charming. An absolute must read.
February 23, 2023
This is my third DBH book - and, unfortunately, the most disappointing.
Theoretically, I should be the perfect target audience for it. Despite wishing to experience the world more mystically, I find myself trapped in a cold, mechanistic view of the world. But while I found many parts profound or moving, several qualities really hobbled the book for me (in no particular order):
- Dialogue. These aren't conversations, they're monologues with interruptions. An example:
"We've talked before, i know, about the irreducibility of intentional consciousness to material forces - its teleological orientation toward a transcendental horizon beyond nature, its origination in a pure awareness prior to empirical identity - and about how the whole world of nature is constituted only in the relation between these two poles outside of a physical nature-"
"I believe. . ."
"That's where the real work . . ."
MOST of the dialogue flows like this, with DBH barely getting a word in, constantly afraid of meriting Roland's derision. Since he barely can answer Roland, I'm tempted to consider Roland merely a vessel for Hart's hotter takes and heterodox views, a thin veneer of "I didn't say that."
- Turgid prose. He knows a lot of birds and plants. When he describes his surroundings, you'll know that he knows about them.
- Why fiction? I've seen other reviewers talk about "the great journey" they undertook (the last poem in the book), but really, there's little narrative structure. Scenes contextualizing his life splice up the monologues, it's true, but why not write these as non-fiction? Why the vessel of Roland? THEORETICALLY, the story has death (of his parents), sickness, and aging as a backdrop, but these seem truly like that, the background, not the impetus for the story. I never got the sense that DBH had a spiritual crisis that needed Roland's guidance to solve. Honestly, and I don't mean this as a take down, but it reads less like a novel and more like theological fan fiction about his dog.
- The Pretension. DBH acknowledges his pretension, but this hadn't previously bothered me. HOWEVER, the novel bursts with academic and eastern religious references, hardly explained. In a non-fiction book, these can be referenced and hopefully discussed in greater detail. In fiction, it's a slog. A constant flex. Definitely contributed to the "fan fiction" perception. Rather than writing for us, Hart writes a world where he can talk about Owen Barfield and Wheeler's Delayed Choice experiment and Scarlatti and Li Bai with the same person.
- The dog-thematic. This is mostly neutral. Sometimes it lands. The "leash" bit I found whimsical and clever. But if you told me you wrote about conversations with your dog (with lots of dog themed jokes), I'd expect a steaming pile of kitsch. This transcends the pile, mostly b/c of Hart's intriguing takes, but certain aspects can't avoid the kitsch.
- Trump rants. SCREAMS - BARELY EDITED. In fact, I had to look up the publisher, because I would have sworn this was self-published. I don't care someone's position on Trump, it takes me way out of the novel. I felt similarly when a fantasy novel had a character "mutter like a grumbling progressive." Cut that shit out.
- The Great Pretension. At one point, DBH writes that "he's forced to write about theology, a topic that only interested me very slightly." Damn. As someone who found his theology moving - breaking down walls inside me - this felt like a betrayal. 1) because I don't believe him. 2) because if it is true, what does that mean? That he didn't care about the books that moved me? That they were just a paycheck? I guess it doesn't matter, but it cast him in an unflattering light. ("I'm toted as a brilliant theologian, even though I'm barely interested in it"). I would say that much of the fiction I've read exceeds Roland in Moonlight (in pacing, in dialogue, in prose style, in practically everything). If theology doesn't interest him, would he rather be writing . . .more of this (a novel that's largely a scattering of theological ideas)?
BUT AFTER ALL THAT, I did find a number of things useful about the book. I liked "the dreaming." Many of the discussions on consciousness provoked and gave a lot to think about, like Roland's scorn for the desire to upload ourselves into a machine. Hart can write a mean barb, and many of them I found humorous. Despite its flaws, this is the kind of book that makes me want to come back to it after another decade of reading, just to see where I am.
Theoretically, I should be the perfect target audience for it. Despite wishing to experience the world more mystically, I find myself trapped in a cold, mechanistic view of the world. But while I found many parts profound or moving, several qualities really hobbled the book for me (in no particular order):
- Dialogue. These aren't conversations, they're monologues with interruptions. An example:
"We've talked before, i know, about the irreducibility of intentional consciousness to material forces - its teleological orientation toward a transcendental horizon beyond nature, its origination in a pure awareness prior to empirical identity - and about how the whole world of nature is constituted only in the relation between these two poles outside of a physical nature-"
"I believe. . ."
"That's where the real work . . ."
MOST of the dialogue flows like this, with DBH barely getting a word in, constantly afraid of meriting Roland's derision. Since he barely can answer Roland, I'm tempted to consider Roland merely a vessel for Hart's hotter takes and heterodox views, a thin veneer of "I didn't say that."
- Turgid prose. He knows a lot of birds and plants. When he describes his surroundings, you'll know that he knows about them.
- Why fiction? I've seen other reviewers talk about "the great journey" they undertook (the last poem in the book), but really, there's little narrative structure. Scenes contextualizing his life splice up the monologues, it's true, but why not write these as non-fiction? Why the vessel of Roland? THEORETICALLY, the story has death (of his parents), sickness, and aging as a backdrop, but these seem truly like that, the background, not the impetus for the story. I never got the sense that DBH had a spiritual crisis that needed Roland's guidance to solve. Honestly, and I don't mean this as a take down, but it reads less like a novel and more like theological fan fiction about his dog.
- The Pretension. DBH acknowledges his pretension, but this hadn't previously bothered me. HOWEVER, the novel bursts with academic and eastern religious references, hardly explained. In a non-fiction book, these can be referenced and hopefully discussed in greater detail. In fiction, it's a slog. A constant flex. Definitely contributed to the "fan fiction" perception. Rather than writing for us, Hart writes a world where he can talk about Owen Barfield and Wheeler's Delayed Choice experiment and Scarlatti and Li Bai with the same person.
- The dog-thematic. This is mostly neutral. Sometimes it lands. The "leash" bit I found whimsical and clever. But if you told me you wrote about conversations with your dog (with lots of dog themed jokes), I'd expect a steaming pile of kitsch. This transcends the pile, mostly b/c of Hart's intriguing takes, but certain aspects can't avoid the kitsch.
- Trump rants. SCREAMS - BARELY EDITED. In fact, I had to look up the publisher, because I would have sworn this was self-published. I don't care someone's position on Trump, it takes me way out of the novel. I felt similarly when a fantasy novel had a character "mutter like a grumbling progressive." Cut that shit out.
- The Great Pretension. At one point, DBH writes that "he's forced to write about theology, a topic that only interested me very slightly." Damn. As someone who found his theology moving - breaking down walls inside me - this felt like a betrayal. 1) because I don't believe him. 2) because if it is true, what does that mean? That he didn't care about the books that moved me? That they were just a paycheck? I guess it doesn't matter, but it cast him in an unflattering light. ("I'm toted as a brilliant theologian, even though I'm barely interested in it"). I would say that much of the fiction I've read exceeds Roland in Moonlight (in pacing, in dialogue, in prose style, in practically everything). If theology doesn't interest him, would he rather be writing . . .more of this (a novel that's largely a scattering of theological ideas)?
BUT AFTER ALL THAT, I did find a number of things useful about the book. I liked "the dreaming." Many of the discussions on consciousness provoked and gave a lot to think about, like Roland's scorn for the desire to upload ourselves into a machine. Hart can write a mean barb, and many of them I found humorous. Despite its flaws, this is the kind of book that makes me want to come back to it after another decade of reading, just to see where I am.
July 11, 2025
Roland is a dog, not just any dog, but a beloved, very erudite talking dog who converses regularly with his owner, David Bentley Hart who is known as a cultural critic, fiction writer, philosopher, and theologian. Roland is knowledgeable about all of these areas. As to the question of why Hart puts a dog into this context, I think it’s to give a different slant, to our usual perceptions. Ideas never exist in isolation, and here they are integrated into a household , a key part of which is the respect and love between two creatures, a man and a dog.
In a long conversation between Roland and the author, Roland talks about how consciousness exists, even animals and plants. That’s because they have a spirit that is convertible with being itself, and “mind is the ever more eminent fullness in which all things live and move and are.” He argues that it’s tragic in the modern age where technology sees nature only as a reservoir of material resources to be mostly exploited for human purposes, mostly profit. Nothing in nature is perceived as sacred in itself. , there is no mystery nor tenderness toward nature.
Coming from the mouth of a dog, these thoughts have a power that would be lacking in abstract human statements. Roland even argues that dogs and their admirable qualities have helped guide humanity, rather than humans “domesticating” dogs and animals.
Roland points out that in the use of their olfactory sense, for example, canines are vastly superior to humans. The kinds of smells that a dog experiences are infinite compared to the pitiful few that humans can experience. The same could be said of all kinds of sensory input available to animals, birds, insects, and plants, far beyond human capacities. If nothing else, all of this, Roland implies, should instill a deep humility in humans.
The book is not just about conversations between Roland and Hart, however. Day to day life goes on, and recognizing this reality the book is divided into four parts corresponding to where Hart lived, Part l, Forest ,takes place in an idyllic setting in the Blue Ridge mountains, and it is here that Roland first speaks to Hart, perhaps as the surroundings are close to nature and to wild life. Part Two, City, is a relocation because of a job change, Part Three , Town, a move to a smaller town, and Part Four, Garden, a scaled-down recreation of Forest. During these moves, both of Hart’s parentsdie. Hart undergoes a serious illness, he works on an deceased eccebtruc uncle’s papers he comments on national life, especially the Trump years, and through all of this, there is the presence of Roland, both as a consoling, as well as an intellectual presence. The book closes with a coda, a lengthy poem by Hart, resolving to sail forth on the boundless deeps of existence before death, and a sleep into the mystery of God.
The author has written a book that attempts to combines fantasy and reality, a balancing act that sometimes teeters, but generally succeeds in arguing that both are necessary for a full existence,.
In a long conversation between Roland and the author, Roland talks about how consciousness exists, even animals and plants. That’s because they have a spirit that is convertible with being itself, and “mind is the ever more eminent fullness in which all things live and move and are.” He argues that it’s tragic in the modern age where technology sees nature only as a reservoir of material resources to be mostly exploited for human purposes, mostly profit. Nothing in nature is perceived as sacred in itself. , there is no mystery nor tenderness toward nature.
Coming from the mouth of a dog, these thoughts have a power that would be lacking in abstract human statements. Roland even argues that dogs and their admirable qualities have helped guide humanity, rather than humans “domesticating” dogs and animals.
Roland points out that in the use of their olfactory sense, for example, canines are vastly superior to humans. The kinds of smells that a dog experiences are infinite compared to the pitiful few that humans can experience. The same could be said of all kinds of sensory input available to animals, birds, insects, and plants, far beyond human capacities. If nothing else, all of this, Roland implies, should instill a deep humility in humans.
The book is not just about conversations between Roland and Hart, however. Day to day life goes on, and recognizing this reality the book is divided into four parts corresponding to where Hart lived, Part l, Forest ,takes place in an idyllic setting in the Blue Ridge mountains, and it is here that Roland first speaks to Hart, perhaps as the surroundings are close to nature and to wild life. Part Two, City, is a relocation because of a job change, Part Three , Town, a move to a smaller town, and Part Four, Garden, a scaled-down recreation of Forest. During these moves, both of Hart’s parentsdie. Hart undergoes a serious illness, he works on an deceased eccebtruc uncle’s papers he comments on national life, especially the Trump years, and through all of this, there is the presence of Roland, both as a consoling, as well as an intellectual presence. The book closes with a coda, a lengthy poem by Hart, resolving to sail forth on the boundless deeps of existence before death, and a sleep into the mystery of God.
The author has written a book that attempts to combines fantasy and reality, a balancing act that sometimes teeters, but generally succeeds in arguing that both are necessary for a full existence,.
May 30, 2024
“Gödel, Escher, Bach” is interesting on several levels: profound and important ideas clearly explained, the form of the chapters represents and illustrated alongside the content, and many disciplines meet at the intersection of philosophy, science, psychology, etc. All that to say: are you ready to take the training wheels off and read the real deal?
“Roland in Moonlight” is the real deal. The ideas DBH explores go several layers deeper: Is a mechanistic worldview sufficient? What’s does it mean to be a co-creator with God? Why do we care about the relationship between being and intelligibility? The content and form go hand in hand: Who better to re-wild the world with enchantment than a talking philosopher-dog? Universal truths are approached through the poems of Uncle Aloysius, familiar with each of the major religions. Lastly, and the highlight for me, is DBH’s synthesis of logic, theology, quantum theory, art, and many more disciplines! His exposition of superposition measurement as ongoing creative realization is one of the major ideas I’ve encountered in recent years. This book will change how I think about many things, the ideas will take some time to percolate.
Some sections were spoiled by his anti-Trump rants. I don’t like Trump either, but it felt like a childish step down from the lofty heights the rest of the book reaches. Otherwise, 5-stars!
“Roland in Moonlight” is the real deal. The ideas DBH explores go several layers deeper: Is a mechanistic worldview sufficient? What’s does it mean to be a co-creator with God? Why do we care about the relationship between being and intelligibility? The content and form go hand in hand: Who better to re-wild the world with enchantment than a talking philosopher-dog? Universal truths are approached through the poems of Uncle Aloysius, familiar with each of the major religions. Lastly, and the highlight for me, is DBH’s synthesis of logic, theology, quantum theory, art, and many more disciplines! His exposition of superposition measurement as ongoing creative realization is one of the major ideas I’ve encountered in recent years. This book will change how I think about many things, the ideas will take some time to percolate.
Some sections were spoiled by his anti-Trump rants. I don’t like Trump either, but it felt like a childish step down from the lofty heights the rest of the book reaches. Otherwise, 5-stars!
September 10, 2025
Roland in Moonlight is a fascinating book, and very hard to categorise or describe. As a semi-fictional autobiography of a man who has conversations with his dog about world religions (among other topics), it's as unconventional as it sounds. There are really three interwoven narratives that complement each other - the relationship between the author and Roland, the nighttime rants about materialism and the investigation of the author's great-uncle's poetry. At first, it can seem very disparate but it all comes together once Roland explains that as a dog he can see past the veil of nature that modern humans have tuned out. The whole book is about getting in touch with this other world, whether through our minds, religions or aesthetics. Although it sounded at times like the author was putting his thoughts into the dog's mouth during his rants, it still provoked a lot of thought and covered many topics. I also loved the comedy content of the dog's constant dichotomy between a talking philosopher and hungry canine, with the author accused of prejudice for being surprised at Roland's strange capabilities!
January 6, 2026
This is a hard book to evaluate, because it is profound and moving at times and I loved it, but it's also rather uneven. The conceit of the dog being Hart's instructor in philosophy is fun, but much of the time the dog isn't very convincing as a dog. (His comments on humans are great, but then he will go on for pages citing human authors and various scholarly or scientific ideas and at that point he effectively ceases to be a dog and becomes just a mouthpiece for Hart.) The lengthy poetry scattered throughout is often interesting but much of the time isn't well integrated into the rest of the book. It's a book that reveals a lot about Hart, and even for people not interested in Hart's work it's worth reading for the philosophical ideas and the often beautiful and funny meditations on the human condition from the perspective of a dog. My heart tells me to give this five stars because I'm deeply fond of it, but I think four is a better approximation of my sober judgment of the book's quality.
August 10, 2023
Here is balm of Gilead for the weary wayfarer in the machine age. Hart combines insight with humour and pathos, I laughed out loud a few times. I read a review elsewhere in which the reader had been so annoyed with Hart’s device at what appears to be the peak of the tale - he writes it in sanscript without giving us a translation. This is exquisite. But this particular reader, at this point, threw the book across the room. So, I think, the book does precisely what the author intended: pulls down egos, and builds others up. ‘A book for breaking hearts and mending them’, as Michael Robbins said.
In short - Medecine sans frontiers.
In short - Medecine sans frontiers.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 15, 2022
Fun, strange, profound, broad-ranging, self-important, philosophically erudite, culturally rich, enchanting. Much of it went over my head. I couldn't always tell the difference between when the dialogue between DBH and his dog actually reflects DBH's views and when he uses it as a vehicle to explore ideas...
I hope more work exploring these intersections of faith with the occult, mystical, post-secular, neoplatonic, consciousness will issue from DBH in coming days.
I hope more work exploring these intersections of faith with the occult, mystical, post-secular, neoplatonic, consciousness will issue from DBH in coming days.
September 5, 2022
I lost heart around page 30 when Roland, the dog, declares that he was once a God, many kalpas ago, and he owned a pet monkey called T'ing-T'ing. This monkey is now reincarnated as the brother of the author. So far so good - I have zero problems with that idea - but Hart then lifts a story straight out of 'The Journey to the West' and applies it to Roland and his brother. In this story, the Monkey King/ the Great Sage/ disrups the Peach Festival by eating all the magic peaches! I kind of found it both sloppy and disrespectful to this huge Buddhist epic to distort this story and change the characters around so that Roland is now a God and the Monkey God is his naughty pet. And the peaches were not 'tended to ' by Xi Wangmu either - she is the highest goddess of Daoism, not a gardener.. Hart has a way of nicking stuff without giving credits to the original source - I found the whole book filled with other people's ideas - he lifts passages from the Vedas, he snipes about Thomism; I know that there is an argument among Catholic scholars as to whether of not pets have souls and go to heaven - but unless you clearly define 'heaven' and 'soul' I think these heated debates are nothing but petulant squabbles among grumpy old males with too much time on their hands.
And the plot itself is absurd; his dog, Roland, is allowed to behave like an old fashioned Patriarch pretty much ruling the house and the family - even writing and sending off job applications and scientific propositions on behalf of the author without consultation. 'Your wife is worried, you need to make more money', exclaims the mutt.. I ask you!
There's also some dreadful longwinded and rambling poetry. This is a deadening and dull piece of self satisfied fakery.
And the plot itself is absurd; his dog, Roland, is allowed to behave like an old fashioned Patriarch pretty much ruling the house and the family - even writing and sending off job applications and scientific propositions on behalf of the author without consultation. 'Your wife is worried, you need to make more money', exclaims the mutt.. I ask you!
There's also some dreadful longwinded and rambling poetry. This is a deadening and dull piece of self satisfied fakery.
May 9, 2025
I was drawn to this book simply because of the lovely dog on the cover. What I found was a book of theological/mystical lectures and some terrible poetry. There were some good moments but overall this was pompous and bizarre.
July 11, 2021
Great story and a lighter version of Theology
February 15, 2022
Not much to say but that this book is actually a great introduction and expounding on the most important concepts in life. DBH really put his soul into this one and of course Roland too.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 36 reviews