Sunday, August 18, 2013
On Beast-Fables
The distinguishing mark, the advantage and limitation, of beast-fables, is that their characters all wear their personality on the outside—they all show their skins.
On Science Fiction
I must begin this essay with a confession. I am a science fiction neophyte. I was not raised on under its auspices and I have only recently come to appreciate its nuances. Because of this, I lack the subtle appreciation that has grown up with some of you. But I gain by this the vision of a recent convert, who has seen us from the outside before he saw us from the inside. For I am a lover of fiction and have been all my life. Thus it did not surprise me to find in the fullness of time that I enjoyed science fiction, for I have enjoyed fiction of all categories which I have come across (except erotica). I have also enjoyed fiction of all time periods, which may make up for my inexperience with science fiction in particular.
The first question for a newcomer to science fiction is, What is it? That is, What makes it stand out from other categories of fiction, or fiction in general? I do not stop to consider the definition of fiction, which is a recent coinage and covering a genre which has transformed significantly over time. Let the word stand for any dramatic narrative—any tale intended to arouse emotion in its reader or hearer.
A clue towards the answer to this question may be supposed to reside in the name of the genre, 'science', but I believe that this is misleading. There may in fact be fiction which is primarily interested in scientific laws or technology (whether currently existing or imaginary)—I have been told that such exists—but I have never met anyone who actually reads it. It is true that much of science fiction relies on current or projected scientific developments to move along its plot, but this not a necessary qualification. Besides, I do not allow that the laws of 'science' are any more concrete or objective than those of modern society, or of fairyland for that matter.
Another characteristic might be that most science fiction take place in this universe, in either the present or the future. But glaring counterexamples such as Star Wars invalidate this criterion. Again, some science fiction is so only in setting, to add (false) color to a plot that would be commonplace on earth. Obviously there's nothing to be learned from considering this type. But sometimes the setting is futuristic because that is the only or best or most convenient place for the particular story the author desires to tell. It is much easier, and no shame, to invent a world instead of using the real one. Storytellers have been doing so for ages; only the name of the worlds have changed (beast fables, for example). A fourth sub-genre is speculative, using a vision of worlds-to-come as a vehicle for prophecy about the future or criticism of the present. But this is not new either; only the realism or intensity of the image has increased, moving us slightly away from parody towards horror (compare Gulliver's Travels). Finally, there are the adventure stories which fulfill our desire for the wild and fantastical; the unworldy. Of course the only reason these must part from our solar system is that there is nothing new under the sun—all has been explored and catalogued and analyzed to death (we have already had our Alice in Wonderland and King Solomon's Mines).
Looked at piecemeal this way, there is nothing in science fiction that sets it apart from other genres of fiction—one could almost say there is nothing that holds it as a genre together. Any given story has more in common with its precursors (in one or more of the genres I have mentioned) than with other science fiction. But it does have something in common, otherwise it would not be so easy, so natural to distinguish certain books as part of this new genre. What then is this distinguishing mark? The clue that gave it away for me is that very characteristic—its newness. Science fiction is the outgrowth of a worldview which is (if not unique to) at least especially part of this day and age.
I call it Progressivism. It is an inherent belief in the value and inevitability of progress. It is founded on contemporary biological theorems, bloated beyond recognition, to the encompassment of every principle of existence. According to it, everything is going somewhere, somewhere either infinitely better or infinitely worse, and all we are responsible for is figuring out the direction and following it. Whether or not this is supported by history is irrelevant. If necessary the science fiction writers compose an imagined future history in which to portray it.
This is what sets science fiction apart from its nearest or parent genre, fantasy: change. In the world of fairy tales, you have the feeling that nothing changes and nothing will ever change. In longer works (Phantastes), there is mutability, but is always cyclical. There may ups and downs, successes and failures, evil rulers and benevolent kings, but if any change may come, and the marring be amended, it is not part of the story, and could not be so without destroying it from within.
And this is the value of science fiction: it shows how things change, or at least how things could be different. This is also its detriment: the implicit assumption that change is inevitable, and that progress (whatever that means) is good. And finally, this is why science fiction is the current fashion, in the same way that metaphysical poetry was the fashion of the early seventeenth century. I only wonder where fiction will advance to next?
The first question for a newcomer to science fiction is, What is it? That is, What makes it stand out from other categories of fiction, or fiction in general? I do not stop to consider the definition of fiction, which is a recent coinage and covering a genre which has transformed significantly over time. Let the word stand for any dramatic narrative—any tale intended to arouse emotion in its reader or hearer.
A clue towards the answer to this question may be supposed to reside in the name of the genre, 'science', but I believe that this is misleading. There may in fact be fiction which is primarily interested in scientific laws or technology (whether currently existing or imaginary)—I have been told that such exists—but I have never met anyone who actually reads it. It is true that much of science fiction relies on current or projected scientific developments to move along its plot, but this not a necessary qualification. Besides, I do not allow that the laws of 'science' are any more concrete or objective than those of modern society, or of fairyland for that matter.
Another characteristic might be that most science fiction take place in this universe, in either the present or the future. But glaring counterexamples such as Star Wars invalidate this criterion. Again, some science fiction is so only in setting, to add (false) color to a plot that would be commonplace on earth. Obviously there's nothing to be learned from considering this type. But sometimes the setting is futuristic because that is the only or best or most convenient place for the particular story the author desires to tell. It is much easier, and no shame, to invent a world instead of using the real one. Storytellers have been doing so for ages; only the name of the worlds have changed (beast fables, for example). A fourth sub-genre is speculative, using a vision of worlds-to-come as a vehicle for prophecy about the future or criticism of the present. But this is not new either; only the realism or intensity of the image has increased, moving us slightly away from parody towards horror (compare Gulliver's Travels). Finally, there are the adventure stories which fulfill our desire for the wild and fantastical; the unworldy. Of course the only reason these must part from our solar system is that there is nothing new under the sun—all has been explored and catalogued and analyzed to death (we have already had our Alice in Wonderland and King Solomon's Mines).
Looked at piecemeal this way, there is nothing in science fiction that sets it apart from other genres of fiction—one could almost say there is nothing that holds it as a genre together. Any given story has more in common with its precursors (in one or more of the genres I have mentioned) than with other science fiction. But it does have something in common, otherwise it would not be so easy, so natural to distinguish certain books as part of this new genre. What then is this distinguishing mark? The clue that gave it away for me is that very characteristic—its newness. Science fiction is the outgrowth of a worldview which is (if not unique to) at least especially part of this day and age.
I call it Progressivism. It is an inherent belief in the value and inevitability of progress. It is founded on contemporary biological theorems, bloated beyond recognition, to the encompassment of every principle of existence. According to it, everything is going somewhere, somewhere either infinitely better or infinitely worse, and all we are responsible for is figuring out the direction and following it. Whether or not this is supported by history is irrelevant. If necessary the science fiction writers compose an imagined future history in which to portray it.
This is what sets science fiction apart from its nearest or parent genre, fantasy: change. In the world of fairy tales, you have the feeling that nothing changes and nothing will ever change. In longer works (Phantastes), there is mutability, but is always cyclical. There may ups and downs, successes and failures, evil rulers and benevolent kings, but if any change may come, and the marring be amended, it is not part of the story, and could not be so without destroying it from within.
And this is the value of science fiction: it shows how things change, or at least how things could be different. This is also its detriment: the implicit assumption that change is inevitable, and that progress (whatever that means) is good. And finally, this is why science fiction is the current fashion, in the same way that metaphysical poetry was the fashion of the early seventeenth century. I only wonder where fiction will advance to next?
What is a Worldview?
A worldview is not so much what you do, it is how you think. It is not your actions, but your assumptions. Not what you consider right, but what you consider normal. It is not a question of sin versus good deeds, but of sinfulness versus goodness. It is the core of who you are; it is the soul, not the body. A Christian worldview starts with the recognition that you are not the same person you were as an unbeliever, and your God is not the same god. A Christian worldview means claiming your salvation and planning for its consummation. It means taking God's vision for the future and making it your own. It means applying your new identity to every aspect of your thinking and actions.
The clearest division, at least in my mind, between the Christian and non-Christian worldview is with respect to the world. Is the world full of mostly good people doing mostly good things and trying to get the most good out of life? Or is it the front lines of a cosmic battle, with people being pawns? Are things mostly right with the world, or is it marred and broken and beyond hope of easy restoration? Is it a satisfactory destination, comfortable and sufficient, or are we pilgrims on a journey, subject to trials, and not meant to be satisfied with anything earthy? Are morals relative, with the good mostly outweighing the evil, or is the whole earth desperately wicked and morally bankrupt and utterly valueless before God?
Whose standard do you use to measure the world and determine what is right? Do you use your own, and compare everything to yourself? Then whatever you do is right, and whatever benefits you is good. Most people don't go this far, at least not consciously. Their standard is popular opinion, the norm, whatever goes. If it's accepted, it's right, and if others think it beneficial it's good. Some people limit themselves to a political or religious standard, and judge everything based on their cause. They at least recognize that the highest end is not themselves. But what if you tried to use God's standard, as set forth in the Bible?
The apostle Paul says, after talking about avoiding temptations to idolatry and everything unedifying, "whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many, that they may be saved (1 Cor 10:31-33)." Peter devotes his entire first epistle to explaining how to live with the gospel and our trials always in view, and when asked "to what end", he answers, "so that in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever (1 Pet 4:11)."
Basically, what it comes down to is this: God exerts dominion over everything in the world, and claims everything as his own—except men's hearts. Those he desires as a gift. The problem is, we can't seem to give them to him. So the ones he wants, he had to come and take. From God's perspective, that taking was effectually accomplished in Jesus' death and resurrection. But from the Christian's perspective, it lasts their whole life. And it is often painful, being dragged from the opinion that "It's all about me" to "It's all about God."
There is nothing in all of creation, no cubic millimeter of space, no moment of time, over which God does not say "This is mine." (Paraphrasing Abraham Kuyper.) That means there is no morally neutral ground. There is no decision in life in which being a Christian is irrelevant. There is no harmless entertainment. There is no excuse for wasting time. God desires the absolute best out of us, and he will get it one day; but for now, any falling short is a sin of omission. And as if it were not enough that every failing must be borne by Christ or you forever, God allows us to have eternal impacts on the people around us as well.
Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a great millstone hung about his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea (Matt 18:6). And by sinning against a brother and wounding his conscience when it is weak you sin against Christ (1 Cor 8:13). Happy is he who does not condemn himself in what he approves (Rom 14:22). Whatever is not from faith is sin (Rom 14:23). Even our best actions are dirty rags (Isa 64:6). Apart from me, you can do nothing (John 15:5). Redeem the time, for the days are evil (Eph 5:16). Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him (Col 3:17).
A Christian worldview must be constantly put into practice. You have the truth—live it.
The clearest division, at least in my mind, between the Christian and non-Christian worldview is with respect to the world. Is the world full of mostly good people doing mostly good things and trying to get the most good out of life? Or is it the front lines of a cosmic battle, with people being pawns? Are things mostly right with the world, or is it marred and broken and beyond hope of easy restoration? Is it a satisfactory destination, comfortable and sufficient, or are we pilgrims on a journey, subject to trials, and not meant to be satisfied with anything earthy? Are morals relative, with the good mostly outweighing the evil, or is the whole earth desperately wicked and morally bankrupt and utterly valueless before God?
Whose standard do you use to measure the world and determine what is right? Do you use your own, and compare everything to yourself? Then whatever you do is right, and whatever benefits you is good. Most people don't go this far, at least not consciously. Their standard is popular opinion, the norm, whatever goes. If it's accepted, it's right, and if others think it beneficial it's good. Some people limit themselves to a political or religious standard, and judge everything based on their cause. They at least recognize that the highest end is not themselves. But what if you tried to use God's standard, as set forth in the Bible?
The apostle Paul says, after talking about avoiding temptations to idolatry and everything unedifying, "whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many, that they may be saved (1 Cor 10:31-33)." Peter devotes his entire first epistle to explaining how to live with the gospel and our trials always in view, and when asked "to what end", he answers, "so that in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever (1 Pet 4:11)."
Basically, what it comes down to is this: God exerts dominion over everything in the world, and claims everything as his own—except men's hearts. Those he desires as a gift. The problem is, we can't seem to give them to him. So the ones he wants, he had to come and take. From God's perspective, that taking was effectually accomplished in Jesus' death and resurrection. But from the Christian's perspective, it lasts their whole life. And it is often painful, being dragged from the opinion that "It's all about me" to "It's all about God."
There is nothing in all of creation, no cubic millimeter of space, no moment of time, over which God does not say "This is mine." (Paraphrasing Abraham Kuyper.) That means there is no morally neutral ground. There is no decision in life in which being a Christian is irrelevant. There is no harmless entertainment. There is no excuse for wasting time. God desires the absolute best out of us, and he will get it one day; but for now, any falling short is a sin of omission. And as if it were not enough that every failing must be borne by Christ or you forever, God allows us to have eternal impacts on the people around us as well.
Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a great millstone hung about his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea (Matt 18:6). And by sinning against a brother and wounding his conscience when it is weak you sin against Christ (1 Cor 8:13). Happy is he who does not condemn himself in what he approves (Rom 14:22). Whatever is not from faith is sin (Rom 14:23). Even our best actions are dirty rags (Isa 64:6). Apart from me, you can do nothing (John 15:5). Redeem the time, for the days are evil (Eph 5:16). Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him (Col 3:17).
A Christian worldview must be constantly put into practice. You have the truth—live it.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Sphere Sovereignty
The basic duties assigned to each covenantal unit are:
Individual:—repent and believe the gospel (Mark 1:15).
Family:—fill and subdue the earth (Gen 1:26-28).
Church:—make disciples of all nations (Matt 28:18-20).
State:—bear the sword (Rom 13:4-5).
—Rich Coffeen
Biblical Ethics
Biblical Economics
Biblical Ecclesiastics
Biblical Politics
—Richard Baxter, Practical Works.
Individual:—repent and believe the gospel (Mark 1:15).
Family:—fill and subdue the earth (Gen 1:26-28).
Church:—make disciples of all nations (Matt 28:18-20).
State:—bear the sword (Rom 13:4-5).
—Rich Coffeen
Biblical Ethics
Biblical Economics
Biblical Ecclesiastics
Biblical Politics
—Richard Baxter, Practical Works.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Great Literature
What makes great literature great? For that matter, what makes it literature? C.S. Lewis in High and Low Brows makes the point that these are not the same thing, but he does not show what either of them are. (I am using 'great' in the sense in which he used 'good'; as a mark of objective quality, not morality or individual value.) I did a thorough study of this point, by skimming through my books-read list looking for patterns. I found that great literature is 1) long and digressive ("Southwell's work is too small and too little varied for greatness: but it is choice, very winning, and highly original" -Lewis; the shorter a book the less directly it can state its main point (thus poetry)); 2) individual (not part of a series by the author or closely similar to other works); 3) serious (even farces and satires take the core issue seriously); 4) pointed (doesn't try to say too much, but circles one core idea); 5) inevitable, as if things could not have fallen out any other way (no loose ends); 6) portrays, is representative of, or is a response to, the spirit of its age (zeitgeist); 7) symbolical (means more than it says/repays study/invites interpretation) 8) deep ("a story isn't any good unless it resists paraphrase, unless it hangs on and expands in the mind" -O'Connor; great books make poor aphorisms - the better the book, the less value is carried by a quote out of context). Great writers a) care more for their subject and for their story as story than they do for its form or plot; b) appeal to a different emotion than poor writers (e.g. titillation vs sympathy).
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Good News!
I just posted a long rumination on Shephanim which would really belong over here, except it's not enough mine to qualify. C.S. Lewis just summarizes, from an objective point of view, what the good news meant for the early Reformers (quoting frequently from William Tyndale). And the news is good.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Devotions
Ways to spend time in God's Word each day:
1. Read
2. Listen to
3. Study
4. Memorize
5. Translate
6. Meditate on
7. Pray
8. Sing
1. Read
2. Listen to
3. Study
4. Memorize
5. Translate
6. Meditate on
7. Pray
8. Sing
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