Wise Advice from a Magic Grandmother

I’m reading the The Princess & the Goblin to our boys in the evenings.  It’s a bit over their heads, but it’s full of wonderful little theological insights:

 

The Princess’ Magical Grandmother (talking to the Princess when her friend Curdie can’t see the Magical Grandmother): “But in the meantime you must be content, I say, to be misunderstood for a while.  We are all very anxious to be understood, and it is very hard not to be.  But there is one thing much more necessary.”

 

Princess: “What is that, grandmother?”

 

Magical Grandmother: “To understand other people.”

 

A Wonderful Image

Wonderful quote from Dorotheus of Gaza, a mystic from the 6th century.  As she imagined, “ the world as a circle on the ground at whose center was God, she wrote, ‘Leading from the edge to the center are a number of lines, representing ways of life.  In their desire to draw near to God, the saints advance along these lines to the middle of the circle, so that the further they go, the nearer they approach one another as well as God.  The closer they come to God, the closer they come to one another” (Judith Dupre, Churches, 156). 

(I just finished Churches for a study I’m doing for our local church.  It’s a great coffee-table book.  It’s huge, and you can get it cheaply on Amazon.  You need huge pictures to get some sense of what the magnificent churches of Christendom look, and feel, like!)

Peace Like a River

My wife and I just finished reading Leif Enger’s Peace Like a River.  It’s a beautiful book.  The best thing about Enger is that he’s a Christian writer who actually writes well.  The novel is Christian without being preachy.  It’s full of underhanded Biblical allusions and symbolism.  Be sure to read it when it’s cold in order to get the full atmosphere of Minnesota and N. Dakota in the winter! 

Enger has a new novel out, but I haven’t got to it yet:  So Brave, Young and Handsome.  Looks good!

Noah and Deucalion

Theophilus of Antioch (115-c. 181) notes an interesting connection between Noah and the mythical Greek character, Deucalion.  In his long treatise “To Autolycus,” Theophilus argues that the Bible is older than Greek mythology.  Along with other church fathers, Theophilus also contends that whatever was true or noble in Greek mythology was borrowed from Biblical truth. 

He draws this similarity bewteen Noah and Deucalion: “Noah, when he announced to the men then alive that there was a flood coming, prophesied to them, saying, Come hither, God calls you to repentence.  On this account he was fitly called Deucalion,” (Theophilus to Autolycus, III.xix ).  The editor explains that “Deucalion” derives from the Greek words, “Deute” (come) and “kaleo” (I call).  I don’t know whether this connection would hold up in a court of modern philology, but it ties in nicely with what 2 Peter 2:5 tells us about Noah, namely that he was a “herald [preacher] of righteousness” (ESV).  Perhaps the Greeks had some dim memory of this truth as they told the story of Deucalion. Theophilus also states, cryptically: “And of the ark, the remains are to this day to be seen in the Arabian mountains.” 

Spiderman Theology

Now that the Spiderman triology is complete, I’ve noticed a common theme.  None of the villains in the Spiderman movies is really evil.  They all have evil thrust upon them, either by some potion, invention, dysfunctional relationship, or an accidental gun-shot.  Additionally, in the last two movies, the villains have good motives–Dr. Octupus is seeking the advancement of science and Sandman is trying to save his sick daughter.  The third movie introduces a black blob which causes people to become wicked, but it only magnifies their latent wickedness.  It’s hard to actually blame those overcome by the black blob. 

Since the third movie highlighted the problem of evil (in the form of the black blob), it had to deal with forgiveness.  I was hopeful when Peter’s Aunt gave a little sermon about revenge and forgiveness, but I should have known better.  Her advice culminated in: “forgive yourself.”  Um, okay …  Perhaps that’s why the movie ended with meaninful looks rather than an actual apology from Peter.  The only real apology came from the Sandman, but that was an apology for an accident. 

So, once again, Hollywood skirts around the problem of evil and teaches our children that evil isn’t really their problem.  They aren’t really to blame for their actions–they just need to put on a new suit.  Of course, that’s part of the answer–we need to put on the righteous robes of Jesus (or, rather, He needs to put them on us).  But, we won’t realize the need for a new suit unless we realize the depth of our own sin.  Nor can we take off the black suit, even if we’re in a church bell tower–God Himself is the only one who can take it off.

Excerpt from Auden

“Those who will not reason

Perish in the act:

Those who will not act

Perish for that reason”

- W. H. Auden, “Shorts”

Dumbledore is Gay

There are plenty of reasons to yawn about Harry Potter books, besides the silly stuff about magic, as a recent article shows. 
 

Academic Mission Opportunity

I came across an exciting mission opportunity for academics. This organization sends Christian teachers into other countries, finding positions for them in secular universities. A quote on their home-page says it all:

“The university is a clear-cut fulcrum with which to move the world. Change the university and you change the world,” declared Dr. Charles Malik, former president of the United Nations General Assembly and Security Council.

Ruskin on Books

 In Sesame and Lilies, Ruskin argues that books constitute a “living aristocracy” into which anyone can enter, by “labour” and “merit” and by nothing else.  We can enjoy the company of saints, kings, nobles, and men far above our pathetic intelligence, simply by making the effort to read.   

A book should challenge us: “Very ready we are to say of a book, ‘How good this is—that’s exactly how I think!’  But the right feeling is, ‘How strange that is!  I never thought of that before, and yet I see it is true; or if I do not now, I hope I shall, some day,’” (18). 

 

The good things in books, the wisdom of the ages, is like gold—we need to dig for it, painfully (18-19). 

 

True education teaches us to speak correctly, to name the world properly: “The entire difference between education and non-education (as regards the merely intellectual part of it), consists in this accuracy.  A well-educated gentleman may not know many languages,–may not be able to speak any but his own,–may have read very few books.  But whatever language he knows, he knows precisely; whatever word he pronounces, he pronounces rightly; above all, he is learned in the peerage of words; knows the words of true descent and ancient blood, at a glance, from words of modern canaille; remembers all their ancestry, their intermarriages, distant relationships, and the extent to which they were admitted, and offices they held, among the national noblesse of words at any time, and in any country.  But an uneducated person may know, my memory, many languages, and talk them all, and yet truly know not a word of any,–not a word even of his own,” (20-21).

 

Treeman – Life of Christ from a Dog’s-Eye View

Let me engage in some familial nepotism. My father is an extremely talented artist. Growing up, he was always writing some novel, painting, or working a bronze sculpture. We were encouraged to pursue whatever creative impulses we had at the moment, and there were plenty of them!

My father recently published one of those novels he’d worked on during my childhood. In some ways, it’s like another sibling. It was almost published by a major evangelical publishing house (I won’t name them), but it floundered on a legalistic policy they have about Biblical references in fiction.

The novel is, in fact, the life of Christ told from the point of view of a wild dog who starts following Peter around (who tosses him the occasional fish). Obviously, you have to make up a few things that aren’t literally in the Bible in order to stay consistent with a dog’s point of view. What is remarkable is how my father never broke away from the dog’s point of view (this was remarked upon by a college professor who read the book). Although this limits us to what a dog would understand about Biblical events, I found it a stimulating exercise to try and remember what events were being described.

This novel helped me see Jesus through new eyes … through a dog’s eyes. Jesus smells of wood, thus the title. Judas is named “Metalman” because he carried the money-bag. Because the author tells us so little, at the human level, our other senses are awakened to hear, smell, and taste 1st century Palestine. I especially enjoyed how the demoniacs were called “Donkeymen”. What other category would a dog have to put braying people in?

In particular, the crucifixion scene was quite powerful. We’re so familiar with the story, we forget how the scene would have reeked of blood, sweat, and screams.

Now, of course I’m biased, but my parents encouraged us to read non-stop, so I think I know a good book from a bad one (coupled with a few years teaching literature). Although there are so many books, and so little time, check out Treeman.

You can also get a brief preview here.

Chesterton & Dickens

Interesting note on literary history. In 1906, Chesterton published his Charles Dickens: “It is important to note that when the book appeared in 1906 Dickens did not hold the reputation he holds now, and it is largely due to Shaw and Chesterton that Dickens began to be recognized once again …” (Ffinch, G.K. Chesterton, 145).

Lewis’s Satanic Verses

C.S. Lewis had a profound understand of the devilish mind. I’m reading Perelandra again (for 8th grade English), and the temptation scenes between the Un-man, Ransom, and the Lady are masterful. The spooky thing is that the Un-man makes a good deal of sense. The Devil is a master of logic. Most of what he says through Weston is half-right. But, it is “bent” logic that comes from the “Bent One”.

I’ve written elsewhere about how Satan Loves Proof-Texts. Lewis seems to support my reading of how the Devil operates.

I’m reminded of the anecdote regarding The Screwtape Letters’ initial publication in serialized form. Some country parson wrote to the publisher, canceling his subscription to the paper. He objected to someone giving such “diabolical” advice. Lewis’s demons are eminently believable.

Thinklings – Manalive (1)

Dale Ahlquist has an excellent little introduction to Manalive. As he states, Manalive is the best window into Chesterton’s worldview, as well as an exhilarating call to a Chestertonian life of continual wonder.

On the other side, David P. Henreckson has a provoking assessment of Chesterton from a Reformed point of view. He asks why Calvinists should read Chesterton, when Chesterton fumes quite regularly at Calvinism. The answer is that Chesterton saw enough of the ugly side of Calvinism to draw an accurate caricature. We should learn from his criticism:

“Chesterton was not an apathetic student by any means. So how could he fail to see the glorious poeticism and romance of our Protestant faith? How, indeed? How could a man of Chesterton’s intellect overlook the obvious virtues of Christendom’s most poetic and romantic movement? Sadly, this is the one point where Chesterton has Calvinists cornered, the one point where we must sit at his feet as a disciple. For we have truly failed in recent times to live as poetically as our forefathers. As Chesterton writes elsewhere, “all these things were given to you poetical. It is only by a long and elaborate process of literary effort that you have made them prosaic.” We have been given a poetic heritage, one of heart-ache and yet an indomitable spirit. Our heritage, however, has been ground into gray ashes, and the spirit is gone. Our life-view is now constrained to a textbook. And we therefore deserve all of Chesterton’s rebukes. Truthfully, he was more of a Huguenot than we pretend to be. He understood how Christianity encompasses and permeates life and exile better than we know how to pass a theology test.” [1]

Thinklings-Chesterton the Large (Part 2)

Chesterton had a large frame–and a large sense of humor:

“‘I am six foot two,’ he informed a reporter in America, ‘and my weight has never been calculated’. On another occasion he remarked, ‘I always enjoy myself more than most, there’s such a lot of me having a good time.’ When during the First World War a woman accosted him with ‘Mr Chesterton, why are you not out at the Front?’ he replied calmly, ‘Madam, if you go round to my side you will see that I am’” (Michael Ffinch, G.K. Chesterton, 4-5).

Good introduction to Chesterton: American Chesterton Society

Thinklings-Chesterton the Large (Part 1)

(The Thinklings are a group of men associated with Christ Church, NC who read great books, sit around and talk, pretending to have great thoughts.)

The book currently being ingested by the Thinklings is G.K. Chesterton’s Manalive. Some autobigraphical vignettes about Chesterton: he had a large mind, a large heart, a large frame, and (luckily) a large sense of humor.

Large Mind: poet Alfred Noyes thought Chesterton “had one of the most original minds of his day in Europe” (Michael Ffinch, G.K. Chesterton, 4). Chesterton excelled in an astonishing array of literary and artistic pursuits: “Though he claimed mastery in none of the arts, Chesterton was in fact a respectable writer of songs, poetry, drama, essays, short stories, and novels, as well as an accomplished illustrator and cartoonist” (Thomas C. Peters, The Christian Imagination: G.K. Chesterton on the Arts, 13).

Large Heart: though Chesterton freely attacked all the modern heresies (and punched Calvin and Puritans in the nose repeatedly) apparently he managed to avoid chalking up a list of enemies: “Chesterton was avidly listened to and, it appears, was one of the few men who never made an enemy. The reason was that everything he said was said with such good humour. Even those whose opinions he attacked felt confident that it was only their opinions that were under attack” (Ffinch, 4.) Luther, Calvin, and most Reformed internet heresy hunters could learn a thing or two from Chesterton.

Chesterton also knew what was truly important in life. His words are a helpful rebuke to me as I am prone to blog too much about abstract theological questions, forgetting to play with my little boys: “I for one have never left off playing, and I wish there were more time to play. I wish we did not have to fritter away on frivolous things, like lectures and literature, the time we might have given to serious, solid and constructive work like cutting out cardboard figures and pasting coloured tinsel upon them” (Peters, 10).

[To be continued...]

Classic Chesterton

Our local men’s book discussion group (called the Thinklings) is reading Manalive, by G.K. Chesterton. Chesterton (after whom my second son, Chester, is named) had the uncanny knack of looking at the world side-ways, and sometimes backwards, thus seeing things no one else ever noticed. A couple quotes:

“It is the fashion to talk of institutions as cold and cramping things. The truth is that when people are in exceptionally high spirits, really wild with freedom and invention, they always must and they always do, create institutions. When men are weary they fall into anarchy; but while they are gay and vigorous they invariably make rules. This, which is true of all churches and republics of history, is also true of the most trivial parlour game or the most unsophisticated meadow romp. We are never free until some institution frees us; and liberty cannot exist until it is declared by authority,” (20).

“Madness does not come by breaking out, but by giving in; by settling down in some dirty, little self-repeating circle of ideas; by being tamed,” (27).

The Jungle

Just finished reading Sinclair’s The Jungle with my 9th grade American Lit. class. I’d not read it before, and it was a treat to experience the confusion, disgust, and morbid pathos of the novel along with them. A couple comments by my brilliant students left me thinking about what makes a story good.

A couple students basically said that so many terrible things happened to the characters, it was hard to care about them by the end of the book. The spiraling down toward death and poverty relentlessly robbed us of the breathing-space necessary to empathize with the characters. We knew Sinclair had factual evidence for most of the horrendous details, but the repetitive cycle of disaster broke the “suspension of disbelief” (to use Tolkien’s phrase) necessary for fiction to work its magic.

Another issue was the pseudo-redemption at the end: Jurgis’ sudden and miraculous conversion to Socialism. One key idea I’m experimenting with in teaching literature is the theory that every good story will follow the Biblical Story: creation–fall–redemption. As we read through classic American works (so paltry compared to the literature of Christendom), we ask whether the characters found Biblical redemption or not. It’s a great exercise, and The Jungle failed abysmally. The main problem is that Sinclair’s paean to Socialism (voiced through a weird assortment of characters at the end) is too complicated to be good news. The kids couldn’t understand it. I’m not sure I understood it! Redemption can’t be that complicated. It reminded me of all the N.I.C.E. (National Institute for Coordinated Experiments) cronies in Lewis’s That Hideous Strength. All the psycho-social-babble is just that: Babel.

A lesson from Sinclair is that propaganda doth not good fiction make. Christians should especially remember this as we turn out cartloads of aesthetically inferior fiction with a good moral, or cool eschatalogical disasters. Like too many well-meaning Christian authors, Sinclair gets so caught up in his message, he forgets the story, and so we stop caring too. The best stories are full of light & dark, silence & and roaring, tension & rest. The Jungle was all tension. It would make a better rap “song” than novel.

Besides all that, I’m sure glad we live in an era of better food standards! People are disgusting sinners: Sinclair at least got that right!

Flaubert on the Shelf Life

George and Karen Grant’s book on the literary life (Shelf Life, Cumberland House) is an excellent panecea of quotes, profiles of famous readers, and practical tips on how to live the shelf life to the fullest. A sample:

“Pity the poor soul who finds entertainment in the buzzing distractions of this world, who finds amusement in the abondonment of the catalog of the canon of great books. His tiny world, his restricted scope, his narrow experience has robbed him of the fullness of life.” (Gustav Flaubert, 1821-1880).

Lewis on the Shelf Life

In An Experiment in Criticism, C.S. Lewis, a great writer (because a great reader) mused about different types of readers. He notes three differences between the “majority” and the “few”. Although he doesn’t state it explicitly at first, he clearly believes the “few” are better readers:

A. “the majority never read anything twice. The sure mark of an unliterary man is that he considers ‘I’ve read it already’ to be a conclusive argument against reading a work … Those who read great works, on the other hand, will read the same work ten, twenty or thirty times during the course of their life,” (2)

B. “the majority, though they are sometimes frequent readers, do not set much store by reading. They turn to it as a last resource … But literary people are always looking for leisure and silence in which to read and do so with their whole attention. When they are denied such attentive and undisturbed reading even for a few days they feel impoverished,” (2-3).

C. “the first reading of some literary work is often, to the literary, an experience so momentous that only experiences of love, religion, or bereavement can furnish a standard of comparison … But there is no sign of anything like this among the other sort of readers. When they have finished the story or the novel, nothing much, or nothing at all, seems to have happened to them,” (3).

D. “Finally, and as a natural result of their different behaviour in reading, what they have read is constantly and prominently present to the mind of the few, but not to that of the many. The former mouth over their favourite lines and stanzas in solitude. Scenes and characters from books provide them with a sort of iconography by which they interpret or sum up their own experience. They talk to one another about books, often and at length. The latter seldom think or talk of their reading,” (3).

However gnostic, part of this blog’s excuse for existing is to revel in good words and good books, to “mouth [type] over … favourite lines and stanzas.”