Category: Culture

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A New Creation?

About twenty years ago, a close friend learned that her youngest son had Duchenne MD, the worst form of Muscular Dystrophy.  It meant gradual weakening, teen years in a wheelchair, and an early death, perhaps by his mid-twenties.  She told me it changed everything: how she thought, how she planned her day, how she cleaned, how she cooked.  The only hope for that boy, then as now, was gene therapy.

Earlier this year, the scientific world buzzed with news about a method of gene therapy called CRISPR.  Without getting too technical, CRISPR uses an enzyme at the molecular level to cut harmful genes out of a subject’s DNA; “gene editing” is an accurate description.  The effect not only alters the subject, but all of his or her descendants.  CRISPR is not yet approved by the FDA for test purposes in the USA, but that hasn’t stopped scientists in Asia and Europe—or even here in the USA.

A few weeks ago this headline from the New Scientist website grabbed me: Biohackers are using CRISPR on their DNA and we can’t stop it.  It seems that one Josiah Zayner , a kind of science auteur, wowed multitudes on Facebook by injecting himself with the Cas9 enzyme that will theoretically alter his muscle mass.  And you can do it, too!  He’s published a DIY Human CRISPR Guide online and will sell you a kit to get started.

Well—that was fast.

Zayner’s enterprising spirit sounds like the good ol’ American hustle.  More seriously, Brian Hanley of Davis, California, got approval from a UC academic review board to test a self-designed gene therapy.  He didn’t tell them he planned to use it on himself, but . . . too late now.   Just last week, at Benioff Children’s Hospital in San Francisco, a 44-year-old with a rare genetic disease became “The First Man to Have Genes Edited inside His Body” using a procedure similar to CRISPR.

All these experiments may or may not succeed: the record of science is roughly two steps forward, one step back, with casualties strewn along the way to progress.  But it’s still progress, right?  Isn’t it good news that genetic diseases like Duchenne will, in all likelihood, be eliminated?  And if that’s so, why do we feel so nervous about it?

Granted, some people aren’t nervous at all.  The coming age of transhumanism can’t get here fast enough (provided we’re not overtaken by robots first).  But for the rest of us, what exactly is a bridge too far?

On the plain of Shinar, a people long ago proposed to build a tower to the heavens—the first application of technology to human progress (post-flood, anyway).  Observing this, the Lord noted, “This is only the beginning—nothing they propose to do will now be impossible for them.”  He wasn’t ready for that, so he broke up their communication, forcing them into ethnic groups that separated from each other.  That pretty much did it for science, for the next 2000 years—the great strides that began in the Scientific Revolution came as a result of shared information across national boundaries.  That communication continued and shows no signs of slowing down now; in fact, it’s sped up exponentially.  But where will it end?

Back to Babel, and “nothing they propose to do will be impossible for them.”  The Lord seems to have a higher opinion of our abilities than we do, and I guess he should.  He knows what we’re capable of, both the positive and the negative.

It remains to be seen if 21st-century science can change the very nature of humanity, or if unintended consequences will overwhelm any real gains.  But even if we could change the nature of humanity I still wonder if he’ll let us get away with it.  Mankind is his image—will he put up with altering the image?

I don’t think so.  I think he’ll stop it, by somehow confounding our communication, or hoisting us on our own petard of unintended consequences.  Or—he’ll stop everything.

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Why Sex?

Several years ago, after a flurry of news about some outrage I can’t even remember, my best friend asked in frustration, “Why do we even have to have sex?”

One obvious reason: without a drive that powerful and all-consuming, the human species would have died out a long time ago.  Babies are fun and rewarding but they’re also a burden and a commitment—not just for the cute years, the learning years, the carpool years, and the teen years, but for the rest of a parent’s life.  Every child, no matter how delightful, introduces a huge element of risk and worry.  We don’t volunteer for complications without a powerful motivation.  That’s one reason why birth rates always go down in developed countries, and it’s one answer to the “Why sex?” question.

Still, I understand my friend’s vexation.  I’ve felt it myself.  Loaded guns are beneficial when used for self-defense or food procurement, but they are too easily misused.  Why did God make this—the equivalent of a loaded gun—the only means for procreation?  And then why did he place it in the hands of beings who were bound to misuse it, to devastating effect?

It must be about more than us.  everything he does also reveals something about him.

Sex must be about more than us.  Everything God does also reveals something about him.

A man sees a woman—he burns for her.  It may be sheer lust: a desire to possess.  But somewhere in that tangle of impulse and emotion is also (I believe) a desire for surrender.  Sex is an abandonment of self, if only for a second.  A sadist may get a thrill out of exercising control over another human being, but for the ultimate thrill he (or she) has to let go.  Even in casual hookups or manipulative relationships there’s some degree of giving, of providing what the other person wants in order to get what you want.

A sexually-healthy marriage is mutual surrender, deepening into love so rich it produces fruit.  Each retains its own but in the process becomes better.  Neither partner gives up individuality, but in community becomes a better individual.  Even, in community, produces more individuals to grow up and figure out who they are and fall in love with a member of the opposite sex and grow the family.  That’s how it’s supposed to work, at its best.  Personal desire—even lust—initiating a vast web of mutual interdependence.

On a spiritual level, God is called our Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth is named (Eph. 3:15).  Note—God is not the father of each individual, but the Father of family.  Obviously not biological family, or not that alone (heavenly families, as little as we know of them, aren’t biological).  But the One God, who exists in three persons, models a biological family on a spiritual level.  Among those three persons is mutual (ecstatic?) surrender, taking and giving, creating within its great heart a dynamic that produces a universe.

Creation imitates its creator: atoms surrender elections to form molecules; planets submit to gravity to form solar systems.  Every force is dependent on or bound to another force.  There are no rugged individuals in nature.

Autonomy in sex turns pathological, leading to a form of insanity where the drive consumes the driver.

In fact, true autonomy is pathological.  Everybody knows that, though we still like to pretend our souls are ours alone.  That’s how sex goes awry: the essential submission and surrender are crammed into one second instead of spread out in a whole-life commitment.  The rest is Me Alone.  Autonomy in sex turns pathological, leading o a form of insanity where the drive consumes the driver.  And creates countless victims.  As with all human excess, it can’t last long.  We’ll be forced back into mutual dependence somehow because there’s no thwarting nature, or the God who made it.

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The Sixth “Sola” that Cripples the Church

The lively debate Martin Luther was hoping to generate with his 95 Theses quickly got out of hand and changed the world forever.  Obviously the time was right: when events are primed to happen, they happen.  Within decades the Reformation was firmly established on the “Five Solas” developed over the next half-century of Reformation teaching, namely

Scripture Alone

declaring the gospel of

Christ Alone,

effecting salvation by

Grace Alone,

apprehended in the believer by

Faith Alone,

for the

Glory of God Alone.

(That’s not the usual order, but you get the idea.)

This is all good news, and the Five Solas are a concise way of defining the aims of the Reformation as they shook out.  A concise definition would be sorely needed, for within Martin Luther’s own lifetime the Protestant movement became dozens of Protestant movements, energizing Europe in ways that weren’t always positive.  It was like releasing one of those mattresses that come packed under pressure: once out of the box, you’ll never get it back in, as it expands far beyond its original bounds.  A quasi-communist peasants’ revolt, numerous pietistic communes, a state church headed by the monarch, proliferating Bible translations and commentaries, a series of wars, the seeds of the Enlightenment, the eventual establishment of the United States of America: all these and more can trace their ancestry to the Protestant Reformation.  So can the sixth, unstated Sola:

by My Interpretation Alone

Once Luther realized his concerns about the Catholic Church had gone beyond an academic debate, and way beyond the original issue of indulgence-peddling, he went on to develop his ideas of where the Church had gone wrong.  One problem was the priesthood, which created a superfluous intermediary between the believer and God.  The Lutheran phrase, “priesthood of all believers,” meant that every follower of Christ had free access to God through Jesus, our only mediator.  We don’t need a priest to hear our confession and assign penance; we can work that out with God on our own.

“Every man a priest” was never meant to imply that every man had the right to make up his own mind about what the Bible said.  But it didn’t take long for the narrow interpretation of that phrase to stretch.  If Luther and Zwingli disagree about a point of scripture, who’s right?  If the Anabaptists are preaching a radical pietism, should they be stopped?  Aren’t they’re reading the scriptures for themselves, as we’re all supposed to?  Peeling off from Luther and Zwingli, in very short order, were Calvin and Muntzer, followed by Wesley and Fox, Alexander Campbell and Joseph Smith, Charles Finney and William Miller, Ann Lee, Ellen G. White, Charles Taze Russell, Mary Baker Eddy, William J. Seymour . . . and literally thousands more, founders of Protestant mainline denominations, offshoots, micro-movements, and cults.

The multitude of denominations is not entirely bad.  We all have different personalities, inclinations, and backgrounds; it’s possible that some will thrive in a particular Christian tradition where others would suffocate.  And while “organized religion” is dying all over the Western world, fewer churches are on life-support in the state-churchless USA.  But it’s hard to say whether their relative health is because of the Sixth Sola, or in spite of it.

 

What gives some people—mostly men, but plenty of women, too—the assurance that, not only can they interpret scripture for themselves, but their interpretation is right?  As in, “The rest of you are wrong.”  Damnably wrong, even.  Having grown up in one one-true-church and, much later in life, been declared apostate by another (much smaller) one, I’ve seen how the sixth-sola pattern emerges:

  • Reformer displays an early aptitude for religion.
  • Reformer involves himself in established church, where he may experience disappointment or disillusionment.
  • Reformer endures a period of intense self-examination and study, from which
  • Reformer emerges with a unique spiritual insight.
  • Reformer enthusiastically preaches his special insight, meets resistance from “establishment.”
  • Reformer collects a band of converts, may undergo real or perceived persecution.
  • Reformer, now the leader of a movement, receives affirmation from his followers.
  • Reformer decides his opposition is a) wrong, b) going to hell, or c) spawn of Satan.
  • All of which means that the Reformer is a) right, and b) well, just right.  Because.

Don’t get me wrong: the church is always in need of reform, and God is always reforming it.  But not usually through movement men (and women).  Luther was an exception, and there are others, but I’ve known and heard of many mini-Luthers who have it all figured out according to the Sixth Sola.  Some may be false prophets, but most are sincere believers (at least to start with) who let that special insight go to their heads.

A little humility would do wonders for them; a little charity and patience with those who aren’t where they are, and may never be.  “My interpretation” must be tested and debated and measured against established teaching—and perhaps discarded, if it doesn’t measure up.  But even if it’s a sound scriptural principle, the soundest secondary principles become shaky when they’re elevated to primary ones: right up there beside “Jesus is Lord.”

Jesus is Lord of our minds, our study, our interpretation.  As he submitted himself to his Father (and even, temporarily, to men), so should we.  It’s not for us to build little empires around a Sixth Sola; far better to live it out in the wider church, and let the Spirit be our interpreter.

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When Is Sexism Not Sexism?

Sexism and misogyny are rampant in our culture, says Hillary.  Her #1 proof is, she’s not president.

If you’re not convinced by that, how about this: as she explained to Rachel Maddow, her audience viewed her superficially.  Instead of listening to what she was saying, the chatter was consumed by what she wore and how her hair looked.  Her appearance overshadowed her substance, hence, we live in a misogynistic culture.

Well . . . first of all, I listened to what she said and wasn’t too impressed.  The part that wasn’t anodyne platitudes sounded like bread-and-circus populism (free college!) or extreme progressivism (abortions all the way down!).  She insults all Americans, and women in particular, by implying that every woman who did not vote for her is a fashion-obsessed twit with no mind of her own.

When a professional woman hears a discouraging word, or fails to score a big promotion, or falters in her career path, sexism is the usual suspect.  And I know for a fact that women are treated differently from men, often not to their advantage.  It may be sexism.  Or it may just be sex.

One reason Hillary’s clothes and hair attract comment is that she doesn’t have to wear the same thing all the time.  If Donald Trump had appeared in a white suit to make his acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention, that would have caused some comment (and as a matter of fact, his hair and skin color do not escape notice).  Sometime in the early 19th century, by whatever common consent determines these things, men of the west gave up sartorial splendor in favor of more subdued colors and plain lines.  For the last 200 years, men’s fashion has not broken out of that tailored, creased and lapelled standard.  Ties and socks are the only avenues of self-expression in men’s clothing, and they had better not get too crazy or the wearer is asking for reams of press about it the next day.

This is not sexism; it’s the differences between two sexes.  Hillary has always been an attractive woman—not a great beauty, but certainly presentable—and I appreciate that she hasn’t indulged in face lifting or tummy tucking (so far as I know).  She’s earned those wrinkles and bears them well for the most part.  She uses color, makeup and hair styling to good advantage because she can.  She is a woman, and makes that point over and over.  This is what women do, and their wardrobe choices are going to be a topic of conversation whenever they are in the public eye.

Men and women are naturally different, and nature dictates how they act toward one another.  When men get together and the conversation turns to a particular woman, it should be no surprise that the mental aptitude, verbal agility, or sparking wit of the subject are not the first attributes under discussion.  This is not going to change; it’s built in.  There are other ways to challenge and deal with it than the blanket charge of “sexism” and “misogyny.”

Whether we are designed by God or designed by evolution, there is such a thing as human nature, and relationships between the sexes are part of it.  Should women fight that, or work with it?  Hillary tries to do both; she uses hair, clothing, and makeup to her advantage but doesn’t want anyone to talk about it.  She talks up her virtues as a woman continually, and complains when she’s not judged by the same standards as a man.  No female candidate will ever be judged by the same standards as a man, unless she dresses in dark gray suits, forgoes the mascara and eye shadow, and buzz cuts her hair (none of which is likely to get votes).

One day we’ll have a woman president, and I will vote based on her policies, not her appearance.  To any aspiring female candidate, here’s my advice: Be a woman.  Dress to your advantage, choose a flattering, easy hairstyle, smile at compliments and ignore petty barbs.  Thank any man who opens the door for you, cuddle babies all you want, have confidence in the feminine attributes God gave you.  Be very careful who you sleep with.  Answer pickup lines with clever putdown lines.  Don’t be shocked at the occasional pass or power play; be prepared.  Politely and firmly insist on what is due to you in the workplace.  Smile when you feel like it, and when you can.  This is not only more effective in a successful career, it’s also a lot more fun.

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American Expectationalism

When the American colonies erupted in revolt against the Stamp Act (1765), poor King George could not understand.  Weren’t these subjects well-treated?  Did they not prosper as a result of benign neglect? As for this taxation they were incensed about, part of it was to cover the expense of defending them, and what was their problem?

Our problem is basically the same now as it was then: whether a nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal can long endure.*  The colonies were jealous of their liberties as Englishmen first.  All those stamp act protests, some of them very ugly and violent, stemmed from the assumption (not the revolutionary idea) that they could not be forced to fork over money involuntarily.  By the time the shooting started ten years later, the issue had crystalized: they were fighting for their rights as Americans.

Whatever that means.

Americans have always disagreed about what that means.  Has a nation ever clashed so often over what it means to be at peace?  Since we born unsettled, I suspect our differences will never be settled, even though they come from the same source.  Because they come from the same source.

O my America!  My new-found land!  John Donne described a woman that way (before getting into bed with her).  Not a bad metaphor for the nation, though: a new-found land for all conflicted ideals and idealists; “America” as the undiscovered utopia humanity is blundering toward.  Even those who hate her do so for what she might have been: O my America—you let me down.

Think of all those extravagant hopes, from 1630 until now:

A City on a Hill . . .

We hold these truths . . .  

The Last Best Hope of Earth

Give me your tired, your poor

That’s not who we are

We’re better than this!

Do other nations refer to their founding ideals anywhere near as often?  Are other citizens as prickly about their rights, as contentious over memes, as we are?  Do other peoples expect so much?  From their government, no less—from men and women inside a beltway who pursue their own interests first, as officials (with a few notable exceptions) always have?

I don’t know Colin Kaepernick and can’t judge his motives.  But when he takes a knee during the national anthem, his stated motivation springs from the same root as that of the flag-waving right-wingers (or presidents) who denounce him.

O my America . . . you’re not living up to your promise.

O my America . . . you’re not living up to her, buster.

High ideas make for high expectations.  And crushing disappointment when they’re not met.  The vitriolic chatter among the left is an echo of the vitriolic chatter from the right four years ago, and both sides are dreaming too big to be satisfied.

“Liberty and justice for all” can never measure up to our competing visions of what that looks like.  And yet, even from the beginning, there was a less extravagant vision: out here in the hinterlands we mostly just want to get along with each other and prosper a bit.  Never before, I venture to say, have so many accomplished their commonplace dreams through the efforts of so few.  Our founding fathers, scorning utopian dreams, set the ideals just high enough to strive for.  And then they set careful checks and balances on the powers that could hold people back from reasonable striving.

Humanity being what it is, we’ll never quite get there, and our failure to get there may have the unlovely consequence of pushing the bar ever higher.  The right pushes for liberty; the left for justice.  We in the middle can’t hear much but the shouting, and it leaves us feeling helpless and confused.  But listen: perfect justice will never happen here on earth, nor perfect liberty.  Bring down the bar, and let us reach what we can.

*A. Lincoln, Gettysburg Address

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He’s No Gentleman

Have you ever heard this?  “God is a gentleman.  He would never . . . [insert something a courtly deity would never do, usually related to busting in where he’s not wanted].”  I don’t know where this idea came from, but it’s supremely silly.

It might be seen as gentlemanly to sweep back the waters of the Red Sea for his people to cross (“After you, my dears”).  But then he slammed the sea on the pursuing Egyptian army, drowning every last horse and man.  It was nice of him to gently wake the boy Samuel for a midnight chat—to tell him that his mentor’s priestly family was toast.  He spoke reassuringly to Elijah in a still small voice, after scaring the pants off him by hurling fire, wind and storm in his direction.

And wasn’t it God who sent Jesus to tell us about his Father’s universal love and grace?  But Christ was also known to drop a word about universal judgment and punishment for those who rejected him, making himself the standard for determining who gets in and who stays out.

Jesus actually doesn’t seem like much of a gentleman either.  But why would we want him to be?

Gentlemen are reserved and polite and exercise self-control.  They condescend to make their inferiors feel at ease.  They hold the door for ladies and step aside for baby carriages.  They don’t point out your faults unless you ask them to.  They listen patiently, consider carefully, and make up their own minds.  They know their place and are comfortable in it.

But God is the place.  He does not offer us heaven; he is heaven.  Life is not a smorgasbord of options, though it may seem that way.  There’s really only one option: Those who fail to find me harm themselves; those who hate me love death (Prov. 8:36).  There’s him, or there’s death.  A gentleman might try to arrange another choice or two in order to accommodate those who just can’t comply.  In the process, he would be courteously opening a door to doom: After you, my dear.

The burly track worker who shoves you out of the path of a speeding train is no gentleman.  The lifeguard who knocks you out while you’re struggling is no gentleman.  The Son of Man who makes himself a bloody sacrifice for you is probably the least gentlemanly of all: volunteering to be a spectacle, hanging between heaven and earth, commanding you to look if you want to live (Num. 21:8, John 3:14).  Gentlemen do not offend or plant themselves as stumbling blocks.  They don’t cause any more trouble than they have to.

Better to stumble in this life than the next.  Better be troubled now than later.  If God is embarrassing or bothering you—which, granted, no gentleman would ever do—embarrass yourself in return.  Fall on your knees and give him thanks.

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Nine Reasons to Read the Bible (even if you don’t believe it)

  1. It’s unique. The Bible Creation story is not like any other creation story. TheBible Reading Bible God is not like any other God.  He’s the only ancient deity to link worship (temples, sacrifices, etc.) to a moral code.  He is absolutely central; a person beyond personality, not a representative of window or fire, not an idea, not a philosophy.  He escapes easy generalities, and so does his book.
  2. It’s eerily familiar. We’re always hearing echoes of it, not only in everyday conversation (broken heart, labor of love, thorn in the flesh, eye for an eye), but in values we take for granted. Whatever our political persuasion, we agree that the hungry should be fed, the injured cared for, the helpless attended to.  None of these principles were widely accepted in the ancient world.  We believe—or at least we say—that love is the greatest power in the world.  Rameses, Nebuchadnezzar, and Julius Caesar would have laughed at that.  We like Jesus, even if we don’t understand him.  All these things originate in the Bible’s thousand-odd pages.
  3. It’s historically relevant. Even if you’re skeptical about archaeology finds that support what it says about ancient times, the Bible’s influence on history is well documented. Those who are certain it inspired oppression, crusades, and pogroms should turn over a few more rocks.  Though it has been misused as a weapon, the Bible is also (and much more logically) the inspiration for revivals, reforms, and rethinking. It directly inspired the greatest surge in literacy, enterprise, and empowerment the world has ever seen (i.e. the Protestant Reformation).  The Enlightenment usually takes credit for those achievements, but without the Reformation there would be no Enlightenment (and after the Enlightenment gleefully kicked away the Scriptural platform it was built on, it collapsed in something called the Reign of Terror).
  4. It’s a treasury of ancient literary forms. Poetry, Historical Narrative, Allegory, Practical Instruction, Romance, Apocalyptic Imagery—every style and genre known to the ancient world is easily accessible between these covers, and in a multitude of translations, too.
  5. It explains the origins of two of the most consequential people groups in the history of the world: Jews and Christians. You may not like them. Often enough, they haven’t liked each other. One was a relatively small group bound by blood and tradition, which had a wildly outsized influence on world history and a proportionate amount of suffering (the honor of being a chosen people cuts both ways).  The second group is, by design, much more numerous and diverse, bound by faith and a conviction that God loves the world enough to die for it.
  6. It tells one Story. A rambling tale, to be sure. But any tale would ramble if it takes about 1500 years and at least 39 authors to tell it.  But the general outline of the story is the model for all stories in all cultures.  There’s a setting, a protagonist, an antagonist, a problem, a development of the problem, a climax, and a resolution.  Why do we tell stories this way?  Whether or not the Bible is the origin for the model, it’s a classic example of the model.  And the type of story it tells, of desolation and redemption, still haunts us.
  7. It provides the only objective reason for treating human beings as anything other than random accidents, disposable trash, or interchangeable parts to be manipulated. The reason is this: the Bible is very clear that human beings are shaped by God to bear his image.  For that very reason, they are not to be willfully murdered (Genesis 9:6) or even carelessly insulted (James 3:9-10).  If the value of humans is set by other humans it can shift at any time.  If that value is set by God, no one can change it.
  8. It’s the most banned book in history. It’s too reactionary, too subversive, too authoritarian, too libertarian.  Tyrants fear its revelation of a rival power; anarchists, modernists, post-modernists, communists, utopians, and well-intentioned progressives hate it for the same reason. The book is a scandal and a trouble—aren’t you curious as to why?
  9. It’s still around. And still a best-seller. What explains its remarkable staying power? Unless you are willing to at least become familiar with it, you’ll never know.
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Schrodinger’s Baby

James Franco may be a little weird (for lack of a better word), but I like that he has wide-ranging interests, like philosophy.  In his short-lived YouTube series, Philosophy Time, he and Eliot Michaelson talked deep with various academics.  This video of their interview with Princeton Professor Liz Harmon was making the rounds four years ago, but it’s worth another look:

Did that go by too quickly?  Here’s Prof. Harmon’s argument (if you want to call it that) in her words with paraphrases.  The italicized responses are mine, but James and I seemed to be thinking along the same lines at times.

Harmon: Some of our terminology when talking about abortion suggests it’s, like, always sad to end a life, even if you, like, feel you have to.  But nah, not really.  “. . . what I think is that among early fetuses, there are two different kinds of beings,” and one has moral status (i.e., a right to keep living) while one does not.  “Your future as a person defines your moral status.”

Uh . . . okay.  But what if you, Dr. Harmon, had been aborted as a, whaddayacallit, “early fetus”?

Harmon: Not a relevant question.  Because I’m here.

But, isn’t that kind of 20/20 hindsight?  I mean, like, what makes the difference between this nice garden spot we’re talking in here and the medical waste bin behind a Planned Parenthood clinic (where you might have ended up if you didn’t have a future)?

Harmon: What makes the difference is “that [a woman’s] intentions negates the moral status of that early fetus.”  If she decides to have the abortion, that is.

So . . . what you’re saying is, the abortion is permissible because you had it, but it wouldn’t have been permissible if you hadn’t had it.  [At this point, circular arrows are superimposed on the screen, indicating what kind of argument it is.]

The professor tries to clarify: “If your mother had chosen to abort her pregnancy—”

Whoa, mama!  I mean, literally: are you sure you want to use the word “mother”?

“—then that wouldn’t have been the case, that you had moral status . . .”

(My head is starting to hurt)

Harmon: “. . . You would have had this very short existence in which you wouldn’t have mattered morally.”

Speaking of “morally” . . . .

(By now the guys look politely confused, as if they had finally given in to their wives’ demands to stop and ask for directions, and Prof. Harmon was the first passer-by they stopped to ask.  (Just wait until they roll up the car window again—the wives are going to get an earful.)

__________________________________________________________

You have to be pretty clever to keep with this argument.  It’s not rocket science; it’s quantum physics.  Just as a particle can be there and not there, a developing human being in the womb—what the professor calls an early fetus and a doting grandma calls a baby—is endowed and not endowed with moral status.  Just as the figurative cat in the box was presumed to be alive or not-alive on the whim of a single particle, the early fetus (or possibly even late fetus) is futured or unfutured, depending on the thought processes of someone who is not him or her.

The elephant in the room is the being in the womb—not a thought experiment, like Schrodinger’s live-and-dead Cat, but a real biological phenomena.  The DNA identify it as a human: more than that, a distinct human, with sex and hair color and fingerprints already determined.  Figments of the imagination can disappear without consequence, but 58 million aborted human souls (more or less, since Roe v. Wade) add up in unforeseen consequences of guilt, carelessness, sexual irresponsibility, and general devaluation.  The subterranean effects of legal abortion are impossible to measure, but don’t be fooled: they exist.  And one consequence is irrational rationalization like this.

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That Hideous Strength: Denouement

Denouement is not a common word in everyday conversation, so for a long time I didn’t know how to pronounce it.  It’s day-noo-MAHN (go easy on the final n).  This is the resolution of the story, or (according to my dictionary), “the events following the climax of a drama or novel in which such a resolution takes place.”  As we saw last week, the turning-point climax of THS arrives at the end of chapter 12, but the dramatic climax, which sees the defeat of Belbury, is yet to come.  That defeat is not in doubt, though.  It’s like the history of redemption: the denouement in which we’re living has plenty of drama, but the turning-point climax came with the Resurrection.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THEY HAVE PULLED DOWN DEEP HEAVEN ON THEIR HEADS

13-1 This may be the most difficult chapter of the whole novel for the contemporary reader.  I had to skim over whole paragraphs the first time I read it, because of all the references I didn’t get.  But there are also some interesting ideas that have affected my thinking.  I’ve mentioned elsewhere that The Once and Future King was one of the formative books of my youth, and the lovable, backwards-living, eccentric figure of Merlin framed my conception of the Arthur legends.  This Merlin is the polar opposite of of that one.  But if there was such a person, I have no doubt he would be much closer to Lewis’s version: a creature of Celtic paganism and early Christianity, with ties to the old spirits of earth.  He lived at a hinge in time, which Paul indicates in his message to the Athenians: “The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent . . .” (Acts 17:30, see also 14:16).  Lewis, drawing from Chesterton’s The Everlasting Man, makes a distinction between “good paganism” and “bad paganism” in pre-Christian societies, the good leading eventually to Christ and the bad leading to demons.  Merlin is of “good pagan” stock, and in fact a Christian—but very, very strange.

It’s interesting to compare his description of the moon with Filostrato’s in 8-3.

13-3  His accusation about Jane is disturbing to me.  Can God’s plans really be thwarted by human will?  We find ourselves at the intersection of destiny and choice, a question that has plagued philosophers, theologians, and even scientists since the beginning of time.  In Perelandra, Ransom decides that God’s ultimate will can’t be thwarted, but he holds several paths in mind.  If humans flub one plan, there will be another–but usually more difficult and with more painful consequences.

13-4  “Time is more important than we thought.”  No kidding!  Anyone who attempts to write serious historical novels must come up against the fact that the past is, if not utterly lost to us, then permanently out of reach.  All our efforts to reconstruct it are tenuous at best, and if time-travel ever became practically possible we would soon learn how inadequate our efforts were.  Dimble’s observation about “things always sharpening and coming to a point” is useful for all ages.  He’s applying it to Merlin’s time, when a man could (supposedly) be semi-pagan and still justified, vs. the modern age, when people can no longer plead ignorance and must choose sides.  But I think the statement has lots of applications: political, social, economical, spiritual.  Vague principles come into sharper focus as a crisis approaches, and casual alliances no longer apply; people have to take sides.

13-5  Merlin learns that his pagan powers are no longer lawful (the image of his firelit face next to the bear’s–their earthy elemental kinship–is one of those literary pictures that will stick with me forever).  As the inhabitants of St. Anne’s were profoundly discomfited by his presence, now Merlin learns how out of his element he is.  The taint of corruption about him, due to his magic, is precisely what makes him useful to the cause.  He is not totally sanctified.  As Ransom says, “a tool (I must speak plainly) good enough to be so used, and not too good.”  Upon learning his calling Merlin’s response is a bit like Christ’s, sweating drops of blood in the garden.  Is there any alternative?  Any other principality or power that can be called on to help?  In the seventh paragraph from the end, notice his appeal to those who are not part of Christendom yet observe the “Law of Nature”—he’s talking about the Way, or the Tao, Lewis’s subject in Part Two of The Abolition of Man.  But all earthly powers are to some degree under the sway of that Hideous Strength.  Only powers beyond the earth can help now, and Merlin will contain them.  Like an old wineskin filled with new wine, he will last only long enough to serve their purpose.  And then he will lose his life, but save his soul.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: “REAL LIFE IS MEETING”

14-1  After almost a whole chapter devoted to St. Anne’s, we now go back to Belbury.  Mark’s conversion at the end of ch. 12 was real–he has no desire to go back, though it’s to his advantage to play along.  Frost’s dissertations in this chapter are easy to skim because he quotes people who were very consequential in Lewis’s day but almost unknown today.  (Lewis had several arguments with Waddington, either in public correspondence or in footnotes.)  However, the idea that “Existence is its own justification” carries on today in philosophers such as Richard Rorty and Peter Singer, and catchphrases like “Whatever is, is right.”  Thomas Huxley, whom Frost quotes in the fourth paragraph, was an early defender of Darwinism who, contrary to Frost’s interpretation here, denied that evolution provided any ground for morals whatsoever.  That didn’t stop his own grandson Julius (and subsequent deep thinkers) from trying to theorize morality from evolution.  Frost represents the dead end of such attempts.

The paintings in the room where Mark begins his training range from the obviously perverse to the slightly “off”—which are more dangerous?  Do you recognize any art styles?  In the 12th paragraph from the end, he recalls reading of: “things of that extreme evil which seem innocent to the uninitiate . . .”  Chesterton again, The Everlasting Man, ch.6.  A pure heart and mind would be unaffected by these evil things (“to the pure all things are pure,” Titus 1:15), but Mark isn’t there yet.  At least he recognizes the danger, and is soon delivered from it by a most unexpected circumstance.

14-2  Another difficult-but-rewarding section.  If you have no patience with Lewis’s interplanetary mythology, okay, but notice that Jane still has her hang-ups and preconceptions that Mrs. Dimble is untroubled by (Titus 1:15 again?).  Jane is not that different from present-day feminists who see sex as a power struggle; she may have some idea that her new “spirituality” has freed her from it, but the vision she sees in the Lodge says otherwise.  The sensual woman in the flame-colored robe is easily understood as some sort of fertility goddess, but where do the dwarves fit in?  Clearly, they’re all laughing at Jane, but further illumination will have to wait.

14-3  Tolstoy wrote a chapter of Anna Karenina from the POV of a dog—here’s a stream-of-consciousness from Mr. Bultitude.  He, and all mammals, occupy a territory inaccessible to humans: pure quality, “a potent adjective floating in a nounless void . . .”

14-4  Mark has been having his own encounters with an earthy soul—a common tramp who shares certain characteristics with Merlin and others with Mr. Bultitude.  Imagine how Mark would have reacted to him before his turning point in Chapter 12, and you can see some concrete effects of his altered attitude (it’s not quite a conversion—not yet).

14-5  Things are “sharpening and coming to a point” (as Dimble observes in 13-4) for Jane.  She can’t exist in a spiritual vacuum for much longer; she’ll have to declare, either for Christ or for Ashtoreth.  Which means necessarily that she will have to deal with her humanity, her place in the world. She’s been seeing herself as mostly a cerebral creature, a woman “without a chest,” made up of approved influences and pride and self-importance.  Her conversation with the Director sets her up for “real meeting,” not just with God, but with her real self.  Left to ourselves, we don’t know who we are; it’s impossible to disengage the true self from nature, nurture, and community.  But God knows.  Jane’s experience is hinted at in Colossians 3:3-4 and I John 3:2.  Earlier her world was unmade; now she herself is remade by meeting the One who knows her fully.  (Lewis was deeply impressed by Martin Buber’s I and Thou around the time he was writing That Hideous Strength.  The title of this chapter comes from Part 1, sec. 13, where Buber writes, “All living is meeting.”)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE DESCENT OF THE GODS

The narrative will pick up and move faster from this point to the dramatic climax (at last! sighs the patient reader).

15-1  “The gods” of this chapter are not only the ruling spirits of our solar system (the “Fields of Arbol”), but pure qualities proceeding from our creator: Meaning, Charity, Valor, Age and Time, Festival Joy.  Notice the “inconsolable wound” that wakes in Merlin at the approach of Venus: this is a stab of what Lewis calls “Joy” in his spiritual autobiography Surprised by Joy: the inborn longing that no earthly remedy can satisfy for long.  Try listening to Holst’s The Planets before or during a reading of this section.

15-3  Both Frost and Wither are beginning to unravel.  How?

15-4  In 14-5, Jane was told she would soon have to take a stand.  This is the point where Mark will have to take a stand—his literal encounter with the cross.  Note the “non-religiousness” of his conversion, which reflects Lewis’s account of his own conversion in Surprised by Joy.

15-6  Jules, the figurehead director of the N.I.C.E. who imagines he’s the real director, has been mentioned twice before; now he makes his appearance (remember the rule of three).  He’s also a product of modern education, a character who might have been a decent-enough reporter or hack writer if he’d been brought up with traditional values. As it is, he’s mostly a fool.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: DINNER AT BELBURY

16-1  Recall Ransom’s observation to Jane in 14-5 that the demons hate their own minions as much as they hate us.  This chapter will bear that out.  The confusion of languages obviously recalls the Tower of Babel; the release of the animals suggests the Fall, when man and nature were set against each other.  The plot to conquer nature has failed.  Soon the earth itself will rebel . . .

16-3 – 16-6 Each of the Inner Ring meets a fate appropriate for him—how?  Do they all get a chance to repent?  When?  Might Romans 1:14 have some relevance here?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: VENUS AT ST. ANNE’S

17-2  The fashion show compliments 14-5 and the idea of our true selves being hidden: each woman has her dress picked out by the others; a dress that, once chosen, compliments qualities that they themselves didn’t fully appreciate.  Why is the least said about Jane’s dress?

17-4  “Britain” vs.  “Logres”: Lewis may get a little carried away here, with his idea of national “hauntings,” (any ideas as to what an American haunting would look like?), but the point is that humanity has had narrow escapes throughout history, some of them obvious and some not.  There will always be a Logres, until Christ returns.

17-7 and 17-8  Mark and Jane are reunited.  Recall that the novel began with their separation, and the narrative has pegged itself to their increasing distance.  But there have been intriguing parallels throughout.  They were each admitted to their respective Inner Rings in chapter 6.  Jane was introduced to “the Head” of St. Anne’s, and Mark to “the Head” at Belbury, in chapter 7.  Jane encounters the same holy fear at the beginning of ch. 11 that Mark encounters at the end.  Jane’s true conversion in 14-5 is closely followed by Mark’s in 15-4.

Their final meeting involves a mutual descent: Jane coming down from her pretensions and Mark from his arrogance; she in her festival garments and he most likely naked.  The world has been re-enchanted for them; they’ve rediscovered the magic of the commonplace.  What happens next?  A lot of baggage to work through, but remember Lewis called this “A modern fairy-tale for grownups.”

And so: “They lived happily ever after.”

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That Hideous Strength: Climax

To catch up with the reading, see the Introduction, Setup, and Development.

Climax?  Isn’t it a little early for that?  Most of us have the idea that the climax is a high point of the story (as the word would seem to suggest), after which nothing is left but tying up loose ends.  But there’s another way to understand climax, in literary terms: it’s the point at which all the crucial decisions have been made.  We’ll come to that point at the end of Chapter 12.  The “high point” of the story will indeed wait until the fourth quarter, but it will be the working out of the characters’ choices, not the forcing of them.

CHAPTER NINE: THE SARACEN’S HEAD

9-1  Saracen means “Arabic,” referring to Alcasan’s ethnicity.  Saracen was also the inclusive name given to Muslim groups who occupied the Holy Land and fought against the Crusaders.  Poor Alcasan barely has the distinction of being a character in the story, and he’s not one now, as we’ll discover.  These scenes with “the head” are the closest Lewis ever came to horror literature, but notice they are all experienced indirectly; narrated or mediated by a character rather than by direct action.  He will take us into that forbidden chamber, but not yet.

9-2  No attribution has been found for the line quoted in the first chapter about “an inflammation swollen and deformed, his memory,” so Lewis himself could be the poet.  Great line, underscoring Mark’s clash with cold reality.  “They would kill him if he annoyed them; perhaps behead him.”  Notice how the N.I.C.E. has become they, but Mark does not yet identify with another us.  He’s between stools now, literally damned if he does and damned if he does not.  Notice how his “modern” education has not equipped him to deal with an unambiguous crisis.

9-3  A reader may be excused for feeling a little impatient with Lewis here; breaking off an exciting narrative to attend to MacPhee and his annoying discursions.  On the other hand, it’s rather clever of the author to introduce the subject of supernatural beings by means of a hardboiled skeptic. MacPhee’s background is worth noting: he’s the descendant of Scottish Covenanters who were deported to Ireland by James I as a way of getting rid of them, and also helping to civilize the “wild Irish.”  That’s why Northern Ireland is Protestant.  As a native of Belfast, Lewis no doubt had Covenanter blood in his veins.  He seems to have had some respect for the Scottish Calvinists who demanded proof in the word of God (like MacPhee’s uncle), but would probably fault them for lack of imagination and sympathy.  (G.K. Chesterton, one of Lewis’s spiritual guides, had no regard for Calvinism whatsoever.)  When Jane asks, about the eldila, “Are they perfectly huge?” she’s remembering her experience with hugeness in 7-2. ~ The poem Camilla quotes is by Charles Williams, a good friend of Lewis and member of the “Inklings” circle. ~ Logres derives from the ancient Welsh name for the England of King Arthur.  Arthur is probably one of the “perhaps about six” humans who never died but were taken straight to Heaven.  We can account for two more (Enoch and Elijah)—does the Bible preclude there being any others?

9-4 This strategy session produces no clear strategy, to MacPhee’s disgust, but we finally know what we’re up against.  “Science” proposes to join with “magic,” new power with old power, to surround and ultimately crush humanity.  Even in the midst of apocalyptic concerns, squabbles over authority and chain-of-command pop up.  The Director’s question about personnel (“Were you all under the impression that I had selected you?”) raises an interesting question about choice and destiny.  No one in the company can say either that they came freely or that they were compelled to come in; rather, it was both.  Lewis says this about his own conversion, in Surprised by Joy.  Recalls Jesus’ reminder to his disciples that their wills are not entirely their own: “You have not chosen me, but I chose you.”

9-5  The Director ponders.  It’s worthwhile to ponder with him, but if you get swamped by obscure references and vocabulary, the relevant point is that science and magic are not that far apart (more on this later).  Historically they were joined at the hip: “one was sickly and died; the other was strong and throve,” he wrote in The Abolition of Man.  Both were born of the same desire, “to subdue reality to the wishes of men.”  However, in reuniting with magic at this late date, science may be getting more than it bargained for.  “What should they find incredible, since they believed no longer in a rational universe?”  The Inner Ring is at the point that the inhabitants of Babel reached in Gen. 11:6: “They are one people, and they have one language, and this is only the beginning of what they will do.  And nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them.”

Even if you don’t follow the entire sequence of thought, it’s helpful to understand a few terms: Numinor belongs to the world of Tolkien; it refers to the fall of the Second Era in Middle Earth mythology.  (Tolkien was another member of Inklings* and Lewis was very familiar with his progress on The Lord of the Rings.)  The lost continent of Atlantis was one inspiration for Numinor. ~ Elan vital = life force. ~ Panpsychism: the belief that plants and inanimate objects, as well as humans and animals, enjoy some form of consciousness. ~ Anima mundi = world soul.

CHAPTER TEN: THE CONQUERED CITY

10-1  Mark is at checkmate: stay at Belbury, and descend to levels he doesn’t want to go; leave Belbury, and face conviction for murder, followed by hanging.  Take a moment to notice the wallet, a plot element with which Lewis has employed the Rule of Three: the first mention (4-3) introduces the object when Mark mentions to Straik that he has lost it.  The second (6-2) reinforces that loss (and reminds the reader about it) when Mark frets to Captain O’Hara about money.  The third mention springs the trap.  We know, though Mark doesn’t yet, that it’s a deliberate frame-up.  He’s also slow to recognize that guilt or innocence has no relevance whatsoever—no more than left or right, right or wrong, truth or falsehood.  The Inner ring has moved “Beyond Good and Evil” (to borrow a title from Nietzsche who foresaw this very thing).

10-2  At least Mark is finally and permanently alerted to his danger.  We want to cheer when he strikes out at Wither, but wait–Wither isn’t really there.  His mode of being has altered in a way we’ll learn more about later.  He is no longer a “person,” in any way we would understand.  But Mark, by contrast, may be on his way to becoming one: note carefully the last paragraph.

10-3  It will take a while, though.  He hasn’t a strong enough character to take a firm stand for either side.  Dimble has acquired that strength, but has to struggle with his own self-righteousness because of it: “trying very hard not to hate, and to despise, and above all not to enjoy hating and despising . . .”  This is a temptation for a lot of Christians (I’m one of them); how easy it is to look down on weakness or foolishness from our lofty perch!  Like we’re the ones who have it all together.  Our best antidote is I Cor. 6: “For such were some of you.”  Dimble ends up doing the right thing, but Mark is undone by indecisiveness.  Unable to make up his mind to take a genuine risk, he has his mind made up for him.

10-4  Dimble’s self-examination while driving home is another good reality check for Christians: if we feel ourselves getting carried away with outrage (and there’s plenty to outrage us these days), we should ask a similar question: “Is there a whole Belbury inside of you?”  The Brother Lawrence quote–“Thus shall I always do . . .”–is found in The Practice the Presence of God (ca. 1650), a collection of letters and meditations.)  Belbury is on the move elsewhere, as Dimble discovers when he reaches home and finds everyone in a state of high anticipation.  Finally the King is on the move (this, I believe, is the first use of the name Maleldil in THS) and Dimble is wanted for an expedition.

“It was an age, not a man, they were going to meet”

CHAPTER ELEVEN: BATTLE BEGUN

11-1  And about time! as MacPhee might say.

The fear that Dimble, Denniston, and Jane experience, each in their own way, while searching the wood has the same root: a fear of the noumen, or spirit world, which exists alongside our own and yet is so completely different (huge, as Jane perceived it) that to touch it is something like stepping through a trap door.  Dimble realizes that all ages still exist there: “it was an age, not a man, they were going to meet.”  Jane’s world is still being unmade (cf. 7-1); “it now appeared that almost anything might be true.”  Is she coming closer to God?

11-2  Miss Hardcastle’s account of shadowing Mark shows how little she understands the opposition.  Wither and Frost have a better idea what they’re up against, but their sources are not infallible either.  Their discussion once Miss Hardcastle is dismissed reveals that Frost really did have access to Jane’s mind—or his superiors did—when she dreamed about him.  But shortly afterwards her mind was closed to them.  Why, do you suppose?  What happened to Jane around that time?

And what do they propose to do with Mark?  What knowledge might they share with him that even Filostrato doesn’t know?  What “desire” in him might they appeal to?  (Wither’s stated wish to “to receive—to absorb—to assimilate this young man” reminds me of Uncle Screwtape.)  We haven’t seen much of Frost so far, but he will come into sharper focus.  He seems to be much more defined personality than Wither–until the last few paragraphs of this section, when we realize that both men have given up themselves in service to a “higher power.”  What desire might have led them to do that?

11-3  Mark alone.  Impending death can certainly wipe the lens of one’s perspective—if God is merciful.  Mark undergoes a kind of “Pilgrim’s Regress”: looking over his life’s ambitions and seeing them for a sham .  Notice the series of trivial steps, small compromises, and pygmy power plays employed to build up his ego, even from boyhood.  He’s not going forward yet, but that’s because he must first go all the way back: “You must be born again.”  As someone (I think is was Frederick Buechner) said, “the gospel is bad news before it’s good.”  The bad news is about us, and to see ourselves as we are is amazing grace.

CHAPTER TWELVE: WET AND WINDY NIGHT

12-2 and 12-3  Recall Mr. Stone from 5-1, an organization man who got on the wrong side of the powers that be and is desperate to redeem himself.  Obviously, Belbury and St. Anne’s are seeking the same prey—who will get to him first?

12-4  and 12-5  It’s interesting to compare these two conversations.  Frost with his “macrobes” and Ransom with his “unities” are talking about the same supernatural reality, but in his explanation to Mark Frost takes the reductionist approach, breaking all human responses down to meaningless reflexes.  Meanwhile Ransom, discussing the spiritual realm with his little band of followers, builds up a hierarchy of response reflective of God himself.  Frost would decrease, Ransom would increase, the significance of human life.  Does Frost know he’s talking about demons?  If so, he doesn’t care; names and distinctions have become meaningless to him.  But for Ransom and his band, a vague, unknown power is about to take a name—and a personality and distinctiveness they would never have imagined.  The knock on the door, and what they see when the door crashes open is one of the most striking literary scenes I’ve ever read.

12-6  We know without being told that the stranger pounding on the door at St. Anne’s is Merlin himself.  Any guesses as to who is ensconced at Belbury?  (We saw his little campsite in 11-1.)  Unintentionally, Frost and Wither provide us with some savory comic relief here.  But note Wither’s comment that he knows “the look of a Master . . . One sees at once that Straik or Studdock might do; that Miss Hardcastle, with all her excellent qualities, would not.”  Wither is wrong about the stranger, but right about Straik and perhaps Mark as well.  But why would the Fairy not do?  And “not do” for what?

12-7  We’re on Mark’s side now, or he’s on ours, but what happens almost at once?  Idolatry—seeing himself as the hero—weakens his resolve and makes him easy prey.  What’s different now is that for the first time he sees it: the true dimensions of the struggle.  It started with self-knowledge in 11-3.  Also, for the first time, he knows he can’t overcome his enemies alone.  “All that could in any sense be called himself went into that cry . . .”

And the last corner has been turned.  Whew!