Ahhhhh...I've been putting this off guys. A) Because I'm mundo busy and wanted to reserve enough time to do a quality post, and B) because my topic today is un peu painful and scary. Something that I have not brought myself to reconciliation with yet. So! Should be fun for all.
Perelandra. Ever read it? It's great. It is unabashedly theistic (it's Lewis. Were you surprised?) and overtly symbolic. In brief, Perelandra is an Eden parallel, looking at if the fall were to happen on Venus, what the results would be, etc. The serpent character is enacted by the Un-man (the Devil having taken over a human body), the Eve type is a green lady later named Tinidril, and as a new element in the Eden story-line, Ransom (a philologist from earth) acts as the Christ figure whose job is to steer Tinidril away from the Un-man's tempting.
The stakes are high. The fate of a world hangs in the balance...and Ransom has just discovered (page 238) that he is Maleldil's representative, responsible for keeping the Green Lady from following the Un-man's whisperings. He is staggered by this newfound weight on his shoulders, and goes through several levels of rationalization before finally accepting his responsibility.
His first line of reasoning is to deny that he can really be responsible for such a terrifyingly huge thing. He tells himself "As long as he did his best..God would see to the final issue. ...As for the fate of Venus, it could not really rest on his shoulders. It was in God's hands." Oh man. How many times have I quieted my churning mind with this rationale? All the time. "As long as I do my best, God will fix it in the end." This way of thinking (granted) can bring great peace of mind...and hits on a really good attitude most of the time. The issue, however, is that 'leaving it all to God' can breed complacency. Our urgency is gone. We no longer feel responsible for the consequences of our actions (after all, we've tried 'our best'), and thus chalk it up to God's will when we don't find success. It's not really our fault, see? Struggling with a job? Not going on dates? Doing poorly in your classes? Well, you're doing your best, so it's really God's will that you have these trials. Right.
Moving on from this level, the Darkness (the voice of Christ) impresses upon him that he's seeing things incorrectly. He has been placed on Perelandra for a reason. "The fate of a world really depended on how they behaved in the next few hours." What? Oh my goodness. That's a lot of responsibility. Ransom responds against this wildly, asking why on earth God would count on humans to accomplish things with such serious consequences. But no. This is an existence with real risk. "Either something or nothing must depend on individual choices," and in Ransom's case (and ours), the answer is certainly something.
So what does that mean? Frightfully enough (for me, especially), it means that we really can fail. We can fail to live up to God's will, and suffer disastrous consequences. Or we can fail to live up to his will and (as is more often the case) live at a lesser degree of joy and satisfaction than we could've found by obeying him.
In all honesty, the place I struggle with this dichotomy the most is looking out towards marriage. I really really like the 'I'll just do my best, and God will do the rest' philosophy for this one. Because...I don't want to choose! I don't want to accept responsibility for the consequences if I get it wrong! This comes against a scary truth; that on some level I would rather blame God than myself. Whew...:/ That's not the world we are faced with however. We are faced with a world where our choices matter. Where we can miss opportunities and never get them back again. A world where we can fail hard.
Two points of light however (I apologize, I know this is long...) 1) Right after Ransom has the nasty realization that his actions have eternal consequences, he comes to a lovely realization. He doesn't know what to do. "No definite task was before him" (240) All that is required of him is a willingness to do what God asks...and he doesn't know what that is yet. He is required to "do his best--or rather, to go on doing his best, for he really had been doing it all along". Even though our actions can have great consequences, if we don't have a specific injunction from the Lord doing our best with a prayer in our hearts is all we can do. Further (point of light 2), if we mess up, even to the extent of allowing a world to fall (in Ransom's case), Christ will make good of it. Not as much good as could have been found by following the first command, perhaps...but good. All will not be lost.
Both these things are serious comforts to me. Yes--we really are free agents. A great amount depends upon the choices we make every day. But, mistakes are planned and accounted for. And even if we know the task is ours (like in marriage, picking a school, etc.), if we don't have clear directives on how we should behave, doing our best is all we can do until we receive greater light. And with or without greater light, when we fail Christ is there to pick up the pieces and turn them into something beautiful again.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
I couldn't help myself. The man made me angry.
Alright. So SINCE we're all about confessions on this blog, here's the first: this post is going to be completely indulgent. Probably not of much help to anyone but me. Still, it is requisite that I post once a week, and this is the bit of Lewis that struck me as most controversial in my weekly reading.
It's from Surprised by Joy, the autobiography of his young life that basically follows his conversion from Atheism to Christianity. Another great read--I recommend it. But! Here was the portion that gave me pause. In relation to his recent acceptance that there was a God, Lewis said
"If Theism had done nothing else for me, I should still be thankful that it cured me of the time-wasting and foolish practice of keeping a diary. (Even for autobiographical purposes a diary is nothing like so useful as I had hoped. You put down each day what you think important; but of course you cannot each day see what will prove to have been important in the long run.) "
*Ahem*...what? WHAT? Lewis!! Alright, so for background, most who know me will know that I have a ridiculous journal keeping habit. Former roommates know that I stay up till late hours of the night, documenting highs and lows, tracking mental victories and failings, and generally professing my awesomeness to my future progeny. But what's this? Lewis not only deploring the process of journaling, but also implying that a belief in God should lead someone from this "time-wasting and foolish" practice? No. I'm being tugged in three very uncomfortable directions here. My love for Lewis, Theism, AND MY PROGENY. What to do?
Well, first to agree. Lewis is right. Journaling? Time-consuming. Also, yes! In day to day writing, you're not going to pick out important themes that are going to characterize your life or even your year...In an attempt at a Lewisian analogy, it's like taking a huge magnifying glass to one strand of a woven bracelet, and not seeing the color of the strand in relations to others, or that the single strand goes into making a useful whole. (Stupid analogy, I know. It's late.) So! Journal as a functional tool? Not necessarily effective. Leaves one sleep deprived and is not necessarily useful in the future writing of a Personal History or some such thing. So why do it?
Welll...! Hmm. To be honest, it's become a bit of a habit, for one. For another thing, it was strongly encouraged by Spencer W. Kimball a while back, so it can't be that bad of an idea...! In more serious terms though, I think my journal has been really useful to me. Here are a couple ways in which this (perhaps over-indulgent and compulsive habit) has helped:
1. Adds value to my day to day life. I think just the act of recording things makes me feel like my daily life has meaning.
2. Makes me accountable for things, both in the present (writing it down) and in the future (progeny!!). I've certainly been tempted to hide things from my journal audience, or even not fess things up to myself. But just recognizing that I don't want to write something makes me realize it's something I probably should deal with.
3. Makes me better friends with myself. I'm writing with myself about myself...and sort of to myself. Makes me more comfortable in my own skin.
4. Helps engender a commitment to the future. Each entry is some sort of investment. Not only in me, but in that dear progeny I'm talking so much about. I think my journals are going to be a really effective way for future relatives to get to know me, even when I'm not around. And hey! Maybe they'll even be entertaining and informative.
5. Is fun to go back and read. Seriously--I get sucked into my former headspace when I read my journals back a ways. Interesting and fun...also dangerous if my head wasn't in a great place when I was writing though.
6. Makes me want to use my time more wisely. This goes back to the accountability thing. If I'm going to write about life, I want to have something to write about. This can occasionally be dangerous when I add unnecessary stress and drama to my life to make things more interesting...but it also encourages me to use my time fully, which leads to fun.
7. I'm a super quick 'response' writer. I can do the free flow of brain writing thing really easily, having practiced for a good 40 minutes or so every night.
And there's a picture of them. Isn't that nice. Now, who knows if the benefits outweigh the costs (time), but I feel like journaling has done a lot for me in forming my person. I likely will not always do it at such an intensity as I do at present...but for now, I think I'll keep it up...if only for the progeny. :P Sorry Lewis.
It's from Surprised by Joy, the autobiography of his young life that basically follows his conversion from Atheism to Christianity. Another great read--I recommend it. But! Here was the portion that gave me pause. In relation to his recent acceptance that there was a God, Lewis said
"If Theism had done nothing else for me, I should still be thankful that it cured me of the time-wasting and foolish practice of keeping a diary. (Even for autobiographical purposes a diary is nothing like so useful as I had hoped. You put down each day what you think important; but of course you cannot each day see what will prove to have been important in the long run.) "
*Ahem*...what? WHAT? Lewis!! Alright, so for background, most who know me will know that I have a ridiculous journal keeping habit. Former roommates know that I stay up till late hours of the night, documenting highs and lows, tracking mental victories and failings, and generally professing my awesomeness to my future progeny. But what's this? Lewis not only deploring the process of journaling, but also implying that a belief in God should lead someone from this "time-wasting and foolish" practice? No. I'm being tugged in three very uncomfortable directions here. My love for Lewis, Theism, AND MY PROGENY. What to do?
Well, first to agree. Lewis is right. Journaling? Time-consuming. Also, yes! In day to day writing, you're not going to pick out important themes that are going to characterize your life or even your year...In an attempt at a Lewisian analogy, it's like taking a huge magnifying glass to one strand of a woven bracelet, and not seeing the color of the strand in relations to others, or that the single strand goes into making a useful whole. (Stupid analogy, I know. It's late.) So! Journal as a functional tool? Not necessarily effective. Leaves one sleep deprived and is not necessarily useful in the future writing of a Personal History or some such thing. So why do it?
Welll...! Hmm. To be honest, it's become a bit of a habit, for one. For another thing, it was strongly encouraged by Spencer W. Kimball a while back, so it can't be that bad of an idea...! In more serious terms though, I think my journal has been really useful to me. Here are a couple ways in which this (perhaps over-indulgent and compulsive habit) has helped:
1. Adds value to my day to day life. I think just the act of recording things makes me feel like my daily life has meaning.
2. Makes me accountable for things, both in the present (writing it down) and in the future (progeny!!). I've certainly been tempted to hide things from my journal audience, or even not fess things up to myself. But just recognizing that I don't want to write something makes me realize it's something I probably should deal with.
3. Makes me better friends with myself. I'm writing with myself about myself...and sort of to myself. Makes me more comfortable in my own skin.
4. Helps engender a commitment to the future. Each entry is some sort of investment. Not only in me, but in that dear progeny I'm talking so much about. I think my journals are going to be a really effective way for future relatives to get to know me, even when I'm not around. And hey! Maybe they'll even be entertaining and informative.
5. Is fun to go back and read. Seriously--I get sucked into my former headspace when I read my journals back a ways. Interesting and fun...also dangerous if my head wasn't in a great place when I was writing though.
6. Makes me want to use my time more wisely. This goes back to the accountability thing. If I'm going to write about life, I want to have something to write about. This can occasionally be dangerous when I add unnecessary stress and drama to my life to make things more interesting...but it also encourages me to use my time fully, which leads to fun.
7. I'm a super quick 'response' writer. I can do the free flow of brain writing thing really easily, having practiced for a good 40 minutes or so every night.
And there's a picture of them. Isn't that nice. Now, who knows if the benefits outweigh the costs (time), but I feel like journaling has done a lot for me in forming my person. I likely will not always do it at such an intensity as I do at present...but for now, I think I'll keep it up...if only for the progeny. :P Sorry Lewis.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Faith, the Rational Staving Off the Emotional
Man, if anyone reading this blog has yet to read Mere Christianity, I would highly advise you to get to it. In all your spare time, right? :) Even so, it's an exceptional book, one that I keep coming back and back to...and the chapters on Christian Behavior is my absolute favorite. So now to dive into said Christian behavior.
Faith. What is it? Well, we've got our classic LDS definition (thank you Moroni), that faith is things that are hoped for and not seen, but are true. In short, this definition sees faith as closely linked to hope; an enduring belief in something true but intangible. In chapter 11 of Mere Christianity, Lewis expands on this definition. He says that faith is "the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods" (140). He states that though you can have confidence in the acceptance of God and Christianity (your testimony, in Mormon terms), this confidence can be disrupted by an emotional "blitz on belief". One example of this phenomenon is his knowing perfectly well that anesthetics don't smother him, but yet feeling an overwhelming panic as the mask is going over his mouth. In these instances it doesn't matter how much rational knowledge you have on a subject. You're doubtful of the truths you've learned, and it's difficult to be dissuaded.
I've had these irrational sorts of blitzes on my faith. Times when I step outside of my believing perspective and ask, What if? Times when I see things more cynically. Lewis sympathizes, saying "I do have moods in which the whole thing looks very improbable: but when I was an atheist I had moods in which Christianity looked terribly probable" (140). These sorts of ups and downs are what characterize his Law of Undulation, discussed in Screwtape Letters. We have peaks and valleys in our faith...but like Lewis says, undulation is the closest thing to constancy we, as beings residing in time, can experience. Don't feel guilt for the sudden moments of profound doubt; as long as you view them in perspective of your faith (which hopefully represents a great swath of experience and thought), these doubts will find little toehold in you.
In these moments of emotional upheaval, of sudden fear that what I've built my life around is not as solid as I previously believed, there are some things I always come back to. First is the examples of those around me. I think about what I love. I think about what makes me happy. I think about who I want to be like. I want to be like those who love others, who give generously, who find happiness in serving and encouraging the people around them. Where do I most often find the people doing this? Though goodness exists in many many places, the kind of goodness I want I find in the church. I at least feel that according to the pattern of example I've seen and with the knowledge I have, that I could not be a better person without the church in my life. The second thing I come back to is prayer. I'm not all that imaginative a person. My days of imaginative friends are far behind me. And still, I feel that when I pray, I'm being heard. My life is better as a result of prayer. Sometimes I even feel the strength of another person's prayers for me. I've felt peace, I've felt directives, I've felt stillness of mind as a result of prayer, and I don't believe that these experiences are personally constructed.
Now, some may feel that they have more than an emotional spritz, a crazy doubt or chance thought that momentarily derails them from truth. Some may feel their doubts and questions more enduring, less attributable to emotion, more difficult to release. I've experienced this too, though in what proportion to your concerns I don't know. Lewis' advice on this state of being is priceless. He insists that regardless our current state of faith, if we want it to improve it or remain on a reasonable level, "we have to be continually reminded of what we believe". He says without holding before our minds reminders of what we believe, our belief will die. Our general authorities have gone so far as to say that it is not possible to reason yourself out of the church. Lewis agrees, asking "I wonder how many of [those who have lost their faith] would turn out to have been reasoned out of it by honest argument? Do not most people simply drift away?" There is a lot of literature on this, but if such a dilemma is yours, I would encourage you to not cease in your church attendance. To continue to dig into the scriptures. To try to do good things for others. If these activities still leave you dead to faith and testimony, I would be much surprised.
Faith. What is it? Well, we've got our classic LDS definition (thank you Moroni), that faith is things that are hoped for and not seen, but are true. In short, this definition sees faith as closely linked to hope; an enduring belief in something true but intangible. In chapter 11 of Mere Christianity, Lewis expands on this definition. He says that faith is "the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods" (140). He states that though you can have confidence in the acceptance of God and Christianity (your testimony, in Mormon terms), this confidence can be disrupted by an emotional "blitz on belief". One example of this phenomenon is his knowing perfectly well that anesthetics don't smother him, but yet feeling an overwhelming panic as the mask is going over his mouth. In these instances it doesn't matter how much rational knowledge you have on a subject. You're doubtful of the truths you've learned, and it's difficult to be dissuaded.
I've had these irrational sorts of blitzes on my faith. Times when I step outside of my believing perspective and ask, What if? Times when I see things more cynically. Lewis sympathizes, saying "I do have moods in which the whole thing looks very improbable: but when I was an atheist I had moods in which Christianity looked terribly probable" (140). These sorts of ups and downs are what characterize his Law of Undulation, discussed in Screwtape Letters. We have peaks and valleys in our faith...but like Lewis says, undulation is the closest thing to constancy we, as beings residing in time, can experience. Don't feel guilt for the sudden moments of profound doubt; as long as you view them in perspective of your faith (which hopefully represents a great swath of experience and thought), these doubts will find little toehold in you.
In these moments of emotional upheaval, of sudden fear that what I've built my life around is not as solid as I previously believed, there are some things I always come back to. First is the examples of those around me. I think about what I love. I think about what makes me happy. I think about who I want to be like. I want to be like those who love others, who give generously, who find happiness in serving and encouraging the people around them. Where do I most often find the people doing this? Though goodness exists in many many places, the kind of goodness I want I find in the church. I at least feel that according to the pattern of example I've seen and with the knowledge I have, that I could not be a better person without the church in my life. The second thing I come back to is prayer. I'm not all that imaginative a person. My days of imaginative friends are far behind me. And still, I feel that when I pray, I'm being heard. My life is better as a result of prayer. Sometimes I even feel the strength of another person's prayers for me. I've felt peace, I've felt directives, I've felt stillness of mind as a result of prayer, and I don't believe that these experiences are personally constructed.
Now, some may feel that they have more than an emotional spritz, a crazy doubt or chance thought that momentarily derails them from truth. Some may feel their doubts and questions more enduring, less attributable to emotion, more difficult to release. I've experienced this too, though in what proportion to your concerns I don't know. Lewis' advice on this state of being is priceless. He insists that regardless our current state of faith, if we want it to improve it or remain on a reasonable level, "we have to be continually reminded of what we believe". He says without holding before our minds reminders of what we believe, our belief will die. Our general authorities have gone so far as to say that it is not possible to reason yourself out of the church. Lewis agrees, asking "I wonder how many of [those who have lost their faith] would turn out to have been reasoned out of it by honest argument? Do not most people simply drift away?" There is a lot of literature on this, but if such a dilemma is yours, I would encourage you to not cease in your church attendance. To continue to dig into the scriptures. To try to do good things for others. If these activities still leave you dead to faith and testimony, I would be much surprised.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Bronwen's going to actually RESPOND some day, not just theorize...[Lewis and the Nature of God]
So now. As a blessing to everyone, I've chosen to shower before blogging this time around. So no complaints of filthiness from me! Though I do have a pressing obligation to make some cookies as soon as this is through...so no promises to be completely focused. :)
On to the topic. One would expect that reading Lewis is near tantamount to scripture; that with every flip of the page you're hit with a new revelation, that in every paragraph lies some gem that encourages you to lead a better life. For a lot of Lewis, this is true. However, his ideas on the nature of God continue to be pretty off-putting to me, and I wanted to examine why.
To put it in context, Lewis theorizes on the nature of God in response to a false idea of God that he finds in Liberal Theology. Questing for an "enlightened religion," these theologians take God's defining characteristics to be that he is "infinite, immaterial and immutable" (Miracles, 143). They conjecture from these that this must be all God is, removing from him all human attributes and leaving him a rather immaterial life force reminiscent of Pantheistic tradition.
Lewis is right that this view is incorrect, that it leads to the confused worship of a "non-entity". However, his replacement, to me at least, is similarly off-putting. For one, Lewis sticks to the trinity in his depiction of God, saying that "in God's dimension...you find a being who is three Persons while remaining one Being, just as a cube is six squares while remaining one cube" (Mere Christianity 162). To me this basically implies that God is one being with three faces, and how those Persons interact with each other and man will be unknowable to us until we reach Heaven. This--the reliance on things that are unknowable--is a good and functional view. There are certainly things we don't know about God. However, the concept of the trinity breaks down to me in scenarios like the Virgin Birth, and like Christ's baptism. Lewis' reliance on the Trinity is alienating to me, and although his description of God as 'super-personal' (above personality as we understand it), I prefer a relatable Father-God, who promises that I can become like him through the grace of his son.
Further, Lewis does not begin with a belief that we are the children of God. In Mere Christianity he asserts that Christ was literally begotten of God, while he only "makes" us (160). In this way we are like tin soldiers, resistant to becoming the real men in emulation of Christ. This is true enough; we do go through a natural man/spiritual man process that is painful and often unsuccessful The key difference between Lewis' philosophy and Mormon Doctrine is in LDS belief we at all times remain sons and daughters of God, from before our transformation until afterwards, and with Lewis, we start as merely creations. The love of God for us as humans is much more tangible to me when I can relate to him as a Father, not a creator.
Commiserating over theorist's ability to really know the nature of God, Lewis writes that we "have no resources from which to supply the blindingly real...attributes of Deity" (Miracles 144). He tries to do so, however, in cementing the idea of the Trinity as well as defining God as our Creator rather than our Father. However, the beauty is that in modern times we do have resources through which we can understand the true nature of God--the prophets, modern scripture, and personal revelation. Through these we understand that Heavenly Father, Christ and the Holy Ghost, though united in purpose, are separate beings. We understand ourselves as having a direct and personal relationship with all three members of the Godhead, as they act as the Fathers and guides of our mortal lives. And most importantly, we understand our capacity to become like them--in their separate and glorified state-- through our growth and acceptance of the Atonement. I love Lewis, but for me, the nature of God is one truth that he missed.
(This was a little boring for me to write. It was probably boring for you to read. Next time, I'm going to bring in stories and not make this so stinkin academic. My apologies. Off to cookie making!)
On to the topic. One would expect that reading Lewis is near tantamount to scripture; that with every flip of the page you're hit with a new revelation, that in every paragraph lies some gem that encourages you to lead a better life. For a lot of Lewis, this is true. However, his ideas on the nature of God continue to be pretty off-putting to me, and I wanted to examine why.
To put it in context, Lewis theorizes on the nature of God in response to a false idea of God that he finds in Liberal Theology. Questing for an "enlightened religion," these theologians take God's defining characteristics to be that he is "infinite, immaterial and immutable" (Miracles, 143). They conjecture from these that this must be all God is, removing from him all human attributes and leaving him a rather immaterial life force reminiscent of Pantheistic tradition.
Lewis is right that this view is incorrect, that it leads to the confused worship of a "non-entity". However, his replacement, to me at least, is similarly off-putting. For one, Lewis sticks to the trinity in his depiction of God, saying that "in God's dimension...you find a being who is three Persons while remaining one Being, just as a cube is six squares while remaining one cube" (Mere Christianity 162). To me this basically implies that God is one being with three faces, and how those Persons interact with each other and man will be unknowable to us until we reach Heaven. This--the reliance on things that are unknowable--is a good and functional view. There are certainly things we don't know about God. However, the concept of the trinity breaks down to me in scenarios like the Virgin Birth, and like Christ's baptism. Lewis' reliance on the Trinity is alienating to me, and although his description of God as 'super-personal' (above personality as we understand it), I prefer a relatable Father-God, who promises that I can become like him through the grace of his son.
Further, Lewis does not begin with a belief that we are the children of God. In Mere Christianity he asserts that Christ was literally begotten of God, while he only "makes" us (160). In this way we are like tin soldiers, resistant to becoming the real men in emulation of Christ. This is true enough; we do go through a natural man/spiritual man process that is painful and often unsuccessful The key difference between Lewis' philosophy and Mormon Doctrine is in LDS belief we at all times remain sons and daughters of God, from before our transformation until afterwards, and with Lewis, we start as merely creations. The love of God for us as humans is much more tangible to me when I can relate to him as a Father, not a creator.
Commiserating over theorist's ability to really know the nature of God, Lewis writes that we "have no resources from which to supply the blindingly real...attributes of Deity" (Miracles 144). He tries to do so, however, in cementing the idea of the Trinity as well as defining God as our Creator rather than our Father. However, the beauty is that in modern times we do have resources through which we can understand the true nature of God--the prophets, modern scripture, and personal revelation. Through these we understand that Heavenly Father, Christ and the Holy Ghost, though united in purpose, are separate beings. We understand ourselves as having a direct and personal relationship with all three members of the Godhead, as they act as the Fathers and guides of our mortal lives. And most importantly, we understand our capacity to become like them--in their separate and glorified state-- through our growth and acceptance of the Atonement. I love Lewis, but for me, the nature of God is one truth that he missed.
(This was a little boring for me to write. It was probably boring for you to read. Next time, I'm going to bring in stories and not make this so stinkin academic. My apologies. Off to cookie making!)
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