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!)
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Reflections on Miracles
Alright, full confession time. I would much rather be showering than blogging right now. Stupid greasy hair...BUT! The blog is due soon, and it must be done. :) And as it's late and I'm slightly temperamental, this is not going to be nicely organized! It's going to be my reflections of two passages from Lewis' Miracles, the book we're reading this week. No promises of common threads, anywhere.
Passage One! Throughout this book (or at least the beginning of it), Lewis is pitting Naturalism (the belief that that which is in the world/universe is all there is) against Supernaturalism (the belief that things exist that are apart from the world as we perceive it). As is characteristic of Lewis' style, in chapter one of Miracles Lewis anticipates the arguments made against Supernaturalism. One such argument is that Supernaturalism, being a more monarchical structure than Naturalism (one supreme being, subjects, that sort of thing) is really just a holdover from a monarchical age. He counters that, however, the same thing can be said about Naturalism in regards to democracy, that it is a more democratic idea (all being roughly equal in Naturalism), and has been more widely accepted in democratic societies. However, this is the part I really like:
In regards to the societal sources of Supernaturalism and Naturalism, "The do indeed remind us that Supernaturalism is the characteristic philosophy of a monarchical age and Naturalism of a democratic, in the sense that Supernaturalism, even if false, would have been believed by the great mass of unthinking people four hundred years ago, just as Naturalism, even if false will be believed by the great mass of unthinking people today" (10).
I thought that this was really cool, and made a lot of sense. Ideologies do find more popularity depending on the social climate of the time. However, as Lewis so brilliantly explains here, the popularity of an idea is not relevant to an idea's actual truthfulness. Naturalists wouldn't want us believing Supernaturalist dogma just because it was popular in the monarchical age, and similarly, we shouldn't be expected or to believe Naturalism just because it's the ideology currently in vogue. Real understanding of truth must not come from what those around us expect us to believe, or even what modern thinkers are pushing as truth. A better understanding comes in Lewis' challenge to not be swayed by your environment, but partake from all sources and reason it out for yourself.
Now quickly, my second quote. In chapter 5, Lewis discusses what sacrifices you have to make if you truly believe the Naturalist's philosophy that man's mind is a random byproduct of natural process. Lewis insists that you cannot sacrifice Rationalism, for then goes the entire basis of your argument. He does say, however that "you (the Naturalist) can if you wish regard all human ideals as illusions and all human loves as biological by-products"(54). He then continues, "Whether you can do so without extreme unplausibility--without accepting a picture of things which no one really believes--is another matter."
The need for a shower is getting more and more desperate, so with this one I'll be brief. I've contemplated a view where life has no purpose, where dreams and people mean nothing, and all will one day go to dust, where ideals are simply past-times until we expire, where we die and forget that we ever wanted to be remembered for the progresses we made on earth. I've thought about it, I've considered it even, but have found that any flirtation with accepting it deadens me. It removes all passions, all charitable thoughts, all loves, robs me of hope and saps my motivation. Considering biological process to be the base of all around me tempts me towards a smartly cynical two-dimensional view of the world that brings me no joy or reason to continue. Why work at all if nothing matters? Why help when the helpee is just going to dissipate into ash someday anyway? Lewis is right that hardly anyone really takes this view very seriously, at least as far as carrying it out in their day to day life. However, for those who do (and there are some), I salute your search for meaning in what to me was a meaningless pursuit.
Passage One! Throughout this book (or at least the beginning of it), Lewis is pitting Naturalism (the belief that that which is in the world/universe is all there is) against Supernaturalism (the belief that things exist that are apart from the world as we perceive it). As is characteristic of Lewis' style, in chapter one of Miracles Lewis anticipates the arguments made against Supernaturalism. One such argument is that Supernaturalism, being a more monarchical structure than Naturalism (one supreme being, subjects, that sort of thing) is really just a holdover from a monarchical age. He counters that, however, the same thing can be said about Naturalism in regards to democracy, that it is a more democratic idea (all being roughly equal in Naturalism), and has been more widely accepted in democratic societies. However, this is the part I really like:
In regards to the societal sources of Supernaturalism and Naturalism, "The do indeed remind us that Supernaturalism is the characteristic philosophy of a monarchical age and Naturalism of a democratic, in the sense that Supernaturalism, even if false, would have been believed by the great mass of unthinking people four hundred years ago, just as Naturalism, even if false will be believed by the great mass of unthinking people today" (10).
I thought that this was really cool, and made a lot of sense. Ideologies do find more popularity depending on the social climate of the time. However, as Lewis so brilliantly explains here, the popularity of an idea is not relevant to an idea's actual truthfulness. Naturalists wouldn't want us believing Supernaturalist dogma just because it was popular in the monarchical age, and similarly, we shouldn't be expected or to believe Naturalism just because it's the ideology currently in vogue. Real understanding of truth must not come from what those around us expect us to believe, or even what modern thinkers are pushing as truth. A better understanding comes in Lewis' challenge to not be swayed by your environment, but partake from all sources and reason it out for yourself.
Now quickly, my second quote. In chapter 5, Lewis discusses what sacrifices you have to make if you truly believe the Naturalist's philosophy that man's mind is a random byproduct of natural process. Lewis insists that you cannot sacrifice Rationalism, for then goes the entire basis of your argument. He does say, however that "you (the Naturalist) can if you wish regard all human ideals as illusions and all human loves as biological by-products"(54). He then continues, "Whether you can do so without extreme unplausibility--without accepting a picture of things which no one really believes--is another matter."
The need for a shower is getting more and more desperate, so with this one I'll be brief. I've contemplated a view where life has no purpose, where dreams and people mean nothing, and all will one day go to dust, where ideals are simply past-times until we expire, where we die and forget that we ever wanted to be remembered for the progresses we made on earth. I've thought about it, I've considered it even, but have found that any flirtation with accepting it deadens me. It removes all passions, all charitable thoughts, all loves, robs me of hope and saps my motivation. Considering biological process to be the base of all around me tempts me towards a smartly cynical two-dimensional view of the world that brings me no joy or reason to continue. Why work at all if nothing matters? Why help when the helpee is just going to dissipate into ash someday anyway? Lewis is right that hardly anyone really takes this view very seriously, at least as far as carrying it out in their day to day life. However, for those who do (and there are some), I salute your search for meaning in what to me was a meaningless pursuit.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Lewis' Zion Society
Ooo...I am liking Mere Christianity far more than I thought I would. Especially the 3rd book, Christian Behavior. LOVE it. It's like the perfect intersect of Religion, Psychology and Logic that becomes just fuel to my fire. Yum! But to focus on a part that I've particularly enjoyed and keep coming back to...
*Confession*...before I begin. I do particularly enjoy when people I respect (CS Lewis, Book of Mormon Prophets, etc.) back up certain elements of my political views. CS Lewis' view in Chapter 3 of Book Three (Social Morality) was particularly delicious to me. In it he lays out a few aspects of a truly Christian Society (or Zion Society, as we would call it).
Firstly, everyone is to work. As Lewis says "if a man does not work, he does not eat" (84). This is an ideal that we are pushing for in the church, providing Welfare Resources when need is present, but avoiding a society of "passengers or parasites" by encouraging people to find meaningful employment (84).
Further, there are to be "no manufacture of silly luxuries"; everyone is to do that which is meaningful, productive, and needed in the community. Along with the dismantling of our indulgent society, "there is to be no 'swank'...no putting on airs" (84). People are to be equal to each other, to be cooperative and looking out for another's welfare as well as their own. In this way, Lewis says that "a Christian society would be what we now call Leftist" (84).
However...views currently embraced by the Right Wing make their debut as well! In this Zion society, obedience is expected and insisted upon. There is organization, and willing compliance to righteous authority.
Lewis summarizes his view of Zion by saying that it's "economic life [would be] very socialistic and, in that sense, 'advanced', but that its family life and its code of manners [would be] rather old fashioned" (84). His view of old fashioned, I would take it, would amount to people living in family units, within an authority system that they were obedient to. Much as the main body of the church exists today. ;)
In a final act of Moderate fist-pumping, I would just say that I concur strongly with Lewis' vision of a Christian Society. I love the equal distribution of goods, the unselfish 'Law of Consecration' type atmosphere that already exists in many of our stakes and will one day exist much more broadly. I wish we could live more in accordance with that today, and sheath off our Capitalist drives for ever-increasing wealth and prestige. Leaning a little more left than right, I am slightly less triumphant at the more traditional living patterns that would be adopted in this Christian Society...but not really. I know that at the end of the day, when all is resolved, that our most exultant state will be in our family units, lead by inspired and careful authorities. When this comes to pass, all will have a place, a job, a means of meaningful employment. Competition will die, and all will contribute as much as they can to community well-being. Families will live in security, and free from attack, under the direction of loving leaders. It may be highly idealistic, and nearly impossible by modern-day prediction, but I hope for that day all the same.
*Confession*...before I begin. I do particularly enjoy when people I respect (CS Lewis, Book of Mormon Prophets, etc.) back up certain elements of my political views. CS Lewis' view in Chapter 3 of Book Three (Social Morality) was particularly delicious to me. In it he lays out a few aspects of a truly Christian Society (or Zion Society, as we would call it).
Firstly, everyone is to work. As Lewis says "if a man does not work, he does not eat" (84). This is an ideal that we are pushing for in the church, providing Welfare Resources when need is present, but avoiding a society of "passengers or parasites" by encouraging people to find meaningful employment (84).
Further, there are to be "no manufacture of silly luxuries"; everyone is to do that which is meaningful, productive, and needed in the community. Along with the dismantling of our indulgent society, "there is to be no 'swank'...no putting on airs" (84). People are to be equal to each other, to be cooperative and looking out for another's welfare as well as their own. In this way, Lewis says that "a Christian society would be what we now call Leftist" (84).
However...views currently embraced by the Right Wing make their debut as well! In this Zion society, obedience is expected and insisted upon. There is organization, and willing compliance to righteous authority.
Lewis summarizes his view of Zion by saying that it's "economic life [would be] very socialistic and, in that sense, 'advanced', but that its family life and its code of manners [would be] rather old fashioned" (84). His view of old fashioned, I would take it, would amount to people living in family units, within an authority system that they were obedient to. Much as the main body of the church exists today. ;)
In a final act of Moderate fist-pumping, I would just say that I concur strongly with Lewis' vision of a Christian Society. I love the equal distribution of goods, the unselfish 'Law of Consecration' type atmosphere that already exists in many of our stakes and will one day exist much more broadly. I wish we could live more in accordance with that today, and sheath off our Capitalist drives for ever-increasing wealth and prestige. Leaning a little more left than right, I am slightly less triumphant at the more traditional living patterns that would be adopted in this Christian Society...but not really. I know that at the end of the day, when all is resolved, that our most exultant state will be in our family units, lead by inspired and careful authorities. When this comes to pass, all will have a place, a job, a means of meaningful employment. Competition will die, and all will contribute as much as they can to community well-being. Families will live in security, and free from attack, under the direction of loving leaders. It may be highly idealistic, and nearly impossible by modern-day prediction, but I hope for that day all the same.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Physical Birth as a Type of Spiritual Birth
I'm in a New Testament class this semester that requires me to read the four Gospels in 2 weeks. Reading that while reading the first books of Mere Christianity has been most instructive. A connection I came across just today was particularly cool, and it is that connection I will relate to you now.
In Chapter 5 of Book Two, Lewis makes the case (both vaguely and respectfully) for physical birth (conception and delivery) sharing patterns with spiritual birth (baptism, belief and communion). He argues that a proof for something being true is that you never would've guessed it, never could've sorted it out in your own head. In relation to physical birth, he says that he would've "never seen any connection between a particular physical pleasure (sex) and the appearance of a new human being in the world" (61). This is an interesting perspective. In a similar pattern of not being able to guess the causes and effects, Lewis says that the process of 'baptism, belief and communion' equal a spiritual birth that can get you into heaven is similarly odd to him. But, he counters, this is reality (as sex is a reality to conceive a child), and we should take it as it is (61).
Christ argues the case of spiritual vs physical birth to Nicodemus in John 3: 3-7. He tells Nicodemus that it is necessary to "be born again" in order to enter the kingdom of God. He then says that "except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God"(vs 5). So, just as certain things need to happen for a baby to come into this world, we must be baptized and receive the Holy Ghost (a difference from CS Lewis' opinion, unless Communion equals the receiving of the Holy Ghost) before we can enter the new realm of life with Heavenly Father. It does seem interesting to me, however, that Lewis points out that these steps (baptism, 'belief and the Communion') are both necessary and in some way arbitrary. Arbitrary in that we don't understand them at least, or see exactly why the physical practicing of ordinances is necessary to our reconciliation with God.
Alright. I'm exhausted, and that was all way too academic. But it's long enough, right? :P To close with a couple of my feelings, I think this idea of spiritual birth, a rebirth into a second life, is fascinating. However, it is crucial (and Lewis acknowledges this as well) that we maintain the quality of our spiritual life so as to not suffer spiritual death and distance ourselves from God. CS Lewis suggests that we do that by continuing to repent and begin over again each time we stumble. I agree, and would add that this process is most crucial in the upkeep of our attitudes, especially those of true humility and charity. These attitudes, most typical of a disciple of Christ, are easy to lose, and require prayer and real desire to maintain. Still, when these qualities are maintained we can reach the highest throes of spiritual life, and truly live as a branch off the One True Vine.
In Chapter 5 of Book Two, Lewis makes the case (both vaguely and respectfully) for physical birth (conception and delivery) sharing patterns with spiritual birth (baptism, belief and communion). He argues that a proof for something being true is that you never would've guessed it, never could've sorted it out in your own head. In relation to physical birth, he says that he would've "never seen any connection between a particular physical pleasure (sex) and the appearance of a new human being in the world" (61). This is an interesting perspective. In a similar pattern of not being able to guess the causes and effects, Lewis says that the process of 'baptism, belief and communion' equal a spiritual birth that can get you into heaven is similarly odd to him. But, he counters, this is reality (as sex is a reality to conceive a child), and we should take it as it is (61).
Christ argues the case of spiritual vs physical birth to Nicodemus in John 3: 3-7. He tells Nicodemus that it is necessary to "be born again" in order to enter the kingdom of God. He then says that "except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God"(vs 5). So, just as certain things need to happen for a baby to come into this world, we must be baptized and receive the Holy Ghost (a difference from CS Lewis' opinion, unless Communion equals the receiving of the Holy Ghost) before we can enter the new realm of life with Heavenly Father. It does seem interesting to me, however, that Lewis points out that these steps (baptism, 'belief and the Communion') are both necessary and in some way arbitrary. Arbitrary in that we don't understand them at least, or see exactly why the physical practicing of ordinances is necessary to our reconciliation with God.
Alright. I'm exhausted, and that was all way too academic. But it's long enough, right? :P To close with a couple of my feelings, I think this idea of spiritual birth, a rebirth into a second life, is fascinating. However, it is crucial (and Lewis acknowledges this as well) that we maintain the quality of our spiritual life so as to not suffer spiritual death and distance ourselves from God. CS Lewis suggests that we do that by continuing to repent and begin over again each time we stumble. I agree, and would add that this process is most crucial in the upkeep of our attitudes, especially those of true humility and charity. These attitudes, most typical of a disciple of Christ, are easy to lose, and require prayer and real desire to maintain. Still, when these qualities are maintained we can reach the highest throes of spiritual life, and truly live as a branch off the One True Vine.
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