Category Archives: Books

Distortion

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The Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson has a column up on WorldNetDaily on the racism that infects some black churches. His analysis makes a certain amount of sense, and he may well be right that “since the exodus of men, black preachers have retooled their message to play to women’s egos”; certainly, one hears enough of that sort of complaint aimed at the white church. Where the Rev. Peterson goes wrong is in the next paragraph:

Bishop T.D. Jakes, for instance, has built an empire by targeting the emotional needs of women. His popular books include “Loose That Man & Let Him Go” and “The Lady, Her Lover, Her Lord.”

There are two main problems here, which are (predictably) interrelated. The first is that this is a gross oversimplification of Bishop Jakes’ ministry. Rev. Peterson’s statements would lead one to expect that Bishop Jakes has written a flood of books “targeting the emotional needs of women,” when even a cursory look will show the contrary. Second, Rev. Peterson writes so as to imply from context that Loose That Man & Let Him Go! is a book addressed to women encouraging them to dump the men in their lives, when nothing could be farther from the truth. In actual fact, the book is one of a number which Bishop Jakes has addressed to men urging men “to let Jesus take hold of their limitations and bondages and to come forth into the light of all God has planned for them”—a message I remember him preaching at Promise Keepers—and he’s been doing that rather longer than he’s been writing to women; the first of his books addressed to women, Woman, Thou Art Loosed!, wasn’t published until 1994. (Loose That Man & Let Him Go! came out in 1991; the title, incidentally, is addressed not to women but to the Devil.)All of which is to say that the Rev. Peterson appears to have an agenda, which he makes clear in the following paragraph:

Worse, Jakes has empowered women to assume leadership positions within the church, despite clear biblical admonitions against it.

It’s all well and good to speak of “clear biblical admonitions”; those of us who disagree with the Rev. Peterson’s school of interpretation on the role of women in the church don’t see anything of the sort, but it’s as appropriate for him to use such language as it is for me in return to say that his reading of the Bible is shallow, simplistic, and culturally bound. That’s well within the bounds of normal academic rhetoric. What isn’t, and what in fact is flat-out inappropriate, is to prop up his agenda by misrepresenting the facts. Whatever his faults and flaws (and no doubt he has many, just like all the rest of us), Bishop Jakes deserves better than that.

Fantasy, science fiction, and the mysterium tremendum

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I argued yesterday, commenting on an interview with Lois McMaster Bujold, that “fantasy and science fiction, at their highest, appeal to an essentially theological impulse in the human spirit.” This morning I followed a link from that interview to the Mind Meld blog on SFSignal, where they asked a number of science fiction writers to answer the question, “Is science fiction antithetical to religion?” What I found is that, not only did very few answer “yes,” several of them agreed with my thesis.

Gabriel McKee:

Samuel R. Delany wrote, and I agree, that “virtually all the classics of speculative fiction are mystical.” Regardless of the stated beliefs of its authors—who aren’t all atheists, by the way—SF works best as a genre about the Big Questions of being and meaning, and any halfway-satisfying answer to those questions has to have a bit of religious flavor.

Carl Vincent:

Speaking entirely from personal experience, one of the things that science fiction drives me to do over and over again is to step outside and look at the night sky. While doing so I not only dream of space travel and daydream about whatever world I was just reading about, but I also stand in awe of my Creator and the wonder of the universe He created. Science fiction has never been antithetical to my personal religious experience, it has always enhanced it. Science fiction makes me think, makes me question things, and makes me not only evaluate my universe but also makes me evaluate my place in it.

John C. Wright:

Let us be honest. Science fiction is not necessarily about the science. It is about the wonder. Any writer man enough to portray religion as a source of wonder, as Gene Wolfe does, can make it a fit matter for science fiction.

I doubt many of these folks have read Rudolf Otto’s classic book The Idea of the Holy, but they have the clear sense that the best SF, for all its rationalist foundation, has at least a touch of the numinous.Perhaps the most interesting response along these lines came from a chap named Adam Roberts, who contends that “science fiction as a genre has its roots precisely in the religious conflicts of the Reformation.”

I think it’s a complex and evolving discourse still determined by its Protestant roots, a mode of art that is trying to articulate a number of core fascinations essentially religious in nature: questions of transcendence (‘sense of wonder’ as we sometimes call it, or ‘the Sublime’ in the language of literary criticism); atonement and messianism in particular.

He makes a compelling thumbnail argument; I’m going to have to pick up a copy of his book, The Palgrave History of Science Fiction, in which he argues his case at length. If he’s right, then it’s not merely that “fantasy and science fiction . . . appeal to an essentially theological impulse in the human spirit”; rather, going a step further, they arise out of that impulse as an expression of our need for transcendence—which is to say, ultimately, our need for God.

Fantasy, science fiction, and the epic

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Lois McMaster Bujold is one of my favorite fantasy/science-fiction authors, so I was glad to read this interview with her on the blog Fantasy Book Critic (which looks, btw, like a good one for those who enjoy that kind of literature). She’s a sharply perceptive writer who doesn’t simply write conventional “genre fiction,” but who takes full creative advantages of the opportunities of her genres. (For instance, in her fantasy novel The Curse of Chalion, she created what might well be the first truly believable serious theological setup in fantasy since Tolkien.) As such, I was particularly interested in her analysis of genres, an analysis sparked by her experience in writing The Sharing Knife, in which, as she says,

I wanted to see what would happen when I tried to make a romance the central plot of a fantasy novel—and wow was that ever a learning experience, not only about what makes a romance story work, but, more unexpectedly, uncovering many of the hidden springs and assumptions that make fantasy work. It turns out to be a much harder blending that I’d thought, going in—after all, I’d had romantic sub-plots in both my fantasy and my SF books before, and wasn’t it just a matter of shifting the proportions a bit?Well, no, it turns out. The two forms have different focal planes. In a romance in the modern genre sense, which may be described as the story of a courtship from first meeting to final commitment, the focus is personal; nothing in the tale (such as the impending end of the world, ferex) can therefore be presented as more important. . . .Viewing the reader response to the first two volumes of TSK, it has been borne in upon me how intensely political most F&SF plots in fact are. Political and only political activity (of which war/military is a huge sub-set) is regarded as “important” enough to make the protagonists interesting to the readers in these genres. The lyrical plot is rare, and attempts to make the tale about something, anything else—artistic endeavor, for instance—are regularly tried by writers, and as regularly die the grim death in the marketplace. (Granted The Wind in the Willows or The Last Unicorn will live forever, but marginalized as children’s fiction.)I have come to believe that if romances are fantasies of love, and mysteries are fantasies of justice, F&SF are fantasies of political agency. (Of which the stereotypical “male teen power fantasy” is again merely an especially gaudy and visible subset.)

There’s a lot of truth in that, but I don’t think it’s quite right. As regards mysteries, I’ve written somewhere on the idea (which I ran across somewhere else—I’ll have to track that down) that the appeal of mysteries is the restoration of order to chaos; justice is a central component of that (the restoration of moral order), but not all of it by any means. That’s why so many of Agatha Christie’s novels end with two members of the surviving cast heading toward marriage—it’s another dimension of the restoration of order. With science fiction and (especially) fantasy, I think the appeal is the restoration of order to chaos on an epic scale; this scale demands political activity, but to characterize these plots as merely political is to overstate the point, for in fact they often transcend politics. One thinks for example of Guy Gavriel Kay’s The Fionavar Tapestry trilogy or Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, in both of which the aim is nothing less than the destruction of the source of evil in the universe (though the two works construe that source drastically differently); these are nothing less than fantasies of theological agency. Another example would be the great exploration stories of science fiction, such as Arthur C. Clarke’s Rama; I’m not sure how one would label that, but it’s clearly not political in its appeal.Though there are definitely fantasy and science fiction stories which can be accurately described as “fantasies of political agency” (most especially the classic “male teen power fantasy”), I think there’s a broader story here. Fantasy and science fiction tap into the desire for the epic that we see reflected in literature going all the way back to works like The Illiad and The Odyssey, Beowulf and The Tain; it’s the desire for a view of reality that’s big enough to satisfy our sense of ourselves, our sense that “there’s more to life than this.” We want stories that are “larger than life,” by which we really mean we want stories that show us that life is larger than the ordinary routines of the day-to-day; we want the sense that there really is a bigger story out there, if we can just find it. As such, I would argue that fantasy and science fiction, at their highest, appeal to an essentially theological impulse in the human spirit.

The fallacy of diagnosis

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Bill over at The Thinklings has a truly excellent post titled “I’ve Identified the Problem and it’s You”, which I strongly encourage you to read, challenging a tendency he’s seen among Christians to broadly blame pretty much all Christians but themselves for whatever problem they happen to be complaining about. (I would note that in my experience, this sort of approach is equally common among non-Christians.)

What particularly struck me here, and where I think Bill has expressed himself with particular aptness, was his use of the word “identified.” In family systems theory—the application of general systems theory to human relational systems, following the work of Murray Bowen and Edwin Friedman—this is an important word. When the relationships between a group of people are broken—which is to say, when the system is dysfunctional—the system will tend to blame the problem on one person, to say it’s that person’s fault that things aren’t going right. This is a form of scapegoating as a way of offloading responsibility (“There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m fine; you just need to fix him!”), and the person on whom the blame is set is referred to as the “identified patient.” The term used for this is “diagnosis”: someone “diagnoses” the “patient” as having the problem, thereby implicitly asserting that everyone else is just fine.

In counseling, the key in responding to this sort of situation is to recognize that the diagnosis is in fact false, and that the problem rests not in one person (even if that person is the one showing the symptoms) but in the relational system as a whole. That’s not the easiest thing in the world to do, even when you can get all the members of the family or group together in one room; what Bill has identified, though, is considerably harder to address, since it’s so much more diffuse. Indeed, I’m not sure how to address it, except that (obviously) we must begin by naming and identifying the problem, as Bill so ably has. Beyond that, I’m not sure what can be done except to gently, patiently, graciously call people back to grace and humility, and to remind them that they, too, are sinners.

In light of that, I particularly like where Bill ends his post:

It breaks my heart because Christ died for the church, His Bride. And if someone is truly saved, they are part of the Bride and part of our family, even if they don’t measure up to your definition of cool, even if they don’t line up with your cultural tastes or ecclesiology, Even if they say things sometimes that embarass you. Even if they disappoint you. There is a way to go, in grace, to specific people in your family and work out your problems. But what Christ never gave us the option of doing was drawing our own lines in the sand to determine which of his children we’ll call “brother” and which we won’t.

This is an important truth, and something we really need to hear.

Revelation 7 multiculturalism

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One of the more interestingly problematic characters in contemporary SF is John Ringo. As the blogger over at Aliens in This World put it, “John Ringo is an odd bird, even by comparison to the normal oddness of science fiction writers. Ringo can write really really good, bad, and creepily-unwholesome-I-need-a-shower books. Often inside the same cover.” That captures it quite well, I think—particularly the way Ringo so often juxtaposes things I really appreciate with things I really don’t. He has in some ways a very perceptive eye, but a deeply flawed worldview underlying it, which makes him one of the few people I’ve run across (along with Ann Coulter) who can articulate conservative conclusions in such a way as to make me react like a liberal. This all is probably why the only books of Ringo’s I really like are the Prince Roger/Empire of Man series he’s co-writing with David Weber. (IMHO, they fill in each other’s weaknesses quite nicely.)As I say, though, he does have a good eye, and little tolerance for nonsense (he’d use a much more pungent word there, of course, having a rather rough tongue), virtues which are often promiscuously on display in his work—along with his pronounced animus against received pieties of any kind. That animus can color and distort his perception, but at times, it can also inform and strengthen it; when it does, the attacks he unleashes can be devastating.One good example comes from the fifth chapter of his latest project, a novel titled The Last Centurion, in which he takes a swing at multiculturalism. The novel is set in the future, but the examples on which he draws are from this decade, including this one:

Group in one of the most pre-Plague diverse neighborhoods in the U.S. wanted to build a play-area for their kids in the local park. They’d established a “multicultural neighborhood committee” of “the entire rainbow.” . . . There were, indeed, little brown brothers and yellow and black. But . . . Sikhs and Moslems can barely bring themselves to spit on each other much less work side by side singing “Kumbaya.” . . .The Hindus were willing to contribute some suggestions and a little money, but the other Hindus would have to do the work. What other Hindus? Oh, those people. And they would have to hand the money to the kumbaya guys both because handing it to the other Hindus would be defiling and because, of course, it would just disappear. . . .When they actually got to work, finally, there were some little black brothers helping. Then a different group of little black brothers turned out and sat on the sidelines shouting suggestions until the first group left. Then the “help” left as well. Christian animists might soil their hands for a community project but not if they’re getting [flak] from Islamics.

Now, maybe that sounds unfair to you; but if so, check out this piece (among others) by Theodore Dalrymple, based on his extensive experience working as a doctor in one of Britain’s immigrant slums. I won’t cite any of his stories—you can read them yourself; be warned, they aren’t pleasant—but I can tell you the conclusion to which they’ve led him:

Not all cultural values are compatible or can be reconciled by the enunciation of platitudes. The idea that we can all rub along together, without the law having to discriminate in favor of one set of cultural values rather than another, is worse than merely false: it makes no sense whatever.

The problem here is the unexamined assumption that “the intolerance against which [multiculturalism] is supposedly the sovereign remedy is a characteristic only of the host society,” and thus that if those of us who belong to the dominant culture would just set aside our idea of our own superiority, then all the problems would go away. Unfortunately, life isn’t like that. For one thing, this rests on the essentially racist assumption that all “those people who are different from us” are really all alike and thus all on the same side; but it ain’t necessarily so. To be sure, this assumption isn’t only made by white folks. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. assumed that Hispanic immigrants would ally themselves with American blacks, and thus supported loosening immigration laws; Jesse Jackson assumed the same, which is why he proclaimed the “Rainbow Coalition.” As Stephen Malanga writes, though, it hasn’t worked out that way.More seriously, it isn’t only Western culture that is plagued by intolerance, hatred, violence, and other forms of human evil; other cultures have their own problems, too. As Dalrymple writes, “many aspects of the cultures which they are trying to preserve are incompatible not only with the mores of a liberal democracy but with its juridical and philosophical foundations. No amount of hand-wringing or euphemism can alter this fact.” Nor will any number of appeals to the better angels of our nature; human sin is a cross-cultural reality.Does this mean multiculturalism is hopeless? No, but it means it cannot be accomplished politically. If the divisions between people, and between groups of people, are to be healed, there must be another way; and by the grace of God, there is. It’s the way incarnated in the ministry of the Church of All Nations, a Presbyterian Church (USA) congregation in Minneapolis which is founded and pastored by the Rev. Jin S. Kim. It’s the way that says that our divisions cannot be erased by human effort, but only by the work of the Spirit of God—and that we as Christians have to be committed to giving ourselves to that work. We can’t make it happen, but we need to do our part to be open to God making it happen. This is the vision God has given us to live toward:“After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number,
from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages,
standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes,
with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice,
‘Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!’
And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders
and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne
and worshiped God, saying, ‘Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving
and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.’”—Revelation 7:9-12 (ESV)

A children’s Bible for grownups, too

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“No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally (and often far more) worth reading at the age of fifty—except, of course, books of information.
The only imaginative works we ought to grow out of
are those which it would have been better not to have read at all.”—C.S. LewisGiven that, one would hope that children’s Bibles would be books worth reading at the age of fifty; one would hope they would be a joy to read to our children. Unfortunately, however (at least from my experience), that isn’t often the case. It’s too bad, because our older two really enjoy the one we kept; it isn’t great, but it’s good enough. Still, you always want something better for your kids—and now, I think we may have found it. Ben Patterson, who was something of a mentor of mine during his time as Dean of the Chapel at Hope College, and whose judgment I trust implicitly, has a thoroughly positive review up on the Christianity Today website of The Jesus Storybook Bible: Every Story Whispers His Name; Sara and I got halfway through it and decided we want a copy. It’s not just the review itself, either, because there’s a link to The Jesus Storybook Bible‘s version of Genesis 3, which I think validates Ben’s glowing comments. Of all the things for which he praises this book, I think the most important is that it “manages to show again and again the presence of Christ in all the Old Testament Scriptures, and the presence of the Old Testament Scriptures in the life of Christ.” That’s something too many adults don’t see—perhaps, in part, because they never learned it from their children’s Bibles.

C. S. Lewis and the untameable God

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This month’s mailing for the InterVarsity Press Book Club arrived with two familiar names on the cover: the featured Main Selection this month (there’s another one as well) is Is Your Lord Large Enough?: How C. S. Lewis Expands Our View of God, by Dr. Peter Schakel. Lewis’ name, of course, is familiar to many; Dr. Schakel’s name is less so, but in the world of C. S. Lewis scholarship, he’s an important contributor. Walter Hooper, in a blurb on this book, calls him “the wisest and humblest of C. S. Lewis’s commentators,” and I think that’s a fair assessment. Of course, I’m biased in this matter. I majored in English at Hope College, where Dr. Schakel is Cook Professor of English (and chaired the department during my time there), and in addition had him as my Sunday school teacher for a while; in that time, I came to have a very high opinion of him, both as a professor and as a godly man, and to hold him in great affection and esteem. That said, I think my opinion is accurate; I’ve valued other things he’s written (a list which includes Imagination and the Arts in C. S. Lewis: Journeying to Narnia and Other Worlds, Reason and Imagination in C. S. Lewis: A Study of Till We Have Faces, The Way into Narnia: A Reader’s Guide, and, among other textbooks, Approaching Poetry: Perspectives and Responses, co-written with Jack Ridl), and I look forward to reading this one. It’s certainly a worthwhile topic; most of us have the tendency to let our view of God shrink, and there are few people better than C. S. Lewis to help us correct that tendency.

Testing, testing, 123 . . .

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Thanks, Erin. 🙂

Herewith, the rules:
Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. (No cheating!)
Find Page 123.
Find the first 5 sentences.
Post the next 3 sentences.
Tag 5 people.

My wife happened to be walking up to me with a book just as I caught the tag, so the book is Camp’s Unfamiliar Quotations from 2000 B. C. to the Present (which should be a fruitful source for this sort of thing).

(Our topic is “Greed,” btw; the book is arranged thematically.)

“Yuppies’ creed: ‘I want it all and I want it now.'”

—Russell Baker, New York Times, February 6, 1988

“I think the enemy is here before us. . . . I think the enemy is simple selfishness and compulsive greed. . . . I think he stole our earth from us, destroyed our wealth, and ravaged and despoiled our land.”

—Thomas Wolfe, You Can‘t Go Home Again, 1949

Weird meme. 🙂 So, tags:

Sara
Wayne
Ruth
Doug
Bill