Hieropraxis

Cousin and Stranger Languages

2013-05-10T00:20:15Z

[This post originally appeared on Kelly Belmonte's excellent blog All Nine Muses.]

Is there a connection between land and identity, between one’s family roots and one’s sense of the right ‘fit’ with language? I think there may be. Genesis says that God made Adam from the dust of the earth; perhaps we are made so that we will have a deep connection with the earth from which we were made, in a local and specific way.

In my last post for All Nine, I reflected on three English translations of a Chinese poem. Since I don’t speak Chinese, I could only compare the translations. This time at All Nine, though, the poem at hand, “Appeal to the Lonely One” by Rosario Juanita Castellanos is in Spanish… and since I speak Spanish, I decided to take a look at the original as well as the translation.

Though I read and speak Spanish fluently, it has always felt slightly alien to me. In recent years I’ve come to see a possible reason why. My father is a bit of a genealogy buff, and he’s tracked down both sides of the family, some as far back as the early 1600s. I’m one-quarter Finnish (my grandmother on my father’s side was the daughter of Finnish immigrants, and was named Ina Karvonen), with the rest being English and a little bit Irish. What’s more, the English roots of my family come mainly from the south of England.

In my own poetry, I have found that by intuition as well as by conscious choice, I draw most of all on words that have Anglo-Saxon (Old English) roots. It feels right to me, as a poet. These are the words that my ancestors spoke; they are in my blood too. Spanish is the language of the far-away south. An Old English poem in translation is a cousin; a modern Spanish poem in translation is a visiting stranger.

And so, as an experiment in the ‘feel’ of language, I did my own translation of “Appeal to the Lonely,” choosing only words that had Anglo-Saxon origins. (I double-checked them with the fascinating and useful Online Etymology Dictionary. Interestingly, almost all my first choices of words were Anglo-Saxon!) I also had a little fun with injecting some Anglo-Saxon stylistic elements into the translation.

Listen, You Who Are Alone

We need, at times, to seek out friends.

Friend, one cannot either be born, or come to one’s end,
if not with another. It is good
that friendship strips
the gloom of guilt from work,
that it makes gladness not stolen,
but free.

How can you be all alone when,
at the fullness of time, all things speak at length with you,
and then the morn-star rises?

Here is the translation that we looked at, for All Nine:

At times it suits us to find friendship.

Friend, it is not possible to be born,
or die, without the other. It is well
that friendship removes from work
that feel of punishment, and from joy
the illicit airs of thievery.

How can you be alone at the total hour,
in which the things and you talk
and talk, till dawn?

Here is the Spanish original:

Es necesario, a veces, encontrar compañía.

Amigo, no es posible ni nacer ni morir
sino con otro. Es bueno
que la amistad le quite
al trabajo esa cara de castigo
y a la alegría ese aire ilícito de robo.

¿Cómo podrás estar solo a la hora
completa, en que las cosas y tú hablan y hablan,
hasta el amanecer?

Lee todo en: Apelación al solitario – Poemas de Rosario Castellanos

***

Dr. Holly Ordway is a poet, academic, and Christian apologist. She is the chair of the Department of Apologetics and director of the MA in Cultural Apologetics at Houston Baptist University, and the author of Not God’s Type: A Rational Academic Finds a Radical Faith. Her work focuses on imaginative and literary apologetics, with special attention to C.S. Lewis and Charles Williams.

Miscellany 47: Readers Past and Future

2013-05-18T10:48:38Z

Writing is a technology, and books (both print books and e-books) are technological devices, and the technology shapes how we interact with the information content included in the books. In this Miscellany, I want to take a look at book-use, past and future.

First, let me call attention to two interesting pieces from the Medievalfragments blog: make sure to visit the site to see the wonderful photographs that accompany these pieces:

Here is a piece about the discovery of a ‘hidden archive’ of tiny slips of paper, re-used in the binding of a book:

What is so striking about the paper slips is that they tell us everyday things that we normally rarely hear about in historical sources. Take the note from 4 December 1461 sent to a chamberlain by a steward, asking “Could you please send me 6 guilders, because we need it?” It concerns internal mail from within the unknown household, likely delivered by a servant: the back reveals a fold and the designation “chamberlain”. We can almost hear him dash through the house, note in hand. A number of slips are receipts from payments: for work done by a carpenter, for the purchase of wheat for the horses of guests, and alike. Messages like these bring us as close to real medieval society as you can get. They are the medieval voices we normally don’t hear, that tell the story of what happened “on the ground”.

And here is a piece on the great medieval chained libraries. I’ve too-often seen the image of ‘chained books’ used as ammunition against the medieval Church: that somehow this indicated an effort to suppress literacy. Far from it, as this article aptly points out:

During the later middle ages, more and more people were interested in reading, and chained libraries provided an excellent resource for those who could not afford to purchase books themselves. The system of locking the books to the room, thus allowed the public free access to read, while at the same time safe-guarding the library’s valuable collection from potential thieves.

It’s important to keep in mind that each and every book in these libraries was copied by hand and was incredibly valuable – for the materials that went into producing it, and for the hours of human labor that went into copying the text. Chaining the books was good stewardship.

Today, books are both ubiquitous and inexpensive; this affects our sense of the value of books, of literacy, and of education. When I teach medieval literature to undergraduates, I always spend a good chunk of lecture time explaining the cultural context of early English literacy – how it was brought by Christian monks, and shaken by the disruption caused by Viking raids – and the production of manuscripts. My students come away from the course with a somewhat different perspective on the value of literacy — seeing how fragile it can be, and how important, and how we may take it for granted that we have access to as much information as we want, when we want it, and yet too often don’t pay attention to the information we consume.

As we think about books, and in particular about the shift from print-books-only to a culture in which e-books (and other forms of online reading) are increasingly common, we should think also about how that shift will change our habits and our culture. It is not a question of whether or culture will change – only of how it will change, and how we will respond to those changes.

Here is a thoughtful opinion piece from The Guardian reflecting on the way that ebooks are different from print books. The author of this piece brings up an idea that I had previously not considered – but that is quite significant:

“There are two aspects to the ebook that seem to me profoundly to alter the relationship between the reader and the text. With the book, the reader’s relationship to the text is private, and the book is continuous over space, time and reader. Neither of these propositions is necessarily the case with the ebook.”

Ebooks can be altered, edited, revised, such that there is not necessarily a standard text ‘out there’ for people to be reading. Ebook-content could be tweaked based on the purchasing or reading habits of buyers; it could be revised based on feedback (or objections) from the public — and invisibly so. And so we have an interesting observation from the author of this piece:

“The book, seen this way, is a radically egalitarian proposition compared to the ebook. The book treats every reader the same way. It manages to balance the solipsism of reception and interpretation with a communal, agreed space in which those interpretations can be discussed.”

How will the e-book change the communal space of literary discussion?

***

Dr. Holly Ordway is a poet, academic, and Christian apologist. She is the chair of the Department of Apologetics and director of the MA in Cultural Apologetics at Houston Baptist University. Her work focuses on imaginative and literary apologetics, with special attention to C.S. Lewis and Charles Williams.

God in the Details: Luke, Apologetics, and Spiritual Formation

2013-05-17T14:20:18Z

Recently, I had the privilege of speaking at a small neighborhood church. My text was from Luke’s gospel, the 15th chapter. The trick for anyone who wants to tackle an entire chapter in 30 minutes (it took me forty), is in deciding what points deserve our attention and which ones are better left for another conversation. After the sermon ended, I was approached by a friend of mine, a young man in his early 20′s. He asked me what should he do with the message he had just heard. What a simple, yet deep question. How can three brief, but familiar stories, told by Jesus serve as an invitation to reexamine our understanding of the biblical text? How should ancient parables be put into practice here and now? In the past, I’ve dedicated a series of posts to Hieropraxis on the theme, “God in the Details.” This chapter in Luke’s biography of Jesus is worth a closer look. Before we get to the details of the text, I’d like to preface this series with a few thoughts regarding the intersection of study, spiritual formation and apologetics in the life of the individual.

Any investigation worth pursuing should have a goal in mind. Think of Acts 8, when the eunuch tells Philip, “How can I understand what I’m reading, unless someone tells me?” Like Philip, my desire is help answer any questions that a given text might raise for a curious mind. I have benefited many times when others have taken the time to explain concepts, ideas and themes otherwise outside of my own understanding. It is always with a profound sense of humility that I share anything. I’m convinced that most everything that should be said already has been in some way, shape or form. When the Hebrew king Solomon wrote that there was nothing new under the sun, I’ve taken that to include the realm of ideas as well. Much of my own thinking has been shaped by answers to ancient questions articulated by brighter minds and more mature insights than my own, My gratitude towards those who willingly offer their life’s work for the benefit of others can, at times, give me to pause to ask if I should say anything at all. Then again, by not sharing what I’ve learned, even if they are simply ‘crumbs from the table,’ I run the risk of becoming incapable of expressing any gratitude at all. An honest investigation into spiritual truths can provide the possibility of satisfying answers, lead to other meaningful questions, and cultivate a sense of wonder as one’s intellectual and spiritual muscles are developed. My investigation into the three stories in Luke 15 have done just that.

As someone who enjoys seeing the world through the lenses of philosophy and apologetics, I’m often reminded that those disciplines should be informed by a robust understanding of the narrative that is found within scripture. It is all too easy to treat individuals like ideas, assuming that all they believe can be summarized by neat and tidy technologies. It makes it convenient to dehumanize those with whom I may see the world differently. It can breed a from of nihilism that allows me to keep others at arms length precisely because I see them less than human. To put it another way, within the field of philosophy and apologetics, there are expressions that are more in line with my convictions, beliefs and preferences. To be sure, I think they are true. What generally happens however, is that I begin to construct narratives where anyone who holds to a different perspective is seen as an enemy. I view them in light of their ideas as opposed to seeing them as individuals, bearing the Imago Dei, who are invited to live in the same grace I am.

In some cases, due to secondary and tertiary matters that can be idolatrously elevated, I can come to detest those who share the same commitment to the Christian life that I do. Instead of compassion, I have anger, Instead of hope, despair. If I am being honest, I’m guilty of falling short of Paul’s admonition to love above all else. Too often, my apologetic and philosophical ramblings can come across like a spoiled toddler, upset because I’m not getting my way. What’s worse, I won’t relent in voicing my perceived slight until I feel pacified. It is easy to opt for wallowing in pity instead of fulfilling the call and work as an ambassador of a real and thriving Kingdom.

The trap for the Christian apologist is that by becoming so committed to the things we are passionate about defending, (politics, science, culture, theology) we can neglect our own spiritual development. That can have a disastrous impact in our pursuit of truth and distort our understanding of biblical wisdom. Please understand, I don’t pretend to offer myself as one who has attained all of this. However, as I’m confronted with the teachings of Jesus as found within the pages of the New Testament, I’m challenged to reassess my own assumptions and adjust my views accordingly. My academic and apologetic pursuits should reflect the doctrine of God that we find revealed in Jesus Christ. A doctrine of God, made tangible by the incarnation, in my opinion, is the greatest contribution of Christianity to the world.

As I have been invited to live within Luke’s text over the last few months, my thoughts concerning my friend’s question, “What do I do with this?” coupled with my own desire to faithfully embody a gospel infused expression of my interests, namely philosophy and apologetics have all been forever shaped by the following: Pharisees, sinners, tax collectors, 100 sheep, 1 lost, 99 out in the wilderness, a good shepherd, a woman in a house, 10 coins, one of which is lost in the cracks, a loving father, two sons and incredible parties. Lest we forget the main character through it all, the storyteller himself. Join me on a journey through Luke 15. Wherever this series finds you on your spiritual sojourning, of this I’m confident: it’s never to late to begin to rethink things anew. We are all invited to a celebratory banquet, given in love by a gracious host who reconciles each of us to one another and more importantly, to himself. This is the theme is evident time and again, as we look for God in the details.

***

Mario Alejandre lives in Salt Lake City, UT. He holds a bachelor’s degree in philosophy from the University of Utah and an M.A. in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Currently, he leads a weekly class called Christianity Explored, a look at what it means to be a human in the midst of God’s story. You can follow him on twitter at @u2gospel.

Red Booth Notes: Remembering William Cowper

2013-04-27T14:01:56Z

One day in 1739, a troubled and lonely boy discovered the truth of the oft-repeated belief that God is ever near to us. It was, for this young boy, an intimation of grace.

Most people know William Cowper today as the poet who penned the lines: “God moves in a mysterious way/His wonders to perform.” Still others remember him as the friend of John Newton, the author of Amazing Grace, or as the author of the children’s poem “The Diverting History of John Gilpin,” famously illustrated by Randolph Caldecott, for whom the Caldecott Medal is named.

But in 1739, all of this lay in the distant future. Yet it was at this time that this sensitive and gifted child was to experience for himself a promise imparted in scripture: “Thy word is lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”

The world of eight-year-old William Cowper had been touched by great sadness. Two years before, his mother Anne had died shortly after giving birth to his youngest brother. There were seven children born to the Rev. John Cowper and his wife; but tragically, only William and his newborn brother, also named John, would survive childhood. William’s family had known the loss of his mother, three brothers and two sisters.

It wasn’t long after his mother’s death that William was sent away to boarding school. This might at first seem heartless and cruel, but the school at Market Street was only seven miles from the family home in Berkhamsted, England. John Cowper was in close proximity to his son as his formal education commenced.

Yet the Market Street School proved to be anything but what John Cowper had intended for his son—a good school environment close to home. Worse still, the trying experiences William was to know there were for a long time unknown to all but William himself.

Soon after his arrival in 1737, six-year-old William was “singled out from all the other boys by a lad about fifteen years of age as the proper object upon whom he might let loose the cruelty of his temper….he made it his business continually to persecute me….his savage treatment of me, impressed such a dread of his figure upon my mind, that I well remember being afraid to lift up my eyes upon him, higher than his knees…I knew him by his shoe-buckles better than any other part of his dress.”

We don’t know for how long a period William was tormented by this older boy, but it appears to have gone on for an extended period of time. We do not know the precise nature of the abuse Cowper endured. It was verbal in nature to be sure, and from what we know of common hazing practices of the time, it was physical abuse as well—probably taking the form of frequent and unpredictable beatings.

What made things so unbearable was that the cruelty to which he was subjected was done in “so secret a manner that no creature suspected it.” One can understand the fear of an eight-year-old of further torment should he have gone to the headmaster with his story. The older boy might have been punished, but then he might also have taken things out on William afterwards.

But it was here, at a point of great extremity, that young William learned in an unmistakable way that God is ever near to us.

One day he was sitting alone on a bench, troubled by his sufferings. On a sudden, with the gentle assurance of a whisper, a verse of Scripture came into his mind—“I will not be afraid of what man can do unto me” (Psalm 56:11).

Inexplicably, peace began to wash over him. There was, William remembered, a lifting of his spirits such as he had never experienced before. Many years later, he said this moment was the first religious impression upon his mind that he had ever known. It was an intimation of grace, and the memory of it never left him.

Shortly thereafter, William’s tormentor was discovered and expelled from the school. A wrong was put right, and a burden was lifted.

William himself was also soon removed from the school when he developed an eye ailment that required special treatment. After about two years in the care of his doctor, Mr. Disney, and his wife (also an able “oculist,” as they were then called), ten-year-old William returned home to his father.

From the perspective of history, this trying series of circumstances proved a turning point for William. Had he remained in the Market Street School, his life would have been very different what it became. The verse from Psalm 56 that had come into his mind had proven a herald of better days.

Now home with his father, William was “brought up,” as it was said by one biographer, “in an atmosphere of poetry.” His father was a fine writer of poetic ballads, and William, as was also said, “caught the contagion.” In time, he became one of the great poets of the 18th century.

He also began to know something, once more, of joy. He and his cousins, who lived in nearby Norfolk, “romped together in the rectory garden at Berkhamsted; or at Catfield among the Norfolk Broads,” the residence of his uncle, the Rev. Roger Donne.

During these holidays, he grew close to his cousins Harriet, Ann, Elizabeth and their brother, Castres. William now forged happy memories, which he fondly recalled throughout his life. Of Harriet he said: “She and I have been many a time merry at Catfield, and have made the parsonage ring with laughter.” Then there was Ann, whom he called Rose, “that used to sit smiling on my knee.” Smiles and laughter—so often longed for—for so long beyond his grasp.

Rose in time became Mrs. Bodham. Some years further into the future, when William was in his mid-fifties, Rose returned the kindness and love she and William had shared as children. Upon finding a picture of William’s mother, she sent it to him.

This act of kindness resulted in what Thomas Wright called “one of the most touching elegies in the language,” Cowper’s poem “On the Receipt of my Mother’s Picture out of Norfolk.”

Writing to Rose, William said: “I received it the night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits somewhat akin to what I should have felt had the dear original presented herself to my embraces. I kissed it, and hung it were it is the last object that I see at night, and of course the first on which I open my eyes in the morning.”

William Cowper’s life, before and after this time, was one marked by great sorrow. But his was also a life that knew the touch of grace. He wrote of this in another poem “Song of Mercy and Judgment,” part of which reads:

‘I,’ He said, ‘have seen thee grieving,

Lov’d thee as I passed thee by,

Be not faithless, but believing,

Look and live, and never die.’

Since that hour, in hope of glory,

With Thy followers I am found,

And relate the wondrous story

To Thy listening saints around.

Sweet the sound of grace divine,

Sweet the grace which makes me Thine.

William Cowper (19th century engraving)

How grace interweaves itself in the tapestry of our lives is something we often cannot see save for the passing of years and the perspective they bring. We can never see all of the threads and their purposes fully—only God can.

But what Cowper knew as an older man was this: he had begun to pass through a time of profound sadness to something better when he heard a still, small voice. Down through the ages, others have heard such a voice in similar circumstances—one thinks of the young Augustine—to cite but one other example.

Cowper was to return to and reflect upon the outworkings of grace in his life or the lives of God’s people again and again. Perhaps his best thoughts about it all found expression in four lines from his hymn, The Light Shining Out of Darkness:

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy and shall break

In blessings on your head.

***

An award-winning writer and literary historian, Kevin Belmonte is the author of Defiant Joy: The Remarkable Life & Impact of G.K. Chesterton (Thomas Nelson/HarperCollins, 2011).

Practicing Bravery

2013-05-09T15:05:22Z

I am never at a loss for a blank page. Lovely people give me those pretty cloth-covered blank notebooks for birthdays, Christmas, “just because” occasions. I buy stacks of spiral ring notebooks from Staples whenever they have their 2 cent sales. And there is always the back of envelopes the bills come in.

But lately, I write mostly without paper, on my laptop. Practically, it’s just quicker. I know eventually I will want to do something with many of my written words – whether it’s a blog or a book, a poem or a white paper – so it’s easier to have them already in a form that translates.

There is also something about these e-bits that feels more secure. I can tuck away my wildest ramblings to make sane later, or maybe never, without feeling exposed prematurely. Putting it on paper with ink makes it more real, since it’s in the physical world already. Left in some obscure folder on my hard drive, my nascent words have a chance to develop and mature before putting them out there to endure the slings and arrows of a cold, cruel world.

Also, in this safe obscurity, my words do not have to absorb the worry of overly concerned loved ones who are too partial to my happiness and sanity to welcome notions that may betray anything short of those ideals. Given the right safe space, my words are allowed to be a bit odd, off, even dangerous. They can explore the far reaches and dark folds of my imagination. And they can stay there, in that safe place of e-bits, if they’re not ready for familiar exposure.

This fear of upsetting those who care, those who are most close and most invested in my happiness, is in fact more damaging to my creative process than any imagined punishments an anonymous enemy can dish out. Opposition is clarifying. Well-intentioned but misplaced concern is confusing.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a fan of the tell-all tale (vaguely disguised or obviously autobiographical) that leaves a trail of bloodied and bruised casualties. There is a balance between raw expression and a writer’s responsibility not to cry “fire” in a packed movie theater (unless of course the building is on fire…).

But there is a way to tap into raw emotion and delve into the stranger crevices of gray matter that does in fact do more good than harm. It is risky but it is the best kind of risk, the kind of risk associated with pioneers and people who run into burning buildings to save lives. It is called creativity. It is called bravery. And it must be encouraged and practiced.

This is why young people need positive adults in their lives, adults besides their partial parents, more objective mentors who can encourage healthy risk behaviors. In the youth development field, we often talk about “at-risk” youth and the need to reduce “risky behavior.” But risk in and of itself is not a bad thing. It is what keeps individuals, organizations, and society growing, creating, adapting, and innovating. The trick is turning negative risk situations into positive risk opportunities. It’s providing chances to witness and act out bravery.

Young people, just like writers, need a thoughtful yet disinterested other to hear them out, to listen to their ideas – even the dangerous ones – and put away the emotional bubble wrap. As a writer, I tap into the child that was/is me on a daily basis. It’s why I continue to need something that for me looks like a mentor: a safe place to say dangerous things. It’s where I practice being brave.

***

Kelly Belmonte is a published poet, blogger (http://allninemuses.wordpress.com), and management consultant with expertise in non-profit organizational development and youth mentoring. She currently serves on the board of directors for Exeter Fine Crafts in Exeter, New Hampshire. Her published book of poetry, Three Ways of Searching, will be available in Spring 2013 through Finishing Line Press.

The Problem of Evil: The External Problem

2013-04-06T04:25:56Z

Part 5 of a 5 part series on the problem of evil. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4.

External (or evidential) Problem of Evil

Another argument based on the perception of conflict between God and evil is external problem of evil. It is also referred to as the evidential problem of evil. Before discussing the argument and a response to it, we should camp for a moment on the word “external.” This is important because this argument does not rely on Christian doctrines or distortions of doctrines. It is “external” in that it relies on evidence that is available to everyone. What kind of evidence? I suppose I would have to say our common experience with and perception of “evil.” It is almost universally accepted that there is evil in the world.[1]

This argument is much simpler than the logical version, there are only two premises followed by a conclusion.

(1) If there is unjustified (or gratuitous) evil, God does not exist.

(2) There probably is gratuitous evil.

(3) God probably does not exist.

In addition to being simpler, this argument makes a more modest claim. While deductive in form, the premises and conclusion use the word “probably.” This argument does not demonstrate that the existence of God and evil is a contradiction, rather it appeals to a particular kind of evil as a source of doubt regarding God’s existence. Another unique element of this argument is that it is not about evil in general; rather it rests on the claim that gratuitous evil exists.

Greg Ganssle’s analysis of this argument is very insightful. He suggests an argument for the truth of premise (2) that is instructive.

“It seems as though there is no reason sufficient that would justify God in allowing the evil in question.

Therefore, it is probably true that there is no reason sufficient that would justify God in allowing the evil in question.”[2]

If these two premises are true, then it follows that whatever evil is in view is unjustified. Premise (2) is therefore true. However we need to take a close look at the inference being made to support this premise. (The following is a summary of the analysis offered by Ganssle.)[3]

Consider two inferential arguments similar to the one cited above.

(1) It seems as if there are no live elephants in the room.

(2) Therefore, there are no elephants in the room.

(1) It seems as if there are no carbon-14[4] atoms in the room.

(2) Therefore, there are no carbon-14 atoms in the room.

The first argument seems fairly obvious. Unless you are experimenting with psychoactive substances, you should be able to agree with the first statement and thus agree with the conclusion. The second argument is quite different. The means we might use to detect a “live elephant” are different from the means available to most people to detect the presence of carbon-14.

Applying these examples to premise (2) above with some sort of random or seemingly pointless evil event in mind, we must ask if God’s justification is more likely to be obvious (like an elephant) or mysterious (like a carbon-14 atom). Ganssle argues that we should not expect to understand God’s justification for every kind of evil.

“Since God’s knowledge and wisdom are so far beyond ours, it is eminently reasonable to suppose that he will have reasons for allowing evils in our lives that we cannot grasp. We can figure out plausible reasons for most cases of evil. There will still be some evil events the reason for which we cannot discern. This is exactly what we should expect if God exists. It cannot be counted as evidence against God. So even though it might seem, at first glance, that there are no good reasons to allow certain evils we see, this does not provide strong evidence that these evils are really unjustified.”[5]

Since we have a reasonable argument to reject the existence of gratuitous evil, premise (2) is false, and the argument is not valid.

Postscript

This topic is near the top of many lists as being the most difficult for Christians to answer. I believe the difficulty is not caused by the intellectual aspects but rather not understanding the difference between an intellectual objection and an emotional/experiential one. In addition to understanding the experiential context of the person raising this objection, it is extremely important to understand their worldview context. For the atheist/materialist who brings up this objection, the intellectual arguments presented in this series are irrelevant. Don’t be shocked by that statement. In the materialist worldview, what is labeled “evil” is nothing more than a personal or socio-cultural preference. Calling something “evil” is tantamount to saying, “I don’t like that” or “my culture discourages that.” The materialist, by definition of their worldview, cannot appeal to any transcendent standard of right and wrong. However they choose to explain moral intuitions, they will ultimately have to fall back to something that is relative. As thinking Christians, it is our responsibility to hold them accountable to the consequences of their worldview. All the while, we should try to appeal to what the image of God is telling them. Something is dreadfully wrong. On that we can all agree. If we can agree on the reality of the problem, we are one step closer to sharing the solution, Jesus.

[1] It is also true that for any action or state of affairs, you could find wide disagreement as to whether or not that action or situation is “evil.” I believe there is a tremendous tension in that statement. How is it possible for everyone to agree that evil exists yet have such a hard time agreeing on what things are actually evil. Perhaps in another post or a book I have yet to read, there is an answer. I simply contend the problem is not in our perception of evil; rather it is our unwillingness to confront it in ourselves.

[2] Ganssle, Thinking About God, 144.

[3] Ibid., 145–147.

[4] Carbon-14 is an isotope of Carbon that is used for radiometric dating. An extremely tiny amount of the carbon on earth is carbon-14.

[5] Ganssle, Thinking About God, 147–148.

***

Ken Mann is a graduate student in Biola’s Science and Religion program. Ken is a software engineer by way of vocation, a physicist by way of education, and a devout follower of Jesus Christ, in his words, by necessity. Ken is the Chapter Director of Ratio Christi at the University of Colorado, Boulder.

The Responsibility of the Christian Writer

2013-04-05T16:04:10Z

As an apologist and academic who works in the field of imaginative and literary apologetics, and as a working poet, I often think about what it means to be a Christian writer. I believe it’s a serious vocation; writing is a gift and a calling, and it can be a form of ministry — but often not in quite the way that Christians think. My musings on the subject have led me to think that the Christian writer has a threefold responsibility.

First, the Christian writer is called to live so fully in right relationship with the true and living God, the most holy Trinity, that inviting a reader to share the writer’s perspective will mean sharing (in some way) in that living relationship,

Second, the Christian writer is called to trust fully in the power of the Holy Spirit: that God can, does, and will work through literature to reach the hearts and minds of readers. Writing that is aggressive in presenting explicit apologetic argument or doctrinal concepts is often writing that lacks a confident faith in the power of the Spirit. Remember that it was through the pagan Norse myths that God first began to call C.S. Lewis to Him, and that Lewis was at a deep level oriented toward God by the fantasy novel Phantastes, which, although written by a devout Christian, lacks any overt Christian or even theistic elements whatsoever. Readers can, and do, recognize Christian truth that’s presented subtly; they can be nourished, challenged, and drawn deeper by stories and poetry that have a gleam of truth, that awaken longing, that hint at the mysteries of our faith. Explanation is not always necessary; sometimes exploration is best.

Third, on the basis of that deep trust, the Christian writer is called to write to the glory of God, creating beauty and seeking to express truth at a deep level, so that the work becomes a locus of potential encounter with the living God not through any explicit maneuverings on the author’s part, but through pointing to the truth that is at the core of all truths: the one true and living God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

As apologists, evangelists, teachers, preachers, and pastors, we can make literature an important part of our ministry work. By celebrating art and literature, as well as reason and arguments, we honor the God who is both Truth and Beauty. By offering multiple ways to approach and encounter the living God, we respect the uniqueness of each human being made in God’s image.

What the writer leaves implicit, teachers, parents, and apologists can tease out and make explicit in response to questions. When the poet helps the reader recover clear vision, we can show how to live in the light of the insights gained. And when the storyteller creates a longing for more than this world can offer, we can point toward the One who alone can satisfy all longing.

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Miscellany 46: Sex: The Bad, the Good, and the WEIRD

2013-05-06T01:43:41Z

What is sex for? In all seriousness, that’s a central question for our culture. Is it just is a recreational activity that also just happens to be useful for making children if and when we want them? (The only difference between the secular and the Christian view, much of the time, is that Christians view sex as a recreational activity only for the married.)

No. It’s more than that – and I think that many of the problems in our culture come from the attempt to take some aspect of sexuality and ‘enjoy’ it out of context, unmoored from marriage… and from children.

The bad.

Consider, for instance, pornography: the attempt to isolate sexual stimulation from human relationship entirely (let alone a marriage!). This intriguing short article on “Japan’s love affair with pornography” notes that “porn-saturated Japan has a notoriously low-level of sexual activity, even among married couples. And in recent years young people are also losing interest in sex. This is a country where pornography is everywhere and available to children. Could there be a connection?”

At the risk of sounding old-fashioned (that worst of contemporary sins!) let me be clear: pornography is degrading and its use is sinful.

The (seeming) good.

Even what seems good to the secular world has its problems. Contraception breaks the natural connection between sexual activity and childbearing; marriage has become primarily about emotional satisfaction — and increasingly, so has childbearing. The Wall Street Journal notes that America is experiencing a “Baby Bust.” Sharply declining fertility rates, well below replacement level, means that serious economic and social problems lie ahead. What happened? A number of cultural changes, but most important was that, in the author’s words, “the combination of the birth-control pill and the rise of cohabitation broke the iron triangle linking sex, marriage and childbearing.”

(As a side note: I find it interesting that the author of the article uses the technological, instrumental metaphor of an “iron triangle” to describe the way that the union of a man and woman in marriage will naturally bring forth children – unless their natural fertility is interfered with through technological means! A little backwards…)

How, then, can people be encouraged to have more children? Tax incentives? Better benefits? But “France… hasn’t been able to stay at the replacement rate, even with all its day-care spending.”

The WSJ author eventually comes up with a few suggestions for avoiding “demographic disaster”: reform of Social Security, and ideas to reduce housing costs and college costs, but the real insight is tucked into the middle of the article:

“There have been lots of changes in American life over the last 40 years that have nudged our fertility rate downward. High on the list is the idea that “happiness” is the lodestar of a life well-lived. If we’re going to reverse this decline, we’ll need to reintroduce into American culture the notion that human flourishing ranges wider and deeper than calculations of mere happiness.”

Indeed.

But if sex can be compartmentalized and consumed as a product or relational experience — as porn, the hook-up culture, and contraception allow it to be — then it’s no surprise that children are viewed as a lifestyle accessory, to be had if, and when, and in the quantity desired.

And the WEIRD.

Now consider this interesting article from The Atlantic, titled “Where Masturbation and Homosexuality Do Not Exist.” Toward the end of the article, the author notes that research findings about human sexuality (and other aspects of human nature) may very well be skewed by the WEIRD nature of the populations from which the studies drew their samples: “Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, and Democratic” societies. For the WEIRD today, sex is fundamentally recreational, hedged off from fertility by contraceptive technology and decoupled from marriage by the rapid change in sexual norms of the last fifty years.

But the WEIRD are not the only people in the world. The article gives an overview of the work of anthropologists Barry and Bonnie Hewlett, who studied the Aka and Ngandu people of central Africa, and made some very interesting discoveries. “Married Aka and Ngandu men and women consistently reported having sex multiple times in a single night. But in the process of verifying this, the Hewletts also incidentally found that homosexuality and masturbation appeared to be foreign to both groups.”

What’s more, “while the individuals the Hewletts interviewed… made it clear that sex is pleasurable for these folks, and something that brings couples closer, they also made clear that babies are the goal of sex. Said one Aka woman, “It is fun to have sex, but it is to look for a child.””

That’s an important point, and one that’s often missed in discussions about contraception, marriage, and children. The deep connection between sex and childbearing doesn’t make sex less fun. It makes it more important; it gives the proper context, from which all the other benefits can spring naturally and rightly.

It’s worth thinking about.

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From JK Rowling to Live Poetry Critique: The City Podcast 6

2013-05-03T16:42:14Z

Three interesting podcasts on literature and beauty (or the lack thereof):

The Public Intellectual Christian: Dr. Micah Mattix joined us on The City Podcast to discuss what it means to be a public intellectual. Mattix, who is also a poet and critic, talks about the question of being accessible and evangelical to the appropriate extent in the public sphere. But this was one of my favorite podcasts for a different reason:

This podcast includes a debate between Dr. Holly Ordway, who is a proponent of traditional poetic forms, and Dr. Mattix, who favors more modern poetic forms. You’ll also hear his answer to who the greatest living poet is.

Where Does Beauty in Literature Come From?

Our discussion with Dr. Micah Mattix last week did not feel complete. So we had him back for a second round of looking at beauty in literature. Many evolutionists try to argue that poetry, love, and our sense of beauty are the remnants of something that once had survival value. Dr. Mattix strongly disagrees, for if you explain love, haven’t you explained away the very phenomenon of love? Are we the first generation in the history of humanity that does not do poetry for enjoyment?

This podcast – another of my favorites – is also notable in that we did an on-the-spot poetry reading and critique! I read Malcolm Guite‘s poem “In Medias Res” and Dr. Mattix responded. It was great fun and I hope also edifying for our listeners.

Also in this podcast: Dr. John Mark Reynolds exclaiming “Love, death, justice, and PANDAS!” Yes, there was context for that remark; listen to find out!

J.K. Rowling’s Vacant Fiction: I’ve enjoyed Rowling’s Harry Potter series very much, and so I was intrigued when her new “adult” novel The Casual Vacancy came out in 2012. Unfortunately, I soon heard enough comments from discerning readers to realize that this was not the book we’d been hoping for. Our guest on this show, Dr. Collin Garbarino, tackles the question of readerly betrayal as he discusses the book with me and Dr. John Mark Reynolds.

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Dr. Holly Ordway is a poet, academic, and Christian apologist. She is the chair of the Department of Apologetics and director of the MA in Cultural Apologetics at Houston Baptist University. Her work focuses on imaginative and literary apologetics, with special attention to C.S. Lewis and Charles Williams.

Problem of Evil: The Internal Problem (cont.)

2013-04-06T04:25:25Z

Part 4 of a 5 part series on the problem of evil. Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

Internal Problem of Evil (cont.)

Reconsidering the Premises (cont.)

At the end of Part 3, we began to reconsider the premises in the internal problem of evil. Recall the four premises of the argument.

(1) God exists and is wholly good, all-powerful and all-knowing.

(2) Evil exists.

(3) There are no limits to what an all-powerful, all-knowing being can do.

(4) A good being always prevents evil as far as it can.

Since the conclusion that logically followed from these premises led to a contradiction, we started to reconsider these premises to see if any, as written above, are false. If one or more of these can be re-written then hopefully the contradiction can be resolved. In Part 3, we looked at (1) and (2), in this post we will reconsider (3) and (4).

Premise (3), as it is written here, is not true. There are limits to what God can do. These limits are not in God’s power; they are in the realm of logic. God cannot do something that is logically impossible. God cannot create a square circle or a married bachelor. These limits are grounded in the reason, rationality, and the way we communicate in language. A Christian college student asked me last year if it is appropriate to think of limiting God in this way. Indeed some believe that logic itself is merely a creation of God’s mind, the result of an arbitrary choice to think a certain way. I don’t agree with that assessment of logic, but I cannot refute it. What I can offer is simply the observation that the laws of logic are, in the opinion of every philosopher I have read, a brute fact of reality. To put it another way, we cannot escape reason and logic. It is self-refuting to imagine we can. In order to make an argument, denying the necessity of reason and logic, one must use them to make the argument.

The existence of reason and logic also impacts our understanding of God. He has revealed Himself to humanity through the Bible. God wants humanity to trust and obey Him based on that revelation. Our comprehension of the Bible and trust in God hinges on our ability to trust reality, as we perceive it through things like reason and logic. If God, in His interactions with creation, and us were not “bound” by reason and logic, our ability to trust God would be seriously undermined.

If there are logical limits to what God can do, what bearing does that have on the problem of evil? Simply put, God could not create free creatures that would not sin. If God created a world without the possibility of sin, it would not have freedom. Based on these observations, we can modify premise (3) to read as follows:

(3*) There are logical limits to what an all-powerful, all-knowing being can do.

Moving on to premise (4) we must ask the question, “Is it possible for God to have morally sufficient reasons to allow evil?” The answers to this question fall into two broad categories. First there is the importance God has placed on human freedom. Free will is at the core of our dignity as sentient beings. Moral responsibility, creativity, love, all flow out of our capacity for libertarian freedom.[1] C. S. Lewis answers the “why” question of human freedom this way.

“Because free will, though it makes evil possible, is also the only thing that makes possible any love or goodness or joy worth having. A world of automata—of creatures that worked like machines—would hardly be worth creating. The happiness which God designs for His higher creatures is the happiness of being freely, voluntarily united to Him and to each other in an ecstasy of love and delight compared with which the most rapturous love between a man and a woman on this earth is mere milk and water. And for that they must be free.”[2]

A second category of answers could be filed under how God can use “evil” for His purposes and for the benefit of humanity.[3] Consider one of the greatest obstacles to our relationship with God, pride. Everyone, Christian or non-Christian, is susceptible to the desire to be self-sufficient, to deny our need for help. An unexpected, tragic, or even malicious event can quickly shatter our inflated view of our independence. Another example can be found in the metaphor of being a parent. There are times when one must allow something unpleasant in a child’s life (like a vaccination or medical procedure) for the long-term well-being of the child. A third and final example is in our reaction to evil. The suffering we experience in the world is a reminder of the presence of sin. The reaction that we have to suffering is a reaction to the sin that is in the world. The revulsion we experience when confronting evil is a vestige of the image of God. We know, deep in our being, that something is wrong. Perhaps the only significant difference between Christians and everyone else, is that Christians recognize the brokenness in themselves. We suffer with sin as much as anyone else, but we rejoice in the knowledge of our savior.

Let’s modify premise (4) to read as follows:

(4*) A good being always prevents evil as far as it can unless it has a good reason to allow it.

Reconsidering the Argument

The internal or logical problem of evil we have been considering has four premises.

(1) God exists and is wholly good, all-powerful and all-knowing.

(2) Evil exists.

(3) There are no limits to what an all-powerful, all-knowing being can do.

(4) A good being always prevents evil as far as it can.

We have been reconsidering these to see if any of them might be false. We now have alternate versions of (3) and (4).

(3) * There are logical limits to what an all-powerful, all-knowing being can do.

(4) * A good being always prevents evil as far as it can unless it has a good reason to allow it.

Now we will reconsider the entire argument with these modified premises.

(1) God exists and is wholly good, all-powerful and all-knowing.

(2) Evil exists.

(3) * There are logical limits to what an all-powerful, all-knowing being can do.

(4) * A good being always prevents evil as far as it can unless it has a good reason to allow it.

(5) If (1) and (4) then God prevents all the evil He does not have a reason for

(6) If (1) and (3) then God can prevent all of the evil that it is logically possible to prevent.

(7) If (5) and (6) then God prevents all evil where logically possible and that he has no good reason to allow.

(8) If (2) and (7) then evil exists but there is no evil unless it is logically necessary or God has a good reason to allow it.

Our conclusion (8) is no longer a contradiction. Instead we have an argument that explains that the coexistence of God and evil. Further, the discussion surrounding how and why premise (3) and (4) were modified offers some necessary background material about the nature of evil and the nature of God.

In the next and final installment of this series, we will consider the external or evidential problem of evil.

[1] See Chapter 20 of Gregory E. Ganssle, Thinking About God: First Steps in Philosophy (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2004).

[2] C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York, NY: HarperSanFrancisco, 2001), 47.

[3] Moreland and Craig, Philosophical Foundations for a Christian Worldview, 544–548.

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