The Approach of the iPhone
OK, how can anyone not want one? Sure, I'm not going to be there on Friday night, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't be delighted to be one of the writers who had a review unit in my pocket right now. The rate plans seem to shore things up nicely too, with unlimited data ringing in at a very decent price of $20/month. It is really unfortunate that the phone does not support 3G data, because with it being EDGE it won't be nearly as beneficial, but… that's for iPhone 2.0. The support for MS Exchange that has been revealed today also looks like it should help ease some concern about the phone's capabilities.
It's still a lot of money, it still lacks some things I wish it had, but, I can't say I don't find it tempting all the same. It may be a “status phone,” but it is intriguing for ever so many additional, vastly more important reasons.
Theological Stock Exchange
Dr. Lucas posted his results on the “Which Theologian Are You?” quiz, which prompted me to take the quiz again. I've taken this quiz two other times that I could find in my blog archive (I thought I had taken it even more). At any rate, there is some variation — beyond the basic result that I am always Barthian first. Happily, my second favorite theological saint, Anselm traded higher, returning to a second place position behind Barth (if Aquinas, my if-I-were-a-Catholic-he'd-be-my-patron-saint, where in the survey, he'd probably score high on my graph too). Oddly, while Calvin traded high in February, perhaps rallying from influence of Covenant, he fell to a new low this month. Barth rallied from a dip, to return to his previous high of 100%. Luther isn't terribly interesting — he stays pretty stable. Unfortunately, Tillich rose again from the depths of 0% and is now busy making my theology more ambiguous again: my theology is not, but rather is; it is not an existential thing, but rather an existential question; it is the ground of theology, creating a strict sense of complete dependence on theologians, particularly those that focus on kerygma rather than apologia. cough
Below are some charts for the statistically inclined. Post your own results in the comments (or a link to your own results on your blog).
 | You scored as Karl Barth, The daddy of 20th Century theology. You perceive liberal theology to be a disaster and so you insist that the revelation of Christ, not human experience, should be the starting point for all theology.
Which theologian are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
Poem Preview
So, I had a poetic breakthrough today. I've been fiddling with a 44 line poem since last fall. I'd work on it a bit, then leave it. It's grown slowly, starting from just a few small lines. But, I've had a growing sense it needed to be part of a much more ambitious work to really reach my goals for it. I am trying to experiment with the modernist style of T.S. Eliot, fused with my normal iambic pentameter, rhyming verse. I'm clearly no Eliot, nor is my goal to nail an imitation of his style, but rather I am trying to apply some lessons from his poetry to make my own style a bit less of a pseudo-neo-Classical style with too much raw emotion. Eliot advises, and I think for good reason, that the poet's job is to distill raw emotion into what the New Criticism dubbed “the objective correlative.” That term refers to creating objective descriptions that evoke particular emotions rather than merely describing the emotions themselves. A great example comes from Archibald MacLeish's “Ars Poetica,” which states, “For all the history of grief / An empty door / And a maple leaf.” Think about those lines for a moment — does not “An empty door / And a maple leaf” describe a biting grief far better than any direct description could likely provide?
At any rate, I'm not exactly a fast poet, but I managed to write another 78 lines today, consisting of parts of two more poems. Quantity is not how one should measure poetic success, but it is the way one measures how close one is to completing the framework of a project.
The project now may include up to ten poems which will form a larger poetic sequence. My original poem fits in as the third poem in the sequence.
Here are the first lines as they presently are written:
Shadows mark untrue casts of reality,
A silent world lacking validity,
Those visitants dance and flicker as
The dark wood, staid oaks and pines, sway now.
An ache beyond the words I know, will know,
Illude my muse to sing out in any key.
On Love, Fear, and Trembling
I've been debating whether to just ignore my last post or write something about it. My style on this blog is generally not terribly personal. There were two things bugging me over the last week, one of which I'll completely ignore at present and the other is a bit more personal than I usually write about — love (of the romantic sort) — but if you'll bear with me, I'm going to muse on it a bit in this post before I return to my normal posting schedule. I am going to go at it somewhat abstractly, just because that seems more comfortable in this medium. I did broach the topic a few weeks ago when Mark's meme inquired about a “significant other.” As I noted then, there is someone I wish had that status to me, but I, in my very Prufrockian style, have failed to act on what I think. Whether that's for good or ill, I'm not sure. The problem was when, last week, I believed I had allowed my inaction to linger too long and I was too late to say something to her, even if I wished. I think I was wrong about that now, but it was a little too close for comfort for me.
Inaction may be too strong a word. Over subtlety may be better. I am doing more than nothing at all, but little enough that she could very well believe, if she read this post (and, as I said before, I think she is a reader of this blog), that I am here writing concerning an entirely different person. Subtly is my art and my enemy. My affinity with Kierkegaard, as well as Dostoevesky's Underground Man, Eliot's Prufrock and Shakespeare's Hamlet largely draws from this. Reading Fear and Trembling made me want to post on the subject even before last week, as I think it is clear that Kierkegaard is expressing not only (and perhaps not even primarily) his religious epistemology but also his theory on love. He is obsessed with metaphors relating to love and marriage in his book and I think it is hard to argue against tying that to the autobiographical fact that the book is in near proximity to the breakup with his fiancée. Off the top of my head, I can think of no less than four major metaphors used in the book that are based on love and marriage. Kierkegaard tried an extremely subtle approach of expressing love to his fiancée, paradoxically in the midst of his bold rejection of her, since we know from the perspective of history that he actually did love her. In a sense, I think Fear and Trembling can be read as a letter to her, explaining what was happening.
If I am sounding analytical and I suspect I am about to sound even more so, I think that is my attempt to sort out myself, I don't feel analytical, so I'm trying to make sense of this thing by at least trying to be. C.S. Lewis comments in Surprised by Joy that one cannot feel a feeling while simultaneously thinking about that feeling; perhaps that is why it seems comforting to write at this moment — it is a reprieve from a sense of despair concerning my own inaction.
So with that said, let's turn back to the thinking: it dawns on me (and this may not, and indeed, probably is not, a new thought) that the stage between falling in love and actually trying to reach out and express that truth to the beloved is a liminal stage, particularly in modern society, since the our modern arrangement hinges on the extremely difficult, risky procedure of revealing this to the beloved. The liminal stage is a stage in which a person is set off from society to allow a new relation to society to be formed. The process of falling in love itself perhaps is the initiation of the liminal stage to some extent, but I would suggest the real core (and perhaps rapid end) of the liminal stage is the revelation of love to the beloved.
First, it is often (usually?) a revelation of absurdity, to sound Kierkegaardian. If the beloved is actually the beloved, it seems likely that she must necessarily seem more worthy to the one who loves than he sees himself. Moreover, for the love to be more than mere emotion, it seems to me that there should be some basis of friendship between the two persons. This sets up the paradox and absurdity. The lover must believe that he is unworthy of the beloved — otherwise would the love truly value the beloved? unworthiness is probably universally true — and the revelation comes as a possible threat to something deemed extremely valuable: the friendship with the beloved. If the friendship is not valuable, then it cannot be love yet, it seems to me. Therefore, for the comfort of taking the unbearable burden of the so far unrequited love out into the open, and the potential for being able to be closer to the beloved, the one falling in love must essentially gamble the entire relationship with the beloved. This seems an absurdity since there is probably a greater chance of rejection (and hence potentially damaging or destroying the friendship) than there is of acceptance.
Hence comes the question: what does the wise man do? Does he bear in silence his feelings, creating a de facto state of unrequited love, but in doing so guarantee the preservation of his friendship with the beloved? Does he state his feelings to escape the terrible oppression of not admitting them and also accepting that while he may wish to not say anything to protect the friendship, she might ultimately feel obliged to end or reduce the friendship when she does find someone? How does the Kierkegaardian Knight of Faith respond to this challenge?
I think he would say something. Here's how I expect Kierkegaard would respond: To not say something is tragic; the one who loves becomes the tragic hero who falls on his own sword, a victim of his tragic flaw. This is highly aesthetic, perhaps, but it seems that it is more important to chase absurdity in faith than to spend time fashioning a tragic fate.
Hmm.
Update: I'm reading the the Daily Bible, and it just so happens that what I read just now, less than an hour after I posted above, is rather fitting: “Better is open rebuke / than hidden love” (Prov. 27:5 ESV).
Hmm.
In Process
Some things this past week sort of set me ajar a bit, but I'm processing them and will be back perhaps tomorrow, with some observations coming from them.
In Other Words
The In Other Words meme has this wonderful quote for this week's meme:
Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae.
— Kurt Vonnegut
I love the simile. I'm not sure if it is entirely true, but to an extent, it might be true. Novels are rather low in impact and quality generally, compared to other forms of literature… (not to say that I don't read novels).
Three Positions: Exclusivism, Inclusivism, Pluralism
I'm presently trying to get a paper published on this subject (or, more particularly, my interactions with John Hick's variant of Pluralism), and I'll be presenting that paper for the second time next week — this time to an adult Sunday School class at church. But, that aside, I think this is a helpful point to consider not only later in soteriology, but also while we remain in the prolegomena of dogmatics. Why here and why now? Well, we need to define how this theological system interacts with other ones. But, first a little observation from C.S. Lewis on this own experience as he edged toward his youthful atheism:
“The accepted position seemed to be that religions were normally a mere farrago of nonsense, though our own, by a fortunate exception, was exactly true. The other religions were not even explained, in the earlier Christian fashion, as the work of devils. That I might, conceivably, have been brought to believe.” (Surprised by Joy, 59-60)
Common within exclusivist camps' viewpoint is a polar view on the issue of the possible positions. We have exclusivists and the inclusivists. The correct view, according to this camp, is exclusivism, of course, which rejects all other religions as false while affirming one's own, as Lewis talks about in the quote. The inclusivist, again, according to this camp's schema of the world, accepts all religions as equally true. This model is far too simplistic, whether one is exclusivist or no. The model I find much more helpful, which I was first introduced to via Hick, is the three position view. What was previously called inclusivism is relabeled pluralism, and inclusivism becomes a compromise in between. E.g., “Christianity is the most direct revelation of God, but there is some truth to other religions.” I like the three model view, but prefer to place those terms as pinpoints on a wide spectrum, rather than suggesting that the types are three clear cut categories.
Let's stay out of the whole issue of salvation until this subject comes up again later and deal with this merely as an issue of epistemology. Pluralism must reject the full and direct knowledge of God because the Christian revelation is only one truth among equals. These truths do not say the same thing — contrast Christianity with the atheistic Theravada Buddhism if you need proof of that. Ultimately, the fullest form of pluralism necessarily becomes an exclusivism by making a truth claim that suggests what the core is that everyone else is pointing to. This is my point of attack against Hick's religious pluralism. (I can go into that more, if anyone is interested.)
Somewhere a bit off from this extreme we encounter something of Schleiermacher's system. Essentially here we have a unilineal evolution of religion in which Christianity is not really all that different from all the other religions, but somehow is a bit more highly evolved. Revelation is still diminished substantially, but at least Schleiermacher makes an attempt to suggest that there is some uniqueness to his Christianity without pretending to be perfectly relative as Hick does (which is not to say I think Hick is insincere).
On the far other end is the exclusivists already mentioned, but I'd suggest there are few real exclusivists in daily practice. Most who would claim the title still get uncomfortable suggesting that the “unreached people groups” that missions agencies will talk about are unequivocally damned for our lack of having reached them. I think most will appeal to natural revelation and fiddle with vague notions to try to soften this up, and eventually profess uncertainty. The point not being to decide whether that person is right or wrong, but to suggest that few actually seem to consistently and fully operate with in the exclusivist's realm. The realm problem is elucidated by Lewis's remark, I'd suggest. It seems unbelievable when we simply state that Christianity is a priori completely true and everything is, by the same basis, entirely false.
Hence we proceed to the middle: the inclusivist position. This is the position I will generally advocate. For those wondering, I am on the exclusivist side of inclusivism (remember, I'm thinking in a spectrum), but I do not think that is terribly important. The big point is that in this grouping we are going to admit that there is natural revelation and there is some truth — even if it is “through a glass darkly” — in things outside of Christianity. In following this line, we adopt something of Thomas's synthesis. Aristotle, Homer and the rest of the classical writers, but certainly not limited to classical writers, may witness to the truth without being inside God's self-Revelation through His Word. They are not really outside of His Word, but rather “prefigure” that revelation, which in turn “fulfills” them (to borrow Lewis's terms from an unquoted part of that paragraph).
So, how do we fit this into the Barthian context that I have been working with? Good question. My contention would be that we should not say “Nein” entirely to natural theology; I think “Paul and the Areopagus” in Acts, and the other natural law proof texts, are on to something. Rather, we must affirm that the only complete — or as complete as we need and want it — and pure knowledge of God is that which comes directly through Christ. That does not mean we must say that natural law does not exist. Natural law, much like the Bible, is not the Revelation itself, but rather a witness to the single, complete revelation of God in Christ. Perhaps more useful is to say that natural law is potentially dangerous, for the temptation is to use it, interpreted through “reason,” as the key to God's special revelation rather than vise versa. Jesus must be the starting point and the ending point.
I would argue that while I may end up conflicting with Church Dogmatics a bit as I proceed on this issue, that by and large, Barth acts like an inclusivist. He is not a pluralist, for he sets Christ above all else, but he also does not seem to act like an exclusivist. If anything, he eludes classification, which is something perhaps with trying to do. These waters are murky and it is not good to make them too clear while we dabble in the purely theoretical form of dogmatics.
All that said, inclusivism bears fruit for our pursuit. While it is not a license to, say, tie Christianity down to Aristotle, it is a grant of permission to observe where Scripture can be illuminated by that wise man's understanding. Likewise with Plato and others. And, speaking of which, Plato's cave is as useful as any illustration of the inclusivist view: God's revealing of Himself is the sun, but that does not mean the shadows on the walls of the cave are entirely irrelevant.
No, I Did Not Croak!
Picture I took at Big Cedar Lodge
Well, I am back. I didn't want to rush back into the rush of digitalness too fast, so I've been a bit slow returning to my blog. But, I want to assure you I did not croak — I am still here. I had to say that since I got a few really great pictures of the above frog while at Big Cedar.
Big Cedar, as before, is just amazing. I wish I could live there — it is a paradox of rustic wilderness and the amenities of civilization. Johnny Morris's (owner of Bass Pro Shops, Tracker Boats, etc.) creation here — as with his other businesses — is a spectacular thing to see. Unlike many of the resorts in the area, Big Cedar takes on the personality of the beautiful Big Cedar Hollow, which has a small finger of Table Rock Lake running through it. It is made even better because everyone who works there seems so happy to be there and intensely loyal to Big Cedar and determined for Big Cedar's guests to have a delightful time. I am left amazed each time I leave there; I first saw Big Cedar in 1991 (and have eaten at the Devil's Pool Restaurant there probably at least once a year since) and have stayed there a number of times since 2001, but it never loses its wonder.
What can I say? It was great. And, I came back with some 2,275 photos to sort through. I'm really pushing the limits of iPhoto these days, I think. The neat buzzword of this trip is Geocoding. I kept my Garmin Foretrex 101 wearable GPS unit on my arm at virtually all times. It recorded nearly 1 MB of tracks, which I downloaded on to my computer when I got back. I've experimented with Geocoding over the last six or eight months, but this was my first full scale test over a trip.
Using GPSPhotoLinker, those trackpoints my GPS unit recorded were time weighted against the EXIF timestamps embedded in the photos to provide reasonably good positioning of each photo I took. GPSPhotoLinker then placed the positioning and altitude information it aggregated into the appropriate EXIF fields of the photos for me. Then using iPhotoToGoogleEarth, I was able to actually place my photos as layers in Google Earth. Geocoding is still pretty much a technological wilderness of underdeveloped software, but I think getting in on the bleeding edge will pay off in organizing my photos in the coming years. You can read more of my thoughts on Geocoding in an article for Open for Business from last fall.
On the Road
I'm off for a fairly brief bit of R-n-R, so there won't be any posting here for the next two or three days (I come back Thursday night). In the mean time, if anyone is following along in my Wittenberg story and would like to comment on things you'd like to see cleared up or directions you are hoping the story will take, let me know. It isn't exactly a “choose your own adventure,” but nonetheless, a little interactivity wouldn't hurt!
I hope all of you have a great week!
Wittenberg Returns
Agent Mark Douglas watched his partner Cassandra Myers as she continued to hold a lively conversation with the department's chief investigative officer. He smiled a sad, melancholy smile. If he let his eyes close part way, as they were apt to do this time of night, the blurred figure of Myers reminded him of Jess Hudgins. Hudgins had been his best friend through college, often prodding him to finish assignments when he did not feel like it and spending time talking about whatever caught their fancy, as they sat on a bench in the quad. She was, in his estimation, absolutely perfect and he had fallen deeply for her, but though he was apt to offer a compliment, he never volunteered that much too her. She was his dear friend and, well, that he was just fearful to say anything that might wreck that.
Myers had slapped her phone closed at some point, but Douglas was off into the past. Cassandra sighed, why was Douglas always sitting there with a stupid look on his face while she dealt with the idiots back at the office? He was going to have to talk to them next time. She called out his name, but he was oblivious. A little sharper — “Mark!”
He finally came to. “Oh, yes, sorry Cassie, I was just thinking.”
“Yes, I know, thinking, thinking. There's too much of that going on around here! You know who thinks this case isn't really worth having an investigative team on — he wants to chalk it up to small time vandalism! Is he insane?”
“Small time vandalism does seem a bit of a lightweight accusation against someone going from church to church and hacking off their doors. I'm not sure how bad this is, but it is at least odd enough to warrant a little investigation.”
“That's what I told him. He said we'd discuss it in the morning, but we could stay on it for at least a few hours.”
Thomas looked outside from his laptop and noticed that the agents were no longer on the phone. He closed the lid of his laptop and walked out side.
“Wouldn't you too liked to come back in? It is such a nasty night out there,” he said, gesturing towards the glowing light of his kitchen. The agents shrugged and started to walk toward him when a small clicking sound just loud enough to be noticeable came from somewhere near where the front of the church had been vandalized. All three turned and looked toward the gaping hole where the door had been just in time to see a bright flash of light and here a sickening boom. The three were knocked to the ground.
“Skotia Thelossa,” Thomas muttered to himself. “It is going to kill me.”
