Once Upon a Time

Posted on November 12, 2012 by Rick D. Williams

Reflections on “The Question of God,” Part 1

Repetition is one of the distinguishing characteristics of the teaching life. If your subject area remains the same for many consecutive years, you find things that work well and use them, with careful tune-ups and adjustments–year after year.  I always approached teaching as a narrative process.  Each year I was telling a story, and–like in any good story–there were always my favorite parts.  I found particular joy and comfort in reaching the same place each year with different students in the seats getting different things out of the same lesson.

Every year since it was first broadcast on PBS in 2004, I used a wonderful video series, “The Question of God,” in my Senior Worldviews class.  Tonight I wrap up the nine week program for the first time with college students.  Based on a popular Harvard course taught by Dr. Armand Nicholi, this series examines the formation and implications of two contrasting worldviews through the lives of Sigmund Freud, life-long critic of religious belief, and C.S. Lewis, celebrated Oxford don, literary critic, and perhaps this century’s most influential and popular proponent of faith based on reason (learn more at the Question of God website pbs.org/wgbh/questionofgod/program/index.html).  I thought I’d share some highlights from the guiding narrative I’ve created (with some help from the Q.O.G. website) to go along with each week’s viewing and discussion.

From the outset, I think it important to look back to the very different paths in the Human Story that brought Freud and Lewis to the same cultural moment in Western History.  That “moment” is generally called “modernity,” and it is characterized by a marked decline in Classical and Christian influences in Western culture.   Science and Reason had risen to intellectual and cultural prominence during the 17th-19th Centuries, and while religion was still an important cultural presence in Europe, its influence was waning.

Freud’s path to modernity is rooted in the story of European Judaism.  This tale of cultural marginalization, persecution, perseverance, and the ultimate achievement of a measure of prosperity weaves from ancient through medieval times.  The Jewish story is the story of a Transcendent God whose chosen people are called to faithfully represent His Reality through story, ritual, tradition, and the fulfillment of sacred obligations (mitzvot).  After the Enlightenment (17th/18th C.), many Jewish intellectual elites embraced a secularized Judaism that preserved cultural identity and marginalized religious observances.

As part of his intellectual legacy, Freud strongly advocated an atheistic philosophy of life. Freud’s philosophical writings, more widely read than his expository or scientific works, have played a significant role in the secularization of our culture. In the 17th century people turned to the discoveries of astronomy to demonstrate what they considered the irreconcilable conflict between science and faith; in the 18th century, to Newtonian physics; in the 19th century, to Darwin; in the 20th century and still today, Freud is the atheist’s touchstone.

Lewis was the product of Anglo-Irish Protestantism and a traditional Classical Education.  The Anglican Church of his upbringing was as much a cultural institution as a spiritual one, one which the educated Lewis (like many “moderns” of his time) would eventually find irrelevant and unnecessary.  His desire for “enchantment” in the world was initially fueled by encounters with the natural world around him and the literary canon of Classical Antiquity and Medieval Christendom.

But Lewis embraced an atheistic worldview for the first half of his life and used Freud’s reasoning to defend his atheism. Lewis then rejected his atheism and became a believer. In subsequent writings, he provides cogent responses to Freud’s arguments against the spiritual worldview. Wherever Freud raises an argument, Lewis attempts to answer it. Their writings possess a striking parallelism. If Freud still serves as a primary spokesman for materialism, Lewis serves as a primary spokesman for the spiritual view that Freud attacked.

Armand Nicholi, host and panel moderator for The Question of God, nicely sums up the focus of the series:  “Whether we realize it or not, all of us possess a worldview. A few years after birth, we all gradually formulate our philosophy of life. We make one of two basic assumptions: we view the universe as a result of random events and life on this planet a matter of chance; or we assume an Intelligence beyond the universe who gives the universe order, and life meaning. So each of us embraces some form of either Freud’s secular worldview or Lewis’s spiritual worldview.”

Next time we’ll take a look back at the Classical foundations of these two worldviews.

Learn more about the “story” of the lives of Freud & Lewis—

Alan Jacobs, The Narnian:  The Life and Imagination of C. S. Lewis (Harper One, 2005)

Phillip Rief, Freud: The Mind of the Moralist (Viking Press, 1959)

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Tolkien & the Reality of Fantasy (part 1)

Posted on November 9, 2012 by Rick D. Williams

In the wildly popular 1999 film The Matrix, Morpheus famous asks Neo, “What is real?” This familiar and provocative phrase is perhaps the quintessential philosophical query.  Attempts to answer are rooted deep in Classical Platonic idealism and branch out into science, metaphysics, language, literature–indeed, across the entire canopy of human experience.  J.R.R. Tolkien had much to say, both academically and creatively, about the nature of reality and its relationship with mythopoetic fantasy.  Artfully employing his philological skills, Tolkien crafts careful explanations and expressive images of what is “really” happening when Storytellers weave their Tales on the loom of life.

Modern understandings of “Fantasy” often imply some element of separation between reality and the imagination.  From this perspective, “fantastical” stories present “layers” of reality for the reader to explore and engage (sometimes on a variety of levels).  The reader seems free, to an extent, to “imagine” reality as seems fit.  Authors may, in a sense, “impose” more directly correlated meanings on their “realities” using allegory, but still both the crafting and interpreting of such symbolic representations resides to a large extent with the writer and the reader.

Tolkien, at the beginning of the “Fantasy” section of his famous essay “On Fairy Stories,” treats the role of the Imagination (and its relationship with “reality”) a bit differently.  First, he questions the “modern” distinction between the human mind’s capacity for image-making and the imagination’s power to “give to ideal creations the inner consistency of reality.” The difference between the two, Tolkien asserts, is “a difference of degree,” not “a difference in kind.”  “Imagination,” he thinks, describes both the human capacity to form fantastical images as well as its power to express particular “realities” within them.  This “achievement of the expression” of reality Tolkien calls “Art.”  And the key to true Art is its resonance with, not its mere presentation of, true “reality.”

For human “creators” to achieve true Art, they must see things “true-ly”—particularly themselves.  We are all, Tolkien believed, “creatures”; the power of creation belongs to God alone.  Since we are, however, created in His Image, at our best we may become a “sub-creators.” Such “artful” works as we may produce—in their depictions of “unreality” in relation to the Primary World—might ultimately inspire Secondary Belief that “imagines” even more powerfully the “realities” of the Primary World readers (and writers) inhabit.  “Fantasy (in this sense),” Tolkien writes, “is not a lower but a higher form of Art, indeed the most nearly pure form, and so (when achieved) the most potent.”

Tolkien refers to (and includes a selection from) his poem, “Mythopoeia,” in this essay.  Reading the two together is particularly helpful.  The poem artistically expresses the idea of Myth, while the essay treats the concept more indirectly through its considerations of Fantasy, Story, Imagination, and Art.  The poem stanzas quoted in the essay articulate the same “point” as essay itself, but they do so poetically (imaginatively, artfully) rather than prosaically (using philology and rhetoric).  Which passage is more imaginatively powerful?  Certainly (in my view) the poem.  Which communicates “reality” more truly?  Neither (again, in my view), because they each (in their own way) point toward the same reality (just in different ways).

Tolkien’s views on fantasy and reality are premised on an important presupposition:  that there is a Reality “there” that is not of our own making, and that all of us as creatures are bound by its truths, principles, conditions, and consequences (whether we believe in them, or this Reality, or not!).  Next time we’ll look to C.S. Lewis “myth retold“–Till We Have Faces–for insights helpful in understanding Tolkien’s themes, particularly regarding the nature of Myth.

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Liberty’s Languish

Posted on November 7, 2012 by Rick D. Williams

“I know my country has not perfected itself. At times, we’ve struggled to keep the promise of liberty and equality for all of our people. We’ve made our share of mistakes, and there are times when our actions around the world have not lived up to our best intentions.” Barack Obama

 

“We believe in individual initiative, personal responsibility, opportunity, freedom, small government, the Constitution. These principles, these American principles are key to getting our economy back to being successful and leading the world.” Mitt Romney

Regardless of which of these men you voted for (or chose not to), I think most honest people would be able to see some truth in what they each say and believe about America.  In their own way, each desires the “best” for America and believes he knows how to get there.  Where they differ is in their interpretations of what that “best” looks like, and where it comes from.

More importantly, though each would rhetorically express a conviction that this “best” comes from “God,” I have never been convinced that either of them really meant it.  That’s not how most modern politicians really think anymore (even if they sometimes, by necessity, still say it).  In fact, it’s beginning to seem as if a majority of the modern American electorate—and those they elect–don’t really think so anymore, either.  And that is what is really most significant about this election.

I say this speaking from an understanding of reality that is Gospel-centered and reflects, as such, certain presuppositions about man, God, and the nature of the human condition that don’t always resonate with modern political dynamics.  For modern progressives, governmental policies and social action (directed by intellectual elites) correct the evils of the past, provide security for the present, and guide us toward the “best” future.  For modern capitalists, free markets and individual initiative (directed by corporate elites), transcend the limitations of the past, provide opportunity for the present, and promotes growth toward the “best” future.  The former is willing to sacrifice liberty for equality; the latter values liberty over equality.  The former grants sovereignty to the State; the latter promotes the sovereignty of the individual.

From a Gospel perspective, I am only “free” to the extent that I accept God’s sovereignty over all things, or I presume to exercise that sovereignty myself, or I willingly (or even unknowingly) surrender that sovereignty to the State or some ideology.  My identity as an “individual” is subject to the admonishment that I am my brother’s keeper, and that as a reflection of Christ my primary identity is to be a lover of God and of my fellow man.  To be a “libertarian” is to deny that I owe obedience to anything but myself and my own fulfillment, freedom, etc.

Each modern perspective represents (to me) a faulty extension of true liberty for license, and an abdication of values that once shaped political culture and motivated the statesmen in public service.  To me, true liberty is the freedom I have to submit myself to rightful authority, to restrain myself from undignified excesses, to reject the intrusion of illegitimate tyranny, and to resist the temptations of selfish indulgence.  To strive for such personally (with God’s help) is to be truly virtuous.  To lead with such convictions is to be a true statesman.  What we have today are partisan politics and a cultural aesthetic overwhelmed by the rampant individualism, materialism, and pragmatism.  Of course there has never been such an “ideal” culture (or “ideal” statesmen), but I do believe we’ve lost the ability to even value the idea of the “ideal,” and that makes us poorer individually and culturally.

As a teacher, I challenged my students to weigh the impact of both values and interests in public policy (and in historic turning points, foreign policy, even “worldviews”).  The human condition is always shaped and defined by both, and neither is ultimately “best” in and of itself.  But when our interests come to sacrifice the common good at the altar of selfish individualism, partisan ideology, and personal pleasures, we are woefully out of balance as human beings.  Similarly, when our values cease to be rooted in spiritual realities and moral “first principles,” we’re left with utilitarian virtues at best and, at worst, we subject ourselves to the tyranny of those who control cultural forces (media, entertainment, markets, politicians, etc.) toward their own selfish ends.

 

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Civic Contradictions

Posted on October 18, 2012 by Rick D. Williams

As we near the end of another presidential campaign, I am struck by how different the experience has been for me this time around. This is my first major election cycle since 1996 I’ve not viewed through the lens of “civics teacher.” The experience has been shockingly sobering: I find myself foundering on the shoals of apathy, cynicism, even despair. What seductive sirens have brought me to this place of unexpected peril, I wonder. And why am I no longer lashed to the mast that would secure me from temptation?

In all those years teaching my way through the U. S. Constitution every semester, I always felt an enthusiastic assurance that “the way things were supposed to be” would prevail over “what things had become.” My lessons never neglected to address the very real challenges and inherent contradictions that came with the subject. But always, in the end, the possibilities and promise of this “wonderful, terrible thing” that is our American Republic never failed to rise above the perils and potential corruptions that come with self-governance. I did my best to educate and inspire class after class of “active and informed citizens” to go forth to make good on the promise. I’m concerned I’ve lost my faith in these ideals myself.

It seems that without my annual Constitutional fortification, I became easy prey for the ideological squalor, destructive vitriol, and outlandish arrogance that passes for modern politics. The dearth of genuine statesmanship in a political culture dominated by money and manipulated by media leaves little room for hope. This sad situation is aptly described by theologian and philosopher David Bentley Hart:

Late Western modernity, especially in its purest (that is, most American) form, certainly values the available and the plentiful, but not necessarily the intrinsically “good.” The diet produced by mass production and mass marketing, our civic and commercial architecture, our consumer goods, our style of dress, our popular entertainments, and so forth [could we perhaps add here “our politicians”?]—it all seems to have a kind of premeditated aesthetic squalor about it, an almost militant indifference to the distinction between quantity and quality. (“A Splendid Wickedness,” First Things, Aug/Sept 2011)

Perhaps there is also an “aesthetic” of genuine statesmanship that’s been swept away by the same mass/consumerist tidal wave Hart describes above.

Is statesmanship, considered in this light, an “art” for which we’ve lost the “craft”? I am outraged by vast—even sinful–amount of money spent “marketing” contemporary candidates and policies to the public. I am insulted by the mindless media manipulation of a process so wisely crafted genuine monuments to statesmanship. Hart, once again:

Our culture, with its almost absolute emphasis on the power of acquisition, trains us to be beguiled by the bright and the shrill, rather than the lovely and subtle. That, after all, is the transcendental logic of late-modern capitalism: the fabrication of innumerable artificial appetites, not the refinement of the few that are natural to us. Late modernity’s defining art, advertising, is nothing but a piercingly reckless tutelage in desire for the intrinsically undesirable.

The identification of “advertising” as late modernity’s “defining art” is quite telling, I think, in the context of political campaigns and media spin of policies and personalities (“the bright and the “shrill”). Campaigns are no more than contests of will and image (“the power of acquisition”), not platforms for debating the common good. We are merely being “sold” candidates whose self-promotion and partisan posturing is what makes them “intrinsically undesirable” substitutes for genuine statesmanship.

Alas, I fear we’ve grown unable to realize—or worse, even care—that we are simply being sold a product in the guise of a political campaign. I once felt determined to stem the tide, but I find myself losing faith. Surely there must be others who share my disgust at the extravagance and arrogance that defines the modern political process. What should we now do? Where can the “lovely and subtle” voice of true statesmanship to be found? We’ll look to those questions—and consider possible answers—next time around.

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A “Worldview Pub”?

Posted on October 7, 2012 by Rick D. Williams

About a year and a half ago I finished my 15th year as a high school teacher at a small, private school in east-central Illinois.  Day after day; year after year, I lived life and encouraged the life-of-the-mind in the shared captivity my high school classroom.  I’ve since moved on to a new calling, working with college students in quite different setting that comes with its own unique opportunities and challenges.  I’m still teaching, just no longer in a classroom.

Such are the circumstances finally launched me into the blogosphere. This idea was born last spring at a conference in Nashville, where I had the good fortune to join in a luncheon discussion with George Carey, former Archbishop of Canterbury.  During Q & A I asked him what he thought I could do in my new environment to cultivate the kind of camaraderie and community I’d so enjoyed with students in my classroom. In that atmosphere of familiar faces and surroundings, I thought, “teaching” seemed to be a natural and organic experience rather than an unwelcomed imposition.

The Archbishop responded, “Sounds to me like a pub would be just the thing.”  He went on to share how many older parishes in English urban settings were doing just that with the parts of their buildings that had once been fellowship halls.  Fellowship flourished in community; ministry emerged from fellowship, and discipleship flowed from ministry.

Until such time as an actual, physical public house becomes available, I thought I’d try to create a “virtual” one in this brave new world of social media and online community.  The name comes from a paper I once presented titled, “Worldview in the Waste Land.”  “What have we to offer,” I asked, “in this cultural wasteland that consumes even our most promising students?”  My answer was two-fold:  what they need is an Anchor to moor them in the safe harbor of Truth, a Compass to guide them through the difficult passages of Life, and good Company with which to share the Journey.

Of course, what plays about in my imagination here is the kind of atmosphere enjoyed by the Inklings at the Eagle and Child.  By all accounts this gathering of Oxford dons and their circle of literary friends—amidst pints, pipes, tea, and the sharing of their words—was a delight for all who participated.  C. S. Lewis recalled “the cut and parry of prolonged, fierce, masculine argument” that characterized these blessed hours together with Hugo Dyson, J.R.R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, Owen Barfield, and others.

So here I hope we can do the same—expanding, I trust, beyond the “masculine” bit.  I’ll share occasional words gleaned from a life of learning and teaching that might offer some security, guidance, and comfort as we sail uncertain seas together.  Your responses are appreciated and, indeed, essential to the process.  And perhaps conversations that begin here can continue on in real-life encounters where cups and pints, faith and fellowship can be more fully enjoyed by all.

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