(Part 6 is here.)
I said last time that I would mention some speculative works which view religion in a negative light. However, it turns out that I've already partly dealt with that topic in this post about Philip Pullman. And many of these books have been mentioned here by Speculative Catholic. So I'll be brief.
Many famous authors (such as H.G. Wells, Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, or Jack Vance) generally assumed that the claims of the religions were false, but they didn't bother spending much time on attacking them, either. Most sf and fantasy falls somewhere 'in between' when it comes to religion. However, there are certainly stories that are sympathetic to religion, and there are also, unsurprisingly, works that are openly driven by anti-religious views. Here are some of the more famous ones:
Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials fantasy trilogy are currently the most popular of these books. I understand that the third volume, The Amber Spyglass, is the most explicit in being anti-theistic and anti-church, though with an element of naturalistic mysticism. (Pullman was born in 1946.)
James Morrow (1947-) is well known for his militantly anti-theistic works, such as Towing Jehovah (about the death of God) and Only Begotten Daughter.
Popular fantasy author George R. R. Martin's story "The Way of Cross and Dragon" is an incisive attack on the Catholic Church and the historicity of the Gospels. (Martin was born in 1948.)
Terry Pratchett's secularist beliefs come across in a number of his Discworld fantasy books. Though he's humourous author, it's always seemed to me that his comedy gets a little strained and preachy when he dwells on religion - more so than his predecessor, Douglas Adams, who was also an atheist but who had a lighter touch. (Pratchett was born in 1948.)
Golden Age author and editor Lester Del Rey (1915-) wrote quite a number of stories with anti-theistic themes, such as "For I Am A Jealous People" and "Evensong."
I've already mentioned Arthur C. Clarke's disturbing story "The Star." Clarke is generally hostile to the established religions, though he seems to be partial to deistic ideas.
I think I'll leave it there. If you're really interested, works which depict the Christian church, or fundamentalists (or whatever religion a particular author was raised in) as being oppressive and evil are fairly common and can be easily found.
Now for something different:
I feel a bit guilty for thus far ignoring Golden Age author Clifford D. Simak (1904-1988). My personal ignorance is to blame, as I haven't read much of his work. (I intend to rectify that.) Simak was a Catholic who lived in the American Midwest, and wrote what has been called 'pastoral science fiction,' meaning it was calm, gentle, and often set in rural locales. He was the third person to be voted 'Grand Master' by the Science Fiction Writer's Association. Apparently his best work was done in the 1950s and 60s, though his 1935 story "The Creator" is notable as an early example of religion in sf.
Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986) lived in Argentina and had impeccable literary style. He has proved to be enormously influential and was one of the fathers of "magic realism," which Gene Wolfe defines as fantasy written by people who spoke Spanish. His 1944 story collection Ficciones is essential reading for literati and for fantasy fans alike. (I would also recommend Dreamtigers.) Borges was a Catholic for part of his life, though he later lost his faith and subscribed to Schopenhaeur's philosophy of pessimism. He enjoyed arcane theological speculation and found obscure heresies fascinating. His story "Tlon, Uqbar and Orbis Tertius" is a profound meditation on fantasy, imagination, and idolatry. And consider his wonderfully strange Argumentum Ornithologicum:
I close my eyes and see a flock of birds. The vision lasts a second or perhaps less; I am not sure how many birds I saw. Was the number of birds definite or indefinite? The problem involves the existence of God. If God exists, the number is definite, because God knows how many birds I saw. If God does not exist, the number is indefinite, because no one can have counted. In this case I saw fewer than ten birds (let us say) and more than one, but did not see nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three or two birds. I saw a number between ten and one, which was not nine , eight, seven, six, five, etc. That integer - not-nine, not-eight, not-seven, not-six, not-five, etc. - is inconceivable. Ergo, God exists.
Muriel Spark (1918-2006) died on Good Friday of this year. A Catholic, she was most famous for The Prime Of Miss Jean Brodie. Her dark and often funny books are highly esteemed as 'literature,' and I've included her here because of the magic realist elements that kept turning up in her stories. A great starting place would be her collected ghost stories, which are bizarre and electrifying. (These two obituaries explore the Catholic elements of her work.)
P. D. James (1920-), a devout Anglican, is a very popular writer of mysteries (such as Death In Holy Orders). However, her 1992 novel The Children of Men can be best described as science fiction. Set in a bleak future where the human race has suddenly and mysteriously gone sterile, flagellants rave that God's judgement has come, while an urbane professor tries to ignore his own despair. The religious symbolism is subtle but unmistakable.
Walter Wangerin, Jr. (1944-), a Lutheran pastor, won the National Book Award for Science Fiction in 1980, for his fantasy The Book of the Dun Cow. It's very loosely based on an ancient Irish legend, and is a barnyard fable about a heroic rooster and his role in the battle against a Satanic Wyrm. (Think Animal Farm meets The Lord of the Rings, or Narnia.) Parts of it strike me as highly inventive and profound; other parts seem cheesy. Either way, it is memorable.
That's it for now. For the time being, check out the Scattered Crumbs, and the ever-growing list of my sf/f/f book reviews.
[Updated to add: You may want to read these posts next- A Speculative Tradition, SF/F Atonement, and Great SF/F/F Short Stories]
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
Carve The Sky
by Alexander Jablokov. 1991. 298 p.
Jablokov imagines an elegant 24th century that is something like the Renaissance, or the Baroque era. The people of this future are somewhat reminiscent of Neal Stephenson's Neo-Victorians in The Diamond Age, who have decided that humans must put constraints on themselves. They believe that people must take control of science and economics and use them to shape a society congenial to human flourishing, rather than allowing humans to become enslaved to technology and unrestricted competition. They wish to take a long view of human existence. (Thus, for example, nuclear weapons are banned, since they are "instruments of destruction, not conquest." Likewise, guns and explosives are heavily restricted. There are echoes of Dune here, obviously with the restrictions on technology, but also with aristocrats, court artists and formal duels with swords.)
Of course, not everyone's on board with this - the Technics (who live in the moons of Saturn and Jupiter, I believe) are completely enmeshed with their own technology and simply don't understand the desire for a life lived at human speed, surrounded by nature and artistic beauty.
Carve the Sky has quite a number of interesting ideas and images (about society, art, and religion, especially) which are going to stay with me - there are splashes of originality throughout the book. One of the central art objects in the story is a small statue of The Dead Christ in his winding sheet, with jewels set in to represent each of his five wounds. Unfortunately, Jablokov's debut novel is a bit like that - the bright images and ideas are like jewels set into an otherwise formulaic space opera.
The characters are interesting, but most lack depth (the women are all beautiful, the artists eccentric, the villains ominous and arrogant.) The plot structure is clunky and predictable - here comes the love interest, with whom the protagonist will tumble into bed after they've run into each other X number of times - here are the five mysterious artifacts that must be assembled by the shadowy cult in order to create an object of unimaginable power - here comes a minor character to succintly impart a vital clue - and now the villain would like to grandstand and explain his entire plan to you. At times the foreshadowing and clue-dropping goes overboard - there's not much gravity on the Moon... have I mentioned there's not much gravity on the Moon? Oh, and for the tenth time, everyone's interested in getting out of the Solar System, but they can't. And yet, at other times the explanations disappear and suddenly two characters have gone from a vital summit meeting to being naked together, trying to decide if they should have sex - how did they get there? We're not sure. Motivations can be hard to discern. Why are you chasing this man across the Solar System - I know the traditional plot structure demands it, but why are these particular characters motivated to do it? That's not clear either.
I don't mean to be too hard on it. Like I said, I enjoyed it, and overall I think it's worth reading.
As Fred K said when he recommended it, Jablokov deals respectfully with religious characters and ideas. In keeping with a truly humanistic society (as opposed to a technocratic or materialistic one), religion is everywhere. We meet a Sufi mystic, a Russian Orthodox abbot, and of course - see if you can guess - a bunch of mysterious Gnostics! (aka The Dispossessed Brethren of Christ) The Gnostics' temple/headquarters, Jerusalem the Lost, is a cylindrical hollow asteroid, reminiscent of The Whorl in Gene Wolfe's The Book of the Long Sun, though smaller.
The book is saturated with casual religious references ("You could tear this temple down like Samson" or "We don't deserve love any more than we deserve God's Grace") and complex theological musings. I quite liked the way he connected aesthetic philosophy and theology, since much of the action centers around religious art - The Dead Christ, a Repentant Magdalene, Boaz, Jachin, Nehushtan, and the Rod of Aaron. Art clearly has a transcendant power for the characters - even simple works such as "Catherine Apthorpes' Blood Bowl."
I'm sure more thoughts will emerge as I digest the book. In the meantime, I think it should definitely be added to the list of thought-provoking science fiction with religious themes.
Jablokov imagines an elegant 24th century that is something like the Renaissance, or the Baroque era. The people of this future are somewhat reminiscent of Neal Stephenson's Neo-Victorians in The Diamond Age, who have decided that humans must put constraints on themselves. They believe that people must take control of science and economics and use them to shape a society congenial to human flourishing, rather than allowing humans to become enslaved to technology and unrestricted competition. They wish to take a long view of human existence. (Thus, for example, nuclear weapons are banned, since they are "instruments of destruction, not conquest." Likewise, guns and explosives are heavily restricted. There are echoes of Dune here, obviously with the restrictions on technology, but also with aristocrats, court artists and formal duels with swords.)
Of course, not everyone's on board with this - the Technics (who live in the moons of Saturn and Jupiter, I believe) are completely enmeshed with their own technology and simply don't understand the desire for a life lived at human speed, surrounded by nature and artistic beauty.
Carve the Sky has quite a number of interesting ideas and images (about society, art, and religion, especially) which are going to stay with me - there are splashes of originality throughout the book. One of the central art objects in the story is a small statue of The Dead Christ in his winding sheet, with jewels set in to represent each of his five wounds. Unfortunately, Jablokov's debut novel is a bit like that - the bright images and ideas are like jewels set into an otherwise formulaic space opera.
The characters are interesting, but most lack depth (the women are all beautiful, the artists eccentric, the villains ominous and arrogant.) The plot structure is clunky and predictable - here comes the love interest, with whom the protagonist will tumble into bed after they've run into each other X number of times - here are the five mysterious artifacts that must be assembled by the shadowy cult in order to create an object of unimaginable power - here comes a minor character to succintly impart a vital clue - and now the villain would like to grandstand and explain his entire plan to you. At times the foreshadowing and clue-dropping goes overboard - there's not much gravity on the Moon... have I mentioned there's not much gravity on the Moon? Oh, and for the tenth time, everyone's interested in getting out of the Solar System, but they can't. And yet, at other times the explanations disappear and suddenly two characters have gone from a vital summit meeting to being naked together, trying to decide if they should have sex - how did they get there? We're not sure. Motivations can be hard to discern. Why are you chasing this man across the Solar System - I know the traditional plot structure demands it, but why are these particular characters motivated to do it? That's not clear either.
I don't mean to be too hard on it. Like I said, I enjoyed it, and overall I think it's worth reading.
As Fred K said when he recommended it, Jablokov deals respectfully with religious characters and ideas. In keeping with a truly humanistic society (as opposed to a technocratic or materialistic one), religion is everywhere. We meet a Sufi mystic, a Russian Orthodox abbot, and of course - see if you can guess - a bunch of mysterious Gnostics! (aka The Dispossessed Brethren of Christ) The Gnostics' temple/headquarters, Jerusalem the Lost, is a cylindrical hollow asteroid, reminiscent of The Whorl in Gene Wolfe's The Book of the Long Sun, though smaller.
The book is saturated with casual religious references ("You could tear this temple down like Samson" or "We don't deserve love any more than we deserve God's Grace") and complex theological musings. I quite liked the way he connected aesthetic philosophy and theology, since much of the action centers around religious art - The Dead Christ, a Repentant Magdalene, Boaz, Jachin, Nehushtan, and the Rod of Aaron. Art clearly has a transcendant power for the characters - even simple works such as "Catherine Apthorpes' Blood Bowl."
I'm sure more thoughts will emerge as I digest the book. In the meantime, I think it should definitely be added to the list of thought-provoking science fiction with religious themes.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Science fiction, fantasy, and faith: Part 6
(Part 5 is here.)
An author whose name has come up (here) is Stephen R. Donaldson (1947-), best known for his Thomas Covenant trilogies. Donaldson is the son of Presbyterian missionary parents, and grew up in India. Apparently the epiphany that he wanted to be a writer came when he was sitting in a church pew one Sunday. Donaldson's father treated people with leprosy in India, and this gave him the idea of making his protagonist, Covenant, a leper. I don't know if Donaldson himself has a faith commitment these days, but the Covenant books are replete with references to the Bible (as well as The Lord of the Rings). Thomas, like his biblical namesake, is a cynic and skeptic who calls himself 'The Unbeliever' when he is confronted by seemingly impossible events. He finds himself in a fantasy world where he is hailed as a saviour figure, where he must combat an evil ruler, Lord Foul. There are giants, and higher creatures called 'Elohim,' and Lord Foul has three demonic sidekicks which can possess others.
It's been a long time since I read the (first six) Covenant books, so my memory's a bit rusty. I remember being captivated by the first three, particularly The Illearth War, but at the same time found the plot somewhat laboured and the angst thick enough to choke on (it gets pretty bad in the second trilogy). I'm not sure if Donaldson is trying to make any points about religion. Covenant refuses to believe in himself or his world, and seems determined to deal with things through mundane, 'secular' means. However, I got the sense that this had more to do with fantasy and imagination than with religion per se. In the end, Good triumphs, partly through the power of laughter, and Covenant and the land find a measure of redemption.
Roger Zelazny (1937-1995) was an important figure in '60s New Wave science fiction, who won three Nebulas and six Hugos. Zelazny was an atheist, but his books are chock-full of gods, immortals, and mythological references (not only did he beat Neil Gaiman to the punch, but he makes him look rather tame) . He once wrote that if science fiction authors had been around five hundred years ago, they would have been theologians. His Amber books, about a royal, immortal family who live at one of the poles of reality (of which there are innumerable alternate reflections) are highly enjoyable. His wonderful novel Lord of Light deals with people who set themselves up as tyrannical Hindu deities, and who are undone by a colleague who sets himself up as a Buddha (there's also a Christian chaplain who has his own plans). Creatures of Light and Darkness is a psychedelic romp through Egyptian (with dashes of Greek, Norse, and even Christian) myth.
His award-winning novellas "The Doors of His Face, The Lamps of His Mouth," and "A Rose for Ecclesiastes" both hinge on biblical references. The latter story deals with a cynical atheist named Gallinger, a translator of ancient texts. He goes to Mars to translate the religious works of the Martian race, which is sterile and dying out. Realizing how they can be saved, he attempts to show them the way, but is met with a resigned fatalism. He preaches an impassioned sermon, using the Book of Ecclesiastes to convince them that life should go on. They change their minds, but Gallinger later realizes that this is partly due to the fact that he has unknowingly fulfilled one of their ancient prophecies. This is a recurring theme in Zelazny's work: hard-bitten unbelievers who wind up becoming important religious figures in spite of themselves and learn a measure of humility in the process.
I wonder if anyone can help me out with Fletcher Pratt (1897-1956). He was reportedly a Christian Scientist. He was mainly a journalist and military historian who was renowned for his one-volume history of the American Civil War, Ordeal by Fire. However, pretty much the only book of his I've read (several times) is his 1948 fantasy novel, The Well of The Unicorn. It's a mature exploration of politics, military strategy, magic, and sex, which is set in a vaguely familiar fantasy world - vaguely familiar because it draws on real places and events. The Vulkings are something like Romans; the heathen Dzik are something like Muslims; the Empire is something like the Holy Roman Empire. What I recently remembered and began puzzling over is what the peace-bringing Well of the Unicorn stands for - it occurs to me that it may represent baptism, or Communion. In medieval symbolism, unicorns sometimes stood for Christ. If anyone else has read this and would like to offer ideas, I'd be much obliged (once I've moved I'll have to dig out my copy and re-examine it.)
I wanted to mention a fantasy work by Jewish author Susan Shwartz (1949-): The Grail of Hearts. Reviews are mixed, but I found it interesting. It connects the story of Parsifal and the Grail (mostly as told by Wagner, but with less Schopenhaeur) with that of the Wandering Jew, and that of Christ, in a fairly respectful way.
I also want to recommend an old favorite of mine: Neuromancer, by William Gibson (1948-). Gibson is famous enough to need no introduction from me. His works are gritty cyberpunk but have always struck me as being full of a yearning for transcendence. While this yearning usually takes Eastern forms, it's worthwhile looking at the Rastafarians in Neuromancer. To some degree their role in the book is as postmodern representatives of a mutation of the Western biblical religions. (To be sure, Rastafari is a new religion, but there are enough similarities to Christianity that some factions have joined the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Reggae and dub music are saturated with biblical references, so much so that a number of devout Christian and Jewish artists have felt quite at home in the styles.)
Finally, if you're looking for good anthologies of religiously informed sf & fantasy, I can recommend a few:
Sacred Visions, edited by Andrew Greeley and Michael Cassutt, is a top-notch collection of Catholic-themed science fiction. It's good because it includes Anthony Boucher's "The Quest for Saint Aquin," Robert Silverberg's "The Pope of the Chimps," R.A. Lafferty's "And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire," and Gene Wolfe's "The Seraph From Its Sepulchre." It has the original short story version of James Blish's "A Case of Conscience," and the first segment of Miller's "A Canticle for Leibowitz." Jack McDevitt's "Gus" is a theologically sophisticated story about a self-aware computerized Augustine, which really makes me wonder about McDevitt's background. Some of the stories are merely average, and there's one real stinker: Greeley's "Xorinda the Witch." I recommend you skip that one. Don't waste your otherwise valuable time.
I was pleasantly surprised by 1998's Divine Realms: Canadian Science Fiction & Fantasy, a collection of stories with spiritual and religious themes. I was amazed at how many contemporary, mainstream authors were willing to write openly in this vein (and also by the number that declared themselves Christians). A highlight was Donna Farley's great little story "Thanksgiving Day at the Temple," about a religious alien who finds himself out of place on a mostly secularized Earth. Farley's the only Eastern Orthodox sf writer I've encountered to date!
I'll finish this section with an older collection, Other Worlds, Other Gods: Adventures in Religious Science Fiction, from 1971. It was edited by a fellow with the unlikely name of Mayo Mohs. It includes a few forgotten classics from the '40s and '50s, as well as Boucher's "Balaam" and Clarke's "The Nine Billion Names of God." It also features one of Philip Jose Farmer's Father John Carmody stories, and two anti-religious tales by well-known authors: "Evensong," by Lester Del Ray, and "Shall the Dust Praise Thee?" by Damon Knight. It concludes on an optimistic note, however, with Ray Bradbury's poem "Christus Apollo."
Okay! I think next time I'll mention a few aggressively anti-religious sf & fantasy works, as well as catch up on authors I've forgotten this time around.
(Part 7 is here.)
An author whose name has come up (here) is Stephen R. Donaldson (1947-), best known for his Thomas Covenant trilogies. Donaldson is the son of Presbyterian missionary parents, and grew up in India. Apparently the epiphany that he wanted to be a writer came when he was sitting in a church pew one Sunday. Donaldson's father treated people with leprosy in India, and this gave him the idea of making his protagonist, Covenant, a leper. I don't know if Donaldson himself has a faith commitment these days, but the Covenant books are replete with references to the Bible (as well as The Lord of the Rings). Thomas, like his biblical namesake, is a cynic and skeptic who calls himself 'The Unbeliever' when he is confronted by seemingly impossible events. He finds himself in a fantasy world where he is hailed as a saviour figure, where he must combat an evil ruler, Lord Foul. There are giants, and higher creatures called 'Elohim,' and Lord Foul has three demonic sidekicks which can possess others.
It's been a long time since I read the (first six) Covenant books, so my memory's a bit rusty. I remember being captivated by the first three, particularly The Illearth War, but at the same time found the plot somewhat laboured and the angst thick enough to choke on (it gets pretty bad in the second trilogy). I'm not sure if Donaldson is trying to make any points about religion. Covenant refuses to believe in himself or his world, and seems determined to deal with things through mundane, 'secular' means. However, I got the sense that this had more to do with fantasy and imagination than with religion per se. In the end, Good triumphs, partly through the power of laughter, and Covenant and the land find a measure of redemption.
Roger Zelazny (1937-1995) was an important figure in '60s New Wave science fiction, who won three Nebulas and six Hugos. Zelazny was an atheist, but his books are chock-full of gods, immortals, and mythological references (not only did he beat Neil Gaiman to the punch, but he makes him look rather tame) . He once wrote that if science fiction authors had been around five hundred years ago, they would have been theologians. His Amber books, about a royal, immortal family who live at one of the poles of reality (of which there are innumerable alternate reflections) are highly enjoyable. His wonderful novel Lord of Light deals with people who set themselves up as tyrannical Hindu deities, and who are undone by a colleague who sets himself up as a Buddha (there's also a Christian chaplain who has his own plans). Creatures of Light and Darkness is a psychedelic romp through Egyptian (with dashes of Greek, Norse, and even Christian) myth.
His award-winning novellas "The Doors of His Face, The Lamps of His Mouth," and "A Rose for Ecclesiastes" both hinge on biblical references. The latter story deals with a cynical atheist named Gallinger, a translator of ancient texts. He goes to Mars to translate the religious works of the Martian race, which is sterile and dying out. Realizing how they can be saved, he attempts to show them the way, but is met with a resigned fatalism. He preaches an impassioned sermon, using the Book of Ecclesiastes to convince them that life should go on. They change their minds, but Gallinger later realizes that this is partly due to the fact that he has unknowingly fulfilled one of their ancient prophecies. This is a recurring theme in Zelazny's work: hard-bitten unbelievers who wind up becoming important religious figures in spite of themselves and learn a measure of humility in the process.
I wonder if anyone can help me out with Fletcher Pratt (1897-1956). He was reportedly a Christian Scientist. He was mainly a journalist and military historian who was renowned for his one-volume history of the American Civil War, Ordeal by Fire. However, pretty much the only book of his I've read (several times) is his 1948 fantasy novel, The Well of The Unicorn. It's a mature exploration of politics, military strategy, magic, and sex, which is set in a vaguely familiar fantasy world - vaguely familiar because it draws on real places and events. The Vulkings are something like Romans; the heathen Dzik are something like Muslims; the Empire is something like the Holy Roman Empire. What I recently remembered and began puzzling over is what the peace-bringing Well of the Unicorn stands for - it occurs to me that it may represent baptism, or Communion. In medieval symbolism, unicorns sometimes stood for Christ. If anyone else has read this and would like to offer ideas, I'd be much obliged (once I've moved I'll have to dig out my copy and re-examine it.)
I wanted to mention a fantasy work by Jewish author Susan Shwartz (1949-): The Grail of Hearts. Reviews are mixed, but I found it interesting. It connects the story of Parsifal and the Grail (mostly as told by Wagner, but with less Schopenhaeur) with that of the Wandering Jew, and that of Christ, in a fairly respectful way.
I also want to recommend an old favorite of mine: Neuromancer, by William Gibson (1948-). Gibson is famous enough to need no introduction from me. His works are gritty cyberpunk but have always struck me as being full of a yearning for transcendence. While this yearning usually takes Eastern forms, it's worthwhile looking at the Rastafarians in Neuromancer. To some degree their role in the book is as postmodern representatives of a mutation of the Western biblical religions. (To be sure, Rastafari is a new religion, but there are enough similarities to Christianity that some factions have joined the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Reggae and dub music are saturated with biblical references, so much so that a number of devout Christian and Jewish artists have felt quite at home in the styles.)
Finally, if you're looking for good anthologies of religiously informed sf & fantasy, I can recommend a few:
Sacred Visions, edited by Andrew Greeley and Michael Cassutt, is a top-notch collection of Catholic-themed science fiction. It's good because it includes Anthony Boucher's "The Quest for Saint Aquin," Robert Silverberg's "The Pope of the Chimps," R.A. Lafferty's "And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire," and Gene Wolfe's "The Seraph From Its Sepulchre." It has the original short story version of James Blish's "A Case of Conscience," and the first segment of Miller's "A Canticle for Leibowitz." Jack McDevitt's "Gus" is a theologically sophisticated story about a self-aware computerized Augustine, which really makes me wonder about McDevitt's background. Some of the stories are merely average, and there's one real stinker: Greeley's "Xorinda the Witch." I recommend you skip that one. Don't waste your otherwise valuable time.
I was pleasantly surprised by 1998's Divine Realms: Canadian Science Fiction & Fantasy, a collection of stories with spiritual and religious themes. I was amazed at how many contemporary, mainstream authors were willing to write openly in this vein (and also by the number that declared themselves Christians). A highlight was Donna Farley's great little story "Thanksgiving Day at the Temple," about a religious alien who finds himself out of place on a mostly secularized Earth. Farley's the only Eastern Orthodox sf writer I've encountered to date!
I'll finish this section with an older collection, Other Worlds, Other Gods: Adventures in Religious Science Fiction, from 1971. It was edited by a fellow with the unlikely name of Mayo Mohs. It includes a few forgotten classics from the '40s and '50s, as well as Boucher's "Balaam" and Clarke's "The Nine Billion Names of God." It also features one of Philip Jose Farmer's Father John Carmody stories, and two anti-religious tales by well-known authors: "Evensong," by Lester Del Ray, and "Shall the Dust Praise Thee?" by Damon Knight. It concludes on an optimistic note, however, with Ray Bradbury's poem "Christus Apollo."
Okay! I think next time I'll mention a few aggressively anti-religious sf & fantasy works, as well as catch up on authors I've forgotten this time around.
(Part 7 is here.)
Monday, April 10, 2006
Science fiction, fantasy and faith: Part 5, Tolkien
(The previous section is here.)
Thanks very much to all those who commented or posted in response to my 'intermission.' It's got me thinking in a number of new directions, and given me new authors to explore. Please keep it up! Feel free to expand on any books or authors I've mentioned, particularly the ones in the intermission.
Sententiae has posted twice (so far) with some of his interesting insights into the topic - first, and second. In his second post he spends a little time discussing Tolkien, and says:
"Anyone who is a Christian could probably find parallels, though I never thought Tolkien was trying to produce Christian allegory like Lewis (Tolkien disliked the Narnia stories). Yet the Ring Trilogy deserves to be in our list because its main theme, that informs almost every scene, is the struggle between Evil and Good: of the creation of evil, how it corrupts, and how Good can triumph at great sacrifice. It's told on an epic scale in a totally non-Christian world, but its theme is the essence of Catholicism. Of Christianity in general."
I think that's a good summary. I haven't said much about Tolkien, simply because he's already so well-known among Christians, especially after the movies. However, a few months ago I was talking with a Jewish coworker who's a great fan of The Lord of the Rings. When I mentioned that I felt they were deeply Catholic books, he seemed surprised. When I listed a few of the features that seemed Catholic in a broad sense, though, he was nodding in agreement. I guess he had thought of them as broadly traditional Western values, which they are. But I would think that the roots of those values, particularly for Tolkien, are in Christianity (though my coworker could very well respond that they run back even farther to Judaism!)
It reminded me that things which now seem self-evident to me may not be for others, so I'll quickly list a few concepts from The Lord of the Rings which strike me as profoundly Catholic/Christian:
Thanks very much to all those who commented or posted in response to my 'intermission.' It's got me thinking in a number of new directions, and given me new authors to explore. Please keep it up! Feel free to expand on any books or authors I've mentioned, particularly the ones in the intermission.
Sententiae has posted twice (so far) with some of his interesting insights into the topic - first, and second. In his second post he spends a little time discussing Tolkien, and says:
"Anyone who is a Christian could probably find parallels, though I never thought Tolkien was trying to produce Christian allegory like Lewis (Tolkien disliked the Narnia stories). Yet the Ring Trilogy deserves to be in our list because its main theme, that informs almost every scene, is the struggle between Evil and Good: of the creation of evil, how it corrupts, and how Good can triumph at great sacrifice. It's told on an epic scale in a totally non-Christian world, but its theme is the essence of Catholicism. Of Christianity in general."
I think that's a good summary. I haven't said much about Tolkien, simply because he's already so well-known among Christians, especially after the movies. However, a few months ago I was talking with a Jewish coworker who's a great fan of The Lord of the Rings. When I mentioned that I felt they were deeply Catholic books, he seemed surprised. When I listed a few of the features that seemed Catholic in a broad sense, though, he was nodding in agreement. I guess he had thought of them as broadly traditional Western values, which they are. But I would think that the roots of those values, particularly for Tolkien, are in Christianity (though my coworker could very well respond that they run back even farther to Judaism!)
It reminded me that things which now seem self-evident to me may not be for others, so I'll quickly list a few concepts from The Lord of the Rings which strike me as profoundly Catholic/Christian:
- The One Ring is coercive power, which invariably corrupts, and the struggle to resist the temptation to use it defines who's good and who's evil (Gandalf, Galadriel, Aragorn - Boromir fails but repents ; Faramir is more successful). Sam is the only one who gives it up without a struggle, because he's truly meek and humble, a servant in the best sense of the word.
- Galadriel's appearing to Frodo in Shelob's den was meant to be reminiscent of the Virgin Mary's support of individual Catholics in seemingly hopeless situations.
- The Fellowship leaves Rivendell on December 25th (my coworker chuckled at this one, and it isn't especially profound, but Tolkien did it purposefully.)
- Sauron and the evil powers cannot create anything new, only corrupt existing good things. Similarly, the more evil Sauron and the Nazgul get, the more insubstantial and wispy they get. Evil is an absence, a privation, and lacks creativity.
- The people who fail are the ones who lack hope, who give into despair, who buy into Evil's nihilistic lies (Saruman, Denethor). There's a great focus on people struggling with hope and despair (Theoden, Aragorn, Frodo, almost everybody).
- The burden is borne and the victory won, not by coercive magic power, military prowess, or dramatic heroism, but by two lowly hobbits, the meek and foolish of the earth.
- The Free Peoples of Middle-Earth are diverse. The Good is broad and pluralistic. They have to compromise and trust one another to work together - Elves and Dwarves don't particularly like each other ; many people resent Rohan and Gondor for past wars - everyone has their own baggage. But they're all welcome and needed parts of the Alliance (like a broad, catholic church where all kinds of diverse cultures, talents and gifts can be redeemed and put to work.)
- Many characters have Christ-like qualities: Frodo, for being the innocent who, in bearing the cross-like burden of the Ring through pain and suffering, saves the world. Gandalf, for many things, but especially for dying and being resurrected. Aragorn, for being the King who is equally renowned as a Healer.
I'm sure other people can list many, many more, and there many books out there (The Gospel According to Tolkien, or Following Gandalf, for example) which go into a lot more detail. Some people (China Mieville, for example) seem to hate Tolkien for talking about Good and Evil and being so darn Catholic. I think, though, that he's more ambiguous about Good and Evil than his detractors will admit - the Good characters, at least, are always having to struggle with themselves and their own sins. Likewise, I think he presents his ideas in such a way that most readers can fall in love with the story and agree with his points without feeling alienated. All kinds of people have found LOTR agreeable to their own values, from conservative Christians to anti-Nixon hippies to environmentalists.
[Edited to add: see this letter to First Things for some background information on The Fall and Incarnation in Tolkien's world.]
I'll leave it for now, but next time I want to post about Fletcher Pratt, Roger Zelazny, Stephen Donaldson, The Grail of Hearts, Neuromancer, and those anthologies I mentioned a while back.
(Part 6 is here.)
Monday, April 03, 2006
Science fiction, fantasy and faith: Part 4
(Don't forget Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3!)
I should make mention of a resource I've used extensively when seeking out this kind of literature: Adherents has exhaustive (and exhausting) lists of the religious affiliations of sf and fantasy authors, as well as religious references in sf and fantasy.
My own exploration of the topic is more narrowly focused on what I consider to be high quality work - in both the literary and theological dimensions. Secondly I'm dealing chiefly with books I've personally read and reread, and discussed with other Christians. Finally, I'm writing mainly for an audience of intelligent, literate Christians who would like to encounter more of this kind of literature. However, if you're eager to use a wider net, try Adherents, or some of these websites: Refracted Light: A Christian Perspective on Fantasy, Christian Fandom Home Page, Xianworldview, and the late Ross Pavlac's Christian SF and Fantasy Reading List.
I think it's important to keep one's eyes open and be ready for the unusual when looking for this kind of literature. There's a line from William Gibson's Idoru in which an aging rock star says "We didn't expect the next Jimi Hendrix to be a kid from the Thai pop scene. But then again, we weren't expecting the first one either."
So you never know what direction to look in. I don't think the traditional 'Christian market' was expecting Gene Wolfe or Connie Willis (heck, most of that market is still completely oblivious). Nor did traditional sf & fantasy fans expect that some of the most influential sf authors in the early 21st century were going to be Christians, of all things! Didn't that religion stuff die out long ago?
But back to the point! These first few authors are fairly famous:
Philip K. Dick (1928-1982) occasionally called himself an Episcopalian. His personal religious beliefs seemed to change quite often and veered into very unusual territory. Gnosticism seems to have been a fairly big influence on him, and when he wrote The Man In the High Castle (a book I've commented on here and here) he was interested in Taoism. Some insight into his beliefs can be gained from the interview in What If Our World Is Their Heaven? There has been a great deal of scholarly attention paid to his ideas, relative to that paid to other sf authors. Stories like "Rautavaraa's Case" and "The Faith of Our Fathers" put disturbing twists on religious concepts. There is clearly some sort of religious symbolism in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (the martyr figure) and its film adaptation, Blade Runner (the bird, the nail in Roy's hand), but just what it signifies is open to debate.
Fred Saberhagen (1930-) at some point identified himself as a Catholic. His 1967 collection Berserker, about marauding robotic hordes, is a minor classic in the genre and a highly enjoyable read. Several of the interlinked stories in Berserker contrast principled 'Believers' with nihilists and hedonists. One story, "Stone Place," is a retelling of the Battle of Lepanto. Another, "Peacemaker," has a pacifist arguing natural theology with a berserker. Saberhagen's fantasy books, such as Empire of the East and the rambling Swords series, are laden with religious and mythological symbolism, though this is generally classical or Asian.
I've been feeling a bit guilty about not including R.A. Lafferty (1914-2002) in Part Two. He was a conservative Irish-American Catholic. "Wildly inventive" doesn't quite do justice to his work, and adjectives like 'bizarre,' 'psychedelic' and 'hilarious' beg to be used. His best work seems to have been in the short story field, with such classics as "Eurema's Dam." He wrote openly Christian works like "The Name of the Snake" (which serves as a dour counter-balance to Bradbury's optimistic "The Fire Balloons") or the beautiful "And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire."
Philip K. Dick was friends with Tim Powers, James P. Blaylock (1950-), and K.W. Jeter (1950-). All three write science fiction and fantasy. I must admit that I don't know much about Blaylock, who is reportedly a Protestant. He has collaborated with Powers on a number of projects. I must also admit that what I've read of his work hasn't impressed me so far.
Likewise, most of Jeter's work has struck me as second-rate, with one exception - the sadly underappreciated cyberpunk novel The Glass Hammer. A paranoid thriller about high-speed racing, media hype and corporate control, it is also beautifully obsessed with God and His actions in the world. One of the opening epigrams is from St. Bernard of Clairvaux:
"As the glorious sun penetrates glass without breaking it... so the Word of God, the light of the Father, passes through the body of the Virgin, and then leaves it without undergoing any change."
Randall Garrett (1927-1987) was an 'Old Catholic.' I know him chiefly by his fantasy works featuring magical detective Lord D'Arcy. These stories take place in a detailed alternate history in which licensed wizards defend Christendom against black magic. He was also the author of several 'Gandalara' books, which I know very little about.
I'll round off this section with Manly Wade Wellman (1903-1986), who's best known for his stories about Silver John, a homespun magician who wanders around battling various occult threats. His world is suffused with a quiet Appalachian Christianity.
I know there are many other authors I haven't covered, such as Steven R. Lawhead and Zenna Henderson, mainly because I don't know much about them. I'd be eager to hear more, if any of their fans would like to comment. There are also authors like Anne Rice and Marion Zimmer Bradley, both of whom wrote wildly popular occult and neo-pagan works before returning to Christian practice. I'm not sure if they fit within my purview.
Next time I'll post about authors I've temporarily forgotten and on worthwhile anthologies.
(The next section is here.)
I should make mention of a resource I've used extensively when seeking out this kind of literature: Adherents has exhaustive (and exhausting) lists of the religious affiliations of sf and fantasy authors, as well as religious references in sf and fantasy.
My own exploration of the topic is more narrowly focused on what I consider to be high quality work - in both the literary and theological dimensions. Secondly I'm dealing chiefly with books I've personally read and reread, and discussed with other Christians. Finally, I'm writing mainly for an audience of intelligent, literate Christians who would like to encounter more of this kind of literature. However, if you're eager to use a wider net, try Adherents, or some of these websites: Refracted Light: A Christian Perspective on Fantasy, Christian Fandom Home Page, Xianworldview, and the late Ross Pavlac's Christian SF and Fantasy Reading List.
I think it's important to keep one's eyes open and be ready for the unusual when looking for this kind of literature. There's a line from William Gibson's Idoru in which an aging rock star says "We didn't expect the next Jimi Hendrix to be a kid from the Thai pop scene. But then again, we weren't expecting the first one either."
So you never know what direction to look in. I don't think the traditional 'Christian market' was expecting Gene Wolfe or Connie Willis (heck, most of that market is still completely oblivious). Nor did traditional sf & fantasy fans expect that some of the most influential sf authors in the early 21st century were going to be Christians, of all things! Didn't that religion stuff die out long ago?
But back to the point! These first few authors are fairly famous:
Philip K. Dick (1928-1982) occasionally called himself an Episcopalian. His personal religious beliefs seemed to change quite often and veered into very unusual territory. Gnosticism seems to have been a fairly big influence on him, and when he wrote The Man In the High Castle (a book I've commented on here and here) he was interested in Taoism. Some insight into his beliefs can be gained from the interview in What If Our World Is Their Heaven? There has been a great deal of scholarly attention paid to his ideas, relative to that paid to other sf authors. Stories like "Rautavaraa's Case" and "The Faith of Our Fathers" put disturbing twists on religious concepts. There is clearly some sort of religious symbolism in Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (the martyr figure) and its film adaptation, Blade Runner (the bird, the nail in Roy's hand), but just what it signifies is open to debate.
Fred Saberhagen (1930-) at some point identified himself as a Catholic. His 1967 collection Berserker, about marauding robotic hordes, is a minor classic in the genre and a highly enjoyable read. Several of the interlinked stories in Berserker contrast principled 'Believers' with nihilists and hedonists. One story, "Stone Place," is a retelling of the Battle of Lepanto. Another, "Peacemaker," has a pacifist arguing natural theology with a berserker. Saberhagen's fantasy books, such as Empire of the East and the rambling Swords series, are laden with religious and mythological symbolism, though this is generally classical or Asian.
I've been feeling a bit guilty about not including R.A. Lafferty (1914-2002) in Part Two. He was a conservative Irish-American Catholic. "Wildly inventive" doesn't quite do justice to his work, and adjectives like 'bizarre,' 'psychedelic' and 'hilarious' beg to be used. His best work seems to have been in the short story field, with such classics as "Eurema's Dam." He wrote openly Christian works like "The Name of the Snake" (which serves as a dour counter-balance to Bradbury's optimistic "The Fire Balloons") or the beautiful "And Walk Now Gently Through The Fire."
Philip K. Dick was friends with Tim Powers, James P. Blaylock (1950-), and K.W. Jeter (1950-). All three write science fiction and fantasy. I must admit that I don't know much about Blaylock, who is reportedly a Protestant. He has collaborated with Powers on a number of projects. I must also admit that what I've read of his work hasn't impressed me so far.
Likewise, most of Jeter's work has struck me as second-rate, with one exception - the sadly underappreciated cyberpunk novel The Glass Hammer. A paranoid thriller about high-speed racing, media hype and corporate control, it is also beautifully obsessed with God and His actions in the world. One of the opening epigrams is from St. Bernard of Clairvaux:
"As the glorious sun penetrates glass without breaking it... so the Word of God, the light of the Father, passes through the body of the Virgin, and then leaves it without undergoing any change."
Randall Garrett (1927-1987) was an 'Old Catholic.' I know him chiefly by his fantasy works featuring magical detective Lord D'Arcy. These stories take place in a detailed alternate history in which licensed wizards defend Christendom against black magic. He was also the author of several 'Gandalara' books, which I know very little about.
I'll round off this section with Manly Wade Wellman (1903-1986), who's best known for his stories about Silver John, a homespun magician who wanders around battling various occult threats. His world is suffused with a quiet Appalachian Christianity.
I know there are many other authors I haven't covered, such as Steven R. Lawhead and Zenna Henderson, mainly because I don't know much about them. I'd be eager to hear more, if any of their fans would like to comment. There are also authors like Anne Rice and Marion Zimmer Bradley, both of whom wrote wildly popular occult and neo-pagan works before returning to Christian practice. I'm not sure if they fit within my purview.
Next time I'll post about authors I've temporarily forgotten and on worthwhile anthologies.
(The next section is here.)
Science fiction, fantasy, and faith: Part 3
You can also read: Part 1 and Part 2
I said I was going to discuss lesser-known authors, but I think I'll begin with famous authors whose use of religious symbolism is not well known.
Before that, though, I thought I'd quickly provide curious readers with practical starting places for authors I mentioned last time. I already did this for some, but not for all:
Anthony Boucher: The short stories "The Quest for Saint Aquin," and "Balaam." The former can be found in the Sacred Visions anthology, and the latter in Other Worlds, Other Gods.
Cordwainer Smith: He's mostly out of print, so you'll probably have to invest in the excellent Rediscovery of Man collection, which includes all of his short works. If you also get Norstrilia, you're set. The stories I mentioned last time are great starting places ("The Dead Lady of Clown Town" always brings tears to my eyes and is simply superb) as well as "Under Old Earth."
James Blish: The 'After Such Knowledge' books are probably all of interest, in this order: A Case of Conscience, Black Easter, The Day After Judgement, and Doctor Mirabilis.
Gene Wolfe: It's all great stuff, but for the religious themes you should start with - The Book of the New Sun, The Book of the Long Sun, The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, and Other Stories, or Storeys From the Old Hotel. Short stories such as "Westwind," "Last Day," "La Befana," "The Seraph From Its Sepulchre," "The Detective of Dreams," "How The Whip Came Back," and "The Eyeflash Miracles" are all wonderful.
Connie Willis: For religious themes see Fire Watch, Miracle and Other Christmas Stories, Doomsday Book, To Say Nothing of the Dog, and Passage. In the last three the theological reflection is pretty subtle, but it is there, and in the end they are faith-affirming rather than faith-denying.
Orson Scott Card: Ender's Game is a great read, though it doesn't explicitly deal with religious symbols. Its sequel, Speaker for the Dead, is more concerned with them, particularly as they're worked out in a Catholic colony on a distant planet. His collection Maps In a Mirror has a whole section devoted to religiously-themed short stories. I quite liked "Saving Grace" and "Holy." His introduction to that section delves into the intersection of faith and science fiction, and is a must-read for anyone interested in the topic.
So now that's out of the way I thought I'd mention some famous authors.
Ray Bradbury (1920-) was once a Baptist, and I believe he's become a agnostic-style Unitarian. As recently as 2001 he released A Chapbook For Burnt-Out Priests, Rabbis, and Ministers. In any case, his early short stories "The Man" and "The Fire Balloons" deal openly and sympathetically with Christianity, as does his poem "Christus Apollo." His novel Something Wicked This Way Comes is often cited as a religious fantasy. While it deals very clearly with good and evil, I didn't find much religious symbolism, though that may be my own short-sightedness.
Arthur C. Clarke (1917-) is definitely not a Christian. His excellent story "The Star" deals with a religious symbol and lucidly illustrates "the problem of natural evil." Clarke corresponded with C.S. Lewis (you can read their letters), and the two sharply disagreed with one another on many issues. However, Clarke does seem to be something of a mystic and might be considered a deist. This mysticism is illustrated in the whole higher-energy-beings-shaping-human-evolution theme in 2001, and 2010, as well as stories like "Nine Billion Names of God."
Theodore Sturgeon (1918-1985), was one of his generation's most brilliant short-story writers and was raised an Episcopalian. He seems to have become some sort of Taoist, though he did return to his roots with his late novel Godbody, which tries to reconcile sexual freedom with Christian values. Many of his beautiful stories like "Slow Sculpture," or "A Saucer of Loneliness" will be of interest to anyone. However, stories such as "Extrapolation," "Take Care of Joey," "Cactus Dance," and "Jorry's Gap" quite clearly deal with spiritual & moral concerns and will resonate with Christian readers.
Robert Silverberg (1935-) is Jewish, and though he appears to have some sympathy for Judaism I'm not aware of how much he practices that religion. His "The Pope of the Chimps" and "Good News From the Vatican" are both wonderful stories about, well, Popes! His novella "Thomas the Proclaimer" is a haunting account of the day the world stood still and a tragic messianic figure. (It's been a while since I've read it, but I remember it being a convincing answer to the question of why God doesn't just give the world an irrefutable, visible sign - because people are crazy enough already, thanks.)
Neal Stephenson (1959-) is a contrarian, and it can be difficult to know what he personally thinks about anything. However, his sprawling novel Cryptonomicon features a heroic Catholic priest, deals with a Japanese man's conversion to Christianity, and has a number of sympathetic references to religious folks. His cyberpunk classic Snow Crash presents religious hysteria as a kind of memetic virus, but also features a Catholic heroine and refers to Jesus and biblical writers as reformers who were seeking to save humanity from the virus.
I'll stop there for now. Soon I'll post about those lesser-known authors.
Part 4 is here.
I said I was going to discuss lesser-known authors, but I think I'll begin with famous authors whose use of religious symbolism is not well known.
Before that, though, I thought I'd quickly provide curious readers with practical starting places for authors I mentioned last time. I already did this for some, but not for all:
Anthony Boucher: The short stories "The Quest for Saint Aquin," and "Balaam." The former can be found in the Sacred Visions anthology, and the latter in Other Worlds, Other Gods.
Cordwainer Smith: He's mostly out of print, so you'll probably have to invest in the excellent Rediscovery of Man collection, which includes all of his short works. If you also get Norstrilia, you're set. The stories I mentioned last time are great starting places ("The Dead Lady of Clown Town" always brings tears to my eyes and is simply superb) as well as "Under Old Earth."
James Blish: The 'After Such Knowledge' books are probably all of interest, in this order: A Case of Conscience, Black Easter, The Day After Judgement, and Doctor Mirabilis.
Gene Wolfe: It's all great stuff, but for the religious themes you should start with - The Book of the New Sun, The Book of the Long Sun, The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, and Other Stories, or Storeys From the Old Hotel. Short stories such as "Westwind," "Last Day," "La Befana," "The Seraph From Its Sepulchre," "The Detective of Dreams," "How The Whip Came Back," and "The Eyeflash Miracles" are all wonderful.
Connie Willis: For religious themes see Fire Watch, Miracle and Other Christmas Stories, Doomsday Book, To Say Nothing of the Dog, and Passage. In the last three the theological reflection is pretty subtle, but it is there, and in the end they are faith-affirming rather than faith-denying.
Orson Scott Card: Ender's Game is a great read, though it doesn't explicitly deal with religious symbols. Its sequel, Speaker for the Dead, is more concerned with them, particularly as they're worked out in a Catholic colony on a distant planet. His collection Maps In a Mirror has a whole section devoted to religiously-themed short stories. I quite liked "Saving Grace" and "Holy." His introduction to that section delves into the intersection of faith and science fiction, and is a must-read for anyone interested in the topic.
So now that's out of the way I thought I'd mention some famous authors.
Ray Bradbury (1920-) was once a Baptist, and I believe he's become a agnostic-style Unitarian. As recently as 2001 he released A Chapbook For Burnt-Out Priests, Rabbis, and Ministers. In any case, his early short stories "The Man" and "The Fire Balloons" deal openly and sympathetically with Christianity, as does his poem "Christus Apollo." His novel Something Wicked This Way Comes is often cited as a religious fantasy. While it deals very clearly with good and evil, I didn't find much religious symbolism, though that may be my own short-sightedness.
Arthur C. Clarke (1917-) is definitely not a Christian. His excellent story "The Star" deals with a religious symbol and lucidly illustrates "the problem of natural evil." Clarke corresponded with C.S. Lewis (you can read their letters), and the two sharply disagreed with one another on many issues. However, Clarke does seem to be something of a mystic and might be considered a deist. This mysticism is illustrated in the whole higher-energy-beings-shaping-human-evolution theme in 2001, and 2010, as well as stories like "Nine Billion Names of God."
Theodore Sturgeon (1918-1985), was one of his generation's most brilliant short-story writers and was raised an Episcopalian. He seems to have become some sort of Taoist, though he did return to his roots with his late novel Godbody, which tries to reconcile sexual freedom with Christian values. Many of his beautiful stories like "Slow Sculpture," or "A Saucer of Loneliness" will be of interest to anyone. However, stories such as "Extrapolation," "Take Care of Joey," "Cactus Dance," and "Jorry's Gap" quite clearly deal with spiritual & moral concerns and will resonate with Christian readers.
Robert Silverberg (1935-) is Jewish, and though he appears to have some sympathy for Judaism I'm not aware of how much he practices that religion. His "The Pope of the Chimps" and "Good News From the Vatican" are both wonderful stories about, well, Popes! His novella "Thomas the Proclaimer" is a haunting account of the day the world stood still and a tragic messianic figure. (It's been a while since I've read it, but I remember it being a convincing answer to the question of why God doesn't just give the world an irrefutable, visible sign - because people are crazy enough already, thanks.)
Neal Stephenson (1959-) is a contrarian, and it can be difficult to know what he personally thinks about anything. However, his sprawling novel Cryptonomicon features a heroic Catholic priest, deals with a Japanese man's conversion to Christianity, and has a number of sympathetic references to religious folks. His cyberpunk classic Snow Crash presents religious hysteria as a kind of memetic virus, but also features a Catholic heroine and refers to Jesus and biblical writers as reformers who were seeking to save humanity from the virus.
I'll stop there for now. Soon I'll post about those lesser-known authors.
Part 4 is here.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Science fiction, fantasy, and faith: Part 2
The first part is here.
To begin with, I'd like to make a disclaimer: I don't want to claim or 'appropriate' writers as Christians. What they believe/d in their hearts at any particular moment, and how they act/ed from day to day, is/was really known only to them. Nor do I want to say that they write/wrote "Christian" fiction. These days that usually means that a writer 1) uses the word Jesus a lot, 2) doesn't allow his characters to have extra-marital sex, 3) preaches morning noon and night, and 4) is of little interest to non-religious folks. On the contrary, you can be an avid fan of these writers without having any faith commitment yourself. Be that as it may, most of these people have mentioned their religious beliefs in interviews, and the discerning eye can find sincere religious symbolism in their work without too much difficulty.
With that out of the way, I want to outline the core books and authors - the spine of my topic, so to speak. I know I'll be missing a lot of people (I understand there's a lot of theological symbolism in The Brothers Grimm, for example - and then of course there's A Christmas Carol), but I've got to start somewhere. In this case, it's the beginning of the twentieth century.
First up is George MacDonald (1824-1905). I don't know too much about him, but he was Scottish and wrote what he called 'fairy-stories.' He was a devout Christian (probably a Presbyterian?) who had interesting ideas about conveying important concepts through fantasy literature. He's best remembered for his children's books The Princess and The Goblin, and At The Back Of The North Wind. His works and his theories had a big impact on C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Lewis even places MacDonald in Heaven in his The Great Divorce. [Edited to add: click here and here to learn more.]
Next comes prolific author and Catholic apologist G.K.Chesterton (1837-1936.) He figures in this story for his fantastical fiction - chiefly The Man Who Was Thursday, but including books like The Napoleon of Notting Hill and some of the Father Brown stories. Chesterton encouraged a sense of awe, of wonder in the midst of everyday life.
From here we come to the Inklings - specifically Charles Williams (1886-1945), J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973) and C.S. Lewis (1898-1963). Because they are so well known, I won't say too much about them. Tolkien, a Catholic and Lewis, an atheist-turned-Anglican (yes, it does work both ways!), have had an enormous impact on the fantasy genre. The key texts here are Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Lewis' seven-volume Chronicles of Narnia, and also his less-well-known science fiction trilogy: Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength. Williams, an Anglican, was an influence on both Lewis (an influence that comes through clearly in That Hideous Strength) and their mutual friend Dorothy Sayers. His works, such as Descent Into Hell, and The Greater Trumps, could be described as mystical thrillers, and have more in common with Chesterton's work than with the high fantasy of Lewis and Tolkien.
Skipping over the Atlantic, we come to writers working in the American science fiction scene. Anthony Boucher (a pen name for Anthony Parker White, 1911-1968), was a hard-working magazine editor who helped many later famous authors get their start. He did some writing himself, mostly of short stories. He is best remembered for one short story: "The Quest for Saint Aquin," which is widely recognized as a classic of Catholic science fiction.
Cordwainer Smith (a pen name for Paul Linebarger, 1913-1966) was a multilingual, highly educated and widely travelled expert on foreign relations and psychological warfare. He wrote wildly inventive science fiction, which influenced many other authors. He's generally been forgotten by the public, except for two stories which are often anthologized: "Scanners Live in Vain," and "The Game of Rat and Dragon." In the last decade of his life he became a devout, if slightly unorthodox (for the time) Episcopalian. Some critics dismiss this as insignificant, but over half of his stories were published in this period, and even an earlier story like "Scanners" can been read as containing subtle religious symbolism. A number of his linked 'Instrumentality' stories deal with a revival of Christian faith among genetically modified slave animals. His story "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" is a wonderful example of this plotline.
James Blish (1921-1975) was, for the most part, an atheist during his writing career, though it is reported that he died an Anglican and was buried as one. Later in life he became interested in Christian theology and wrote a group of works which he referred to as the 'After Such Knowledge' books. By far the most famous is A Case of Conscience, a crisply written novel about a Jesuit scientist - a sympathetic but ambiguous examination of theological and moral reasoning in an future alien setting. It's widely acclaimed as a classic in the science fiction field.
Walter M. Miller (1923-1996) produced another such classic: A Canticle for Leibowitz. Told through three inter-linked sections, it depicts a post-nuclear-war Catholic Church struggling to rebuild civilization in a new Dark Age, through a new Renaissance and a new modernity. On topics such as church history, nuclear war, science & religion, the history of societies, and ethics, it is simply brilliant. Miller was a Catholic convert at the time. He was later upset by the Second Vatican Council and lost his faith, becoming a "Zen atheist."
Madeleine L'Engle (1918-), an Episcopalian, published her much-loved children's fantasy A Wrinkle In Time in 1962. She has continued to write science fiction and fantasy, mainly for younger readers, while writing novels and works of theological reflection for adults.
In the contemporary science fiction genre, we come to the writers that I think of as The Big Three: Gene Wolfe (1931-), Connie Willis (1945-) and Tim Powers (1952-).
Wolfe, a Catholic, has become an influential Grand Old Man in both science fiction and fantasy. The quality of his prose is very high and his ideas are complex. His early works, such as Peace and The Fifth Head of Cerberus, read like postmodern stories-within-stories. His most famous books, though, are epic, in what might be called a neo-classical style. His multi-volume works The Book of the New Sun, The Book of the Long Sun and The Book of the Short Sun are almost unrivalled in contemporary science fiction or fantasy for depth and scope, without losing their readability. Another good introduction is his story collection The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, and Other Stories.
Connie Willis has won more Hugo and Nebula awards than any other writer, and is one of the most popular female sf authors. Her background is Lutheran and more recently, Congregationalist (United Church of Christ, I believe). While she generally seems to come from the liberal side of things, she often examines dark subject matter (such as the Black Plague, in Doomsday Book) and has a tough-minded approach to theology. Her disdain for spiritualism and superstition leads some people to label her a religious skeptic, but almost invariably she ends up contrasting fuzzy, sentimental superstition with an intellectually serious and personally disciplined Christianity. Her religious symbolism can be fairly subtle, as in Passage, her most recent major novel. Those curious might wish to begin with her collection Fire Watch, particularly the story "Samaritan."
Tim Powers, a Catholic, was a friend of Philip K. Dick. His popular books are mystical thrillers, like G.K. Chesterton's or Charles Williams,' but with more sex and adrenaline. Often he'll retell historical events with the real underlying reasons being discovered an occult subtext. His most openly Catholic work is the supernatural spy thriller Declare, which is something like a meticulously researched John LeCarre novel that just happens to incorporate fallen angels. Earlier books are more ambiguous, like the postapocalyptic Dinner at Deviant's Palace, which can be read as an anti-religious polemic, or as being about a Christ figure battling an Anti-Christ.
I'll round up this survey with two non-Christians:
Orson Scott Card (1951-), is a very popular sf author who is also a Mormon. While the quality of his work can vary quite a bit, his Ender's Game is an much-loved classic. [Edited to add: Mormon readers have reminded me that they are indeed Christians, albeit non-mainstream ones. See the comments section for more on this.]
Mary Doria Russell (1950-) a paleo-anthropologist, was raised as a Catholic, became and remained an atheist for many years, and then converted to Judaism, though she remains something of an agnostic. She burst onto the science fiction scene in 1996 with a wonderful first novel, The Sparrow, the story of a Jesuit expedition to an alien planet. It's a fascinating, harrowing work, full of anthropological insights and theological quandaries, and she skillfully portrays a wide range of beliefs, including the inner world of a celibate bridal mystic. The sequel, Children of God, was not as well received, but to my mind the two works must be read together. Russell has gone on to write a historical novel, A Thread of Grace.
Well, that's it - my breakneck tour of Christianity in sf and fantasy is complete for now. Next time I'll talk about some lesser-known authors.
Part 3 is here.
To begin with, I'd like to make a disclaimer: I don't want to claim or 'appropriate' writers as Christians. What they believe/d in their hearts at any particular moment, and how they act/ed from day to day, is/was really known only to them. Nor do I want to say that they write/wrote "Christian" fiction. These days that usually means that a writer 1) uses the word Jesus a lot, 2) doesn't allow his characters to have extra-marital sex, 3) preaches morning noon and night, and 4) is of little interest to non-religious folks. On the contrary, you can be an avid fan of these writers without having any faith commitment yourself. Be that as it may, most of these people have mentioned their religious beliefs in interviews, and the discerning eye can find sincere religious symbolism in their work without too much difficulty.
With that out of the way, I want to outline the core books and authors - the spine of my topic, so to speak. I know I'll be missing a lot of people (I understand there's a lot of theological symbolism in The Brothers Grimm, for example - and then of course there's A Christmas Carol), but I've got to start somewhere. In this case, it's the beginning of the twentieth century.
First up is George MacDonald (1824-1905). I don't know too much about him, but he was Scottish and wrote what he called 'fairy-stories.' He was a devout Christian (probably a Presbyterian?) who had interesting ideas about conveying important concepts through fantasy literature. He's best remembered for his children's books The Princess and The Goblin, and At The Back Of The North Wind. His works and his theories had a big impact on C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Lewis even places MacDonald in Heaven in his The Great Divorce. [Edited to add: click here and here to learn more.]
Next comes prolific author and Catholic apologist G.K.Chesterton (1837-1936.) He figures in this story for his fantastical fiction - chiefly The Man Who Was Thursday, but including books like The Napoleon of Notting Hill and some of the Father Brown stories. Chesterton encouraged a sense of awe, of wonder in the midst of everyday life.
From here we come to the Inklings - specifically Charles Williams (1886-1945), J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973) and C.S. Lewis (1898-1963). Because they are so well known, I won't say too much about them. Tolkien, a Catholic and Lewis, an atheist-turned-Anglican (yes, it does work both ways!), have had an enormous impact on the fantasy genre. The key texts here are Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Lewis' seven-volume Chronicles of Narnia, and also his less-well-known science fiction trilogy: Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength. Williams, an Anglican, was an influence on both Lewis (an influence that comes through clearly in That Hideous Strength) and their mutual friend Dorothy Sayers. His works, such as Descent Into Hell, and The Greater Trumps, could be described as mystical thrillers, and have more in common with Chesterton's work than with the high fantasy of Lewis and Tolkien.
Skipping over the Atlantic, we come to writers working in the American science fiction scene. Anthony Boucher (a pen name for Anthony Parker White, 1911-1968), was a hard-working magazine editor who helped many later famous authors get their start. He did some writing himself, mostly of short stories. He is best remembered for one short story: "The Quest for Saint Aquin," which is widely recognized as a classic of Catholic science fiction.
Cordwainer Smith (a pen name for Paul Linebarger, 1913-1966) was a multilingual, highly educated and widely travelled expert on foreign relations and psychological warfare. He wrote wildly inventive science fiction, which influenced many other authors. He's generally been forgotten by the public, except for two stories which are often anthologized: "Scanners Live in Vain," and "The Game of Rat and Dragon." In the last decade of his life he became a devout, if slightly unorthodox (for the time) Episcopalian. Some critics dismiss this as insignificant, but over half of his stories were published in this period, and even an earlier story like "Scanners" can been read as containing subtle religious symbolism. A number of his linked 'Instrumentality' stories deal with a revival of Christian faith among genetically modified slave animals. His story "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" is a wonderful example of this plotline.
James Blish (1921-1975) was, for the most part, an atheist during his writing career, though it is reported that he died an Anglican and was buried as one. Later in life he became interested in Christian theology and wrote a group of works which he referred to as the 'After Such Knowledge' books. By far the most famous is A Case of Conscience, a crisply written novel about a Jesuit scientist - a sympathetic but ambiguous examination of theological and moral reasoning in an future alien setting. It's widely acclaimed as a classic in the science fiction field.
Walter M. Miller (1923-1996) produced another such classic: A Canticle for Leibowitz. Told through three inter-linked sections, it depicts a post-nuclear-war Catholic Church struggling to rebuild civilization in a new Dark Age, through a new Renaissance and a new modernity. On topics such as church history, nuclear war, science & religion, the history of societies, and ethics, it is simply brilliant. Miller was a Catholic convert at the time. He was later upset by the Second Vatican Council and lost his faith, becoming a "Zen atheist."
Madeleine L'Engle (1918-), an Episcopalian, published her much-loved children's fantasy A Wrinkle In Time in 1962. She has continued to write science fiction and fantasy, mainly for younger readers, while writing novels and works of theological reflection for adults.
In the contemporary science fiction genre, we come to the writers that I think of as The Big Three: Gene Wolfe (1931-), Connie Willis (1945-) and Tim Powers (1952-).
Wolfe, a Catholic, has become an influential Grand Old Man in both science fiction and fantasy. The quality of his prose is very high and his ideas are complex. His early works, such as Peace and The Fifth Head of Cerberus, read like postmodern stories-within-stories. His most famous books, though, are epic, in what might be called a neo-classical style. His multi-volume works The Book of the New Sun, The Book of the Long Sun and The Book of the Short Sun are almost unrivalled in contemporary science fiction or fantasy for depth and scope, without losing their readability. Another good introduction is his story collection The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories, and Other Stories.
Connie Willis has won more Hugo and Nebula awards than any other writer, and is one of the most popular female sf authors. Her background is Lutheran and more recently, Congregationalist (United Church of Christ, I believe). While she generally seems to come from the liberal side of things, she often examines dark subject matter (such as the Black Plague, in Doomsday Book) and has a tough-minded approach to theology. Her disdain for spiritualism and superstition leads some people to label her a religious skeptic, but almost invariably she ends up contrasting fuzzy, sentimental superstition with an intellectually serious and personally disciplined Christianity. Her religious symbolism can be fairly subtle, as in Passage, her most recent major novel. Those curious might wish to begin with her collection Fire Watch, particularly the story "Samaritan."
Tim Powers, a Catholic, was a friend of Philip K. Dick. His popular books are mystical thrillers, like G.K. Chesterton's or Charles Williams,' but with more sex and adrenaline. Often he'll retell historical events with the real underlying reasons being discovered an occult subtext. His most openly Catholic work is the supernatural spy thriller Declare, which is something like a meticulously researched John LeCarre novel that just happens to incorporate fallen angels. Earlier books are more ambiguous, like the postapocalyptic Dinner at Deviant's Palace, which can be read as an anti-religious polemic, or as being about a Christ figure battling an Anti-Christ.
I'll round up this survey with two non-Christians:
Orson Scott Card (1951-), is a very popular sf author who is also a Mormon. While the quality of his work can vary quite a bit, his Ender's Game is an much-loved classic. [Edited to add: Mormon readers have reminded me that they are indeed Christians, albeit non-mainstream ones. See the comments section for more on this.]
Mary Doria Russell (1950-) a paleo-anthropologist, was raised as a Catholic, became and remained an atheist for many years, and then converted to Judaism, though she remains something of an agnostic. She burst onto the science fiction scene in 1996 with a wonderful first novel, The Sparrow, the story of a Jesuit expedition to an alien planet. It's a fascinating, harrowing work, full of anthropological insights and theological quandaries, and she skillfully portrays a wide range of beliefs, including the inner world of a celibate bridal mystic. The sequel, Children of God, was not as well received, but to my mind the two works must be read together. Russell has gone on to write a historical novel, A Thread of Grace.
Well, that's it - my breakneck tour of Christianity in sf and fantasy is complete for now. Next time I'll talk about some lesser-known authors.
Part 3 is here.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Science fiction, fantasy, and faith: Part 1
What does science fiction & fantasy literature have to do with religion, or more specifically, Christianity?
Perhaps I should start with a biographical explanation. I first fell in love with the genres, as did so many other people, through reading the work of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Later, soon after high school, I discovered Gene Wolfe, and was captivated all over again.
I gradually became aware of the fact that Lewis, an Anglican, was well known as a Christian thinker, and that his fiction was heavily imbued with Christian themes. I also learned of Lewis' friendship with Tolkien, and of Tolkien's Catholicism. Then I began to understand the ways in which Tolkien's beliefs had shaped his writings. His approach to religious ideas is perhaps more subtle than Lewis', but no less devout. I had always been moved by the religious symbolism in Wolfe's work, and learned that he was also a Catholic.
I did quite a bit of indiscriminate science-fiction-and-fantasy reading between the ages of 9 and 19, and I continue to read it fairly frequently. Around age 20 I started to seriously question my religious beliefs (I had been raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses). During this time I read a lot of non-fiction on science, history, philosophy, and theology, as well as works on how they relate to one another. However (mainly through their fiction) Tolkien, Lewis and particularly Wolfe were important intellectual companions and role models for me in thinking about those topics. I found that their science fiction and fantasy grappled with ethical, philosophical and scientific questions in profound ways without discounting the theological dimension. I believe they were important in helping me decide to embrace a modern, scientific worldview, while still holding on to what I felt was central in my religious upbringing. In short, I left the JWs and after a hiatus began attending an Anglican church.
At some point after that I started to become curious about which other sf & fantasy authors had religious commitments or dealt with religious themes. I discovered that a number of widely acclaimed writers had such commitments and/or seriously tackled religious questions.
I also became aware of a disconnect: Many famous science fiction writers were atheists and agnostics, and so were many fans. The sf culture, particularly, often did not take religious beliefs very seriously, and sometimes held them in contempt. At the same time, authors who were clearly religious or at least sympathetic to religious concerns were very popular, and they seemed to get along well with their colleagues. But I noticed that many non-religious fans seemed somewhat baffled or dismissive of the religious themes in their work. I also noticed that there wasn't much knowledge of these authors (aside from Lewis and Tolkien) among reading Christians. Sometimes this was the result of literary snobbery, and at other times simply sprang from preconceptions about fantasy and science fiction.
So three years ago I started a small study group at my church in which participants would read sf/fantasy short stories and discuss them, particularly focusing on the religious concepts. I wanted to build a few bridges. I did a lot of digging to find good material to study. We also ended up reading a novel and watching some relevant movies together.
I'd like to start a series of blog posts on the same topic. There was a blog called "The High Crusade" dedicated to the topic, but it disappeared before it covered much ground. So I guess I'll be taking up the banner myself.
Part Two is here.
Perhaps I should start with a biographical explanation. I first fell in love with the genres, as did so many other people, through reading the work of J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. Later, soon after high school, I discovered Gene Wolfe, and was captivated all over again.
I gradually became aware of the fact that Lewis, an Anglican, was well known as a Christian thinker, and that his fiction was heavily imbued with Christian themes. I also learned of Lewis' friendship with Tolkien, and of Tolkien's Catholicism. Then I began to understand the ways in which Tolkien's beliefs had shaped his writings. His approach to religious ideas is perhaps more subtle than Lewis', but no less devout. I had always been moved by the religious symbolism in Wolfe's work, and learned that he was also a Catholic.
I did quite a bit of indiscriminate science-fiction-and-fantasy reading between the ages of 9 and 19, and I continue to read it fairly frequently. Around age 20 I started to seriously question my religious beliefs (I had been raised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses). During this time I read a lot of non-fiction on science, history, philosophy, and theology, as well as works on how they relate to one another. However (mainly through their fiction) Tolkien, Lewis and particularly Wolfe were important intellectual companions and role models for me in thinking about those topics. I found that their science fiction and fantasy grappled with ethical, philosophical and scientific questions in profound ways without discounting the theological dimension. I believe they were important in helping me decide to embrace a modern, scientific worldview, while still holding on to what I felt was central in my religious upbringing. In short, I left the JWs and after a hiatus began attending an Anglican church.
At some point after that I started to become curious about which other sf & fantasy authors had religious commitments or dealt with religious themes. I discovered that a number of widely acclaimed writers had such commitments and/or seriously tackled religious questions.
I also became aware of a disconnect: Many famous science fiction writers were atheists and agnostics, and so were many fans. The sf culture, particularly, often did not take religious beliefs very seriously, and sometimes held them in contempt. At the same time, authors who were clearly religious or at least sympathetic to religious concerns were very popular, and they seemed to get along well with their colleagues. But I noticed that many non-religious fans seemed somewhat baffled or dismissive of the religious themes in their work. I also noticed that there wasn't much knowledge of these authors (aside from Lewis and Tolkien) among reading Christians. Sometimes this was the result of literary snobbery, and at other times simply sprang from preconceptions about fantasy and science fiction.
So three years ago I started a small study group at my church in which participants would read sf/fantasy short stories and discuss them, particularly focusing on the religious concepts. I wanted to build a few bridges. I did a lot of digging to find good material to study. We also ended up reading a novel and watching some relevant movies together.
I'd like to start a series of blog posts on the same topic. There was a blog called "The High Crusade" dedicated to the topic, but it disappeared before it covered much ground. So I guess I'll be taking up the banner myself.
Part Two is here.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Feminism & respect
I figure it's time to do what I created this blog for (mainly) - reflect on ideas inspired by other people's blogs! Yes, Blog is a vicious circle. Or perhaps a virtuous one. YOU decide!
Anyways, the patron saint* of this blog... or maybe the godmother... well, let's call her the instigator of this blog (see the first post) posted something about feminism today. You should read it. It got me thinking about something I came across recently on respect.
OK, see, I would consider myself a feminist, or if males can't be real feminists, a friend of feminists. However, the roots of this attitude in my life don't come from feminist theory or anything so obvious. I got it from my mother. My mother was raised in a fairly conservative home, is one of Jehovah's Witnesses, and has always subscribed to a 'male headship' doctrine of marriage. On the other hand, she married later in life and had already learned to be an independent person when she did. In words and actions, she conveyed the idea that women are capable, intelligent and resourceful human beings who shouldn't be stereotyped, pushed around or treated as second-class citizens.
Now, to jump to my second idea. I was reading Returning to the Teachings by Rupert Ross, which is about First Nations approaches to restorative justice. The concepts he was discussing got me thinking about the traditional aboriginal teaching on respect - from what I've heard about it, that spirituality stresses respect as an active and central virtue, an idea which has always resonated with me. The teaching (once again, from my limited understanding) is that human beings must have respect for one another, for living things and for the physical world, because they are only a small part of a much larger web of life. Further, all things are imbued with spirits and come from the same Creator.
That same day I bought a little book compiled by Wendell Berry, the poet and environmentalist, called Blessed Are the Peacemakers. It consists of Berry's selections from the teachings of Christ on love, compassion and forgiveness, and two short essays reflecting on them. Berry asks "Why was the unbounding of this love so important to Jesus?" and goes on to refer to the biblical idea that, since all humans are created in the image of God, they are worthy of respect. But then (p. 64-66):
"Do not lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others. Not respecting anyone, he ceases to love, and having no love, he gives himself up to passions and coarse pleasure, in order to occupy and amuse himself, and in his vices reaches complete bestiality, and it all comes from lying continually to others and to himself."
Which I think links the need for honesty to the virtue of respect very effectively. Anyways, it seems to me that aboriginal spirituality, and three different brands of Christianity (non-denominational Protestant, Roman Catholic, and Russian Orthodox) overlap on this point.
Now, what does all this have to do with feminism? I guess what I'm getting at is that you don't have to be ideologically educated in explicit feminist thought (though I believe it is an important and hard-earned philosophy) to hold the respectful values which can lead to feminist attitudes. I suspect my mother's traditional upbringing and beliefs informed her 'feminist' stance more than most people would think.
My friend wrote:
I think my mother would say much the same thing.
*I suppose the real patron saint of this blog is St. Isidore of Seville. Or perhaps St. Jude. You know, lost causes and all that.
Anyways, the patron saint* of this blog... or maybe the godmother... well, let's call her the instigator of this blog (see the first post) posted something about feminism today. You should read it. It got me thinking about something I came across recently on respect.
OK, see, I would consider myself a feminist, or if males can't be real feminists, a friend of feminists. However, the roots of this attitude in my life don't come from feminist theory or anything so obvious. I got it from my mother. My mother was raised in a fairly conservative home, is one of Jehovah's Witnesses, and has always subscribed to a 'male headship' doctrine of marriage. On the other hand, she married later in life and had already learned to be an independent person when she did. In words and actions, she conveyed the idea that women are capable, intelligent and resourceful human beings who shouldn't be stereotyped, pushed around or treated as second-class citizens.
Now, to jump to my second idea. I was reading Returning to the Teachings by Rupert Ross, which is about First Nations approaches to restorative justice. The concepts he was discussing got me thinking about the traditional aboriginal teaching on respect - from what I've heard about it, that spirituality stresses respect as an active and central virtue, an idea which has always resonated with me. The teaching (once again, from my limited understanding) is that human beings must have respect for one another, for living things and for the physical world, because they are only a small part of a much larger web of life. Further, all things are imbued with spirits and come from the same Creator.
That same day I bought a little book compiled by Wendell Berry, the poet and environmentalist, called Blessed Are the Peacemakers. It consists of Berry's selections from the teachings of Christ on love, compassion and forgiveness, and two short essays reflecting on them. Berry asks "Why was the unbounding of this love so important to Jesus?" and goes on to refer to the biblical idea that, since all humans are created in the image of God, they are worthy of respect. But then (p. 64-66):
"It is certainly something we need to bear anxiously in mind. But is also too human-centred, too potentially egotistical, to leave alone. I think Jesus recommended the Samaritan's loving-kindness, what certain older writers called "holy living," simply as a matter of piety, for the Samaritan was living in what Jesus understood to be a holy world. The foreground of the Gospels is occupied by human beings and the issues of their connection to one another and to God. But there is a background, and the background more often than not is the world in the best sense of the word, the world as made, approved, loved, sustained, and finally to be redeemed by God. Much of the action and the talk of the Gospels takes place outdoors: on mountainsides, lake shores, river banks, in fields and pastures, places populated not only by humans but by animals and plants, both domestic and wild. And these non-human creatures, sheep and lilies and birds, are always represented as worthy of, or as flourishing within, the love and the care of God. ... And so the Samaritan reaches out in love to help his enemy, breaking all the customary boundaries, because he has clearly seen in his enemy not only a neighbour, not only a fellow human or a fellow creature, but a fellow sharer in the life of God."
This struck me as saying substantially the same thing as the aboriginal idea. The next day I came across two more quotes which, I believe, support the same concept:
Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills -
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn't matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn't always understand.
Czeslaw Milsoz
and then this, from the character Father Zosima in Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov:
"Do not lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others. Not respecting anyone, he ceases to love, and having no love, he gives himself up to passions and coarse pleasure, in order to occupy and amuse himself, and in his vices reaches complete bestiality, and it all comes from lying continually to others and to himself."
Now, what does all this have to do with feminism? I guess what I'm getting at is that you don't have to be ideologically educated in explicit feminist thought (though I believe it is an important and hard-earned philosophy) to hold the respectful values which can lead to feminist attitudes. I suspect my mother's traditional upbringing and beliefs informed her 'feminist' stance more than most people would think.
My friend wrote:
"Complaining comes naturally to me, but feminism does not. I feel very weird about the label, for one thing, and it doesn't accurately describe my views. For me, it's not really about women, it's about equality. I know that not everyone can be equal in all things, but no one should be discriminated against or ignored."
I think my mother would say much the same thing.
*I suppose the real patron saint of this blog is St. Isidore of Seville. Or perhaps St. Jude. You know, lost causes and all that.
The name
I should probably explain the title of the blog. It's from Gene Wolfe's The Book of the New Sun.The book is set in the far future, when the sun is getting old and red. The Claw is a relic which the protagonist, Severian, finds in his travels. It reportedly belonged to a legendary character called The Conciliator, who, it is believed, will return to 'Urth' someday as the New Sun, bringing light and life back to a dying planet.
This may sound like a not-so-interesting pulp fantasy novel, and that's certainly where Wolfe has gotten some of these ideas from. But to call it a pulp fantasy novel would be like calling Hamlet a rabble-rousing revenge fantasy. I've sung Wolfe's praises enough in my life, so I'll just say that he's probably my favorite author, and that it's no accident that critics compare him to Dickens, Nabokov, Melville, Borges, and other famous types. (Yes, I have read books by them and I can see where the critics are coming from!)
The cover art is by Don Maitz, a prolific fantasy artist.
Mr. Wolfe doesn't have too much of a web presence - the most notable fan-site is by Paul Duggan.
Why did I pick the name for my blog? It sounds catchy, I love Wolfe's book, and it wasn't taken yet!
I hope.
The last straw
I'd been tenaciously avoiding the temptations of Blog for several years now.
I had good reasons:
1. I don't have the time to spare.
2. I already spend too much time in an online community (a.k.a. Eunoia) with assorted friends.
3. I don't have anything original to say.
4. Nobody would read it.
When the desire for Blog came to me, it would whisper rationalizations in my ear, in a sort of sly, snivelling Gollum-voice:
You read many blogsss. Having your own blog would let you tie them all together, preciousss! You would use it to do good thingsss, to say nice thingsss about the good blogsess, yesss you would!
All the othersss has one of their ownsess. You don't exist without one, no, no!
All the othersss need to know what you're thinking, preciouss. Your opinion is ssso important, the mossst importantest, yess. Why lose your brilliant ideassess, precious? Publish them all, waste your time, argue with strangersss, talk about your petssses, complain about everything, you deserve it, you need it YES YESSS YESSSS!
Up until today I had successfully ignored these sweet and obviously corrupting words of seduction. But then the last straw came. Let's just call her... C. Or maybe that's too obvious. Let's call her, a letter of the alphabet.
A letter of the alphabet is a friend who lives a few hours away in a scenic city in a valley and who I've been reconnecting with. (Whom I've been reconnecting with?) Anyways, the point is:
She just created a blog. With a catchy title. From a song I love. And that was it, man. I was sold. I said, "If she's going create a blog (and hey, blogs are a good way to connect with people who live some distance away!) with a catchy title that I should've thought of, from a song I love, then I'm going to create one too. Damn the torpedos."
Somewhere in the distance I can hear my common sense yelling "Don't do it! You have a cold! You're not thinking straight! Don't publish it! Whatever you do, don't press that button...
I had good reasons:
1. I don't have the time to spare.
2. I already spend too much time in an online community (a.k.a. Eunoia) with assorted friends.
3. I don't have anything original to say.
4. Nobody would read it.
When the desire for Blog came to me, it would whisper rationalizations in my ear, in a sort of sly, snivelling Gollum-voice:
You read many blogsss. Having your own blog would let you tie them all together, preciousss! You would use it to do good thingsss, to say nice thingsss about the good blogsess, yesss you would!
All the othersss has one of their ownsess. You don't exist without one, no, no!
All the othersss need to know what you're thinking, preciouss. Your opinion is ssso important, the mossst importantest, yess. Why lose your brilliant ideassess, precious? Publish them all, waste your time, argue with strangersss, talk about your petssses, complain about everything, you deserve it, you need it YES YESSS YESSSS!
Up until today I had successfully ignored these sweet and obviously corrupting words of seduction. But then the last straw came. Let's just call her... C. Or maybe that's too obvious. Let's call her, a letter of the alphabet.
A letter of the alphabet is a friend who lives a few hours away in a scenic city in a valley and who I've been reconnecting with. (Whom I've been reconnecting with?) Anyways, the point is:
She just created a blog. With a catchy title. From a song I love. And that was it, man. I was sold. I said, "If she's going create a blog (and hey, blogs are a good way to connect with people who live some distance away!) with a catchy title that I should've thought of, from a song I love, then I'm going to create one too. Damn the torpedos."
Somewhere in the distance I can hear my common sense yelling "Don't do it! You have a cold! You're not thinking straight! Don't publish it! Whatever you do, don't press that button...
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