Good-bye

Well, this will by my last post on Blogspot. I'm moving on to greater pastures ( I think) at the following address: http://warwickfuller.wordpress.com/

I hope you will follow me there!

Merry Christmas!

My favorite Christmas Album

Ah, Ella. This is my favorite Christmas Album. Can there be a better way to bring in the holidays than Ella's soulful voice singing the classics? The answer is "No".

Unless you got a better one.

What's your favorite Christmas album?

The Problem with Postmoderns is...

The Problem with Postmoderns is...

we were taught too well to trust no one by the previous two generations (our teachers and parents). Including ourselves and our own judgement.

So, of course, we have a problem with truth.

I wanna be smart, two. I mean, tow. I mean, as well.

Lewis' birthday is coming up soon. Of course I was not thinking about him but on my preaching paper, when I thought of this: "How many times was Lewis in that toolshed, or standing by a beam of the sun before this thought struck him?"

"I was standing today in the dark toolshed. The sun was shining outside and through the crack at the top of the door there came a sunbeam. From where I stood that beam of light, with the specks of dust floating in it, was the most striking thing in the place. Everything else was almost pitch-black. I was seeing the beam, not seeing things by it.

Then I moved, so that the beam fell on my eyes. Instantly the whole previous picture vanished. I saw no toolshed, and (above all) no beam. Instead I saw, framed in the irregular cranny at the top of the door, green leaves moving on the branches of a tree outside and beyond that, 90 odd million miles away, the sun. Looking along the beam, and looking at the beam are very different experiences.

But this is only a very simple example of the difference between looking at and looking along. A young man meets a girl. The whole world looks different when he sees her. Her voice reminds him of something he has been trying to remember all his life, and ten minutes casual chat with her is more precious than all the favours that all other women in the world could grant. lie is, as they say, “in love”. Now comes a scientist and describes this young man's experience from the outside. For him it is all an affair of the young man's genes and a recognised biological stimulus. That is the dif- ference between looking along the sexual impulse and looking at it.

When you have got into the habit of making this distinction you will find examples of it all day long. The mathematician sits thinking, and to him it seems that he is contemplating timeless and spaceless truths about quantity. But the cerebral physiologist, if he could look inside the mathematician's head, would find nothing timeless and spaceless there - only tiny movements in the grey matter. The savage dances in ecstasy at midnight before Nyonga and feels with every muscle that his dance is helping to bring the new green crops and the spring rain and the babies. The anthropologist, observing that savage, records that he is performing a fertility ritual of the type so- and-so. The girl cries over her broken doll and feels that she has lost a real friend; the psychologist says that her nascent maternal instinct has been temporarily lavished on a bit of shaped and coloured wax.

As soon as you have grasped this simple distinction, it raises a question. You get one experience of a thing when you look along it and another when you look at it. Which is the “true” or “valid” experience? Which tells you most about the thing? And you can hardly ask that question without noticing that for the last fifty years or so everyone has been taking the answer for granted. It has been assumed without discussion that if you want the true account of religion you must go, not to religious people, but to anthropologists; that if you want the true account of sexual love you must go, not to lovers, but to psychologists; that if you want to understand some “ideology” (such as medieval chivalry or the nineteenth-century idea of a “gentleman”), you must listen not to those who lived inside it, but to sociologists.

The people who look at things have had it all their own way; the people who look along things have simply been brow-beaten. It has even come to be taken for granted that the external account of a thing somehow refutes or “debunks” the account given from inside. “All these moral ideals which look so transcendental and beautiful from inside”, says the wiseacre, “are really only a mass of biological instincts and inherited taboos.” And no one plays the game the other way round by replying, “If you will only step inside, the things that look to you like instincts and taboos will suddenly reveal their real and transcendental nature.”

1That, in fact, is the whole basis of the specifically “modern” type of thought. And is it not, you will ask, a very sensible basis? For, after all, we are often deceived by things from the inside. For example, the girl who looks so wonderful while we're in love, may really be a very plain, stupid, and disagreeable person. The savage's dance to Nyonga does not really cause the crops to grow. Having been so often deceived by looking along, are we not well advised to trust only to looking at? in fact to discount all these inside experiences?

Well, no. There are two fatal objections to discounting them all. And the first is this. You discount them in order to think more accurately. But you can't think at all - and therefore, of course, can't think accurately - if you have nothing to think about. A physiologist, for example, can study pain and find out that it “is” (whatever is means) such and such neural events. But the word pain would have no meaning for him unless he had “been inside” by actually suffering. If he had never looked along pain he simply wouldn't know what he was looking at. The very subject for his inquiries from outside exists for him only because he has, at least once, been inside.

This case is not likely to occur, because every man has felt pain. But it is perfectly easy to go on all your life giving explanations of religion, love, morality, honour, and the like, without having been inside any of them. And if you do that, you are simply playing with counters. You go on explaining a thing without knowing what it is. That is why a great deal of contemporary thought is, strictly speaking, thought about nothing - all the apparatus of thought busily working in a vacuum.

The other objection is this: let us go back to the toolshed. I might have discounted what I saw when looking along the beam (i.e., the leaves moving and the sun) on the ground that it was “really only a strip of dusty light in a dark shed”. That is, I might have set up as “true” my “side vision” of the beam. But then that side vision is itself an instance of the activity we call seeing. And this new instance could also be looked at from outside. I could allow a scientist to tell me that what seemed to be a beam of light in a shed was “really only an agitation of my own optic nerves”. And that would be just as good (or as bad) a bit of debunking as the previous one. The picture of the beam in the toolshed would now have to be discounted just as the previous picture of the trees and the sun had been discounted. And then, where are you?

In other words, you can step outside one experience only by stepping inside another. Therefore, if all inside experiences are misleading, we are always misled. The cerebral physiologist may say, if he chooses, that the mathematician's thought is “only” tiny physical movements of the grey matter. But then what about the cerebral physiologist's own thought at that very moment? A second physiologist, looking at it, could pronounce it also to be only tiny physical movements in the first physiologist's skull. Where is the rot to end?

The answer is that we must never allow the rot to begin. We must, on pain of idiocy, deny from the very outset the idea that looking at is, by its own nature, intrinsically truer or better than looking along. One must look both along and at everything. In particular cases we shall find reason for regarding the one or the other vision as inferior. Thus the inside vision of rational thinking must be truer than the outside vision which sees only movements of the grey matter; for if the outside vision were the correct one all thought (including this thought itself) would be valueless, and this is self-contradictory. You cannot have a proof that no proofs matter. On the other hand, the inside vision of the savage's dance to Nyonga may be found deceptive because we find reason to believe that crops and babies are not really affected by it. In fact, we must take each case on its merits. But we must start with no prejudice for or against either kind of looking. We do not know in advance to whether the lover or the psychologist is giving the more correct account of love, or whether both accounts are equally correct in different ways, or whether both are equally wrong. We just have to find out. But the period of brow-beating has got to end."

A story from back in the day...

I'm not sure why I remembered this story this morning...

Back in the day, Pennsylvania had passed a law that all traffic should be in the right lane, making the left hand lane for passing vehicles, only. I'm pretty sure I was in college when this occurred. The PA houses had just passed the law, it was Nov, I think. It wasn't supposed to take effect until January. Not that big a deal, right? I think every other state had had this in effect all around us, and since most driving our highways are from somewhere else, on their way through, it was just the natives that had to get used to it.

I forget where I was going. I was in Angus, the blue Ford escort, this is post-Warwick mobile, and I was going through Harrisburg on Front Street. For those not in the know, Front Street is a one way, three-laned street that runs south along the river. I was in the middle lane, because, honestly, Front Street is my kryptonite. The lanes seem so narrow and it freaks me out. So, I think to myself, if I drive in the middle lane I'll be fine. Drive in the right lane, I'll hit a curb and flip down the gully and into the river where we will all drown (granted the river is only 3 feet deep in most areas). Drive in the left lane, someone will pull out in front of me and we'll all die in a fiery blaze, probably on the front lawn of Beth-El.

So, I was driving down the center lane of Front Street on the morning after the PA Legislature has passed this law. Alongside me, in the right-hand lane, comes a guy and a woman who are keeping neck and neck with me. I'm freaked out. Then he starts yelling at me. I'm really freaked, but also polite, so I roll down my window. Expecting one of my brakelights is out, or my entire bumper is missing, I look over his way with a smile and try not to end all of our lives in the river or on the lawn of Beth-El.

He yells across, "You're in the wrong lane! You're gonna get pulled over! They just passed a law saying that you need to drive in the right-hand lane!"

Several things went through my mind. How does this guy think all of Harrisburg's traffic is gonna fit just in the right hand lane? Can he be serious? CAN he really be serious?

I yelled back, "That's only on the highway."

"No," he yelled, "its for everywhere."

I rolled up my window and drove to wherever I was going.

To this day I can't figure out if the guy was alerting me out of his concern for me, or this was his way of complaining despite his ignorance. I still picture him, though, faithfully in the right hand lane driving through life, yelling, warning others of their impending doom.

(There's probably a sermon in this, somewhere...)

Rules were made to keep the right things sacred

This morning I went to hear Gordon MacDonald speak at my school. So, grabbed my Starbucks togo cup filled with London Fog and headed off to school. I went up to the balcony and took my seat. Seconds later, an usher came up to me and asked if I could finish my drink on the steps out of the chapel area.

I was kind of perturbed. My cup is really big, and I had planned ahead by bringing it. I'm not a gulper. I drink my tea. I enjoy it. And so I brought my tall red cup, so familiar to those that know me, so that i could drink it throughout the morning. And it had a lid. I'm not a spiller but am cautious.

I was thinking ahead.

But here, I was denied. I mourned for my tea, but knew that I should probably not argue or rock the boat. Perturbed, but not weighed down. Its just a cup of tea. A really good, well-looked forward to cup of Early grey with milk and just the right amount of vanilla. So, I put my tall red cup on the table outside of the chapel, and went inside.

When I came back out after the first session, I was ready for my cup. But where my cup was had been replaced by a tablecloth, and cookies and coffee pot and cups and plates and donut holes... Where was my cup?

I turned to the usher, who seemed to have been waiting for me:

"Don't worry, your cup is right here."

and she pointed at the really old antique desk that sits just outside the chapel.

It took me really by surprise. I almost want to say incredulous. My tea was barred from the chapel to make sure the chapel stayed nice looking, I'm assuming. But no one cared about the antique desk that sat with the antique Bible and the antique glass lamp that sat on it.

It seemed weird to me that they were willing to protect the carpet of the chapel on one side, but not the desk. What makes the chapel space more valuable than where someone may have studied the Word, preparing for their sermon, or just doing daily life? Maybe they were so concerned about following one rule that they could not recognize the value of something outside of their domain.