On THAT Speech.

Last week the House of Commons held a lengthy, eleven and a half hour debate on whether or not the United Kingdom should extend it's air strikes against the organisation variously known as (or translated as) Islamic State, ISIS, ISIL and Daesh.  By all accounts it started slowly, with the Labour party in particular focussing unhelpfully on David Cameron's equally unhelpful comment to the 1922 committee the day before, describing Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn and others who would vote against such strikes as terrorist sympathisers.  It took a long time to get into the real debate about the practical and moral implications of the decision being made and it seemed like opinion was swaying one way and another for many MPs.  You most likely know all this.

Then, towards the end of the debate, Shadow Foreign Secretary Hilary Benn, son of the famous left-wing politician Tony Benn, made his speech.  At around fourteen minutes in length it did not seek to run over the allotted time, but managed to fit quite a lot of content in nonetheless.  Supposedly Benn had been writing it during the debate and did not think it was up to much himself, but his principles demanded he make in nonetheless.  The result was rapturous applause from much of the Commons and,  most notably, the final swaying of opinion towards voting in favour of air strikes for many who had been undecided, or, at the very lest, uncertain.  It was lauded in tweets and in news articles for its clear, yet simple rhetoric, its compassionate opening and emotive conclusion.  People were even commenting - within minutes - that Benn was now the clear candidate to replace Corbyn as Labour leader.

It went the other way too of course.  Many hard-left supporters were decrying Benn as a traitor and much abuse was subsequently heaped upon him and upon the 65 other Labour MPs who voted for the strikes.  This was hardly fair and references made to his father birling in his grave were particularly underhanded (not least because it seems like Tony Benn would have been very proud, even in disagreement), but at the same time I can understand their anger - indeed, before I had heard the speech I felt some of it myself - for here was a man changing minds and being hailed as some kind of political apotheosis upon the basis of just one speech, and, most notably, primarily on the quality of the speech itself, not, necessarily, the argument being made

Here's that speech in full:

There is no denying, even from the position of one who disagreed (and continues to disagree) with the motion of which it was in favour, that this is a good speech.  Benn hits all the right notes, from emphasising his friendship and  respect for Jeremy Corbyn at the beginning, through making a clear moral case for some kind of action, to even including arelatively short, but powerful argument in favour of that action being the extension of British air strikes into Syria.  There is much that he says that I can agree with and it is clear that he is making his speech out genuine principled belief that this truly is the right thing to do.  Part of the problem for me is that the argument he makes, and which persuaded many, is disproportionate in its components, and in the impact they are intended to have.

The strongest and lengthiest part of his argument is the moral case for action against ISIS (my preferred acronym, incidentally, since they all essentially mean the same thing and this is by far the easiest to remember, although it does make them sound a little too much like Bond villains).  There is no doubt that when he makes this argument, both in the main body of his speech and in his highly emotive conclusion, the vast majority of the house must have been in agreement with him, even if they knew he was leading them towards points of contention.  It is, of course, completely right that we should do something to act against terror and against those who cause so much suffering and death.  It is absolutely right to listen to UN Security Council resolution 2249 (paragraph five of which Benn quotes) and take all necessary measures against the Islamic State, but it is important to note that this is not necessarily an argument in favour of extended air strikes, or even for continuing the strikes we are already making in Iraq.

Benn does address this, of course.  At about 7:40 in the video above he switches from making a moral case for action to making a specific case for extended air strikes.  This continues only for another four and a half minutes and includes within it numerous points in agreement with those who propose alternative measures to the air strikes.  He even makes it clear that there are many reasons why other MPs may still choose to oppose the strikes, a step which, whilst conciliatory, actually undermines his argument quite a bit.  The points he makes in favour of the strikes are good ones, but left out of the context of the many arguments against strikes, are not necessarily convincing.  They certainly do no answer concerns of increasing radicalisation, or the fact that western intervention in the Middle East over the last fourteen years (if not much longer) is a major reason for the rise of ISIS in the first place, nor do they address legitimate concerns that, far from increasing national security, increased bombing of ISIS targets may well increase the threat of terror against our nation.

Of course it's quite natural that Benn would leave these things out - they do not work in favour of his argument and it's possible he himself does not consider them strong enough arguments in opposition, but their absence, in the context of his speech makes his argument seem stronger than many believe it to be.

But the real coup de grace is yet to come.  The final two minutes of the speech, addressed to the Labour party and evoking the fight against fascism in the early twentieth century, is the point where I lose all sympathy for Mr. Benn's arguments and begin to wonder if we need to react much more strongly against rhetoric in modern debate.

You see Benn's concluding remarks are designed to stir up emotions: pride in the Labour party's achievements and principles, hatred towards fascism, guilt for inaction, and many others besides.  By dredging up comparisons to the fights against Franco, Mussolini and, of course, Hitler, Benn is aiming to stir up a kind of self-righteous and patriotic pride which is the inevitable consequence of harking back to that era.  Never mind that, once again, it is only an argument in favour of action, not for the specific action for which Benn is calling on his colleagues to vote.  Never mind that, whether it is right to call them fascists or not, comparisons of ISIS to the right-wing movements of Europe in the early 20th century - and similarly the kinds of action which are needed to be taken against them - are completely inappropriate.

That Benn reaches this point, at the end of his speech, at the end of the debate, is actually vaguely amusing.  It's reminiscent of that which is known as Godwin's law, stating that "as an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches 1".  A corollary of this law also states that the first person to make such a comparison automatically loses the argument.  I think there are good reasons for adopting such a corollary and Benn's use of such a comparison last Wednesday evening demonstrates it as well as any I could cite.  The issue is that such a comparison fails to appeal to reason - it appeals to emotion, to patriotism and to the threat of being accused of fascism yourself.

There is a difference, of course, between an online discussion, where the Nazi comparison is usually the last resort of a deeply frustrated and angry individual and, more often than not is a direct insult to their opponent, and Benn's speech, which is calm, carefully worded and well thought out.  I fear the impact, however, is much the same and that the insult of the online discussion forum is still implied in Benn's words.  He does not say so outright, perhaps would not even believe he had implied it, but within his comparison is the accusation that those Labour MPs who would vote against the strikes would not be 'doing their bit' against fascism, that they would be allowing 'the Nazis' to get away with it, that - despite his opening argument against Cameron's direct statement to the same effect - they were somehow on the wrong side.

And yet, as I have already said, this speech was praised for all the things I have just discussed.  That's because it was was a collection of very well-chosen words, delivered just as skilfully, and in the world of debate - indeed in its long history, since the time of the ancient Greeks - how an argument is made matters more than whether or not it is a good argument, or even correct when put under scrutiny.  It is the same in the Houses of Parliament as it is in our newspapers, blogs (this one included), debating societies, and even our daily conversations an arguments with each other.

Of course some of this is just natural human behaviour.  Words are powerful.  If you've read any of my blogs before you'll know how much I believe in the power of words to make real, important change.  We can be swayed by words very easily if we're not thinking critically about what we're hearing and I know I am just as guilty as the rest of humanity when it comes to taking a speech or a text at face value rather than spending the time to question it and decide whether there is any truth contained behind the careful turns of phrase.  If we're really to have a nation which engages politically, and political class which represents us and the issues of the world with full truthfulness and integrity, then I think it's time we started to react against rhetoric in our debates.  We need to train our citizens to be more critical, to engage with arguments at all levels and to make sure that, no matter how impressed they are by the works of great word-smiths, they do not let it sway them into making decisions for the wrong reasons, or not backed up by sufficient evidence.

And the next time you hear someone make a Nazi comparison - don't applaud them until your sure it fits.

Further Reading:

Were you carried away by Hilary Benn's 'electrifying' speech?  This is political theatre, not democracy. - Rachel Shabi, The Independent.

Truth and Fiction (A Short Story)

Somewhere in my designs for this blog, I had intended that, as well as sharing my thoughts on many topics, and using it as a hub for my web fiction serials, I was going to post shorter, independent pieces of fiction here.  Over the past few days I have been looking through my 'portfolio' and reminding myself of various things I have been working on, on and off, and other pieces which I completed long enough ago to have forgotten all about them.  The following is one such piece, written four or five years ago, which I thought I might try to follow with others about the same characters in the same alternate history, but sadly never did.  It has, as its central theme, much of the ideas I had been posting about during Lent, so now I post it here for your enjoyment.

Truth and Fiction

            “The typing goes well, then?” the Duc de Yorque enquired as he entered the study to see his nephew surrounded by papers and spent ink ribbons.  There was barely even any space left on the floor and just a few inches of a fine rug depicting the   Pharos of Alejandria remained visible.

            “Better than it has for a while,” replied the long-haired young gentleman who sat in the midst of all the chaos, stopping his furious typing only momentarily to spin around and glance fleetingly at the monocled old man in the doorway, “I think I have finally found a way past my block!  At last I know how Henrietta’s lover escaped from the Indies so that he could see her again.”

            “These are your strange ‘West Indies’, governed by an alternate Angleterre in charge of her own empire, somewhat like that of the Spanish, yes?”

            “I call it the British Empire, as these Isles are unified in that world.”

            The Duc stepped forward, leaning over his nephew’s shoulder to wonder at his prose.  “You really have such a fine imagination, Michel.  How do you think of such things?”

            “I just imagine how things might have been had everything turned out differently, for instance if the Moors had succeed in invading Spain, rather than the other way around, or if the Saxon purges had never occurred.”

            “But to think of such things – you are a visionary!”

            The younger man blushed and returned to his typing, the click of keys resounding around the small study with almost musical rhythm.  The Duc smiled and turned back towards the hall.  As he was halfway through the door he turned again and said, almost whimsically, “You know, you should read some of it tonight after dinner.  I’m sure young Mlle. de Londres would find it most charming.”  He smiled mischievously as he closed the door and left Michel blushing for entirely different reasons than before.

            The dining room was glittering with crystal and candlelight as the guests took their seats, still in the midst of their quiet conversations from the hall.  The Duc sat at the head of the table and gazed at each of his guests in turn.  His expression was caught somewhere between kindness and pride.  Everyone was turned out in their finest dress and represented some of the most respected people in Norman society and all returned his looks appreciatively.  All, that is, except the guest of honour, the widowed Comtess de Londres, who matched his gaze with imperious distaste, although the Duc himself did not seem to notice.

            To either side of the Comtess sat her children, the young Comte, a military Magician freshly returned on leave from the siege of Stirling, and Mlle. Marie, who was literally dazzling in a white gown with a net of diamonds in her hair.  Michel, seated to her right, could barely even glance at her without looking like a once-blind man who has seen the sun for the first time.

            He remained silent whilst the others continued their small talk, watching as the servants scurried in carrying trays of aperitifs.  They would lay each plate before the guests with a stealthy grace, careful to be functional, not visible.

            “So, Phillipe,” the Duc began after everyone had finished talking and taken their first few mouthfuls, “please, tell us about the war in Scotia.”

            The Comte’s obvious pride made him seem to grow taller and more impressive in an instant, as if by the very Magic that had made him the Army’s most talked about hero.  His handsome features held a confidence verging on arrogance, but were soft enough to remain charming and his wide grin was considered to be quite disarming, or so Michel had heard.

            “It is the most brutal war we have fought in a long time.  The Scots have certainly learned a thing or two since the last time and, whilst we have advanced much farther north on this occasion, the casualties so far have been horrific.”

            “Is it true they are using Druids to supply Stirling?” asked Mlle. de la Ville de Roi sur l’Hul, an influential young heiress.

            “It would seem so,” the Comte replied.  “We believe they have been Magically transporting goods from the port of Glasgow which we’ve been unable to blockade due to Irish intervention.”

            “Is there no counter Magic you can use?” asked the Duc.

            “Oh we’ve tried all sorts, but whilst I am undoubtedly stronger than any one of them, there is, sadly, a great deal more of them than there are of me.”

            The Duc nodded sympathetically and then turned to Michel, “And what of the Scots in your Fiction, Michel?  Do they have Druids still, fighting for this great ‘British Empire’ of yours?”

            Nervously the young writer raised his head and glanced around at the other guests before clearing his throat.  “No, Uncle, there is no Magic in this world I have created.”

            “No Magic?” scoffed the Comte, “but how could a world like that even exist?”

            “I believe that God requires no such powers to create.”

            “But is it not blasphemy to credit yourself with the same powers of creation?” asked Mlle. de Londres.

            Michel felt his heart leap into his throat as she addressed him.  Wary that she had posed the question a little spicily, he replied, “For me it is just imagination, whereas God creates ultimate reality, there is no comparison!”  Mlle. de Londres gaze was one of mild interest now, though it still made Michel sweat, “But even so I have often asked myself the same question.  In the end, I can only conclude that imagination is a gift He has given me and must be treated with due respect.”

            The Comte laughed, “But what use has God for such nonsense?  God favours the strong, men of action like the Duc and I.”

            “Oh my time in the war with Spain was a trifle, Phillipe, do not speak of it.”

            “Nevertheless you fought for Greater Normandie, surely you would agree that that holds more value than words on a page, mere whimsy?”

            “Well I have not read this latest story, but I have always found Michel’s imagination to be most enchanting.  It warms the heart and inspires the mind, makes the blood pump with excitement!  Is there not value in that?”

            “It is nothing to actual experience, dear Duc!  What point to such insight on events which have not occurred in reality?  Were such stories Historical, then there might be found some purely academic merit, but…” the Comte trailed off, shaking his head and barely restraining his amusement.

            “Well,” said the Duc, recovering, “I have asked Michel to read some of it after dinner, so we shall see then what entertainment can be had.”

            “Oh, I am not sure any of it is ready for public reading,” Michel responded hastily, “I would prefer to leave it for another occasion.”

            The Duc looked at him sadly, but the Comte was smirking slightly and Michel knew that he could never have read it before such a man.  Almost immediately the Comtess, who had remained silently disapproving throughout all of the previous topic, took control of the conversation and began to speak at length of the dreadful time she had spent a month ago in the Alps of the Confederatio Helvetica.  Michel tried to look appropriately shocked for a time, but soon returned to watching the other guests.  It was then that he saw how Mlle. de Londres was gazing at him.  She seemed disappointed.

            After a long dinner, dominated by the tales of the Comtess and her son, they all retired to the salon where the men were each served a glass of Cognac and the women received wine.  Michel lingered in the corner of the room as Mlle. de Londres sat down at the Pianoforte and began to play after a little prompting from her mother.  Her fingers moved deftly across the keys; faster than Michel - who was not at all musically talented, but who’s skill with keys of a different sort was well known - could follow.  The pieces she played at first were complicated and, if the expressions visible were any guide, unfamiliar to the majority of guests.  Michel certainly didn’t know any of them, but there was a beauty and a wonder to them not found in music of a less complex kind and he found himself lost in them quite easily.

            After a few such pieces her mother approached, leaned over her shoulder and suggested, a little forcibly, “Why don’t you play something we can all sing along to?”

            Mlle. de Londres smiled politely and nodded before playing the opening bars of Le Bon, Vieux Duc de Yorque, which had everyone laughing and singing in seconds, however she no longer seemed to radiate her love for the instrument and Michel found that more saddening than cheery.

            More songs were sung and alcohol began to flow freely into glasses and then out again.  As the young pianist tired others took over and the guests began to disperse between rooms as the doors were opened out onto the garden and the light of the moon mingled with that raining down from the chandelier in the hall.  Michel drifted from one room to the next, catching snippets of conversations and gleaning just enough information each time to know he wouldn’t want to join in.

            The Comte de Londres was standing in the midst of a small crowd of admirers, both gentlemen and young ladies, who were all staring at him with a kind of worshipful awe as he continued telling his stories from the front.

            “And so it was literally raining frogs across the battlefield!  All the officers were most disturbed by it.  The slimy beasts just got absolutely everywhere and played havoc with our ammunition and supplies,” he was explaining during one of Michel’s brief passes.

            “What did you do in response?” asked an eager-looking young man, who Michel believed might have been the son of the Duc de Chêtre.

            “The only thing I could think of,” replied de Londres in practised style, “I sent them a plague of flies and the frogs followed.  We must have wasted a weeks worth of rations.  I think, if we had sustained the spell another day we’d have had them, but as soon as it broke they sent for more rations from Glasgow.”

            Michel abandoned the group as a wave of sighs rippled across it, making for the main hall instead.  He entered as he always did, gazing up at the grand chandelier, so he was quite surprised, when he lowered his head, to find Mlle. de Londres standing in the moonlight of the open doorway, staring at him.  He blushed slightly as their eyes met, then, feeling a pull more strong than he could have described in his fiction, began to drift over towards her.

            They stood together in awkward silence for a few seconds and then both spoke at once.

            “Michel, I be-”

            “Your playing was-”

            There was another moment of awkwardness and then Michel bowed and the mademoiselle nodded graciously before continuing.

            “You are Michel, the Duc’s nephew, no?”

            “The very same, my lady.”

            “And you write fantasies?”

            “It is just hobby really,” he replied, his gazed shifting between hers and his feet.

            “Oh, but you spoke about it with such passion this evening.  I was quite stirred by your defence of the art.  Do you really believe that the Kingdom can be furthered through such things?”

            “Well I am not sure that any of my works do it justice, but I do believe that there can be truth in all art, even that which does not appear at first to imitate reality.”

            “And how do you account for such a theory?”

            “I believe two things: that the imagination can be a rich source of symbolism and allegory and that God Himself endorses the clever use of such devices.  Perhaps the spirit even guides their invention?”

            “And what is the evidence for this latter claim?”

            “Well the Word itself is filled with such writing.  Not all that is written in its pages may have happened as it is written, but all is certainly true.”

            Mlle. de Londres smiled at this.  “You have thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

            “I may not often stand up to the likes of you brother, my lady-”

“Please, call me Marie.”

“Marie…” he savoured the sound, “but I must still defend myself from their ideas.”

“I wish I could do the same.  My family disapproves of a young lady such as myself taking music as seriously as I do.”

“Those pieces you played tonight – I have never heard their like before. Who composed them?”

“I did.”

“But… that is incredible!  They were beautiful and so complicated.  I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Thank you, but Maman detests them and Phillipe is ashamed of me, I think.”

            “He should be proud that his family is so talented.”

            “You heard him at dinner. He treats all art the same!  ‘It is pure frivolity, sister.  If you must play, at least make it something appropriate to your station.’”

            Michel couldn’t help but laugh at the accuracy of the impersonation.

            “But your music speaks of things that his magic could never reach, places a soldier could never tread.”

            It was, at last, Marie’s turn to blush.

            “You know, I think I would like a walk in the gardens, would you care to join me, Michel?”

He smiled and nodded, gesturing for her to step ahead.

“And afterwards I think I might like to hear some of that story of yours.”

Imagine

Another week, another blog and, once again, I think I find myself with nothing new to say, when a post begins to form in my mind. This time it's on the back of having just finished three books: A Fine-Tuned Universe: The Quest for God in Science and Theology by Alister E. McGrath, A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis and then back to McGrath with Heresy: A History of Defending the Truth. Three very different books, all of which left me with plenty to think about and which (along with my previous read on meditation) have had me wondering about the role of imagination in the Christian faith. I hope to explore that question a bit later on.

But first: the books! McGrath's Fine-Tuned Universe is a book about looking at Natural Theology (traditionally what we can learn about God from what He has revealed of Himself through nature) in a new way. McGrath calls for an approach where we no longer seek to prove God's existence using Natural Theology, but whereby we recognise the way in which Nature reflects or 'resonates' with a Christian, Trinitarian worldview. We don't look to nature to prove God, whom we believe in through Scripture and personal experience, but we see that Christianity may offer the best explanation for what is observed in Nature. He examines the theological implications of this and then looks at some relatively recent developments in cosmology, physics and evolutionary biology which, he argues, can be seen in this light.

As a whole it is an approach which really appeals to me, indeed, though I might never have verbalised it as such, or been able to explain it very clearly, it is much the way I have always approached nature, but McGrath solidifies it, grounds it in science and uses Augustine's doctrine of creation as a way of suggesting how our growing understanding of the life, the cosmos and the emergent, stratified nature of reality can be reflected theologically.

It is fascinating stuff. I did have a couple of problems with the book, however. The first was that it spey inconclusive. McGrath intended it to be the start (or very nearly the start) of a theological and scientific conversation, so it sort of leaves all its ideas hanging, waiting to see who picks them up. Another issue is that it doesn't have a huge amount of scriptural grounding. This is common in Natural Theology in general and whilst it's clear the 'Trinitarian worldview' McGrath is talking about is scripturally based, he doesn't actually demonstrate this very often. It also results in the single most frustrating aspect of the book, which is his exploration of Augustine's doctrine of creation, which Augustine based, not only on Genesis, but also on a verse in Ecclesiasticus, one of the apocryphal texts not recognised as authoritative by the majority of the (protestant) church. Whilst the Apocrypha is another issue entirely from the one the book was about, McGrath fails to mention this as an issue at all, which seems a little incomplete.

Aside from these (mostly) niggles, however, it is an excellent book and one well worth reading of you have an interest in the places where theology and science meet and wish to expand your imaginative understanding of the Universe. More on that in a bit...

A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis is a very different kind of book. It is a short diary by the great writer and Christian apologist, written in the days, weeks, months after the death of his wife from cancer. It is astonishingly honest, angry and moving, yet also clear, with a precision of thought and analysis rarely seen in such moments. Through it Lewis appears to understand more about his grief, his humanity, and, above all else, God.  It's a book which, as soon as you start reading it, you realise must be important in some way and, indeed, I would recommend that everyone does.  It is phenomenally well-written, brutally honest and yet so well-thought out by the end.  I don't think I can review it further without repeating myself again.

Heresy: A History of Defending the Truth, is a very different book from A Fine-Tuned Universe and yet McGrath's particular style and some familiar arguments manage to rise to the surface as you read it.  Much like the former book, it feels rather inconclusive, but what you do get is a very good overview of some of the major heresies of the classical 'patristic' era and some sound criticism of a number of theories on how heresy orginates and whether what we know as Christian orthodoxy has any right to be so. In doing so it challenges some traditional Christian views, such as the idea that heresy always originates outside the church, but at the same time post-modern approaches are also shown to be indefensible. Heresy is not a liberating alternative to a repressive orthodoxy, but the spiritual equivalent of an evolutionary dead end in the exploration of the best way to express Christian belief.

One finishes the book with a profound sense that Christian orthodoxy is to be defended (if continually developed), not only because it is the best model of life and faith for the Christian, but because it is also the most intellectually coherent, satisfying and exciting vision of Christianity. McGrath finishes with a call for theologians and practising Christians alike to exercise their intellects and imagination in presenting this truth to the world, which has been led to believe quite the opposite for a number of social, cultural and historical reasons.

McGrath's approach to theology is one of intellectual excitement, rather than spiritual development, but from reading his works (and listening to him) I'm reasonably sure of his saving faith in Jesus Christ. His very academic approach is a function of both his personality (which is similar to my own in at least this respect) and the context within which he works, but his appeal to the Christian imagination at the end is one which I think we all need to engage with, which brings me to the meat of this post...

Imagination.  The one thing all three books above have in common, aside from the fact that I chose to read them (and simply because they were there, on my bookshelf, rather than because of any other particular agenda), is that they each make appeals to the human imagination in the way they look at our Faith and the world around us.  McGrath calls for the use of the Christian imagination in how we look at and respond to the natural world and the sciences which explore it, as well as in how we look at our theological orthodoxy and relate it to the world.  Lewis demonstrates the power the imagination has to deceive us in our understanding of both God and those we love, but equally that it can be transformed by our faith to help us know God and others more clearly.

I have touched on this topic before, of course, in my defence of fiction and it's ability to be used as an explanatory, analogical, allegorical and inspiring tool for exploring the ideas of life and faith, but that's not all the imagination is used for and so this is a look at the Christian imagination as whole and why we should spend more time developing it within our fellowships.

Imagination is frowned upon by a number of Christians and this is seen to be something mirrored outside of the Church as well.  Imagination is something children have, an element of play.  It is not something which a mature adult should spend much time worrying about.  I commented on this attitude before, citing C. S. Lewis' response to such thinking.  This time I shall quote him more fully:

Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.

But as I said, there is more the the human imagination that its power to create and be absorbed in complete fictions.  The imagination is also a very necessary part of our rationality.  We do not simply use our imaginations to think of things that are not, we also need to use it to explore ideas that are, but which we cannot perceive with our usual range of physical senses.  The best example of this can be seen in the modern sciences, which are often exploring elements of the natural world which can be observed and recorded using various pieces of technology - things which most assuredly do exist - and yet things which the human eye cannot see, the ear cannot hear, the fingers cannot touch and manipulate, and so on.  Scientists, however some might baulk at such a suggestion (though I'm sure most would not) must use their imaginations if they are to understand such phenomena better, determining how they work and how they relate to other such phenomena.

Equally, Philosophy and Theology have engaged with the human imagination for thousands of years, exploring concepts which are real, but not tangible, which can be conceived of, but not seen.  The idea that the imagination is a fanciful, even shameful thing, seems to be a more recent one, tied together with the increase in fantasy fiction since the nineteenth century and, before that, to the puritan reaction against fiction full stop.

So what does it mean for Christians to use their imaginations?  I cannot claim to have a comprehensive doctrine to hand, nor can I cite much in the way of Scripture to help develop one.  All I can say is that Christians need to use their imaginations to see the connections between what they believe and the reality they see, as well as to expand those notions to see how they relate to what others believe and how best to share that testimony with them.  This can, of course, involve our creative gifts, given to us by God to exercise for his glory, but it can just as easily be used in how we explain our faith at a purely theological, spiritual or experiential level.

Romans 12 verse 2 says this:

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.  Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will his - his good, perfect and pleasing will.

Paul is talking about a spiritual transformation which enables us to see the world in a profoundly Christian way, but just because it is a spiritual process does not mean it does not have physical applications. Seeing the world itself is one such application, how we think about the world and how we process our understanding of it are similarly physio-chemical processes in the brain.  The spiritual and the physical are not - as the Greek metaphysical worldview taught - completely separate realms, but interacting realities.  Our spiritual transformation affects us physically.  What Paul is speaking about, then, involves a transformation of our thinking minds - our rationality and our imaginations.  McGrath mentions this several times when proposing his new approach to Natural theology, suggesting that the Christian vision of reality is a transformed one and one which allows us to see the world in a certain way.  That doesn't just extend to the natural sciences, but to all areas of life and ultimately even to how we view our faith itself.

So, I'm not suggesting we need to invent theologies or visions of God to pass on to others, but we must use all of our minds as much as all of our hearts, strength and souls when we love God and the transformed Christian imagination is very much a part of that process.  We should not stifle it, but within the guidance of scripture and the Spirit, let it help us explore and express our beliefs and the wonderful deeds and personality of our gracious God.

Until next time, then, go well!

Fiction, Lies and Parables

So, there was a lot I wanted to say in my last post and I think I got the majority of it onto the page, but there are still some important things I wanted to talk about in more detail. Foremost of these in my mind the last few days has been the place fiction actually plays in my life and thinking, why I thought I should give it up for Lent and yet also why I believe it is a really important part of human experience and something Christians should be less dismissive of and more participatory in than they often are.

Firstly, an update on how my Lent had progressed so far.

For three days I have successfully avoided reading any fiction and have spent my mornings feeding my daughter to the dulcet tones of my minister preaching on Song of Songs and Luke's gospel. I have been reading and enjoying John Jefferson Davis' 'Meditation and Communion with God' and have spent a good bit more time aware of the presence of God in my life.

I have not, however, had much time to do any actual meditation on the word of God, or spent much time in prayer and my daughter's current feeding habits have often distracted me from the thrust of the morning message. (She has taken to wriggling, flailing, screaming, spitting and pouting rather than take her milk in an orderly fashion - I wonder if she misses the TV being on?) Any free time I have had has been taken up with other distractions like sleepiness and procrastination. The sinful nature exerts its presence once again.

But there have been encouragements. As I said I have been more aware of God's presence this week, which had affected my behaviour to some degree. I've been less afraid of telling people about my faith as well, going so far as to be accused (light heartedly) of being a Bible basher yesterday evening. I've also seen unexpected fruit from my previous blog post, with evidence of others being encouraged and a sense of having been part of something God has been doing this Lent. I hope that can continue, because that's the real point, isn't it? We participate in God's mission and, at the same time, we participate in the divine nature, being in communion with the Father and the Son through the Spirit dwelling within us. Though it's sometimes hard to believe (and harder still to remember after we've experienced it) it does not get better than that.

I pray that God will continue to reveal himself to me throughout this Lent as I try to focus more and more on him. But how about you? Are any of you doing something special for Lent this year? How's it going? I'd love to hear about it in the comments (assuming they are working...) and add them to my prayers also.

Now: fiction.

Fiction has always been a big part of my life. For a long as I can remember I have loved stories and have taken whatever opportunities I could find to stretch my imagination, acting my favourites out and starting to craft my own. This is something I've never really grown out of, and whilst some would, suggest this kind of imagination is childish and that we should put such things behind us as we mature, I'm reminded of C. S. Lewis' succinct commentary on 1 Corinthians 13:11. To paraphrase, whilst he agreed that we should cease to be childish, one of the ways we do this is in no longer trying to be so grown up! Besides, Paul was using physical maturity as an analogy for spiritual transformation and he did not go into specifics about such things as childlike imagination.

Paul himself was one of the most imaginative writers of the New Testament. Yes, he was writing about genuine spiritual realities, but they were still things unseen and which we may use our God-given imaginations to get our heads around. Paul was very skilled at this and his imagery and analogies can help us alot to understand the spiritual transformation we have undergone as Christians.

So, fiction and imagination have been a huge part of my life. From books, to comics, films to TV series, video games to the stories I write myself, I have continued to surround myself with stories, to the point where my mind is saturated with them. They help form how I think, how I relate ideas, one to another. Some of this is good, it gives me a set of tools to help me understand God, the world and other people, but it can also get in the way. It can be a huge distraction from God at times and it can affect my priorities.

I'd been thinking about this for a while, but found I was really not eager to give up any of this (such things are never easy, after all) and I was convinced that God wanted me to stay in touch with this side of my life for various reasons. Besides, it seems to me that it is a huge part of who I am.

But my identity is in Christ first and foremost, and whatever God's plans for my imaginitive gifts and sensibilities, it's clear that I need to seek him first. This is the crunch point we all must hit from time to time. The difficult part of being a Christian - recognising when we're wrong and God is right. So I saw Lent coming and realised this was an opportunity to break some habits, reassess them and attempt to focus on God as I ought.

But does that mean fiction is bad? Have I given it up forever because it was a serious problem? I don't think so. How I approach it has to change, but that's because how I approach God has to change. It's a paradigm shift of priorities, not a condemnation of fiction itself.

"But isn't fiction a frivolous thing?" you might ask. People do, especially of genre fiction, my personal preference. One Korean student I met once was particularly sceptical, wondering why I would want to experience any other reality than the one God had laid before me.

Whilst there is an element of escapism in fiction (not that that is necessarily a bad thing, in my opinion - all enjoyment we have is a kind of escapism from the corrupting effects of sin in the world, a glimpse of God's good gifts) I don't think that's its only, or even primary purpose. I believe fiction, in any form you might find it, to be one of the most powerful tools the human mind can use. With it we can manipulate reality for others in ways which are not otherwise possible, and so we can open up whole other avenues of experience, even worldviews.

"But isn't it just another way of lying?"

A Christian writer friend of mine once wrote "let me lie to you" in the introduction to one of his works, having qualified it with precisely why he thought you should. Good reasons all! I now believe he was wrong, however. He wasn't lying in his story at all. Fiction is not inherently a deception, benevolent or otherwise, unless it is presented as truth. Otherwise it is merely creation, an expression of that part of the image of God in ourselves.

How else to explain the Parables? Jesus was not telling true stories, complete with those oh-so irritating 'what happened to them all afterwards' bits which, of necessity, accompany every 'true' movie ever. No. The Parables were not direct retellings of actual events, nor did his audiences think they were.  They were made up stories, told with intent, to make a point. Jesus was not lying by telling them, he was expressing truth through fiction, through imaginary images (based in reality though they were) that he had created for the purpose.

That, I believe, is fiction at its most perfect, most sublime, as is to be expected of the Son of God, but humans now are creating beautiful things all the time, with varying agendas and purposes. Some of it is dangerous and we do need to use our discernment, especially when recommending it to others, but there is much of it we can learn from even if we don't endorse the end ideas.

I find this especially true in the worlds of science fiction and fantasy. The Church has never really embraced genre fiction (to the extent it has embraced any fiction at all). Indeed, many Christians have been told to avoid it completely, often for the reasons outlined above, or because of misconceptions about what the stories are actually about. As a consequence more and more genre fiction is being written by those with a non-Christian, even anti-Christian agenda!

Despite this genre fiction is becoming increasingly mainstream and has embedded itself into popular culture. Its ideas are seeping into the public consciousness, but since it often discusses concepts like human destiny, religion, philosophy, meaning and purpose, then it actually offers us a starting point for talking to people about these things - much more so, in fact, than a lot of traditional fiction and even more so still than most people's every day experience in the West.

What I'm saying is this: we are missing an enormous opportunity by dismissing this stuff outright. We should be engaging with it, arguing it with the people who love it and creating it so that the secular messages aren't the only ones out there.

It is for this reason that I don't plan to give this up indefinitely, though I would hope to return to it with a different sense of priority and purpose. I am also still writing fiction at the moment, even though I've stopped reading and watching it, because I believe I'm exercising a gift God has given me. I need to practise and I have readers for whom giving up would not be a good witness, but rather a lack of consideration.

My writing is a long way from fulfilling the purposes I've listed above, but there are glimpses, I think, and God always shines through the cracks that are left open to Him. My prayer this Lent then, one of so many, is that I'll grow in Him and, with the Spirit within me, will get a bit closer to his intent for these gifts.

That's all for today, then. Go well, however you're approaching this season, and may God complete in you all His purposes for your good.

Shadow is back!

Copied from Shadow - Monsters, Machines and Mad Scientists.

Good afternoon (if you happen to be living in a time zone where that is an accurate description of the time of day, and you're reading this not long after I post it, or, by coincidence, happen to be reading it in the afternoon, during a lunchbreak, for example, or after a brief siesta, or if you, perhaps, subscribe to the belief that all times of day are really after some noon and so, by extension any time of day or night might be described as such), dear readers,

It's been a while; much longer than I had intended, in fact.  When I posted my previous news post about my intention to take a break from writing Shadow whilst I prepared for the imminent arrival of my offspring and then dealt with the chaotic aftermath of the miracle of new life, I had not, in fact, planned to be away for more than a few weeks.  It has, instead, been over two months since I last posted an episode of Shadow and I have very much felt it's absence from  my life in that time.  The truth is, however, I had neither the time, nor the energy to commit to it in any way and even when I returned to work and thought that, at last, I might begin writing again, I found that I didn't have the energy, most days, to do much more on my lunch breaks but sleep.

Still, as time has passed I have found it easier and easier to fit writing back into my life and so I am pleased to be posting this today to tell you that Shadow has returned to the internets and, God-willing, I will have the energy and enthusiasm to resume my weekly updates (although I'm not 100% committing to that just yet).

But enough about Shadow.  You probably want to know about the baby, amiright?

Her name is Elizabeth Aria George.  She was born at 3.10 on Sunday 13th October, weighting just 7lb 1/4oz (or 3.2kg) and she is the most beautiful baby ever.  Despite the lack of time, the lack of sleep and, often, the lack of any functioning brain cells whatsoever, I am loving being a father and am looking forward to the day when, perhaps, Lily (as we are calling her) will be able to write her own stories and help me with mine.  Until then, I had better start coming up with some I am happy for her to be told (and then to read).  She'll be a bit young for Shadow, yet.

Thank you for your patience over the last two months.  I hope I haven't lost any of you to the capricious whims of the internet and that you'll enjoy reading Shadow once more.

Regards,

Chris George (Daddy).

Memetic Makeup

Following on from last week's article about all the stuff I'm (technically) working on at the moment, I have been tagged by the lovely Eruntane (my wife) over at her blog, Josephine Must Write, in a writer's meme of sorts.  Duty and some kind of memetic addiction compel me to complete it.  For what it's worth, it is reproduced below.

What is the working title of your book?

Well, as I said last week, I’m working on at least two things right now, so the novel is called The Dream and the web fiction series is called Shadow.

Where did the idea for the book come from?

Well, The Dream came to me in a dream… I’m kidding.  I came up with the idea for that novel in 2001 or 2002, when I was trying to find a clever twist for a fantasy novel (I was struggling with the traditional fantasy genre at the time).  I found a premise I really liked and thought I could work with, but then when I tried to write it I kept getting bored.  I’ve come back to it several times over the last decade or so and only recently have I found the right voice and the right sense of setting to really feel comfortable with it.

Shadow on the other hand came to me originally as an idea for a piece of chain fiction to write with friends.  I wanted to explore the idea of a city on another world which would be humanity’s true origin, wild and dark.  It never happened.  Then, when I was bored in work one day I started writing this story for a friend and the setting of the city of Shadow seemed perfect for what I wanted to do.  The city has turned out very differently from what I had originally intended, of course, but the base ideas are still there and keep growing all the time.

What genre does your book fall into?

An easy one this!  The Dream is a traditional fantasy novel (or trilogy) with, what I hope is, a fairly unique twist (no spoilers here!)  Shadow on the other hand is a mostly light-hearted Steampunk-lite fantasy tale.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

You know, for all that I love the idea of my stories being turned into films (in contrast to my wife) I am rubbish at thinking of actors in connection to my characters.  I can see them and they don’t look like people I know, mostly.  Having said that, Siren from Shadow was always supposed to look a bit like Kaley Cuoco with her hair dyed black and  Gulliver was inspired by Mackenzie Crook’s Ragetti from Pirates of the Caribbean.

What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

The Dream:  The world of Erinëa is falling apart: people vanish without a trace, wars and plagues are rife, a darkness spreads across the lands that is more than the mere absence of light and for four young friends - a bard, a priest, a mountain guide and a soldier – there will be a personal journey that will change the way they think about the world and themselves.

Shadow:  Ellis Graves is a normal English lad with his fair share of relationship troubles and identity issues, but when he finds himself inexplicably sucked into the world of Shadow - a world of monsters, machines and mad scientists – he finds himself a pawn in a much larger game; the goal: Earth.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Shadow is already being published weekly online.  I have vague plans to release each volume of it in eBook form as well.

The Dream is really too early in development (yes, even after a decade) to say what will become of it.  I’m not sure I’m really good enough a writer to attempt anything beyond self-publishing anyway, but who knows?

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

This question is really non-applicable, I think. The Dream is unfinished and Shadow is an ongoing serial publication.  Still, the former has been worked on, on and off, for around a decade and the latter for about five years.

To what other books in your genre would you compare this story?

Again, this is another tricky question.  The Dream is, ostensibly, at least, a traditional fantasy and that means it carries a lot of that baggage of that genre with it.  Part of the reason it’s taken me so long to get going well with it is because I was unhappy with the clichés I was trotting out with every page.  The current version plays about with the setting a bit more even before the twist which, I hope, makes it a lot more unique in its genre.  I could compare it to some well-known sci-fi properties instead, but, I’m afraid, that would constitute a spoiler.

As for Shadow, I’m actually woefully under-read in the Steampunk genre and am not sure what it might be like.  It’s really my own take on it and it’s a lot more light-hearted and frivolous (with far less attention to detail) than many would be.  It certainly doesn’t aspire to be good literature, just an entertaining weekly read and an exploration of a crazy and, I hope, fairly original world.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I’ve discussed inspiration already, I think, but I will say that The Dream was partly inspired by a famous Science Fiction film, which led me, eventually, to ask the question, ‘What would a fantasy version of this be like?’.  Shadow was inspired by not enough work to do in a Call Centre, ha ha!

What else about your book might pique your reader’s interest?

As I’ve said before, The Dream is a hopefully fairly original twist on the traditional fantasy genre and I hope it’s premise will intrigue and entertain.  Shadow is like an ongoing Steampunk fantasy TV series, only written down and with a bigger special effects budget.  If either of these things sound like your thing then, chances are, you’d find reading them worth your while.

Here endeth the meme.  I know I'm supposed to tag someone else now but (sad admission) I don't have anyone else to tag and not just because I don't know anyone else working on any writing right now.  Oh well.  If you're reading this and this applies to you, consider yourself tagged and please post a link to your completed meme in the comments!

Words, Words and More Words.

I'm a very undisciplined writer, aren't I?

The reason there have been no new posts for a while (or any regular posts, ever) on this blog is that I am poor at making the time to write.  The reason Shadow continues as it does is mainly because I have a deadline built in to writing it, which encourages me to hurry up a little, and because I do most of m y writing for it during my breaks at work as part of the necessary process of escapism.

Murkland fairs less well.  I was writing that in the mornings before breakfast and then winter hit and all I wanted to do was sleep.  I resolved this year that I would finish it before Easter, but apart from that New Year entry, I have not managed to work on it since.

Why am I recounting this tale of slovenly writing?

Well, the reason is that my wife, the beautiful Eruntane, whose own blog can be found here, has just finished writing her first full attempt at a novel and it has put me in that itchy typing finger kinda mood, indeed, the last few weeks of increasingly fervent writing from her part has meant that I've been keen to get something more serious done for a while.

Well, what have I achieved?

To be honest, not a lot.  What I have done is to unearth the novel I began writing as part of 2011's NaNoWriMo, The Dream and try to sort out some of the formatting issues it developed when I downloaded it from the free online writing software I had been using to keep working on it during breaks at work (recurring theme?).  I have thus far managed to reformat about six chapters and have made some of them available for friends to read, which will hopefully result in a little feedback and thus the encouragement I need to continue working on it.

I'm dreadful.  You think those pleas for comments on Shadow are because I want feedback?  Well, yes, they are a little, but mostly they are because I just want proof that people are reading my stuff.  If you read it, I will write it, otherwise I'm likely to loose interest...

Anyway, this seems like as good a time as any to survey my current list of writing projects, either ongoing, or merely in a holding pattern in my head.  It looks something like this:

Shadow - The ongoing Steampunk fantasy web fiction series.

Murkland - A Supernatural horror web fiction  novella, currently on hiatus.

The Dream - A fantasy novel or trilogy of novels with what I hope to be an interesting twist.  It has been attempted to be written about four or five times since 2001 when the idea first occured to me. Currently sitting at about 53,000 words thanks to NaNoWriMo 2011.

DARKSYDE - A Gothic fantasy/Noir novel and set of short stories totaling around 100,000 words,  The novel has been untouched for about eight years now and the last short story was finished about five years ago.  It may, one day, be suitable for web fiction, or as a novel, but much of it would need to be rewritten either way.

Chronicles of Dust and Air - An anime-inspired wild-west/steampunk fantasy story intended to be made up of several different POV character stories which would intertwine with a strong allegorical element.  It currently exists in only two chapters.  It could be suitable as web fiction or as a novel, although I'm veering more towards the former, despite the lack of money in it.

Kemet - A fantasy tale inspired by Egyptian mythology and the works of C.S. Lewis, which I original orchestrated as a fairly successful piece of roleplaying/chain fiction with some friends and which I one day hope to re-write, probably as web fiction.

Music of the Gears - A very roughly sketched out science fiction story most probably inspired by George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire novels.  It would involve some Steampunk elements as well as some elements of medieval history and Imperial Rome to conjure up a decadent future empire rife with schemes and intrigues.

It would seem that my mind is a busy place to be some times.  Remember that the next time I just stare vacantly into space...