Quote from Voyage of the Dawn Treader

I liked two quotes from nearly the same spot in the book as I was reading it just recently. I won't spoil what's going on in the story if you haven't read it, so you can find out yourself what the context is if you care to. I like the points in these quotes very much.

The pleasure (quite new to him) of being liked and, still more, of liking other people, was what kept Eustace from despair.

The pleasure of liking other people is greater than the pleasure of being liked, which Man seems to usually forget in his more conscious thought. I suspect that people who have had wholesome relationships with people know this deep down, unconsciously at least. There is a real peace and complete contentment in being able to really like other people.

So [the lion] came nearer and nearer. I was terribly afraid of it. You may think that, being a dragon, I could have knocked any lion out easily enough. But it wasn't that kind of fear. I wasn't afraid of it eating me, I was just afraid of it--if you can understand.

This I liked because my friend and I were talking about awe and fear of God and about the perhaps natural fear-of-His-power aspect, but then of course also I was talking about how I sometimes have a sense of fear-awe that is like fear, but not fear of having anything done to me. As in, I am definitely terrified, over-awed, overpowered. Partly it feels in those moments like my mind literally cannot grasp the object of its fear, and that's part of why it's afraid.


Both quotes are from Chapter 7 of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Simple Englishness

It is a bit of a cliche to like English things. (Could say British, but not sure... not sure...) When I was a child, I thought I was just following the crowd I grew up in, and was gullible and easily influenced. Just liking what everyone else liked.

I began to realise I had reason for liking it when I read The Lord of the Rings, but still thought I might even like that story because others I knew did. I did have concrete things I liked about English culture, but that wasn't enough to convince me there was reason to like it.

Of course, the explanation for it could just be aesthetic, but I do think I like in Englishness something different than other people do, after hearing them describe what they see in it. Not entirely different, but somewhat. (The future will tell.)

It may be in the last some years that I really figured out that English culture is different fundamentally from continental European. English philosophy was, I am told, different from continental philosophy. The continental philosophers are the ones who came up with liberal theology and Marxism, postmodernism, deconstructionism. Eventually continental philosophy seeped into English thinking and then American thinking (which in some ways might be a bit late on the uptake, for which I'm glad).

Some folks think that the American experiment itself was a result of taking the English philosophy to its logical conclusions. England, for complex reasons including the monarchy, could not do this. the US went further than even England had, though to some extent lost some of that sweet Englishness I so like. But some of it is tidily wrapped up in culture and can't easily be transplanted.

For all that the US went further than England, though, Englishness seems chock full of common-sense which resulted in a very down-to-earth, simple, self-deprecating (in a good way) culture. I've beat it into my head that of course English culture can't be perfect, but I don't care if it is or isn't: it still seems to have so much of value that I love and insist on learning from.


It would be wonderful to do a study to find out if my conclusion on this is correct, but it's confirmed by others I currently trust for information on this sort of thing, and I gathered a lot over the years of Englishness and what-is-not-Englishness, so I'm pretty certain of it at the moment.

Looking back on my life and looking at myself now, I know I've shaped my life around this to some extent- whatever was really noble in English culture and thinking, I have tried to learn from. No decadence, no ridiculous idealism, no flowing romanticism like the French (désolée), but instead good, steadfast, humble Englishness.

(It's worth noting that the culture of lower classes in England is probably somewhat cut off and different from the 'elite' in every era, who also were more influenced by foreign things than those who didn't have time to worry about all that stuff.)

Beauty

Recap: I was supposed to write about why The Lord of the Rings affected me so much back when I was eleven, and I didn't figure out how to do it till I heard Stephen Turley talking about the True, Good and Beautiful. I suppose it's because at the heart of it, they're what I learned about in The Lord of the Rings.

Last I said Beauty might be the appearance of the True and Good. People these days seem to think that the appearance of a thing is not necessarily what it actually is, so I realise if I say it's the appearance, it can seem it is not really intrinsic to the True and the Good. Even in my mind, using the word 'appearance', I seem to split the appearance from what it's stuck on, like a mask, or clothing.

But isn't the purpose of appearance ultimately to really tell us about the thing appearing? Obviously in what I think is a broken world, it doesn't work out that way all the time. We know not to judge a book by its cover, because people like to just attract you to read their book with the cover, whether the cover really has to do with the book or not. Men are ultimately just trying to get what they want, and will be deceptive to do it. We also know we don't always see things as they really are; either our minds are broken, or else this messed-upness is normal.

I don't think it is normal. So, if the True and Good appear Beautiful, then they really are, because they are ultimate reality. Whatever is the umbrella under which other things exist has to be greater than what's under it. Philosophers a long time ago seemed to assume that whatever rules over this world; whatever created it, has to be equal to or greater than the world. One way to be greater is to be either more perfect, or actually Perfect (whole, complete, and lacking any defect). I equate the True, Good and Beautiful with ultimate reality, and if they are that, then they are candidates for perfect, too.

I'm sure study of Plato would help me in writing this, as he's the one who talked about Ideals and (maybe with other philosophers around then) set the foundation for real systematic thought about the incompleteness and defectiveness of this world and the perfection of what it comes from or is modelled after. But he thought that the physical world could not be perfect, whereas I think physicalness is also True, Good and Beautiful. I think something else must be wrong with the world besides its being concrete.

I haven't done much study of Beauty by people who have written it, but the impression from my experiences is that it is not merely an illusory appearance, but a real Thing, something you can sense with your mind and heart, communicated through things-that-are-beautiful (abstract or concrete).

What would you guess: C. S. Lewis said something about it in The Weight of Glory, wording what I had felt for years-

We do not merely want to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.

That is the sensation I got from reading The Lord of the Rings. I had such a painful longing to somehow break free of the chains that tether me to this bland existence, the prison of my mind, and to be part of the world, which is so beautiful; never again to be enchanted into thinking that there is no hope, no meaning, no loveliness, in existence.

Of course I went back into cynicism. I had some moments where I felt like I saw how things really are, and then that feeling passes. When it passes, one wonders if one dreamed it was real, of course. It may just be a feeling. But I feel there is likely something True about it: that it was real-er than all the grey, blank monotony of life as we see it.

Is that true? And is Beauty actually not simply appearance or illusion, but an actual thing that is part and parcel with Is-ness and Purpose? Is Beauty even substantive- touchable, tasteable?

The True, the Good and the Beautiful

My mother has been listening to Stephen Turley on YouTube, and she found some lectures (and what seems like a sermon) by him, talking about classical times/things and the Good, True and Beautiful. It was somewhat about where the idea of them came from in the West, and how they relate to living well as a Christian.

I was given an assignment to write about what I liked about The Lord of the Rings, in an attempt to remember who I am. For awhile I didn't even know how to do it; kind of like writer's block, but related to a specific topic. Then at some point in the last week my mother turned on one of his lectures on this, relating these things to his Orthodox faith, and I remembered this is why I liked the story.

To me, Truth, Goodness and Beauty are basically reality. Ultimately anything that is worth doing in life is true, good and beautiful. It was wonderful to hear him describe what these things mean, too, as it very much reminded me why Tolkien's world meant so much to me. It led me to see that what I loved most is actually part of the real world... it let me believe what I wanted to believe: that life is meaningful and purposeful.

Here's the mental mess of what is currently striking me about these three things:

1. They either have an interrelationship, or else they are three levels or aspects of the same thing; like three planes of the same thing (dimensions, I guess). Either they necessitate each other; where one of them is, so are the others, in some way or other. My brain kind of visualises this as that they all modify each other. Truth is good, goodness is true, beauty is good, beauty is true, truth is beautiful, so on and so forth.

2. Truth is not 'facts' (or at least not only them), but is Reality and What Things Are. It's not, in my mind, knowledge at all, but rather what we learn about. I see truth like the law that is in fact written in the language of existence. All the nature of things is Truth. Truth is all the is-ness of things. Truth is assumed to exist whether or not any human knows the truth about a thing or not. It is a thing-outside-of-us we can learn about gradually as we live and humble ourselves to open ourselves to what we see.

3. Goodness is about telos- purpose. A thing is good if it is fulfilling its purpose, outlined in Truth (which to me seems to be at least related to Law). A good marriage is good because it is aligned with the definition (whether Man knows it or not) of marriage. Complete goodness in any thing and the world is whole and rich; every thing in the world is complex in how it relates to other things and helps to fulfill their purpose. The one-ness of reality is the dance of the parts with each other in perfect harmony.

4. Beauty is what flows out of these. Things being how they ought to be is beautiful. Turley said that it is through Beauty (the aesthetic of the True and Good) that we see and are drawn to the True and the Good. Maybe Beauty is just how True and Good things appear (when we can see Beauty; I think we blind ourselves to it often), but I've often wondered if Beauty is actually more fundamental.


Next post I'm going to rant on Beauty a bit.

The LORD's Will

Part of me says it's unholy to ask God for something that isn't 'possible'. I justify it by thinking that God wouldn't want me to ask Him to go against the laws of His universe (otherwise termed 'to do miracles').

The result of this thinking is that I never pray for pretty much anything, because I can always find a way that it can't fit into the natural domino-effect of the world in the moment of praying. I also practically feel that God does not care enough to do miracles for me, so I don't ask for them. I certainly don't really believe in His power to do above and beyond the laws of cause and effect (it applies to mental states, too... I try to ask for just the next step, instead of my own end goal).

Perhaps relatedly, or separately, it seems to me a truly sinful thought to think that God doesn't have power to do whatever He pleases. And only good things please Him.

Let it sink in... see if it is true.

Do Not Hide Your Fear

C. S. Lewis wrote on Faith, as one of the Christian virtues, in his book Mere Christianity, and said this:

Now Faith, in the sense in which I am here using the word, is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.

So Faith is not something you have when you are quite sure a thing is- when the thing is dancing naked in front of you and you can't help but know it's there. Faith is, apparently, employed especially when you aren't witnessing the thing. It reminds me of how babies have to learn object permanence; that apparently when a parent goes out of the room, they don't know the parent exists anymore (and start crying). So perhaps as babies we learn a simple form of Faith. We all know that we have to trust what we once saw, as it would be silly if we had to sit and stare at something to keep knowing it exists.

I have been thinking of Faith in relation to prayer. One must have Faith in God to believe requesting things in prayer is worthwhile. I do not, for some reason, believe that it is worthwhile right now. I desire things that I think are not possible, specifically getting reasonably beyond my anxiety and its causes.

L'Abri Fellowship came to my mind today, and I remembered that it would probably be good for me to dive into some L'Abri lectures again, instead of philosophical-psychological-political whatnot on YouTube (of which my conscience seems to think I have my fill). So I listened to a little that is called An Introduction to L'Abri, but the beginning has so far been Dr. Francis Schaeffer (a founder of L'Abri) talking about what a miracle that conference was, as it almost fell right through, and telling the conference-goers that that conference was either as miraculous as the beginning of L'Abri itself, or even more so, and that he believes the word 'miracle' to be a very, very sober word.

L'Abri Fellowship was sustained, one might say, on trusting God to provide what they needed. Reading the story in Edith Schaeffer's L'Abri is quite inspiring, if you're open to what can sometimes sound too good to be true (at-times-cynical person here).

As I listened to Dr. Schaeffer, I realised that I do think that God did that then, for them, but He wouldn't do great things for me, now. As if miracles only happen in the past, and for other people. I can't possibly ask God for that; that would be expecting, and being ungrateful for what I have now! It would not be trusting Him to ask for things. And I am supposed to look back on L'Abri and other examples of God's faithfulness and have those examples sustain my faith now, even though I feel dry, and as if all is a lie. God is testing me: I must believe now in this present desert, or else I'm not really a Christian.

The fear in that, that God does not really care for me enough to want me to ask Him for things, controls me now. I've known it for years and years. And what do I do with it? I try to make myself not afraid. I imagine that being afraid is wrong, somehow, and that God won't give me what I want if I'm afraid He won't give it! But then I lie to Him. And while I pray, I try to conjure the answer in myself... I pray not to be anxious, and I try to be not anxious. I try to somehow contain it. But what happens is I stop breathing, and get stomach aches and constipation, I can't relax my shoulders and I find myself clenching my jaws. I can't pray; I don't want to pray. I can't ask God for things if I have to fulfill it myself: what's the point? I do not want a world where I have to be God. But I have this horrible perverted notion that I ought to do these things or else God will not want to answer my prayers.

Bravery cannot exist when there is no fear. Psalm 27 says at the end: 'Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say on the LORD.' Why would there be a call to courage, if we did not fear? There is no courage except from fear. So I must not be afraid that I am afraid. God does not ask me to leave my fear behind before I come to Him. I believe He wants us to be like little children, entirely and completely ourselves, full of fears and worries, and only if we come to Him like that will He be able to soothe us out of our fears.

In bringing our follies and sins to light in prayer to God, they will be exposed to the light, and then they can be changed. But as long as we hide them in the dark, either trying to cure them before we come to God or deceiving ourselves that they are not bad, God cannot change our hearts. We must not keep anything from Him: even our doubt. God does not expect us to be perfectly sure of Him, and sense seems to indicate that we never can be perfectly sure of anything, anyway. He only asks that we be a child before Him, admitting just how we are, and He loves us that way. Just if we come to Him. After all, Jesus became our sin and went to Hell in our place so that God could look on us without judgement (for He cannot be unjust and ignore sin), but see us only as the lovely creations He intended us to be in the Beginning.

My Problems in Prayer

When I pray to believe that God will do the right thing by me, I try to fulfill that prayer. I try to work myself into believing it; to do the work I am asking God to do. I am never really asking. I am afraid that unless I don't do the work, I won't get the prize. Whatever this is, it is built into me: I always feel I must fulfill whatever I ask for. Which probably means I never ask for something that I do not at least take a part in doing myself. I hate to ask for help, for some reason. I hate to ask for anything at all.

I also feel that I should ask for things I know I'll get. Always pray what you believe God actually wants you to have; never pray for what you want. But I believe the Bible is clear that God wants us to tell Him the desires of our hearts. Of course He already knows them, but (as some say) He takes pleasure in us talking to Him and desiring Him to be with us, like that is part of what He made us for; to want Him to love us.

So by that logic, if we want Him, He will be with us, because He is perfect and does exactly what He wants like a perfect promise kept. We usually only want Him on our terms, though, and thus we push Him away. He does not come on our terms. If I really, truly desired Him to help me, He would do it. I don't even think I've ever completely wanted Him, but there have been times I have been closer to it, where I was simple and child-like enough, somehow, and I believe He did help me. But because I am constantly in doubt, I imagine I'm imagining it's so.

In relationship, I have many fears: that people do not really want to be around me, they do not want me to be needy, that they don't want my emotions causing a ruckus, and don't want to know what I desire. If at all possible, I must keep to myself and carry my own burdens alone, as that is what I think others expect of me. And I certainly view God this way. God couldn't possibly want to know my whinings and spontaneous thoughts. I imagine I am as annoying and insignificant as a grovelling beggar to Him. My wants and desires are childish to Him and He couldn't possibly have time to be interested in me. So I try, as I pray, to fulfill the prayers myself; to carry my own weight (or whatever the saying is). If I am going to be a burden, I should only be a burden to myself. So I end up trying to be everything that I need in other people. Everything I need. I try to make sure I've done everything I possibly can before I go to other people about even what I am thinking: to try to perfect it and simplify it and say as little as I can, and ask as little of them, and require as little of their time.

I don't believe God could want me to muss up His time. I forget that the Bible says all sorts of things starkly in contrast to what I feel God wants. 'Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it.' When I was a child, I likely felt that His judgement of the Israelites was that they asked too often for things, but since then people corrected me: they did not trust that He would provide. They grumbled and did not, as children, believe He was their good Father, and that He would always, always sustain them. We grumble when we think that someone is not with us, not for us (I know it in my family ;) ); when we doubt that they love us and desire what is good for us. If the Israelites had simply asked for things as if God were their truly loving Father, if what I say is true, He would have been delighted. But that is for the Bible scholars and theologians to tease out (though I wish I could do it).