Back of the Envelope

No Christmas trees, either. I am sticking with my holiday tradition of not following any holiday traditions. My apartment is as bland and undecorated as ever.

But while I'm at it, what's the point of Holiday Trees? Besides Christmas, what other holiday has decorated trees? Does Eid? Does Hannukah? How about Kwanzaa? As far as I, and Wikipedia, knows, decorated trees is purely a Christian Christmas tradition. So if only Christmas has a tree, how do people get off calling it a Holiday Tree? Isn't that imperialistically imposing our holiday traditions on other religions and their holidays, who don't have or want a tree?

Apparently, other religious people have less problem with Christmas trees than secularists. From Karen Dabdoub of CAIR, which I don't often quote with approval: "Who are we fooling? The Jews don't put up a tree for Hanukah; the Muslims don't put up a tree for Ramadan. It doesn't take away from my celebration of my holiday for other people to celebrate their holiday. I don't want anybody's holidays to be watered-down. I think they're all wonderful." (Hat tip to View from the Pew.)

It seems to me that the only people who have problems with the religious traditions of Christmas are not people who have a different religious tradition, but those who have none. They want to have a claim on the celebration of the holiday without having to acknowledge its religious origin.

This comic strip illustrates a complaint that I've heard on numerous occasions. Why do Christians approve of the fantasy story of Narnia but not Harry Potter? Personally, I like both and I have no problem with modern fantasy. I even write it. But this attitude really isn't hard to understand. The Bible forbids magic. I speculate on the reasons for it elsewhere, but the bottom line is that in the ancient world magic was inextricably intertwined with religion. The Bible doesn't say anything about whether or not magic is actually effective, and I think that's irrelevant. Practicing it, whether or not it worked, was either invoking other gods or trying to manipulate God in ways he does not appreciate. Modern fantasy treats magic more like a technology, which is why I have no problem reading and writing stories where the use of magic is commonplace and value-neutral. But for Christians who view the Biblical injunction against magic more broadly than I do, any use of it is in direct defiance of God's law. And here's the key: The appearance of magic in a story is not in itself wrong. What matters is how the story treats magic. If the story treats magic as an aberration, a crime practiced by evil characters, then that fits with the view of magic in their worldview. If instead magic is treated as a neutral, or worse, a good thing, then the story is promoting a worldview contrary to their own.

In Narnia, magic is practiced by the bad guys--the White Witch or the Magician. What is done by the good guys isn't magic but miraculous, as Aslan is Jesus in lion form. In Harry Potter, magic is used by both the good guys and the bad guys, and is generally portrayed as good.

I've been meaning to respond to Skeptic's argument for a while now. The problem is that I don't have much interest in debating the soul. Unlike Skeptic, who finds the soul debate more interesting, I find the debate on miracles to be the more interesting one. Skeptic challenges me to prove the existence of the soul. I challenge him to disprove it. Neither of us seems up to the task. I've attempted to explain what I think the soul is, but Skeptic finds it ridiculous, the stuff of science fiction. I shouldn't need to point out that most people whose cultures we know about not only did not find the concept of the soul ridiculous, they accepted the coexistence of the spiritual and the physical as the natural way of looking at the world. It precedes the existence of science as we know it by thousands of years, so I don't think "science fiction" is the appropriate term. Even today, in our culture, most people believe in the soul. Thus, I'm not sure how to respond to his argument that it sounds like science fiction. He may find the idea ridiculous, but that's more of an opinion than an argument. I can't argue against opinion.

I am going to take exception to his characterization that my conception of the soul requires that brain damage turns both brain and soul to mush, and here I'm afraid I'll have to come back to my computer analogy, where the brain is the hardware and the soul is the software. Software can run differently on different hardware. On faster computers with more memory, it can purr along at blazing speeds, while with computers without enough processing power or memory it trudges along and even crashes, unable to perform the tasks set before it. When the hardware is actually damaged, misinterpreting input and mangling output, corrupting data and miscalculating operations, the result can be a real mess, but none of this means that there's a problem with the software at all. That's the view I take of brain damage. There are problems with the brain, but there's no reason I see for there to be a problem with the soul as well.

In the broader argument, there are three arguments for the soul that I am familiar with. One is from consciousness, the argument that we must be more than the physical. Many and sundry philosophers have made this argument, and I would guess that Skeptic has heard it but has not found it very compelling. Admittedly, neither have I. In any case, neither of us seems to take a purely materialistic view of the mind, as Skeptic's view is emergent while mine is what's called dualistic. (I don't like the term, but I won't get into that here.) He seems to be under the misconception that the dualistic view is that the soul is the consciousness, rather than a necessary component to consciousness, but I've already argued that point. The second argument for the soul is observed evidence, in the form of ghosts, spirits, and near death experiences. As the evidences for these are anything but convincingly established, Skeptic is free to reject them. I don't reject them out of hand, but I haven't been convinced of their reality either. The third argument is from authority. Religious beliefs about the soul depend on the authority of the religion, and I readily admit that this is what convinces me. Arguments from authority don't mean much unless you've established the authority of the one you're drawing on. As I've spent a great deal of time examining the historicity and authority of the Bible, this I am prepared to argue, if Skeptic wishes it. Here, the argument boils down to the fact that I believe in the soul because Jesus's words confirm its existence, and I have reason to trust his words.

So, I admit, my main reason for believing in the soul is an argument from authority, one which I believe is well established and which I'm prepared to argue for. I will, of course, answer any logical objections to the soul without relying on appeals to authority, but there's not much I can do about opinion.

I'm ashamed I've never linked to these before now. These rewritings of Jesus's parables were done by friends of mine, Debbie and Loren Haarsma. Why would anyone want to rewrite Jesus's parables to place them in a modern academic setting? Well, here's what I had to say years ago, when I did a review of them for MIT's Graduate Christian Fellowship:

Jesus's parables were meant to teach the principles of the Kingdom of God in terms of everyday activities. Although we sometimes think of them as allegories, where every object has a deeper, spiritual significance, their true purpose is usually to transmit a singular idea in terms we can understand. Unfortunately, we sometimes miss that idea today. Sometimes this is because what was everyday in Jesus' time is foreign to us today; more often our very familiarity with the story lessens its impact. Debbie and Loren Haarsma's Parables for Modern Academia does a great job of reminding us what those parables really mean. Rewriting Jesus' parables in terms of the modern academic world, they make the now foreign context of the parables once again familiar, which in turn makes the lessons of the Kingdom strikingly otherworldly. There are a few weaknesses, such as the unavoidable interpretation involved in the modernization of the parables, and some compromises to the lessons to make them believable in the new context. I certainly would not recommend these parables as a replacement for Jesus' own words, but reading them can help illuminate the parables recorded in the Gospels.

And, as a special treat, here's a small sampling, a retelling of the Parable of the Great Banquet:

The kingdom of heaven is like a college president who was hosting a banquet for an important donor. He sent announcements to all the important administrators and faculty, but they all began to make excuses. The first said, "I just received some new lab equipment, and I want to try it out, so I cannot come." Another said, "My book just got published, and I must make sure the bookstores and libraries have copies, so I cannot come." Still another said, "I'm on sabbatical, so I cannot come."

When the RSVP's came back, the president was angry and told his assistant, "Go quickly into the classrooms, dorms, and offices and bring in the graduate students, undergraduates, and staff." "Sir," said the assistant, "what you ordered has been done, but the banquet hall still isn't full." Then the president said, "Go to other colleges down the road, and invite them to come! The banquet hall must be filled! I tell you, not one of those who were invited first will be let in the door." (Luke 14:16-24)

((Copyright reserved by Deborah and Loren Haarsma. May be freely distributed electronically in whole or in part, but please keep this notice attached and do not alter the text.))

Go read it--it's good stuff.

Donald Sensing alerted me to this one:

Saying it would be "inappropriate" to include them, Memphis, Tenn., library officials have banned Mary, Joseph, Jesus and the wise men from a promotional nativity scene – leaving only the stable animals and a shepherd boy.

Attorneys from the Alliance Defense Fund say they are working to "educate" the officials about their action, saying the exclusion of the figurines is blatantly unconstitutional.

ADF confirmed to WND that the "nativity" scene is up at the library but includes just three palm-sized farm animals and a boy with a sheep over his shoulders.

I'm not sure what level of cluelessness is necessary to think that showing a barn is somehow the way to protect religious expression. That said, this story reminds me of another story I've heard concerning a nativity scene. This comes from Danny Harrell, the associate pastor at Park Street, and I head it years ago, so it's possible I'm mangling it, but here goes:

Back in the day when Boston used to put up a Nativity scene on the Boston Common, they did the whole deal: Mary, Joseph, Jesus, and all the rest. The problem was that the Common is a very public place to put a Nativity scene, and soon the snatching of members of the Holy Family became a crisis. Determined that this kidnapping cease, the city moved to protect the Family by securing them in place. Once the Family was protected, and the whole city could once again enjoy seeing the Infant Jesus as he appeared at his birth... manacled to the manger by heavy chains.

Danny used this as an illustration. This is how the world, and too many Christians, prefer to see Jesus: a harmless baby born in poor circumstances. If they could, they'd keep him chained there, because the man Jesus grew into is something else, something frightening, and he demands things from us which we'd rather not give. If he'd just remained a harmless baby, life would be so much easier! And so much worse.