Poem #5 Perspective on Might - John Poch: The Enigma of Modern Poetry

Superior to the philosopher of God's absence,
the avalanche is patient above those pines
it might sublimely clean its teeth with.
At the lip of the highest peak snow accumulates
on a dead man's moustache like a dead man's moustache.
Repetition isn't funny to the dead man who never
made it to that bar in Champagne for champagne
or to the avalanche whose time has almost come.
We might consider how scale means to climb
or to remove the scales from a dead creature
with this precious, precise violence we call a knife.
A philosopher needs a sharp knife to cut the cord
of pride hanging her like a Christmas ornament
from her parachute caught in the trees of the supernatural.
After all, God is present as that last snowflake settling
on the lip, the tickle which has come a long way
to now. From afar it looks so soft. Even the knife.

          Being someone who prefers traditional formal poetry, I have often asked myself how anyone can appreciate modern poems written in ‘free verse.’ Perhaps the biggest struggle I have with appreciating these kinds of poems is that I don’t know where to start in my analysis of it. I am beginning to suspect that I need another way of understanding free verse. Someone noted that lesser examples of free verse reads like chopped-up prose, and I guess that my apprehension towards this genre is partly due to the (apparent?) lack of structure and form in the poetry.

          But I am hoping to start learning how to read and enjoy free verse, otherwise I will only be outdated, so I thought that this poem would be a nice one to share. I cannot say I fully understand what the persona is saying. It does however suggest that ‘the philosopher of God’s absence’ should be a little more humble, because she is hung ‘like a Christmas ornament’ by her pride. The image of being ‘her parachute caught in the trees of the supernatural’ evokes a kind of helplessness and weakness. It is after all trees of the supernatural, and I am assuming that philosophers generally do not believe in the supernatural. 

          If I read the first 3 lines and the final 3 lines as frames or the bookends of the poem, then structurally the poem has a progression from God’s absence (marked by the philosopher’s presence) to God’s presence. Furthermore, the choice of adjectives in the final 3 lines bring to mind smallness, for example ‘snowflake,’ ‘tickle’ and ‘soft’. I think these words are used so that the irony of circumstances becomes all the more striking. ‘The avalanche whose time has almost come’ is described meekly to show how one should adopt a proper perspective on might. This is because, ‘from afar it looks so soft. Even the knife,’ but both in reality are much more superior than the ‘philosopher of God’s absence.’ 

Book #6 In The Beginning - Henri Blocher

         I’ve been particularly interested in the opening chapters of Genesis, because there is so much contention about it; and as Blocher puts it ‘the beginning unlocks the principle, the constitution reveals the nature. The human race quite rightly feels that it cannot find its bearings for life today without having light shed on its origins’ (p. 15). This book (ISBN: 9780851113210) is an attempt to examine carefully the first few chapters of the book of Genesis. I think Blocher has done a fine job in highlighting certain aspects of the texts and he comes to some good conclusions of which I will attempt to share a few.

          Firstly, the creation accounts shouldn’t be read literally. Chapters 1 and 2 argue for an appreciation of the literary genre of the chapters and Blocher adopts the ‘historico-artistic’ interpretation of the week of creation (p. 49). The text doesn’t warrant a literal reading, but this doesn’t mean we are compromising to the pressures of science. The author of the creation accounts had a message to share, and that was certainly not to establish scientific facts. Furthermore, Blocher suggests that a ‘form-filling’ understanding of the creation week is probably the most faithful interpretation of the stories. Also, the emphasis of the author is in the orderliness and aesthetic goodness of God’s creation.

          Secondly, what is traditionally called ‘the Fall’ is perhaps better understood as ‘the breaking of the covenant.’ It does not revolutionise our understanding of Genesis 3. But it does help us to be aware that no one approaches the Biblical text without presuppositions. Blocher argues that this event is historical, but the Biblical author has no qualms in using figurative (or symbolic) language in his narration. We need not take ‘historical’ to mean ‘literal.’ Nevertheless, he argues that we must affirm that there was indeed a historical man called Adam (although the Hebrew wordplay allows the convincing argument that the chapter describes the human condition, rather than explain its origins). This warrant is found in the New Testament treatment of Adam, especially in Paul’s writing. Thus, Genesis 3 does try to narrate how sin originated in the world. Blocher argues that God is not the creator of evil, but doesn’t necessarily locate its origin. Scholars like Westermann and Moberly would argue that the reticence of the text hints that the question of origin is probably one we should avoid. Nevertheless, Blocher interprets the snake as a symbol of Satan, citing other Biblical usages as the warrant for such a reading.

          Thirdly, Blocher does argue that Genesis 3:15 is the ‘protoevangelium’ – in other words, the prototype of the Gospel message. He places emphasis on the curse as being a long and extended warfare that ultimately ends in the triumph of the woman’s offspring over the snake’s offspring. This is probably the safe Evangelical understanding of the curse. Although many scholars do argue that this reading is difficult to locate within the context, Blocher draws from other parts of Scripture to support his assertion. For Blocher, and many Evangelicals, the punishments God pronounces on Adam, Eve and the snake are not merely bad news. There is also good news, for instance when God clothes Adam and Eve with garments of skins.

Evangelicals find the ultimate fulfilment of God’s grace and mercy - where sin abounded as evinced in the chapters following Genesis 3 – in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is not outrageous for one to come to this conclusion and I dearly hold onto this understanding of the opening chapters of Genesis although my mind is torn between this interpretation and the very convincing arguments of Biblical (and less traditionally-Evangelical) scholars. It sometimes does seem like a battle between faith and the intellect. I’m attempting to reconcile this dichotomy within myself but sometimes end up more confused.

The opening chapters of Genesis is full of literary and theological riches, but if I’m not careful, I might be swimming in waters too deep. Perhaps this is why I often hear about Christians losing their faith after being exposed to academic theology. In churches and families, we certainly need a more robust theology that will help Christians cope (for overcoming is really difficult) with the challenges to our understanding of Scripture that the outside world offer. I have learnt from reading Blocher’s book a lot about God’s character; but I have also learnt that a simplistic faith, that ignores the importance of grappling with the Biblical text does more harm than good. I’d rather be marvelling at the Bible than be illusorily (like Adam and Eve) thinking that I’ve got the important things about the Bible and life sorted out. 

Poem #4 Bitter-sweet - George Herbert

          Ah my dear angry Lord,

          Since thou dost love, yet strike;

          Cast down, yet help afford;

          Sure I will do the like.

          I will complain, yet praise;

          I will bewail, approve:

          And all my sour-sweet days

          I will lament, and love.

Living as a Christian is difficult because there is suffering when we serve, regardless of its shape or size. And if we are honest, I do not think most people enjoy pain. True, if we look past the temporality of anguish, disappointment and loneliness, there is a reason, there is the hope of the resurrection where everything will be made right. However, it sometimes seems so far away. And when I consider the sins I struggle with daily; when I consider the lack of passion in my evangelism, a little corner of my heart cries in despair – wanting all this to end – because the call to give my life in service to the Gospel and to others is a burden greater than I can bear.

          Yet, maybe that is the plot set out for me: that I do not find belonging nor acceptance; that I silently plough fields, not staying long enough to see the harvest before I have to move on. Well, if that is my lot, so be it then. It is not an inconsistency in God’s character to assign me this road. Herbert sustains a tension between ease and discomfort throughout the poem; in almost every line there is a clash seemingly opposite actions or characteristics. So I do pray that like the persona in Herbert’s poem, ‘I will lament, and love’ ‘all my sour-sweet days.’

           Though the outside world will not hear the silent sobs of disheartened hearts, our God listens; and though he strikes, He loves and reveals that love through the death of His Son on a wooden Cross. 

FOMO?

         When I see some of the activities my friends (or acquaintances) are involved in, especially those concerning social issues, I am often confronted with a sense of FOMO (fear of missing out). I am unsure whether this is a genuine sense of wanting to be involved in social work or just that doing these kinds of activities can be considered glamorous. I know my heart and I do not think selfishly desiring to serve others is beyond its depravity.

          For instance, the other big church (in terms of size and activities) in Durham is conducting a ‘June Project’ where students who have finished their exams are engaged in lots of communal work; whereas in the church I am attending, we only have a ‘Bible Week’ organised where we look at how the Bible fits together. Although I acknowledge that the choice between doing social work and studying the Bible is a false dichotomy, I cannot help but feel that by not engaging in active work that makes a visible difference, I might not be sufficiently engaging with the world.

          Sometimes I wonder if I have become too obsessed with studying the Bible and getting the ‘right’ interpretation that I unconsciously distance myself from the world. This is something I urgently need to think about.

          This article (http://www.desiringgod.org/articles/four-ways-to-fight-the-fear-of-missing-out) has been somewhat helpful although it does not address my particular fear, but it is encouraging to be reminded that satisfaction and a sense of fulfilment should not come from personal achievement in whatever form. 

Book #5 Oedipus Rex

          After a gap of 3 months, I have finally run out of excuses to put off updating this blog, although not many people read it. I guess the practice of thinking and then formulating them into structured sentences is still a helpful exercise to keep one’s mind alert and organised – otherwise my brain becomes a jumbled nexus of ideas with no beginning or end.

          In light of this needing one’s mind to be clear and able to process and organise information, I thought that I could write about a recent book I read and studied for my exams – Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex (ISBN: 9780140444254). The play is based on the mythic tradition of Oedipus, who is prophesied to kill his father and commit incest with his mother. The play seems a straightforward process of self-revelation whereby Oedipus gradually finds out his origins, thus confirming that he has indeed fulfilled the prophecy of the Oracle at Delphi. I have to say that in writing this, I am assuming a basic understanding of the Oedipus myth.

          However, some scholars have suggested that in Sophocles’ treatment of the myth, we cannot take it for granted that he is merely adhering to the established facts of the myth, after all, there are other contemporary playwrights who change certain details of the story. An example would be Frederick Ahl’s thesis (ISBN: 9780801425585). He suggests that in fact, Oedipus is misled into believing that he has indeed fulfilled the prophecy when there is a glaring lack of substantial evidence to support his self-accusation. The warrant for such an unconventional reading is that these scholars have the mythic tradition in mind, but do not let that tradition override the actual play. Thus, in Ahl’s analysis, he considers the original Greek and shows that Sophocles has expertly used wordplays and ambiguities of speech to dramatise a story of Oedipus’ self-deception. I cannot go into further details about Ahl’s thesis, but it is quite convincing, at least for me. What I want to consider are some thoughts that reading Ahl’s argument and rereading the play have struck me.

  

          Firstly, speech is power. The ability to manipulate language and people’s emotions with the words we say give an individual so much power and authority over others who are less articulate. If we consider Oedipus as a play of language where characters are engaged in a contest of speech, then we begin to grasp the significance of Oedipus’ fall from greatness. But why do we say speech is power? It is because characters in the play have successfully (whether intentionally or otherwise) given Oedipus wrong information or vague information; and it is Oedipus’ inability to distinguish between trustworthy and untrustworthy sources that leads him to misinterpret facts.

          This leads to the issue of asking questions. I know it might seem trivial but I have begun to see how asking the right questions is crucial if we want to make right judgments. An example within the play is the question of the number of King Laius’ murderers (King Laius’ is the supposed father of Oedipus). Reports say that a gang of people killed the king and his entourage. But Oedipus insists that he killed an old man and all of the members of his party, and Oedipus acknowledges that this is probably the most crucial information that will confirm either his innocence or his guilt. However, when he meets with the supposed survivor of that incident, he fails to ask this most important question. He was distracted by the question of his birth and origins that he has forgotten the real issues at stake. This is another reason why we can affirm that Oedipus is wholly responsible for his tragedy – his inability to keep his head in a time of crisis.

          Thirdly and finally, be careful when speaking to masters of rhetoric. In our modern society, they would be the lawyers, the politicians and maybe the salesman. If speech is power and that the ability to ask right questions is a sign of discernment, then we must be careful when encountering people who derive their power and authority from the words they say, or more importantly, words they do not say. Silence and the lack of reliable information led to Oedipus’ misrepresentation of reality, let us not follow in his footsteps.

          The tragedy of Oedipus is then his blindness – his inability to distinguish truth from half-truth. The catharsis of the play is not Freud’s suggestion that he has fulfilled the Oedipal complex all of us dream about, but that we need to see what Oedipus fails to see. If we are unable to see past the web of lies Oedipus surrounds himself with, his tragedy becomes ours.

          Nevertheless, thankfully, God has revealed Himself to us in the form of His Son and He has spoken definitively that we are not left with half-truths about reality (Hebrews 1:1-3). Let us then be people who ask the right questions and be not swayed by false rhetoric.

Book #4 Conrad's Heart of Darkness: A Critical and Contextual Discussion

I’m back writing after a hectic week where I reaped the fruits of my inability to plan my time well. This is probably the book that helped me begin to understand Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. I remember when I first read Heart of Darkness, I was lost in the jungles of Africa for large swathes of the book. However, reading Cedric Watts’ book has helped to provide a framework by which to approach the novella.

          Watts’ discussion divides Conrad’s book into three sections: pre-departure, journeying into the Congo, and back to civilisation. In each section, he looks at some of the literary techniques Conrad employs and discusses how these create certain effects in the reader and how identifying them might elucidate the ‘meaning’ of the text. There are three techniques I would like to mention here: the oblique narrator, delayed decoding and the covert plot.

          The oblique narrator is the first-person narrator (hence the primary or ‘frame’ narrator) who narrates the first-person narration of another character in the book. This is probably the first time I have encountered this technique. What it does is give Conrad the flexibility to play with Marlow’s telling of his experience in the Congo. This means that Marlow does not need to tell a story in a straightforward manner, which he in fact does not do. We can then regard him as an unreliable narrator which makes us question the things he says, lending ambiguity and uncertainty – which is pretty much what Conrad’s book is about.

          Also, this means that Conrad is able to use ‘delayed decoding.’ How this works is that Marlow sees the effect that images, events, people have on him, and only later understands what these actually are or mean. This technique creates a sense of surprise because something seemingly unimportant or comic might be later disclosed as significant or even horrifying. Furthermore, it adds to the air of mystery and foreboding prevalent in the book, because revelation comes slowly and gradually as we travel, with Marlow deeper into the Congo. Also, there is a sense that we are sharing Marlow’s journey. I know certainly that in reading other books, we seem to be participating in the adventure. But this technique that Conrad uses ties in also with the bigger themes of the book, which is interesting if we actually spend time to study these books like literature students or critics.

          Finally, an interesting aspect of the book is the idea of the covert plot. This plot is definitely not the main plot, neither is it a subplot; it is rather a plot that we as readers will not be able to identify (even after multiple readings), however, not knowing it will not leave us completely in the dark. It is a plot that helps to make sense of the story, and might influence us to interpret the text differently. Watts suggests that not many authors do it (thankfully, otherwise I’ll be covert plot-hunting every time I read a book), but Conrad uses it very effectively. The covert plot in Heart of Darkness stated concisely is that the manager of the Central Station wishes Kurtz dead in order to earn promotion. Thus, it is possible to immediately condemn Kurtz as a man who succumbed to the darkness, but in light of this, we could see Kurtz as victim and that because help does not come earlier, he finally yields to the darkness.

          Conrad does not make this darkness clear. It could mean Africa; it could mean the darkness within each individual; it could mean the darkness of the civilised world. And that is what makes Heart of Darkness so thought-provoking. We just cannot be sure! It seems to me that Conrad wants us to think and not jump to conclusions. He wants us to ponder about the state of the human condition. And I think that he has managed to capture one sense of it: that our hearts are indeed dark, but often we cannot accept it, and so we hide behind a veneer of civility and illusory light. And that is why we deceive ourselves. We keep up this image because the truth is too horrifying to behold. So, the light is there, but instead, we often choose darkness – we think that is safer.  

Understanding Catholics

This week (9/2/15 – 13/2/15) is the annual ‘Events Week’ organised by the Durham Christian Union (DICCU). There are lunchtime and evening talks every day of the week where we look at specific questions raised against Christianity (lunchtime) and examine the claims Jesus makes (evening). There are also events catered for international students. All of the talks are geared towards explaining the Gospel and what it means to be a Christian.

          It was at the evening international event last night that I had a chance to discuss Catholicism with a friend. Through the conversation, I was struck by how clear it is that both Catholics and Evangelical Protestants have misunderstood each other for many years. My friend might not be representative of what all Catholics believe, but I think some of the questions he raised are helpful for Protestants to think about and examine. But firstly, a bit about my friend. He is a Singaporean reading Philosophy and Theology in Durham. He comes from an independent Protestant church but converted to Catholicism before coming to Durham. And this is his reason (with my paraphrase): the Catholic Church is the authentic and true church of Christ. She is right, and Protestants are wrong in their beliefs.

          His main concern, I found, was not on matters of salvation (soteriology) but on the church (ecclesiology). He argues that the principle of the Reformation is troubling. Where Biblical interpretation is left to the individual, how can there be consensus on its meaning and truth? He draws on the example of church splits, starting of new denominations, and liberal Protestantism. His challenge is that with no central figurehead to authenticate and give authority to Biblical interpretation, it is easy to misuse, abuse, and misapply the Bible in all matters of Christian living. Expressing angst against post-modernism, he says that Biblical interpretation becomes a wholly subjective and personal exercise if the Protestant principle is held. In short, no one Protestant can consider another’s interpretation of the Bible as incorrect, since authority lies in the individual and not in the (Catholic) Church.

          I think I understand his qualms, but perhaps he has misunderstood Protestants. His suggested ‘Protestant principle’ seems to work in theory, but in practice, I don’t think the argument holds water. As an individual, I don’t interpret the Bible one way and reject all other interpretations. I am ready to acknowledge that I’ve understood a word or verse or passage wrongly when someone else shows me a better reading using careful hermeneutics.

This is because I believe that the Bible’s authority is intrinsic, and not imposed extrinsically. The spirit of the Reformation is that we constantly check our understanding against Scripture. We weigh our interpretations, and measure their validity against the big picture of the Biblical message. Consistency and assurance can then be arrived at. However, because we are fallible, our interpretations can be incorrect. That’s why I think the ‘Protestant principle’ good in the sense that no one man or institution or tradition is right, and studying the Bible is both an individual and communal activity as the Christian seeks to understand God’s Word in the context of the Christian community – and this community transcends time, space and denominations.

Sure we have our doctrinal differences, but the Gospel message is essentially the same. Perhaps the reason why Protestants fought, and continue to fight is because we are still sinners. And Protestants have to seriously consider whether by sacrificing unity for pet peeves is right and proper.

So can there be right interpretation? I believe so, but that is for another discussion. God spoke decisively as the author of Hebrews puts it ‘in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world.’ (Hebrews 1:1) Final authority, however, doesn’t lie in the individual, neither does it lie in the Catholic Church. Before the mutual defamation continues, let’s think carefully about what this entails.