The Contradiction of Absolutes

They are allowed to wander through the city, the largest city in the world. They’re struck by the opulence; the wealth; the buildings devoted to religion, government and commerce. The display of so much of everything makes their own beginnings and roots exceedingly humble in comparison. It’s all designed to impress, and it does. It’s designed to remind the viewer of power and might, and it does.

And as if to punch the message home, they see treasured items from their own temple hundreds of miles away displayed with all of the other treasure taken from conquered nations. They see the wealth of many religions, and many nations, on view to press home the point of superiority.

Given that they were taken from their home and families to be trained to serve Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, it would have been easy to assume that their God was dead, conquered, and tossed aside like all the others. Everything in their own experience argued for it, that everything they had believed was a lie.

But that’s not what Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego did. In spite of triumph and power of Babylon displayed before their very own eyes, they choose to remain faithful.

Think of contemporary Western culture as a 21^st century Babylon, except more so.

The wealth, the power, the achievements, the great buildings, the advances in science all sing the same song together and separately. “It’s all relative. It’s all about us. If you want to believe in your little God, fine; just don’t do it in public. Look what we’ve achieved and accomplished without your Christian God. He’s only one of many gods, and who are you to say He’s supreme? There are no absolutes.”

If Daniel and his friends were alive today, you could almost hear the “Been there, done that” response.

I didn’t realize until I read Against the Flow: The Inspiration of Daniel in an Age of Relativism by John Lennox that postmodernism has been around in one form or another for a long time. It was in Babylon; it was in ancient Greece; it was what thinking and cultured Romans embraced even if they had to bow the knee to Caesar (remember Pontius Pilate’s famous question of Jesus: “What is truth?”).

The various philosophies that today we call postmodernism don’t last; they’re largely self-defeating.

“At the heart of postmodernism lies a patent self-contradiction,” Lennox writes. “It expects us to accept, as absolute truth, that there are no absolute truths. We should note this common, fatally flawed characteristic of relativistic thinking: it tries to exclude itself from its own pronouncements. The fact is that no one can live without a concept of absolute truth.”

No one can live without a concept of absolute truth. No one.

Not even postmodernssts.

I’ve been discussing Against the Flow by John Lennox and will continue to do so for the next several weeks on Mondays. It’s a deeply insightful, highly readable book. Lennox is a professor of mathematics at the University of Oxford and a speaker on the interface of science, philosophy and religion. 

Illustration: The Ishtar Gate was one of eight entrances to the city of Babylon during Nebuchadnezzar’s time.

The Conflict of Interest That Saved David’s Life

The idea of a conflict of interest goes back to at least Babylonian times, when judges were forbidden from accepting bribes from people involved in legal disputes. (Yes, this sounds like a no-brainer, but it must have been a significant enough problem for it to be forbidden.) The origin of the phrase "conflict of interest" is less certain, but it was in use in the English language by the 1740s, primarily in a legal context.

One of the best examples of conflict of interest occurs in the book of 1 Samuel. And yet the account never raises the question itself.

It's a familiar story. Jonathan, the son of Saul, is the friend of David. That friendship saves David's life, over and over again. It also put Jonathan squarely in the middle of at least three types of conflict of interest.

To continue reading, please see my Daily Reflection today for The High Calling.

Because the stone cracks

After 1 Peter 1:3-9 

A river flows

from the cracked stone

water washing over cleaning

over and through, the pouring

unexpected 

As the river flows

it tests, strengthens,

builds, the icy tearing

of its fingers emptying pores

of accumulated dirt 

The river purifies

fading the stain with mist,

a vapor dissipating 

a cleansing away

to a revealed whiteness 

because the stone cracks: hope

because the stone cracks: birth

because the stone cracks: inheritance 

Photograph via Wallpapergate.

Saturday Good Reads

The moral collapse of the West seems to proceed apace; medical ethicists at Oxford University argue that there is just as much reason to kill a newborn as there is for an abortion. That is not a Saturday Good Read.

And then Rebecca Reynolds at The Rabbit Room writes about the new movie version of Cinderella. We saw it; it was entertaining but not “great film.” Reynolds saw something else, though, and what she found in the production directed by Kenneth Branaugh was a rather surprising encouragement.

Lots of good stuff this week. 

Faith

Granddad lied – Doug Spurling at Spurling Silver.

The Unselfish Act of Nourishing the Heart – Chris Peek at Trail Reflections.

At 40 – Matt Tuckey at Openhanded.

When Children Grow – Seth Haines.

Culture

The Moral Bucket List – David Brooks at The New York Times (Hat tip: Jim Schmotzer).

The Scummiest Clients on Earth – Rod Dreher at American Conservative.

It’s Getting Harder to Listen – Mark Bauerlein at First Things.

The Audacity of Cinderella – Rebecca Reynolds at The Rabbit Room.

Poetry

Leaving Carolina – Rick Maxon at The Imagined Jay.

We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live – Brendan MacOdrum at Oran’s Well.

The Icarus Myth Retold – Maureen Doallas at Writing Without Paper.

Love Poem No. 24 – John Blase at The Beautiful Due.

Reading and Writing

Iteration – Charity Craig for Curator Magazine.

Who Needs to Read Any More? – Vic Sizemore at Image Journal.

Please shut up: Why self-promotion as an author doesn’t work – Delilah Dawson at Whimsy Dark (Hat tip: John Robinson).

The Quality of Your Thoughts – Mick Silva. 

Photography

Flowers from Home – Timothy Good at Photography by Tiwago.

Illustration: Scene from the live-action movie version of Disney's "Cinderella."

Natasha Head’s “Birthing Inadequacy: Poems”

It’s an arresting idea, and not easy to pull off: assemble a poetry collection around the idea of conception, pregnancy, and childbirth – not, however, like a child is conceived and born, but as a woman is constructed from childhood to adulthood.  

Welcome to Birthing Inadequacy: Poems by poet and writer Natasha Head.  

The works in the collection are a combination of poetry and short narratives. They are confessional in nature; “self-examined” is perhaps a better description. She recounts scenes from childhood and growing up, the accumulated experiences that, in both good and bad ways, contribute to whom we are as adults. Time is both telescoped and abandoned, because our collective experiences, traumas and delights remain with us, shaping actions and reactions. 

The poems and narratives are grouped in five sections: conception; first, second, and third trimesters; and afterbirth. They have the feel of an ongoing flow, always happening in the present. This is one from the :First Trimester” section: 

Dark Matter 

Slipstream

particles collide

transference 

Realities merge

coupling

sensing the potential 

Is this the me you wish to see

propped up pedestal

trip the switch 

Blackness now as you ponder

in the dark there is no sense of my self

which might influence your desire 

Shortcut now

space and time need pay no mind

the wormhole trumps their power 

Now meek and mild

no more girl gone wild

you knew that taste would sour 

Pulsing waves distort my senses

while you decide

where you’ll mark your fences 

Collar tight, the leash is snug

have you determined

this is love? 

Head grew up in Nova Scotia and now lives in Alberta. She’s the author of a previous collection of poetry, Nothing Left to Lose (nominated for the Pushcart Prize), and Pulse, a narrative fiction collection. She’s also been published in numerous anthologies and publications. 

In Birthing Inadequacy, what the poet is particularly conscious of, as the title suggests, are those experiences that contribute to a negative or inadequate sense of self. We’ve all experienced them; what she reminds us here is that these experiences are never really left behind. And yet that recognition is itself a kind of catharsis; recognition leads to understanding, and understanding leads to resolution. 

Painting: Woman in Blue Reading a Letter, oil on canvas (1662-65) by Johannes Vermeer; Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.

Jeffrey Anderson's "Little God Blues"

Jim Shalabon, co-lead of the now-defunct rock band Eyebeams, is in London to find out what happened to his other co-lead, Kirk Howell. Howell was found dead in a London alley; the cause was an overdose of drugs. A major problem with that determination is that Howell didn’t take drugs, ever. And found with the body is a copy of a poetry book by Shalabon’s father, an émigré Russian who settled in America, abandoned his family to return to Russia in the early 1980s, and died not long after. 

Thus begins Little God Blues by Jeffrey Anderson. While it is largely a murder mystery (Shalabon might be the first rock star detective), it is also a story about London, about rock music, and about the search for self.  

And there’s a romance, too.  

It might be easy to get lost in all of these threads, but Anderson is a wonderful storyteller. His cast of characters is large, and range from a Greek student studying physics, a former British spy suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease and a 13-year-old girl seeking her disappeared mother, to an Oxford professor, assorted detectives from Scotland Yard, a barrister and a jailed felon. The story develops in pieces and hints, each one taking Shalabon deeper into the central mystery, which become three connected central mysteries – two deaths (from the same kind of drug overdose) and a disappearance.

I have to admit that I was hooked from the first chapter. The story partially seemed to follow my wife’s and my itineraries on recent London trips – the Wallace Collection, side-trips to Oxford, New Scotland Yard (our hotel was a block away), the British Library, and Covent Garden. Anderson is an American living in London, and the scenes have the sense of familiarity.  

Jeffrey Anderson

The novel isn’t entirely set in London; Shalabon makes a few side trips, like to Greece, his home of San Francisco, and St. Petersburg. But all the while he’s moving closer to what happened to his friend, and moving closer to understanding his own father, and, by extension, himself. And he’s falling deeply in love with a young woman whose father’s various business activities is scrutinized by police in several countries. 

Anderson’s novel is big, often complex but deeply engaging. You watch a formerly hedonistic rock star mature into something much more than that, as he learns at least some of what happened to his father. And while the central mystery is ultimately solved, not everything is answered. Much like life.

Anderson is currently based in London, where he writes short stories and novels, but he’s originally from San Francisco and has degrees in economics and Russian from the University of California – Santa Barbara.  

A sequel to Little God Blues is due out shortly – if it’s half as good as this one it will be well worth reading. 

Photograph by Juergen Rosskamp via Wikimedia Commons.

When Nothing is Everything

When was the last time you prayed for nothing, nada, zero?

I can’t recall a time I did that. I can recall praying for something not to happen, and I can remember not praying, but I can’t remember a time I prayed for zero.

“Please, Lord, give ne nothing. Give me zero.”

Margaret Feinberg can.

In Fight Back With Joy: Celebrate More. Regret Less. Stare Down Your Greatest Fears, Feinberg recounts how to respond to people who asked how they could pray for her. Prayer sustained her and her husband through her breast cancer diagnosis, treatment and surgeries, so she didn’t take the question as some trifling politeness Christians often ask in difficult situations like this. (When we don’t know what to say, we can always ask it.)

She began to answer the questions with “zero,” as in “zero cancer cells, zero complications, zero side effects, zero allergic reactions, zero suffering, zero medical errors, zero bad test results, zero sleepless nights, zero night terrors.”

Feinberg’s prayer was for zero. For nothing. But it was also everything.

But that might have not been the outcome. Zero might now have been the answer.

Feinberg turns to the book of Daniel (I’m finding Daniel in all kinds of places this week). And she finds an answer in the account of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, the three taken from Jerusalem with Daniel to be trained in Babylon. They would not worship the statue of gold erected by Nebuchadnezzar. The king had them taken to the furnace to be burned alive.

And they told the king that their God could deliver them from death in the furnace. But they acknowledge that this may not be the outcome. “But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up.”

But if not. That’s where Feinberg finds the joy – and the fight with joy.

Feinberg had to consider both a prayer answered with zero and a prayer answered with but if not. She had to be prepared for both, and she knew the cancer could be erased, or that it was still there. And while she may not have felt particularly brave as she dealt with all of the effects of chemotherapy, she was exactly that. Brave. Courageous. She had to stare both life and death in the face and be willing to say but if not.

Her lesson has both personal and corporate applications personal in how we deal with setbacks, debilitating illness, death of a loved one, or other personal tragedy. And corporate in what the church, the body of Christ, is becoming aware of in society.

Storm clouds are gathering for Christians and the church in Western culture. The storm may not break for a year, or for ten. But it is coming. We can pray for zero. But we have to consider if the answer is, instead, but if not.

Led by Jason Stasyszen and Sarah Salter, we've been reading Fight Bak with Joy. To see more posts on this chapter, "When Nothing Means Everything," please visit Sarah at Living Between the Lines.

Photograph by Ken Kistler via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.