Fire and Knowledge

If everyone stopped fighting for their country and beliefs, would that mean the end of war?

In Scot McKnight’s mini-essay “Writing — On the Side,” I found this paragraph especially interesting:

Some write about what they already know; those books show up as textbooks. Others write about what they don’t know; those books show up as suggestions, innovations, explorations, experiments, and — here’s the joy — possibly really interesting. FF Bruce wrote about what he knew; Jimmy Dunn writes about what he doesn’t know. That is why the former’s books are standard and solid, and the latter’s suggestive and provocative.

In the past I only read books by people who were writing what they already knew (often to the point of having it systematized). I did not see the point in reading others. Why read someone who babbles on about something, digresses into endless topics, and rarely comes to a definite conclusion? Postmodern nonsense, I said.

In recent years, I have shifted over to writers whose writings are, as McKnight puts it, “suggestions, innovations, explorations, experiments” and, yes, interesting. These writings are helpful because instead of presenting a final conclusion all neat and packaged, the author takes you with them on the journey. It helps us know how others think and argue through ideas — and therefore, how to sharpen our own. And, to top it off, it makes an interesting story of the mind instead of a boring academic thesis.

One isn’t necessarily better than the other — we need both kinds of writing. But I’m glad wandering writers like Henry David Thoreau, Wendell Berry, Annie Dillard, Joseph Epstein, C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton and others are now part of my regular reading.

When a church nursery can’t function without internet access and computers, what is the world coming to?

Long ago, scrolls were used for reading and writing. They were better than stone, but they were still cumbersome and limiting, and were eventually replaced with books. Books were better in practically every way. Now with our amazing feats of computing progress, we are back to using scrolls.

Computer screens will not replace books any time soon because scrolling is less functional than physical pages. Printed books are easy to use – the medium is practically transparent. Flipping pages are the best technique of browsing we have yet invented. Also books are more environmentally friendly: they are made from renewal resources, do not require electricity for each viewing, and are biodegradable. They are easy on the eyes, easy to write notes in margins and underline sentences. And so on.

A recent NYT article says that “no trees are destroyed to make e-books.” They forget to mention that oil and coal are burned instead, and that the electronics in the “e-reader” will (practically) never biodegrade and will instead release toxins into the soil (or, if burned, into the atmosphere).

Until a computer can make reading a book more usable, enjoyable, and ecological, the printed book will reign for serious readers. When they make a computer that looks like a book, feels like a book, is easy on the eyes, biodegradable, and uses no electricity, I might be interested. Until then, I’ll be using something far more advanced than an e-book reader: a real book.

Is a story interesting without drama? Without good guys and bad guys? Without both good and evil? Drama, tragedy, complication and other such techniques make stories interesting.

Why is that? Natural disasters are horrible – yet we like to read about them, talk about them, watch them on television. Murder is one of the worst things a person can do – yet we enjoy reading books and watching movies about murders. We are obviously very complicated. Or insane.

Perhaps we do this because good and evil actually exist, and we understand that evil is necessary. Life wouldn’t be interesting without evil. And goodness wouldn’t seem so good. Spring is beautiful, but it would not seem so beautiful if winter did not precede it. Or, to use Augustine’s famous analogy, a painting would not be so beautiful without a balance of dark colors and light colors.

Or perhaps we do this because there is no good and evil, and we project our experiences onto stories in order to cope with them. Since we have to deal with death, we like to read about death. It comforts us and helps us understand this crazy world.

I’ll take the answer that has good and evil.

People often wonder if animals will be in heaven. But people don’t seem to wonder if animals will be in hell. Why does God send humans to hell but not animals? In the Old Testament, animals who kill humans are put to death – there is a punishment. It is sin. But why doesn’t the animal suffer forever in torment (that is, hell)? Would it not make God more glorious if sin were justly punished? Does it not offend God infinitely, because he is infinitely holy? Or do animals not need redemption because they have lesser faculties than a human? Or was the sin of all animals atoned for by Jesus, so that while there is justice on earth (the animal is put to death), the wrath of God was quenched through Jesus? Or do animals not really sin?

Maybe we’ll find out the answer someday.

Defending belief can be a good thing — when something is true, it needs to be upheld and defended. But so often we defend what is wrong and refuse to listen to reason. In fact, we usually do little listening. Why is it that so many defend what they believe instead of seeking truth? Shouldn’t we be open to the fact that we are often wrong (and thus be open to other viewpoints) instead of assuming that everyone who doesn’t agree with us is wrong? It is hard to find a balance between defense and openness.