Via James McGrath, the Tragedy of Darth Pelagius the Wise:
Of course, Pelagianism is much with us to this day, though it seems no one can agree on who is Pelagian, pseudo-Pelagian, crypto-Pelagian, etc. It always seems to be one of those accusations you make against someone you disagree with theologically, when you can't think of anything else to disagree with them about.
For those of us who came up as geeks in the early 1980s, Dungeons & Dragons was a phenomenon. I played it for years as a young adolescent, and then picked it up again as an adult. I remain an avid player.
But in the '80s, one theme that continually came up when D&D was under discussion was the idea that it was in some way a dangerous game, one that put us as children at risk of Satanic influence, or at a bare minimum, insanity and suicide. This was nowhere more explicitly stated than in the infamous Jack Chick tract "Dark Dungeons," which illustrated the Satanic power of Dungeons & Dragons in a way that was intended to be frightening, but was actually just hilarious to anyone with any actual familiarity with the game.
And then there was the early Tom Hank vehicle Mazes and Monsters which was losely based on a bunch of D&D-based urban legends (including the Dallas Eggbert "steam tunnel" story).
Michael Stackpole has written an excellent summary of everything that was wrong with this kind of D&D fear-mongering, but when I was a teenager, it was rampant. A lot of my friends weren't allowed to play D&D, and I was fortunate to have cool parents who were happy to let us play in the living room, on the theory that it was better that then we were off running the streets doing God-knows-what (Ironically, my mother eventually banned the boardgame Dune from our house, but not because of any satanic influence, just because we fought over it constantly).
Annalee Newitz reflects on all of this over at the science fiction blog io9, noting that "We Won the Dungeons & Dragons Wars."
When anti-gamer advocates claimed these tragic suicides as casualties of D&D, many other kids were punished for dreaming about triumphing over adversity, and for daring to imagine that they could be something more magical and powerful than what they were. It was a national craze, and it's not as if this forgotten war on the imagination was unique. Similar battles are being fought today over videogames and social media.
At the end of the day though, the geeks did inherit the earth, or at least popular culture:
And yet the half-elf thieves and evil clerics and dorky kids with dice won at least one melee in this particular culture war. That's abundantly obvious when you consider that the media is dominated by D&D-influenced stories. Meanwhile, the anti-D&D campaigns today have been reduced to items like this shabby little pamphlet, digitized by a gamer who wanted to memorialize a hard time in geek history. It's a clear example of history being written by the winners.
When D&D types win a war like this, however, they don't try to erase the perspective of the enemies who once threatened them. They have too much respect for the source material. In the 1980s, angry mobs of parents burned their kids' D&D books. Those kids, now grown up, digitize and annotate the pamphlets that once condemned them.
It's a weird kind of progress, but progress nonetheless.
The first season of True Detective comes to an end on Sunday night and I thought I'd take the opportunity to put in my two cents about the show. For those not in the know, True Detective is an HBO show that plays around with tropes from pulp fiction and the "True Crime" literary genre. I didn't initially hop on board with the show, but a friend's recommendation, and some commentary on the science fiction site io9 convinced me to give it whirl.
True Detective tells the story of two detectives, Marty Hart and Rust Cohl, investigating what appears to be a ritual murder in Louisiana. Their investigation leads them to what may, or may not, be a satanic cult worshiping a being known as the Yellow King. It could also be connected to allegations of child abuse that was carried on by a Christian ministry in the '80s and '90s. The show has kept us guessing all along. I was particularly intrigued by the Yellow King imagery, since it connected what True Detective was up to with the weird fiction work of H. P. Lovecraft. I didn't imagine that the show would climax with Cthulhu rising from the depths of the Gulf of Mexico (though that would actually be pretty awesome), but I was interseted to see what the show would do with the source material.
It's been interesting to watch the theories fans have developed in order to determine just who the Yellow King might be. This theory is one of my favorites:
The show has also received a great deal of critical and social commentary. The latest is from Religion Dispatches pointing out how contentious the concept of "the occult" is in the field of religious studies, and also noting the way that the show fails to follow through on some of it's connections.
Don Jolly wrote, in a recent Revealer article on “The New York Occult Revival,” that in the world of religious studies the definition of occult is “hardly settled.” This unsettled nature can be clearly seen in the difference between the community Jolly describes—white, urban, and Protestant—and the one depicted in the fictional world of True Detective. African-American and creole religious traditions like voodoo and Santeria have, as Van Young notes, long been mined by cosmic-horror writers for both their supernaturalism, and their “cultural otherness,” which can lead to demonization of non-white or non-Christian faiths.
Where does True Detective rate on this score? The “occult” murderer’s signature is a small pyramid of lash-together twigs. In an early episode, detectives Cohle and Hart take the “stick thing” to be examined by an African-American pastor at a local church, who recognizes it immediately; as kids, he says, they always called them “devil-catchers.” But this recognition doesn’t lead the detectives to start racially profiling their possible killers.
Probably it’s not fair to judge director Cary Joji Fukunaga’s level of cultural sensitivity by his casting choices, but I couldn’t help noticing that the pastor was played by Clarke Peters, best known for his role as Big Chief Albert Lambreaux on Treme (perhaps the most respected avatar of Louisiana’s African-American cultural heritage ever depicted on TV). If that choice is any indication, the lines between “occult,” “Christian,” “African-American,” “Cajun,” “voodoo,” “Santeria,” may be as complex in True Detective’s plot as they are in real life.
It's difficult to parse all of the various cultural connections that go into popular religious sensibilities, and it's good to be reminded of the complexity of those concepts and connections from time to time.
But as long as I'm on the subject, I'd like to present my, almost certainly incorrect, theory on how things are going to end on Sunday night's episode. Bear in mind, the ending needs to be something that will tie together the many threads that we've encounterd so far, and give a satisfactory narrative shape to the whole. With that in mind, I think there is really only one possible conclusion:
Everybody. Every. Single. Solitary person that we've encountered on the show up till this point has to be involved in the plot. The only exceptions are Marty and Rust, and the two black detectives investgating the new murder. Beyond them, my theory is that everyone the detectives have come across up to this point, including Marty's wife, including both of his girlfriends, including Rust's briefly encountered girlfriend, the politicans, police officers, etc. Everybody is involved in this conspiracy. In the end, Marty and Rust will come upon some hideous ritual being performed for the Yellow King (probably the sacrifice of one of Marty's daughters), and they will realize that they are battling against forces that it is impossibel for them to overcome, and so the whole show will end in a note of ultimate cosmic despair in the face of evil.
I call this the Rosemary's Baby theory.
It has to be this. Nothing else will have the scope necessary to make it dramatically satisfying.
Except Cthulhu. Cthulhu would also work.
This weekend I spoke at a symposium in honor of the 50th Anniversary of the BBC's Doctor Who. It was a great time, and it made me think about a few themes related to Doctor Who and religion that have been on my mind for some time.
A few months ago I came across this short feature on the idea of Doctor Who itself as a religion:
Now, that's an interesting question, and the video explores it well, but it's not really the question that interests me. I'm more interested in the way that the narratives and characters on Doctor Who illuminate themes within the Christian theological tradition.
And, perhaps surprisingly, the linkages are often quite explicit, and nowhere more-so than in the climax to the three-part episode that ends Series Three -- "Utopia," "The Sound of Drums," and "Last of the Time-lords." NB. Spoilers for Doctor Who Series Three follow.
In this series of episodes The Master returns to Earth and, masquerading as the British Prime Minister, develops a plan to destroy the human race and colonize the earth with the Toclafane, a race that is revealed finally revealed to be humanity's own future state of existence. Ultimately, the Doctor is captured and reduced by the Master to an ancient, wizened state. Martha escapes with a mission from the Doctor, and spends a year travelling the earth attempting to fulfill the mission.
At the climax of the episode, Martha is captured and brought to the Master, who is holding the Doctor in a cage. She then reveals that her time spent travelling the earth has been used telling people about the Doctor, and urging them to concentrates their thoughts on him, so that at a single moment they will all be calling out his name at once, all around the world. Via a bit of technological hand waving (which is known, no doubt intentionally, as the "Archangel" network on the show), this combined thought allows the Doctor to renew himself and escape from captivity. In victory, instead of destroying or humiliating the Master, the Doctor instead says "I forgive you."
The Master is ultimately killed, though not by the Doctor, who actually encourages him instead to join him on the TARDIS as a sort of prisoner/companion. Refusing to regenerate, the Master truly dies (well, sort of ), and is genuinely mourned by the Doctor.
It's hard to miss the rather overt Christian overtones in this episode. First and foremost is the idea of Martha as a sort of "evangelist" for the Doctor. Although the Master believes she's travelling the world seeking a weapon, she's actually spreading the message of the Doctor, of his care for humanity and the lengths to which he's gone to save it. It is not hard at all to translate this to the message that Christian evangelists give as they spread the Gospel.
Then there is the fact that Martha's act is itself an act of self-sacrificial martyrdom. She travels the world, at great risk to herself, to spread the Doctor's Gospel. When she is finally recaptured, she is willing to die rather than renounce the Doctor.
And of course, then there is the content of her message, specifically the idea that, if they desire salvation, it is essential that humanity, for all intents and purposes, pray to the Doctor, and doing so actually does empower the Doctor to effect their salvation. Furthermore, this is an act that people undertake solely as an act of faith. There is no guarantee, and really no reason that people should focus their minds on the Doctor, but they do, and in doing so, they receive salvation.
And, finally and most powerfully, there is the Doctor's decision to meet the Master's evil, not with his own wrath and judgment, but rather with forgiveness. One could argue very persuasively that this is wholly due to the fact that they are the last two Time Lords. But it doesn't change the reality that the Doctor's first imperative regarding the Master is to offer forgiveness.
More could be said, and I'm hoping that I can expand these ideas into something of greater length in the future. It should be noted that Russell T. Davies is not himself religious, but in this episode in particular the religious overtones are so overt as to be (for me at least) wholly inescapable.
Recently, Jonathan Ryan at the Christianity Today blog offered up an analysis of George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones from a Christian perspective, comparing Martin's world to that of J. R. R. Tolkien. His verdict:
Martin is missing Tolkien's sense of "eucatastrophe," the word Tolkien famously coined in his essay On Fairy Stories: "The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy ending: or more correctly of the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous "turn"…. In its fairy-tale—or otherworld—setting, it is a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief."
Ryan argues that "Martin's relentlessly grim view of human beings is far from realistic. He is looking at the world with just one jaundiced, damaged eye."
On the one hand, Ryan is certainly right that Martin's view of the world is much darker than Tolkien's, but it's a rather strange to criticize Martin for writing a different kind of story than Tolkien. What's more, I think the key difference between their stories is precisely the one that Ryan overlooks, namely, that Martin isn't writing a "fairy story" in Tolkien's sense. Rather, Martin is writing the historical fiction of an imaginary world, and as such, he is trying to convey as realistically as possible the human limitations and failings of a world that runs according to the principles of "real-world" power politics, and not according to an idealistic assessment of how the world ought to work. The underlying moral question for Martin is whether there is still any place for honor or morality in such a world. The answer to that question, it seems to me, is still very much in doubt for Martin.
But there are many characters in Martin's universe who still attempt to embody principles of nobility and honor, even in the midst of their tragic and fallen circumstances. Ryan's biggest misstep, as Amanda McInnis points out at Cheesewearing Theology, is in his reading of Tyrion Lannister. In comparing Tyrion to Gollum, he demonstrates how little he knows about the character:
Martin paints this grimness in the portrait of Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion is a small and deformed figure born to a powerful and noble family in Westeros. Years of poor treatment and outright abuse leads Tyrion to drink more and more deeply from the corruption around him.
If you've read Lord of the Rings, you can't help but compare Tyrion to Smeagol, the hobbit who becomes Gollum after becoming corrupted by Sauron's ring The difference comes in Frodo's attempt to redeem Gollum. That attempt has no parallel in Martin's world, nor is there anything like Gandalf's admonition to treat Gollum with kindness. Tyrion has no Frodo, and he never will. No one reaches out to him; no one tries to save or redeem him.
Amanda notes how wrong-headed this reading is:
Ryan fundamentally misunderstands and misconstrues the character of Tyrion. In fact, I would argue that Tyrion is in fact one of the most honourable characters in Westeros, with the understanding that the rules of morality in A Song of Ice and Fire are very, very distinct from the rules of morality in something like The Lord of the Rings. Indeed, it is this honour-in- spite-of-all-he’s-been-through that makes Tyrion one of the more beloved characters to readers (and viewers). The same endearment cannot be said of Gollum.
In trying to compare Tyrion to Gollum, the author overlooks all the good things that Tyrion has done.
Tyrion befriends Jon Snow. He rescues Sansa from a fate worse than death if she were to stay in King’s Landing. He protects the kingdom from Joffrey, by reining him in as best he can.
There is nothing comparable to be found in Tolkien's treatment of Smeagol, who is utterly corrupted by the ring and ultimately serves only the Ring, and subordinately himself. When Tyrion is raised, against all expectations, to be the Hand of the King, and asked what he intends to do, his first response is: "Justice."
And by and large he does this. As Amanda notes, he also does other, quite horrible things, most of which are understandable in the context of the character and his sufferings (Amanda says that "while they are not inexcusable, they are understandable," but I think she means that they actually aren't in themselves, actually excusable). But no matter what evil Tyrion does along the way, it is clear that at almost every point, at least to the end of A Storm of Swords, he is acting to keep his head above the waters of corruption in which he's immersed, to hold on to a sliver of morality, while still doing what's necessary to stay alive in the context of the deathtrap that is Westerosi political life.
As much as Ryan misreads Tyrion though, I suspect he also fundamentally misreads real-world politics, at least in the context of the Medieval setting that Martin is attempting to emulate. While modern politics tends to publicly eschew the kinds of cloak and dagger assassination that is part of life in Westeros, one only needs to pick up any reasonable history of ancient Rome, or Medici Italy, or the English War of the Roses (Martin's historical inspiration for the series), to understand that the maliciousness and brutality of political life was indeed part and parcel of a particular time and place.
Even today, the realities of war and politics are far less subject to moral constraint than Ryan seems to acknowledge. Surely he recognizes that in many war zones around the world, the tactics used by Gregor "The Mountain that Rides" Clegane are nothing new. Surely he's read about Vladimir Putin's penchant for eliminating his political foes through the creative use of applied nuclear physics. Surely he's aware of the damage done to the "small folk" around the world by our own projection of military power, whether via the repeated invasions we've undertaken over the last decade or via the "death from above" approach to drone warfare we've embraced in the last few years. While we may like to comfort ourselves with the illusion that political life and war-making in the 21st century are less brutal than in the past, or that Martin doesn't accurately represent the "real world" of violence in his fantasy setting, I suspect that Martin understands what those circumstances are like from the inside with far more perspicacity than Ryan does.
None of which is to say that there is not room for honor, nobility, bravery and morality in either Martin's world or our own, but what Tyrion Lannister (as well as Ned Stark, Jon Snow, Jeor Mormont, Robb Stark, and Brienne of Tarth) reveals as a character is that those characteristics, when they are displayed, put one at great risk in a world where those traits are viewed as weakness. and thus one's survival in such a setting requires one to be "wise as a serpent" if one wishes to strive toward being "innocent as a dove."
Reposting this for hilariousness. For my part, I'd happily regrow my guru goatee, but for the time being I'll simply cultivate my post-evangelical stubble.
I clearly have not been doing my part to drive traffic to Slacktivist lately, but today I'm going to try to atone. So let me begin at the intersection of religion geek and gamer geek, a place where I not only hang out but pretty much live.
Slacktivist points us to two articles, the first, as you can see here, is thearticle on succubi from the Forgotten Realms wiki. It's pretty much the standard Dungeon & Dragons definition of a succubus. viz.
Of the many demons that exist in the universe, the succubus is the one most often encountered in the mortal world. This is due to her extraordinary beauty and carnal desires; traits that attract mortal spellcasters to summon the demoness forth to use for their own debased desire. Succubi delight in causing suffering by manipulating the desires of mortals and tempting them into depraved acts that they would normally avoid.
OK, with me so far? If you're not a gamer geek, I want to make this point absolutely clear: To D&D players, a succubus is a fictional monster that exists to be resisted, fought, banished or otherwise defeated. The key phrase there being "fictional monster."
Thsis brings us to the second article, entitled "Can You Be Raped By the Devil." Here is the key passage from that article:
The two most identifiable sexual demons are the incubus, which is a male sexual demon that traditionally assaults women, and the succubus, which is a female sexual demon that assaults men. Sometimes they also lure people into homosexual behavior.
Adams notes that one evangelist, whose name she would not divulge, was so troubled by the sexual pleasure the succubus gave her that she even contemplated suicide.
Adams says the succubus spirit that used to attack her confused her so much that she contemplated becoming a lesbian.
"Unless you're strong enough to rebuke it, they'll keep coming back," she says. "You must speak the Word of God, knowing you have power in the name of Jesus."
There are remarkable similarities between the two passages, no? The key difference, as Slacktivist notes, is that "people who play Dungeons & Dragons know that succubi are not real."
To which I can only reply by saying that Slacktivist has clearly never played a paladin in a campaign with a rat-bastard DM, who continually throws succubi at you in order to tempt your character into a transgression of the Paladin's Code. Have that happen to you often enough over the course of a campaign, and you begin to believe, if not in the existence of sex demons per se, at least in the fundamental evil at the heart of every Dungeon Master.
This one goes out to all my fellow Princetonians:
Professor:
Well, there’s Theology and Biblical Studies,
Theology Philosophy and Biblical Studies
Theology and Barth
Theology, Biblical Studies and Barth
Theology, Biblical Studies, Philosophy and Barth
Barth, Biblical Studies, Philosophy and Barth
Barth, Theology, Barth, Barth, Biblical Studies and Barth
Barth, Philosophy, Barth, Barth, Barth, Biblical Studies, Barth Exegesis and Barth
Barth, Barth, Barth, Theology and Barth
Barth, Barth, Barth, Barth, Barth, Barth, Greek, Barth, Barth, Barth and Barth.(Choir: Barth! Barth! Barth! Barth! Lovely Barth! Lovely Barth!)
Or the dialectical nature of theology with an emphasis on Chalcedon with a little bit of Hegel on top and Barth.
Another Theology Student:
Have you got anything without Barth?Professor:
Well, the Barth, Theology, Philosophy and Barth
That’s not got much Barth in it.
And for all of you who aren't Monty Python fans, context:
Wave of Mutilation: Best of Pixies
PIXIES: Wave of Mutilation: Best of Pixies
Guardians of the Galaxy: Awesome Mix Vol.1
Soundtrack: Guardians of the Galaxy: Awesome Mix Vol.1
If You're Feeling Sinister
Belle & Sebastian: If You're Feeling Sinister
Theatre Is Evil
Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra: Theatre Is Evil
Transcendental Youth
The Mountain Goats: Transcendental Youth