Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Silver Bullets: Umberto Eco on Literary Criticism

'Every discourse on the freedom of interpretation must start from a defense of literal sense.'

Monday, September 28, 2009

Horatio and the Anti-Hero: A Distinction Between Champions

One of my favorite television series from earlier days was the swashbuckling Napoleonic period piece, Horatio Hornblower. The series won some awards and was vastly entertaining, primarily because of its winning title character. "Winning" is an appropriate term for Hornblower as he is depicted in the films; that is, he is an endearingly high minded fellow and also a highly successful seaman-soldier. His commanding officer, Admiral Pellew, played pragmatically by Robert Lindsay, supplies the obligatory praise and promotion at the end of each episode. I call it obligatory because the audience couldn't do without it. Horatio's courage is the kind that must be praised, just as The Underdog Small Town Football Team must defeat the Black Suited Foes and win the MacGuffin. Otherwise, we, the audience, will not enjoy it. As with any series, each episode must be grander than the last, and Pellew's praise and reward must rise correspondingly. This, of course, leads to a degree of silliness:

Episode 1:

Pellew: Hornblower that was damn fine work. Keep this up and you will be a lieutenant in no time.

Hornblower: (Dignified) Thank you, sir.

Episode 2:

Pellew: By God, Hornblower! I've never seen anyone attempt what you have just attempted, sir! That was courage indeed!

Hornblower: (Honorably) Thank you, sir.

Episode 3:

Pellew: Hornblower that was incredible! You must have nerves of steel underneath that handsome face! You are the finest seaman I have had the pleasure to encounter, sir!

Hornblower: (Meaningfully) Thank you, sir.

Episode 4:

Pellew: Hornblower! You rascal! You're like a son to me! By Jove, you are Poseidon himself! I bend the knee before you! You are like a god among men, sir!

Hornblower: (Nobly) Thank you, sir.


After seeing Horatio Hornblower, I sought out the books by C.S. Forester. I was shocked to discover the farther I read that the Hornblower of the films and the Hornblower of the novels are entirely different individuals. The former is high minded, patriotic, idealistic, brave. The latter is selfish, conceited, reserved, clever, and desperate (which is a different quality than courage, though it may lead to a similar outcome).

In short, I detest Horatio Hornblower. He is a womanizing prig who is continually successful in his enterprises and conquests. He is James Bond with baggage, a terrible concoction. Indeed, I hate the Horatio Hornblower of the novels so much that he has led me to attempt a philosophical distinction that may or may not hold water, but which will certainly be a flag I will fly proudly.

The distinction concerns the idea of the Anti-Hero. I don't generally like anti-heros, at least not the kind who are to be found in bars with sympathetic women. There are those who are quite likeable, even admirable. Sydney Carton, Edmund Dantes, Captain Blood, Bruce Wayne; these names are just a few that come to mind. All have something in common: honor. Their honor may be questionable; in other words, it may be the kind that society would be inclined to reject. But their honor is certainly something they cherish. They act according to honor and seek honorable actions. They may have it or not, but they certainly hold it to be something worth having.

Hornblower, on the other hand, represents a kind of Anti-Hero that puts no stock in honor. He puts stock in Stock. Worldly considerations like money, women, prestige, freedom from obligation and the like, are the life blood of this Archetype. Instead of Honor, the Bogart (as I call him) believes in getting his and villains getting theirs. This may masquerade as Honor, but in fact it is something totally different and altogether unwholesome.

The essence of Honor is Selflessness. The essence of the Bogart is Selfishness. The two are mutually opposed. Exactly where the Bogart emerged is a mystery. My own dim guess would be in the pages of Greek legend. Regardless, he has play acted the part of the Hero for one too many decades. He would have never been countenanced in earlier centuries. The fact that we do so now is an unfortunate commentary on our moral fiber.

Of course, most people haven't read the Hornblower books. They saw the films which feature a character about as far from the Bogart as could possibly be imagined. We might call him the Stewart.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Article of the Day: Madmen at the Gates

Christianity, contrary to almost every other belief system, believes that reality (and history) is personal. David Warren takes a look at the challenges of our world in a very personal way and strikes gold. Check out his article, Madmen at the Gates.

Jogging (and Blogging) through Luke: Part 1: The Royal Birth

The opening chapters of Luke are so well known that it seems unlikely to find anything that won't seem redundant for this series. After all, this is the Christmas story. But when you take a closer look, a theme comes into play, a theme that is prevalent in Luke's narrative. I refer to the theme of "putting things right."

One of the curious questions we can ask looking at the Gospels is where the words "good news" first come into play. On this end of Christian history, we think of the word "gospel" and immediately have a variety of concepts that come to mind. For the Gentiles that read Luke, however, the "good news" of his Gospel was a mystery. What was the good news? We can imagine how it would be if someone in today's world wrote a bestseller entitled "Good News for Your Life". Picking up the book, we would expect to find out what it was about at a glance. The first or second page would give us the basic idea. However, with the Gospels, we tend to read them as if they were written for those with a prior knowledge of Christianity. We forget that most of the Biblical writers were seeking to communicate something difficult and unimagined by his audience.

Luke, interestingly enough, first uses the words "good news" in association with the birth of John the Baptist. "I am Gabriel," declares the angel "who stands in God's presence, and I have been sent to you and bring you this good news." Zechariah, of course, doesn't believe him, and is struck silent. He is the first example of unbelief in the face of the Gospel. Again, Gabriel appears to Mary and proclaims that she will be the mother of the Messiah. The earth shattering background in both circumstances (sometimes lost on our credulous ears, certainly not on first century ones) is the virginity of Mary and the barrenness of Elizabeth. God's modus operandi sends an implicit signal about what kind of prophet and Messiah he is introducing onto the world stage. It will be a King who overthrows and undermines the unfruitful womb of Earth and implants his own Kingdom in its place.

To grasp the immediate impression that the Good News gave to those who first heard it, a correlative is needed. Unfortunately, we don't have many mythical leaders to look to in our past. But let us imagine that an angel were to come announcing the return of King Arthur and with him, the redemption of Western Civilization. The sense of expectancy, hope, and rising anger against the current corrupt order would be enormous. The "good news" of Arthur's return would be juxtaposed to the evil seen all around us.

Clearly, the Gospel of Jesus' Incarnation was received by those who heard it as a challenge to evil on every level. Mary's Magnificat, Zechariah's Benedictus, Simeon's prophecy about the "rise and fall of many in Israel", the fears of King Herod, and the prophecies of the Magi; the examples are numerous. Again and again the emphasis is on the confrontation between the Heir of David and his right hand man against the forces of evil. This evil is not just political and social, but is the intrinsic cancer that has eaten away at the root of creation. Thus the great meaning in the manner of God's entrance into history.

As we shall see, the Gospels quickly take this conflict to an epic level. The forces of evil present in the Gospels are far beyond anything seen in the Old Testament. Clearly the incarnation of God himself is a threat only Satan himself can be allowed to address...

Friday, September 25, 2009

Chesterton on Dickens

'Dickens's characters are perfect as long as he can keep them out of his stories. Bumble is divine until a dark and practical secret is entrusted to him-as if anybody but a lunatic would entrust a secret to Bumble. Micawber is noble when he is doing nothing; but he is quite unconvincing when he is spying on Uriah Heep, for obviously neither Micawber nor any one else would employ Micawber as a private detective.'

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Jogging (and Blogging) through Luke: Introduction

I always find it rather remarkable how we Christians manage to overlook the most obvious things about the Good Book. If we opened up any other book, we would likely see its elements in their proper perspective immediately. We know, for instance, opening up a great book like Treasure Island that the book is all about a clever boy who discovers friendship, honor, and courage while discovering treasure. He becomes rich in more ways than one.

But no one would dream when they open up Treasure Island that the book was all about sailing. "Look!" they might cry, "sailing is everywhere in the story. How could anything in the book come to be without the unfurling snap of the clean white cloth?" Such an idea is of course quite ludicrous, and with almost any book (there are a few, unfortunately) such a misunderstanding would be unlikely. With the Bible, however, and in particular the Gospels, we have been told what is in them so long before we actually read them from start to finish that it is quite impossible to experience Jesus without some degree of myopia.

I remember as a young boy watching episodes of the children's program, Wishbone. For those of you lucky enough to have escaped the corrupting influence of Wishbone I will give it a brief description: A spotted dog, named (you guessed it) Wishbone, helps young children escape from bad television sets masquerading as dangerous barns, bad neighborhoods, and forgotten caves, all the while re-enacting classic works of literature with himself as the main character. I can just imagine the board meeting that gave the green light to Wishbone:

Chairman: Have any of you seen the statistics just out from the Board of Education? A majority of our students have never read Treasure Island.

Board Member 1: Impossible!

Board Member 2: Why, I read that when I was a boy!

Board Member 3: I can hardly believe it.

Chairman: Ladies and Gentlemen, with this kind of illiteracy running rampant through our schools, we must take action. Any ideas?

A Man dressed in Black emerges from a dark corner of the board room

Man In Black: How about a television show?

Board Member 3: Television! That's it. If they won't read it, they'll watch it!

Board Member 2: But who wants to put all that time and energy into making great adaptions of great works of literature? Who will foot the bill?

Man In Black: We'll make them cheap.

Board Member 1: Splendid!

Chairman: But how will we get kids to watch it? These things are so far above their illiterate little minds.

Man In Black: It will feature little stories they can relate to like Peter getting trapped in a barn in a storm, or Jimmy getting bullied by a clean cut teen Gap model at school.

Chairman: This sounds better and better. But how would we ever sell it? There has to be something in it everybody loves.

The Man in Black raises a covered cage and removes the black cloth with a whirl. We see a spotted dog snarling.

Man In Black: Everybody loves dogs... (he chuckles evilly)

Chairman: What a brilliant idea! We'll ruin the plot of every major work of literature by starring a dog in the title role!

Board Members 1&2: Hurrah!

Board Member 3: It's like a dream come true!

Man in Black: We will name him... Wishbone!

Okay, so that might be a little over the top, but you get the point. When it comes to Scriptures, we've been inundated with so many Wishbone versions that we often fail to recognize the obvious themes that should leap out at us. So I will be blogging my reading of Luke to try and break through the Mosaic veil to the glorious Truth behind it.

And since this was a long post, it will serve as a mere Introduction...