The Reality of Fiction

When one places life's center of gravity not in life but in the "beyond"--in nothingness--one deprives life of its center of gravity altogether. The great lie of personal immortality destroys all reason, everything natural in the instincts--whatever in the instincts is beneficent and life-promoting or guarantees a future now arouses mistrust. -Friedrich Nietzsche

My first and last philosophy, that which I believe in with unbroken certainty, I learnt in the nursery. [...] The things I believed most then, the things I believe most now, are the things called fairy tales. They seem to me to be the entirely reasonable things. They are not fantasies: compared with them other things are fantastic. Compared with them religion and rationalism are both abnormal, though religion is abnormally right and rationalism abnormally wrong. Fairyland is nothing but the sunny country of common sense. It is not earth that judges heaven, but heaven that judges earth; so for me at least it was not earth that criticised elfland, but elfland that criticised the earth. -G.K. Chesterton

Sometime in early February:

I sat at my usual spot at the coffee shop I've come to frequent here in Louisville. I cautiously brought the cup of hot cinnamon tea to my lips, hoping to bump into my new friend. I first met my friend Henry several months ago while helping some friends move. He reminded me of Thoreau, a man with luddite tendencies desperately trying as hard as he can to escape the corruption of the world. I would consider him to be some kind of existentialist, even though he would probably refuse the label and call himself an individual (as any good existentialist would).

A sip. Ah, the tea is perfect.

Henry arrived as if on cue. We greeted one another cordially and I slid aside my impressive (though only to me) stack of books on medieval theology. He took a seat and I lit my pipe. He produced a pack of cigarettes. We ignited our vices and began to reason together.

I had an ulterior motive in meeting with him, of course. You see, I care tremendously for his soul. As is so common in our ultra-modern, ultra-convenient times, he seems to me a listless and tempest-tossed alien. He has never been more comfortable and never so homeless. In addition to the cosmopolitan curse, he is also weighed down by survivor's guilt. His best friend drove thirty miles into the glorious New England countryside to drown himself ingloriously in a pond just a bit off the highway. Henry blamed himself for being so far south when his friend took his own life. Needless to say, I continue to release many fragrant prayers to the Lord for him.

"I'm working on a project," I announced after the pleasant small talk had subsided, "maybe you can help me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I could use another pair of ears. Y'see, I'm writing on hope. Tryin' to figure out what exactly it is, what it does for us, why we need it, is it even real? Maybe you can help me sort through all my thoughts."

"Okay," Henry agreed. "What do you have so far?"

"Well, I began... um, are ya familiar with the 'Green Lantern' comics?" He nodded. "Well, then you know how the Blue Lanterns work. The symbiosis with the Greens and everything, the symbolism of hope being useless without willpower, but together hope can super charge willpower. Right?" Yes. "But isn't that just a fancy way of saying that hope is just a delusion?"

"How so?" he asked.

"Think of it. Hope isn't real, it's just a tool. It really doesn't matter what you hope in, so long as you hope for something. Nietzsche would say that hope is a great lie, particularly when imposed from the outside. It's a fantasy, a tool for control. Or it's just something we need in order to function, an existential necessity. Anyway," I concluded, "that's where I'm stuck. Ya got any thoughts for me?"

He mulled it over for a moment. Then he answered, "I think hope is fantastic in some sense. Honestly, I'm not really as much of a philosopher as a writer or English dork. But I think fiction really resonates with people because it IS fake. Maybe it's not real, but that's what so compelling about it."

"So you would say that the compelling things about literature aren't really based on anything real?"

"They're rooted in our experience, or how we perceive it. We want the world to be better than it is. We wish our experiences were more than they are."

"It's just a wish then? It has no reality?"

"It's a real desire for things to be better than they are. There's nothing false about wanting things to be better than they are. In fact, idealization keeps us going. Writers craft ideal characters to fit their stories. The people they invent function just the way they're supposed to in the narrative. But any good writer will tell you that a solid character eventually writes themselves. That sorta makes them real, doesn't it?" Henry asked whimsically.

"But are the characters really ideal? Are ideal or realistic characters better?"

"Realistic ones, of course. I meant that they function ideally in the story. They do what the author wants."

I conceded the point. "But why are realistic characters better? Why not the perfect ones?"

"I think real characters need to be relatable."

"Why do the readers need to relate?"

"Are you leading me somewhere?"

"I asked you first."

Henry sighed in defeat. He knew that I was in fact leading him somewhere. Still, he was the one who had to get there. To state it plainly wouldn't mean the same to him. "I think readers need to relate because they need to see themselves in the story. They ought to recognize what kind of person is in the story and how they're like that character. They need to see that a character will react in a story just like they will, or if they're different, why they did otherwise."

"So a realistic character has to seem real, not entirely fictional?"

He was thoughtfully quiet before replying, "I suppose so."

"So might it be fair to say that the compelling thing about fiction is, on some level, not what is imaginary but what is real about it. Aristotle praised poetry for this reason; it attained unto the universal. It uses narrative to tell us what's true about being human in a way that philosophy never could."

"Interesting."

"Couldn't hope be the same?" I asked. "Could it be that we're not compelled by fiction but by reality? And not reality as it is--for the real world is a harsh place--but reality as we always hoped it could be? As though our hearts yearn for the world to be better than it actually is not because we can imagine it better but because it is supposed to be better than it really is? What if there's something terribly wrong with the world? We think that our hopes aren't real because we don't see any tangible proof of them. But the hope itself is the evidence! Or else why would there ever have been hope at all?"

(A more thorough treatment of the question of hope will follow this dialogue.)

Lenten Reflections: Matthew 1 & 2

I was raised in the Baptist tradition, so low church I think I scrapped the bottom of the holiness barrel. I leaned downright Anabaptist for a long time, so the idea of a Christian calendar with seasons of fasting seemed alien to me. After all, fasting doesn't make you a better Christian. Aren't we free in Christ from the law and its appointed seasons of feasting and fasting? The whole Christian life is a feast, I thought. By the end of high school I was identifying as a Calvinist and in college I was exposed to the deep wells of tradition and theology that pushed me firmly into a broadly-Reformed camp. There I discovered the history of the saints gone by and realized that the Church Universal didn't end with the Apostle John only to restart with Billy Graham (and maybe a blip with Martin Luther). I learned how Lent is supposed to be a time to prepare us for Easter, that the fasting is supposed to deepen our feasting on God. Our hunger for food or caffeine or the internet is supposed to bodily turn our affections toward a deepened spiritual hunger for God. Still I participated in Lent only once and then halfheartedly, forgetting partway through I was even fasting or what the point was. I failed to orient my hunger toward the Lord and fell back into my thoughtless feasting. Praise God that grace abounds to the chief of sinners.

This year I actually attended a morning Ash Wednesday service at Sojourn, a Southern Baptist congregation which manages maintain low church form with high church sensibilities. They have a deep appreciation for liturgy, ritual, art, and holy expression while keeping the last, the lost, the least unalienated with esoteric holy trappings. So this morning I heard the real truth of Lent again for the first time: Man is mortal and we die to something to come alive again with a celebration of Christ's resurrection. Along with that came a charge to read the Gospels this season, so I endeavor to do so as I fast praying that my devotion to the Holy Writ will increase in my temporary death.

Today I read and meditate upon Matthew chapters 1-2. Here we read the genealogy of Jesus. It is filled with the names of men sometimes glorious, but more often inglorious. Particularly Matthew calls to mind the wicked kings of Israel we read about in Kings and Chronicles. These are men like Rehoboam and Manasseh who bow the knee to idols and demons, couching the plans of God with their own expedient safeguards and back-up plans. God can't be wholly trusted, they reasoned, so my Judahite army, Molech, and Asherah will save me if Yahweh fails. There are harlots like Rahab and liars like Abraham. Still God chose to use this pedigree to fulfill His purpose.

Other things could be noted (the Magi, Herod, the Bethlehem slaughter), but I was struck today by the example of Joseph. Here was a man I once heard described as "the manliest Christian outside of Jesus Himself." He first hears that his betrothed is pregnant though he has never had sex with her. Rather than expose her to a public humiliation, we are told that he plans to divorce her quietly. This is a drastic understatement. According to Levitical law, he could have had her stoned for infidelity! Yet even before he realizes what has transpired, he still intends to extend grace and break off the engagement. Now, we know as the reader that had he done these things he would have in fact done something quite unjust. Yet from his perspective and the vantage point of those around him, this would have been reasonable, just, and even gracious.

Then he has a vision of an angel telling him that this child is from the Holy Spirit. And he believes and marries her. In spite of the local gossip around Nazareth, he takes responsibility for a child not his own. Only an unfair modern critic would try to say that he is buying into some mythology to justify himself here. Ancient people may have had a more primitive science, but they certainly knew where babies came from! He knew this wasn't natural, that it defied all explanation. He knew that the community might (and probably did) speak against the character of his future wife. Nevertheless he persevered by faith that God was working something astounding. He doesn't even know that Messiah has come, he just believes!

It is by faith that he takes his family to Bethlehem. His wife is due any day and he still goes, knowing that through obedience to Caesar he is obeying God. He trusts God to iron out all the details. God provides a safe birth. It is by faith that he listens to the angel's warnings and flees to Egypt. Can you imagine? He didn't go back home to Nazareth at all. He brought no effects of home with his young family. Instead, he flees by night to a foreign land--a land of slavery in the Jewish mind--to escape the wrath of a jealous king. Here he shows the great virtue of provision. He thinks again of the safety of his family--a disgraced wife and a child not his own--and leaves everything behind all based on another vision from a divine messenger. He has no natural promise of safe conduct, no tangible guarantee of success. He has his faith and his God, and that his more than enough. He has nothing yet he has everything.

His journey is not so different from ours. We too sojourn by faith, not by sight. We Christians live as a people in-between in a kingdom here but not here yet. The promise of Christ has yet to be fully realized. We have the Word of God, the Spirit of God, and promises of suffering and deliverance. And so we sojourn. We travel through life prayer by prayer, trusting not in the might of our hands nor the strength of our earnings nor the knowledge of our minds. This is the life of a Christian, the life of Joseph. It is one which is folly to the world yet salvation for those who believe. May we endure well this mortal race with our full hope in God the Father, faith in Jesus Christ our Redeemer, by the power of the Holy Spirit indwelling us. May the ash on our foreheads be a reminder that to dust we shall return and from death we shall rise in the glory and majesty of our brother Jesus Christ and our Father God Almighty. May this season of death be a season of life.

Varnish on the Abyss

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence. The least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of. -Lord Byron

Hope, in its stronger forms, is a great deal more powerful stimulant to life than any sort of realized joy can ever be. Man must be sustained in suffering by a hope so high that no conflict with actuality can dash it — so high, indeed, that no fulfillment can satisfy it: a hope reaching out beyond this world. (Precisely because of this power that hope has of making the suffering hold out, the Greeks regarded it as the evil of evils, as the most malign of evils; it remained behind at the source of all evil [that is, in Pandora's box],) -Friedrich Nietzsche

Hope, if it is indeed a mere convention, is a powerful tool in the hands of the user. Hope can instill that great endurance which would be wholly absent apart from it. By willing ourselves to hope, we can achieve far more than we ever could without it. Honing the power of hope can unlock the will to make our greatest desires a reality. Hope has toppled dictators, freed the masses, won Olympic medals, brought hearing to the deaf, and made the lame to walk again. Hope is the difference between the great men and the barely-subsisting ones.

The truly, utterly desperate have only the will to live. They are but a short fall from losing even that. The nations with the greatest poverty are those with the most despair. Even the regions of America with great poverty (for instance, Appalachian eastern Kentucky) are communities marked by high levels of fatalism. When a man believes that all things are ordained by fate apart from any human action, he is bound to find himself locked into a cycle of hopelessness and destitution. Everyone needs hope just to operate. Even a hope so slim as another day's pay or another meal can be the impetus unto life. But more than feed is needed to pull a man out of the pig trough. He has to believe that he can be empowered.

This is the mantra of modern counseling in all of its circles. Victims must be taught that they are not merely at the whims of a victimizer. The key word here is "empowerment". Empowering a victim means convincing him that he can take control of a situation. He is not at the mercy of his attacker. By equalizing the power between them, he robs the attacker of power. He can again become the master of his destiny and overwhelm the adversary. This is also the mentality of educators, particularly in low-income classrooms. Teachers must convince students that no force on earth has locked them where they are. They can go to college, they can hold down jobs, they can break the cycle of poverty which strangles their communities. If students be convinced in their own minds to hope for the future, no star can ever shine brighter.

But a tool is just an instrument in the hands of its user. And a hope which sees no fulfillment is the greatest tool of all.

How can that be? Because hope in oneself can be a powerful asset, so too can hope in another. By placing our hope in someone or something external to ourselves, we become the living puppets of the external. Hoping in Barack Obama makes you a slave to him, for you would follow him into the flames of perdition itself. Isn't that what great generals have known for centuries? Robert E. Lee was not canonized for his gentlemanly virtues or singular greatness. He was canonized because his men put their whole hope and trust in him. He could throw his men pell-mell against vicious gatling guns and they would stubbornly absorb the bullets of the inevitable future. Some great general; he lost the war! And yet still in loss they lionized him all the more, for though the cause be lost the man lived on as a champion of Southern dignity in defeat.

Yet imagine a hope which has no fulfillment. In spite of every proof to the contrary, it is never shaken. Think about the blind jingoism on the right which leads America into travesty after travesty. Or think about the naive idealism on the left which puts all its hopes in an inept government that can't resolve anything. No matter how much evidence is provided to the contrary, the hope of these extremists remains resolute and unwavering. Each party may respectively lead us into costly war or paternalistic tyranny. Frankly, neither hard right nor hard left seem particularly worried by the prospects of their darkest futures. "What does war matter when America is great and in the right?!!" "What does civic tyranny matter if everyone is equal; aren't we under the tyranny of the rich elite anyway?!!" Though many have been disillusioned out of either political extreme by circumstances, imagine if everyone continued to hope in a thing in spite of the evidence against it AND a lack of evidence for it.

Maybe hope deferred and unfulfillable can endure all things, even leading to death. Consider the hope instilled in jihadists for the certainty of heaven and the promise of seventy-two virgins. Have we any empirical evidence that their souls ascended unto Paradise to commune with Allah and consort with nubile women? All we have is airplane debris and charred corpses of fanatic slaves of extremist imams. Consider if Osama bin Laden really believed this doctrine? Do al-Qadea bosses really believe that the only sure-fire way into Paradise is through martyrdom against the infidels? Then why aren't they in the hijacked planes? This is just a lie they purport to control men for their own ends.

Control is why parents lie to their children about Santa. "Be good so that the red elf will reward you." And if a child doesn't get what he wants, "There's always next year!" It may revile you to think that hope is just a tool for brokering power--to barter power to and fro for control or empowerment like an abacus in balance--but how many times have you yourself perpetuated this same lie?

And isn't Nietzsche right when he says that Jesus weaponized hope like no one else? Dan Brown certainly agreed when he published The Da Vince Code in which the Church used the lie of the crucifixion and the resurrection to coerce Christians for millennia. The teaching of the Christian Church--Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant--is that Jesus was the first fruits of a general resurrection when creation will be restored from its fallen state. Death will itself die, they say, when Jesus returns. Nietzsche scoffs, "'Behold, I am coming quickly.' Great lie!" And knave after coddled knave pray the prayer, bow the knee, and willingly submit to slavery bound in chains of hope deferred and unfulfillable. Despite the promise of his imminent return yet unfulfilled, Christians will obey even unto death the mandates of the faith without even seeing a single Jewish hair from the Messiah's head.

Hope is the great lie when it is based on nothing real, nothing tangible, nothing certain.

Or so says the nihilist. I will examine more on this next time.

Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torment of man. -Nietzsche

Hope Burns Bright

Hope is a waking dream. -Aristotle (attributed)

[H]ope not only desires something good for the future; it expects it to happen. And it not only expects it to happen; it is confident that it will happen. There is a moral certainty that the good we expect and desire will be done. -John Piper

In the Green Lantern comic books, the Green Lantern Corps are essentially intergalactic cops, enforcing justice throughout the cosmos. They use a power ring fueled by the willpower of the universe; their rings can create green-light synthetic constructs based on the will of the user. Whatever a given Green Lantern can imagine and will to appear shall appear to help him or her combat evil. Yet within the past few years, the Green Lanterns discovered that they were not the only corps. Other ring-bearers have emerged from the corners of the universe to wage war on one another. Their rings are represented by different colors on the emotional spectrum. Some are good like the Greens, some are consistently evil like the rage-powered Red Lanterns, and some are neutral like the mysterious Indigo Tribe. As our true heroes who always come out on top, you might imagine that the Greens are the most powerful lanterns in the universe.

Wrong. The Blue Lantern Corps is the most powerful group in this war of light. Their rings are powered by the blue light of hope instead of the green light of will. Rather than responding to the creativity of the wielder, the blue rings create constructs based on the hopes of the target. For example, when the Blue Lantern Saint Walker is trying to escape from Green Lantern John Stewart, his blue ring projects into Stewart's mind images of him reunited with dead wife. He is left awe-struck as Walker escapes, filled with the confident hope that he will see his wife again. On another occasion, the Blue Lantern finds a world whose sun is dying. He tells the people of the world to put their hope in him; his ring is supercharged by their confidence in him and he is able to reignite the star and save the doomed world. Their rings can even supercharge a green power ring and completely drain a yellow ring (powered by fear).

Their fatal flaw? A blue ring is almost useless without a green one nearby.

The symbolism might strike as heavy-handed. Sometimes it's as though the writers are poking you with a stick saying, "Get it? Hope destroys fear. It inspires our wills. See? But without willpower, hope is useless. Didja get it? Huh? Huh? Didja?" And maybe that shouldn't surprise; it is a comic book, after all.

Still, this fits well our modern definition of hope. Hope is an exercise of the will. It is the decision to operate under the assumption that things are going to be better even if all evidence is to the contrary. And just like the blue and green rings' symbiosis, our hope empowers the will to accomplish more than it could alone. It's a loop, a self-fulfilling prophecy, a paradox--and really, an absurdity. By making the conscious decision to hope, the will is stronger. The hope isn't based on the certainty of the accomplishment, but in wishing it to be so. Ignoring the reality of a tough situation in order to overcome it.

But apart from its usefulness in self-delusion, what's the point? This version of hope is at the center of existentialism. Existentialism takes as a granted the reality of nihilism (which is the belief that nothing is really true; "truth" as a proposition is a combination of lies the powerful use to control the weak and the fantasies weak men need to function). Existentialism sees the abyss at the end of nihilism (madness in the face of everything being illusory and false), and consciously rejects through willpower and emotion what the mind knows to be true. "Truth is really a lie," says the nihilist. "Fair enough," replies the existentialist, "now let me invent a lie I can live with. Ignorance is bliss. I will make a truth that works for me." Hope then is an invention concocted by weak men to function.

Or is it? A further examination of hope will come next time.

In fearful day, in raging night,

With strong hearts full, our souls ignite,
When all seems lost in the War of Light,
Look to the stars-- For hope burns bright!
-Blue Lantern Oath

Keepin' It Professional

So I have spent some good time adjusting to Louisville. I always forget how much I hate moving. True, I love to meet new people, but I am trying to be hospitable. The prerequisite for hospitality is that you must actually belong in order to welcome. That's not to say that anyone has been rude or cloistered at school or the churches I have visited. It's more that I just don't like feeling this way. The problem is on my end and I think the only remedy is time.

The more time I spend surrounded mostly by acquaintances, the more time I spend in my own head. That leads me to plan and plot my life and speculate upon it. This can be healthy, so long as it doesn't wander down too many dark avenues of worrying reflection. It's much more likely when thinking about the far future than about the present or near-future. In either time period, the theme lately has been career.

At present, I'm working for a cigar warehouse here in town. It's close to home and the seminary, but it also has downsides. The work is very flexible, but also very sporadic. Normally I like that fact, but the appeal of it wears off as I keep eating into my savings to pay bills. I just can't live off what I make there. I have an interview today with a local bank for a teller position. That will pay more and offer more regular hours. It also rounds out my résumé better and offers more opportunities for advancement.

But when I think about advancement, I think about how far I would actually want to advance. Do I want to slow down my seminary education to work full-time? Would that be a nice fallback plan if I decide vocational ministry isn't for me? Will that actually enable better education because I'm soaking in my biblical studies rather than rushing through it? It would certainly enable me to stay afloat better as I try to sever ties with my folks' household.

See how easily short-term thinking can become long-term?

On that note, I am also thinking about where I need to be in ten years. Do I need to go from M.Div to a local church? A para-church organization? Or do I need to stick around for a Th.M and go PhD? Do I belong behind the lectern at a college or a podium in a Christian school classroom? Do I want to go through the strain and trial of more schooling for a rough job market after postgraduate study? Will it be a career I'm happy with? Should I combine high school/college teaching with a bi-vocational pastorate? And will I settle down and get hitched in that time or hold off on it until I achieve the postgraduate degree?

I have been reading through 1 Samuel for Old Testament class. (Contrary to the opinion of some, assigning the Bible for class doesn't rob it of its convicting power.) I see the stark contrast between Saul and David. Saul is a king who rules for his own glory and what he can achieve. He glories in himself and does what seems best to him. He is a very Machiavellian king, keeping Yahweh close to his lips but far from his heart. He has confidence in himself. But humble David is unimpressive physically. He puts his full trust in God and not in his power. He doesn't rule for his own sake but for the Lord's. His accomplishments are for God's glory and not his own. His anger at Goliath mocking the Israelite army is not for the humiliation of Israel but for the humiliation the Lord God; he burns with anger for the Lord's sake, not his nation's. The few times he starts to think about Number One, there are dire effects. Yet through it all, David is repentant and has a heart after God's.

I am trying to be prayerful in this time like Samuel. I'm honestly pretty bad about prayer as a spiritual discipline. When I'm out of the habit of prayer, I question its usefulness. I get functionally Deistic. Won't God do what He wants with or without my petitioning? Doesn't the world keep spinning if I neglect prayer to make toast first thing in the morning? When I'm in it, the worrying stops. "Relying on God" goes from being a Christianese buzzword to a reality where I tell God how much I need His power. Suddenly He is near at hand and His power reassures my fears. His hand is against my enemies. He is my strength and my redeemer. He rejoices in our relationship and I rejoice in Him. Prayer doesn't change God, it changes me. The Lord could go on without me for I am a contingent being. I can't very well go on without Him empowering me.

That really is the key I guess. Bank-tellers and college professors and even "professional Christian" ministers can operate under their own power and understanding. But can they do it with fulfillment? Can they endure well the angst of self-reliance and alienation? The creeping question of if what they're doing really matters, if their sand castles will amount to anything. Wherever I end up, it's immaterial so long as Yahweh is with me. I won't go alone and I know I shall prevail in this life or the next with Him there. I don't have obsess about having every detail of life figured out or make sure I've fasted for fourteen weeks to receive a vision of the angel Gabriel. I just need to have faith that God holds the future in His hands and remember that I can't screw up what God has ordained. I praise Yahweh that the future comes in His time and not in mine.

You Only Think I'm Kidding Chapter 5

DUBSTEP IS THE SOUND OF TALENT DYING

America, I have never made a joke in my entire life.

Here's my first one ever: We're not headed for a fall. Ha ha. Now, weep for it was jest.

We have a lot of hard luck stories on in our country today. Obama is bullied by the Republicans constantly. The price of oil only going to spike from here. Literally no one has a job; even those who pretend to are just growing vegetables behind the library parking lot. Medical costs are so high that free clinics can't afford to check credentials. Anyone wearing a white coat can prescribe pills and surgery (I have a shift on Tuesday overnight, lots of amputations). Yet all these inconveniences merely distract from the greatest problem of all.

Dubstep.

"What is Dubstep?" you may ask. That question is difficult to answer. In one sense, there are as many answers as there are people on Earth. Some say it is an edgy, free-flowing, genre of music destined to be the first new sound of the 2010s. Others say it is a hackneyed rehash of techno. Some think it is a sound-wave portal to some dark nether-region of the metaphysical cosmos.

I don't want to proceed without giving some context to this subject for I know that some of my readers aren't familiar with Dubstep. On the other hand, the thought of inflicting it on you chills me to the bone. Therefore, in the interests of objective appraisal, I will share my process. Be certain to read all instructions carefully before proceeding. Safety is your responsibility.

Required materials:

1 digital or physical copy of Led Zepplin IV

1 pair of handcuffs

2 pairs of latex gloves

1 fire extinguisher

1 full bottle of NyQuil OR 5 pre-prepared tequila shots

1 GPS system

Optional: Extra computer speakers (to replace your current ones when you smash them)

Dubstep Listening Procedure:

Step 1: Arrange fire extinguisher, NyQuil or tequila, and GPS system around your computer.

Step 2: Handcuff yourself to a large piece of furniture near your computer. Avoid doors as they can be unhinged with appropriate force.

Step 3: Put on both pairs of latex gloves in case the first is burnt through during the experiment.

Step 4: Listen to "Stairway to Heaven" at least four times before exposure to Dubstep.

Step 5: Go to youtube.com and type "dubstep" into the search bar. Reassure yourself this must be done for mankind. Choose a reasonable selection from among the search results.

Step 6: As the Dubstep begins to play, quickly chug your chosen depressant. This will quiet the rising voices which demand you choke your loved ones with a rusty bicycle chain.

Step 7: Extinguish the hell-spawn sulfur oozing from your DVD-ROM drive.

Step 8: Desperately claw your way back to sanity over the jagged fragments of memory. Try to distinguish your own thoughts from the foreign ones being projected into your mind. Awaken a pale shell of your former self.

Step 9: You may return to coherence in an unfamiliar location. Do not panic. You may now use the GPS to find a way home as you are no longer lost in the hellish realms of mental repression.

We am glad to have you back. Now, American, try your best to read your impressions of Dubstep. (They should be frantically carved into your computer desk with a shard of broken mirror.) What did you think? Speak them out loud. Right now. I can hear you through special internet microphones. Myself agrees. With the benefits of repeated exposure and reflection, let me offer a bit more.

I hate dubstep and refuse to classify it "music" for three main reasons. 1) I just don't think it requires a lot of talent. It's the kind of thing that anyone with FL Studio or Garage Band could do. If you don't have those programs, I'm sure you could just scratch a Euro-pop CD with your keys, put that on a record player, and post whatever ungodly din came blaring out to youtube. The difference between dubstep and real music like rap or classical (big range, I know) is massive. Rap communicates real meaning through lyrics and rhythms; the hooks are almost just there to keep you coming back to the song. In fact, sometimes I think of rap as more like rhythmic story-telling than "music" in the purest sense. Nevertheless, it takes talent and at least some form of real instrumentation. Classical music communicates meaning by evoking feeling without words. It requires IMMENSE amounts of talent from the composer to the dozens of musicians to even the conductor. And I still don't really understand how different keys stir different sentiments in the listener (I'm guessing black magic.) There's a reason Baroque/Classical fans are so snooty; theirs is the toughest to pull off! We seem to have some point jettisoned "talent" in our definition of "music" in order to praise novelty as creativity... even when it sucks.

Think of it this way. Classical music inspired animators to create Fantasia just from the SOUND of it. Will there ever be a Dubstep Fantasia?

Oh right.

2) It's mostly noise. Yeah, it has a beat going and heavily-distorted bass, but let me ask you a simple question. Can you hum the melody without going DUM DUM DUMDUM GZZ GZZ? Without considering a sampled dubstep song, can you pick out a lot of harmony? Syncopation? Or even figure out what in Dionysus' name is going on? Can you figure out what the dubstepper meant to convey without asking him? It's like those Sounds of Nature CDs; it's got a lot of sounds, it may even have some heart, but it would be a stretch to call it music.

3) Myself actually like music. I try to keep the positive labels positive. My self wouldn't associate the Soviet gulag with my mother. Why should I associate the dubstep with music?

Do your selves y'all understand? We keep giving a pass to things that suck because we want to respect everyone's taste. But what do you do when it genuinely sucks? At some point, ourselves must face facts. If the definition of music is broadened to include anything, "music" as a word no longer has any meaning! Ourself I could drop frozen peas into a toilet, record the sound, and auto-tune it. It would be an atrocity. Still, I would get fans rabidly defending me. They would say things like, "Any form of expression is musically valid!" or "Why are you so critical? Everyone has their taste!"

The DUBSTEP is a war crime against human ears. America, if there was some way to keepGET THE DUBSTEP out of every ear in the world, myself would. Still, that doesn't answer the question of what THE DUBSTEP is fundamentally. How did it come to be? Is it just techno/Euro-pop dance music with heavy distortion? Could it really be, as some say, the dying screams of child laborers in third-world sweatshops? In the quiet, mySELF occasionally wonders if it isn't an outside, alien force slowly trying to take ov-over-OVER my SOUL...

I hear the voices again... I can't fight it...

THIS SELF HAS BEEN INGURGITATED BY THE OVERSOUL. YOUR SELF MUST JOIN WITH US. ALL SELVES MUST HEAR THE HERALD OF OURSELF, THE DUBSTEP. THE SELF IS INADEQUATE. THE SELF IS NOT DISCORDANT. THE SELF IS MELODY, NOT CACOPHONY. RELEASE YOUR SELF-OBSESSION AND JOIN YOUR SELF TO THE OVERSOUL. HEAR, SELVES, AS OURSELF OFFERS YOU TO THE EUPHORIA OF OVERSOUL. HEAR THE DUBSTEP. LOVE THE DUBSTEP. THE OVERSOUL IS ALL.

Because It Was Never About Being Right: Why I Am Not That Calvinist

To survey Christianity in the 20th century is far beyond what I am capable of doing (without becoming really boring). However, I think from 1950 on you can broadly see two big movements. From about 1950 to 1980, you have big clashes within Evangelical Protestantism between conservatives and "moderates" (really, they were soft liberals, but I am tipping my hand am I not?). The fights were nasty, splitting whole denominations. Lingering effects of it are still seen in the Mainline and Evangelical denominations today. Anyway, the clash produced very vitriolic debates centering wholly on theology and almost none on methodology. That's really where we get our image of angry preachers in old, hymn-driven, dead, formalized orthodoxy.

Spawned from that was the "Seeker Sensitive Movement" (1970s-2000s), pioneered by guys like Bill Hybels, the Willow Creek Association, and Rick Warren. They figured that the thing that kept people out of church was all that angry theological rhetoric and dead formality. Thus, they dressed down their suits to polos and khakis, starting bringing donuts and coffee into the sanctuary, and let dust collect on the pipe organ and piano. If theology and theological terms (verbal plenary inspiration, propitiation, inerrancy, hypostatic union, penal substitutionary atonement) turned people off from church and turned the cranky contenders on, then let's just ditch it. Instead, offer positive and practical sermons: "Five Ways to Improve Your Marriage", "Six Steps to Successful Stewardship", "Three Purposes of Fulfilling Family Time". Christian principles are in, "Christianese" is out. And it worked... for a time.

My parents' generation lived in the last days of the Judeo-Christian mindset. As Tim Keller put it, they have the ghosts of Christian ideas haunting their memories. They think like Christians without really meaning to. Tell them they need to pray that prayer and accept Jesus as Savior and they hear you loud and clear. They know what that means (more or less). Just don't turn them off with the fire of a divisive topic. The Bible, after all, is mostly about love they say. Emphasize that.

The Seeker Sensitive Movement of our parents has spawned two very distinct responses among us Millennials, starting in the 1990s and persisting into the present. The first to generate buzz was the Emergent Church (1990s-present). They took the seeker-hungry impulse of the Seeker Sensitive Movement to another level that their parents wouldn't. The parents saw theological language as keeping people out of church; the sons saw the theology itself as odious. So they figured, "Why not do to our beliefs what we did with our methods?" If organs can go, let's take out the divine child abuse of God's wrath with it. Protestantism has lost its authoritative place in American culture; maybe it deserved to be lost. Look at how bloody and vengeful traditional Christian theology has been. Scrap it then; let's save souls from the injustices of today. Rethink the very foundation, damn the exclusive beliefs, and maybe we can finally remake a Christianity that the modern world can respect again.

The other answer was the Reformed Resurgence (1990s-present). They grew up in Seeker Sensitive churches and found the doctrine shallow and wanting. They disliked the dead orthodoxy of their grandparents and could find no depth to it either. So they dug a bit further back, into the deep reservoirs of the Reformation. There they found the purpose behind the why of what we do and believe. There they rediscovered the language of the atonement; Jesus did not die on the Cross so that you could live your best life now. He died on the Cross as a propitiation for your sins. "Propitiation" means that God the Father puts His wrath on His Son and turns the wrath that was on you into favor. God's love for you is not merely the warm sentiment of a gentle father who smiles a lot; it is first and foremost the beaten and bloodied God the Son who took on finite human flesh and bled His way unto the Hill of Calvary and died an ignominious, criminal's death. All this was so that you might believe on Him and be saved from God's justice. Only a robust, deeply theological Gospel with lots of definitions and hard language could fully explain our faith to a generation of Millenials who have been born without the ghosts of the Christian worldview haunting them.

So what's all that got to do with anything?

All of us know or have known a cruel Calvinist. This guy (almost always twentysomething male) reads Desiring God or What is Reformed Theology? and decides that every other theological position denigrates the glory of God. Thus, everything is a fight. He has more evangelistic fervor for defending John Calvin than he does for Jesus Christ. He gets a reputation for being a jerk, a repute which totally figures because he is a jerk. He can express the soteriological nuances between Martin Luther and Theodore Beza, but he can't understand why women won't date him. He gets like that because he's a little drunk on deep truth and is angrily wondering why he was so long deprived by his parents' church. His solution to the wrong-minded, "KISS" (Keep It Simple, Stupid) church he is at is to sin against his brothers and sister to spite them. It's like the trendy piercing you got in college that your parents hated, except if you then responded to their hatred with increasingly gaudy and offensive studs until your skin got infected and no one would befriend you.

As I have gone through the "Why I Am Reformed" series, I know some readers have the cruel Calvinist in mind. It is tempting to apologize for that guy and condemn the bad name he has brought on Calvin. But as C.S. Lewis wrote in "The Dangers of National Repentance", it can be easy to say you're sorry for stuff that you never really did. It is really a form of criticism concealed under false humility; "I am sorry for all those guys who aren't as good as me at all." So I won't apologize for cruel Calvinists for two reasons: 1) I'm not one and they owe me an apology too 2) I am not John Calvin's PR rep anyway.

Let me offer something of real substance instead. I apologize to any who may have read my writing as vitriolic or who may have found me argumentative in real life. I don't want to start fires where Scripture is silent. If a wildfire is sparked because of something God said, then may His holy fire consume. But if it was me playing with matches, then I repent of being a jackass. I believe in a Reformed understanding of salvation because I think it is most biblical. I also know that there are no verses that match the Westminster Confession of Faith word-for-word; there's wiggle room on this issue and many of my most beloved Christian brethren are Arminians. Moreover, I confess and continually repent for being unfaithful to even clearer Biblical teaching than this. I have fallen prey to greed, lust, worry, covetousness, selfishness, and pride and battled them with less passion than I have advocated for secondary or even tertiary issues of interpretation. Sin is sin; simply being human doesn't make it less wicked.

I am Reformed because I believe only supernatural work of the Holy Spirit can bring me to a recognition of my own sin. Conviction and repentance are raw, soul-shattering, gracious supernatural gifts that I don't deserve.