Revenge is almost universally understood to be a bad thing; yet when someone takes revenge in a story, we love it.
Seriously – The Count of Monte Cristo: Edmund, the protagonist, gets betrayed by his best friend, and the entirety of the rest of the book is Edmund trying to ruin his friend’s life in a similar fashion.
Braveheart: William Wallace’s wife gets killed, he destroys England.
The Odyssey: Odysseus’s wife is pursued by hot, young suitors, his food is eaten, and his wine is drunk while he is off fighting one-eyed monsters and sirens; and, to no one’s surprise, he comes home and kills them all.
The story of Joseph: Joseph’s brothers throw him into a well and then into captivity; but when Joseph is made second in all of Egypt, he subjects his brothers to his power by framing them, imprisoning one of them, making them go home to bring their father there, and by utilizing that authority the threat of which caused his brothers to sell him in the first place.
The list goes on and on. In fact, more often than not, any story with a plot will have a healthy dose of revenge in it.
The reason this kind of vengeance strikes a chord in our hearts is because instilled in us is the ancient maxim “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.” That law is at the root of our understanding of justice. All systems of law are based on it: if you commit thus and such a crime, you will be punished in thus and such a way. Because our hearts are so attuned with this, any miscarriage of justice in which an evil person is set free or a good person unavenged is considered an outrage. This is why any movie that leaves a villain unpunished is not worth seeing. Or if it is worth seeing, it’s very difficult to enjoy.
At the very core of every human’s understanding of the universe is a scale that measures positive and negative actions; if someone adds a negative action to someone else’s scale, then that scale is out of whack until it can take a positive back. Humans are extremely sensitive to justice because they are experts at reading the scales. We know what justice is, and that’s why we want to see William Wallace burn England to the ground: because it will level out the scales, settle the score, make wrongs right.
But sometimes our thirst for justice is misplaced. And we often forget that vengeance is not ours, but the Lord’s. In fact, I think sometimes what we deem to be “an eye for an eye,” is not the same as what God considers it to be. I think God is a better judge than we are.
Therefore Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for an eye, and tooth for a tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”
If you do not resist an evil person, then you leave the justice up to God. But if you resist an evil person, then they have received their punishment in full. Taking justice into your own hands 1) tells God that you consider your justice preferable to His and 2) often leads to a miscarriage of true justice. If you think that you know how to right your own wrongs better than God, then you have no idea of God’s hatred for sin. He hears all pleas for justice and He will fight for your cause.
Only good can destroy evil. And God is good.
Paul writes, “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord. On the contrary: ‘If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
It’s good that we like revenge. But we ought to know that only God’s revenge satisfies, and only His justice is good.
Monday, March 15, 2010
God's Immutability
(I wrote this when I was an infallible freshman. Therefore, all its contents are true.)
My class schedules lately have been filled with theology, philosophy and literature; which, if you know anything about me, is more than ideal. I love these subjects. And in pursuit of their studies all kinds of radical, if not insane, ideas spend a great deal of time in my mind. But not all of these ideas are without merit; in fact, some have begun to reshape how I think and live. Indeed, as I gain factual knowledge I begin to act differently as a result of newfound belief, because belief in something inspires action on its behalf.
Just as a belief in the dangerousness of a rattlesnake will cause me to intentionally avoid them, so belief in God’s goodness causes me to trust Him. This issue of trust, however, is one of the hardest issues that I’ve ever had to tackle. It doesn’t seem practical at first glance to leave my destiny up to an invisible Being. Verses like, “Therefore I tell you do not worry about your life what you will eat or drink, or your body what you will wear,” and “Trust in the Lord with all of your heart; lean not on your own understanding,” are great verses in theory, but exceptionally difficult in practice.
But after learning some things about God’s nature in my Biblical studies and learning a bunch of logic and philosophy, I came to an understanding that has strengthened my trust. And, oddly enough, it came about during a time of doubt.
I was questioning the doctrine of election. I couldn’t understand how God was justified in saving some but not others. If it’s random, then that’s just unfair for those that are not elected. If it is not random, then that begs the question: for what reason does God give His salvation to some and not others? How does God choose?
The Bible clearly says that it is not by any merit of our own that we are elected. So then what makes some worthy of grace and others not?
It makes sense that we, the elect, being the object of God’s choice, should wonder: why us? And the answer, I found, has much to do with the immutability of God. God’s immutability means that He does not change in His statutes or in His nature. From this attribute of God, Anselm's proof, and the attribute of omnibenevolence I developed the following argument:
(It’s in standard form, but it’s kind of complicated so pay attention.)
Premise 1. God is that than which no greater being can be conceived (from Anselm).
2. Things only change in one of two ways: for the better or for the worse.
3. If God changes for the worse, then He is no longer God, because He was better before (from 1).
4. If He changes for the better, then He was not God before, because He is better now (from 1).
Conclusion/premise 5. Thus, If 1, then God does not change.
6. Choice is a form of change, because as soon as one makes a choice one changes from someone who hadn’t made that choice to someone who had.
C/p 7. If 1, 5 and 6, then God does not choose.
8. Actions are either chosen or not.
9. If not, then actions are nothing more than a pure manifestation of the nature of their vehicle.
10. God takes actions (He creates, loves, makes new, speaks, destroys, etc).
11. It is God’s nature to be omnibenevolent.
C/p 12. Therefore, the actions that God takes are pure manifestations of His perfect goodness.
Conclusion – God only does that which is perfectly good.
When the Bible says that God chose to do something, it does not mean that he made a “choice” in our understanding of the word. God is not up in heaven weighing His options. Rather, God just does what is best. Everything God does is the best thing that could possibly happen.
With this knowledge one can know that trust in the Lord is the only wise thing to do. Trust in Him and you too will be doing what is good and perfect.
My class schedules lately have been filled with theology, philosophy and literature; which, if you know anything about me, is more than ideal. I love these subjects. And in pursuit of their studies all kinds of radical, if not insane, ideas spend a great deal of time in my mind. But not all of these ideas are without merit; in fact, some have begun to reshape how I think and live. Indeed, as I gain factual knowledge I begin to act differently as a result of newfound belief, because belief in something inspires action on its behalf.
Just as a belief in the dangerousness of a rattlesnake will cause me to intentionally avoid them, so belief in God’s goodness causes me to trust Him. This issue of trust, however, is one of the hardest issues that I’ve ever had to tackle. It doesn’t seem practical at first glance to leave my destiny up to an invisible Being. Verses like, “Therefore I tell you do not worry about your life what you will eat or drink, or your body what you will wear,” and “Trust in the Lord with all of your heart; lean not on your own understanding,” are great verses in theory, but exceptionally difficult in practice.
But after learning some things about God’s nature in my Biblical studies and learning a bunch of logic and philosophy, I came to an understanding that has strengthened my trust. And, oddly enough, it came about during a time of doubt.
I was questioning the doctrine of election. I couldn’t understand how God was justified in saving some but not others. If it’s random, then that’s just unfair for those that are not elected. If it is not random, then that begs the question: for what reason does God give His salvation to some and not others? How does God choose?
The Bible clearly says that it is not by any merit of our own that we are elected. So then what makes some worthy of grace and others not?
It makes sense that we, the elect, being the object of God’s choice, should wonder: why us? And the answer, I found, has much to do with the immutability of God. God’s immutability means that He does not change in His statutes or in His nature. From this attribute of God, Anselm's proof, and the attribute of omnibenevolence I developed the following argument:
(It’s in standard form, but it’s kind of complicated so pay attention.)
Premise 1. God is that than which no greater being can be conceived (from Anselm).
2. Things only change in one of two ways: for the better or for the worse.
3. If God changes for the worse, then He is no longer God, because He was better before (from 1).
4. If He changes for the better, then He was not God before, because He is better now (from 1).
Conclusion/premise 5. Thus, If 1, then God does not change.
6. Choice is a form of change, because as soon as one makes a choice one changes from someone who hadn’t made that choice to someone who had.
C/p 7. If 1, 5 and 6, then God does not choose.
8. Actions are either chosen or not.
9. If not, then actions are nothing more than a pure manifestation of the nature of their vehicle.
10. God takes actions (He creates, loves, makes new, speaks, destroys, etc).
11. It is God’s nature to be omnibenevolent.
C/p 12. Therefore, the actions that God takes are pure manifestations of His perfect goodness.
Conclusion – God only does that which is perfectly good.
When the Bible says that God chose to do something, it does not mean that he made a “choice” in our understanding of the word. God is not up in heaven weighing His options. Rather, God just does what is best. Everything God does is the best thing that could possibly happen.
With this knowledge one can know that trust in the Lord is the only wise thing to do. Trust in Him and you too will be doing what is good and perfect.
My friend, Literature
There isn’t really any standing definition of literature. For in one instance by it one might just mean information – as in, do you have any literature about your product? And in another instance one might mean classics and nothing more. Sometimes people fail to see the art of it.
This is how I see it: Literature is an art whose primary medium is story and whose secondary medium is language.
This may seem like a confused definition to a poet, especially one of limericks and haikus and other such short poetry. But the truth and significance of this art form lies in its contents, and its
cleverness lies in the way in which it is presented.
Truth and significance are more important than cleverness.
Some of the dystopian novels are a real drag to read, but they pack a punch in terms of meaning. Plato’s Republic, Aristotle’s Poetics, Augustine’s Confessions, Descartes’ Meditations, Locke’s Essays, and Kant’s Critique were not particularly enjoyable reads, but each in its turn has changed the way I think forever. Conversely, Hannah Montana songs may be catchy and cute, but they are not of literary merit. Sorry.
However, when good stories meet profound language, then we have an ideal bit of literature. Language supplements plot. It nourishes, and expounds on, the significance of a story.
Presently, publishers and critics belong to neither the school of plot, nor the school of language. They belong to the school of bestsellers. They tell writers to be concise in their language and to get to the point. Bestsellers these days are always page turners. But I think you’ll agree that a painting whose artistic significance is profound and multilayered is preferable to one that is merely fun to look at.
In the introduction to an anthology of George MacDonald quotes, C.S. Lewis defends the literary Genius of the man (because critics often attack his style) by saying that the greatest of stories have little basis in language. Lewis says that with classics such as the tale of Icarus and his flight that went too close to the sun, that the story is in our hearts, not in a book. He says that when he thinks of the tale of Icarus, no particular version of the story comes to mind, just the essence of the story itself. There are many versions of the story, many more epic poems about it, songs about it, and even many paintings of it, but the real story lives without its particular versions. Lewis then argued that MacDonald’s stories were in league with such classics, and that the way in which it was delivered was more of the plot’s choosing than it was of the author’s. He said that a good teller of stories lets the stories tell themselves, that the best stories come alive when they are told and are never told the same way twice.
Stories choose language as a husband chooses a wife, to let it share in the story, and to become one with it. Literature is the marriage of story and language, where story is the head of the house and language is its mistress.
This is how I see it: Literature is an art whose primary medium is story and whose secondary medium is language.
This may seem like a confused definition to a poet, especially one of limericks and haikus and other such short poetry. But the truth and significance of this art form lies in its contents, and its
cleverness lies in the way in which it is presented.
Truth and significance are more important than cleverness.
Some of the dystopian novels are a real drag to read, but they pack a punch in terms of meaning. Plato’s Republic, Aristotle’s Poetics, Augustine’s Confessions, Descartes’ Meditations, Locke’s Essays, and Kant’s Critique were not particularly enjoyable reads, but each in its turn has changed the way I think forever. Conversely, Hannah Montana songs may be catchy and cute, but they are not of literary merit. Sorry.
However, when good stories meet profound language, then we have an ideal bit of literature. Language supplements plot. It nourishes, and expounds on, the significance of a story.
Presently, publishers and critics belong to neither the school of plot, nor the school of language. They belong to the school of bestsellers. They tell writers to be concise in their language and to get to the point. Bestsellers these days are always page turners. But I think you’ll agree that a painting whose artistic significance is profound and multilayered is preferable to one that is merely fun to look at.
In the introduction to an anthology of George MacDonald quotes, C.S. Lewis defends the literary Genius of the man (because critics often attack his style) by saying that the greatest of stories have little basis in language. Lewis says that with classics such as the tale of Icarus and his flight that went too close to the sun, that the story is in our hearts, not in a book. He says that when he thinks of the tale of Icarus, no particular version of the story comes to mind, just the essence of the story itself. There are many versions of the story, many more epic poems about it, songs about it, and even many paintings of it, but the real story lives without its particular versions. Lewis then argued that MacDonald’s stories were in league with such classics, and that the way in which it was delivered was more of the plot’s choosing than it was of the author’s. He said that a good teller of stories lets the stories tell themselves, that the best stories come alive when they are told and are never told the same way twice.
Stories choose language as a husband chooses a wife, to let it share in the story, and to become one with it. Literature is the marriage of story and language, where story is the head of the house and language is its mistress.
God of Grace
(I wrote this when I was an infallible freshman. Therefore all its contents are true.)
I’ve always thought of grace as a New Testament idea. I thought that grace was introduced in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. I knew that many of the things that God did for the Israelites was gracious, and that they rarely deserved that graciousness, but I never really saw any of it as comparable to the saving grace that He did through Jesus. Indeed, the grace of Jesus is unique to any other gracious act in the history of everything.
But where is this God of grace in the Old Testament? If God doesn’t change, then why does the OT God seem different from the NT One? God’s attitude towards Israel is pretty much summed up in Psalm 1: “For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.” God makes clear in the Old Testament that He will bless those who keep His laws, and He will do the opposite with those that do not; basically, He will keep His end of the covenant (bless them in the Promised Land) if they keep their end of it (trust and obey the Lord). So where is grace?
As I was reading Exodus for my OT class (so probably reading it in depth for the first time) I noticed something I never had before. I noticed that there wasn’t a “law” or any established rules for the Hebrews to follow while they were in Egypt. They didn’t really have a part in the bargain to uphold. Yet God delivers them, by no merit of their own, but by grace. Deuteronomy 7:6-8 says that it was not for their greatness that God chose them, but because He loves them and was keeping His promise that He made with their forefathers (whom He likewise chose out of love for them and their future descendents) that He brought them out of Egypt with a mighty hand and redeemed them from the house of slavery. God saved this people by His grace.
God has always been all about grace. That’s how He does. Salvation has always been His plan.
And how is He to save those who don’t deserve to be saved if not by grace? Even now He is being gracious. But how do we respond to it?
God gives them the law after He has delivered them and showed His love. This is how they are to live now. Faithfulness to God, in light of how he has been faithful to us, is the way we should respond to His grace. God is gracious yesterday, today and tomorrow. Therefore we should be faithful to God still, in light of our new covenant with Him. In this way we are justified by faith.
It’s a two way stream. He is gracious, so we have faith. We have faith, so He is gracious. God initiated His grace an infinity years ago, and now the faith-grace, grace-faith deal continues in the form of a relationship.
People often complain that the Lord is unfair in how He chooses to bestow His grace. How can God choose to be gracious to some and not to others? Well,
Ask and you shall receive.
I’ve always thought of grace as a New Testament idea. I thought that grace was introduced in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. I knew that many of the things that God did for the Israelites was gracious, and that they rarely deserved that graciousness, but I never really saw any of it as comparable to the saving grace that He did through Jesus. Indeed, the grace of Jesus is unique to any other gracious act in the history of everything.
But where is this God of grace in the Old Testament? If God doesn’t change, then why does the OT God seem different from the NT One? God’s attitude towards Israel is pretty much summed up in Psalm 1: “For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.” God makes clear in the Old Testament that He will bless those who keep His laws, and He will do the opposite with those that do not; basically, He will keep His end of the covenant (bless them in the Promised Land) if they keep their end of it (trust and obey the Lord). So where is grace?
As I was reading Exodus for my OT class (so probably reading it in depth for the first time) I noticed something I never had before. I noticed that there wasn’t a “law” or any established rules for the Hebrews to follow while they were in Egypt. They didn’t really have a part in the bargain to uphold. Yet God delivers them, by no merit of their own, but by grace. Deuteronomy 7:6-8 says that it was not for their greatness that God chose them, but because He loves them and was keeping His promise that He made with their forefathers (whom He likewise chose out of love for them and their future descendents) that He brought them out of Egypt with a mighty hand and redeemed them from the house of slavery. God saved this people by His grace.
God has always been all about grace. That’s how He does. Salvation has always been His plan.
And how is He to save those who don’t deserve to be saved if not by grace? Even now He is being gracious. But how do we respond to it?
God gives them the law after He has delivered them and showed His love. This is how they are to live now. Faithfulness to God, in light of how he has been faithful to us, is the way we should respond to His grace. God is gracious yesterday, today and tomorrow. Therefore we should be faithful to God still, in light of our new covenant with Him. In this way we are justified by faith.
It’s a two way stream. He is gracious, so we have faith. We have faith, so He is gracious. God initiated His grace an infinity years ago, and now the faith-grace, grace-faith deal continues in the form of a relationship.
People often complain that the Lord is unfair in how He chooses to bestow His grace. How can God choose to be gracious to some and not to others? Well,
Ask and you shall receive.
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