Christopher Hitchens' Mortality

Mortality by Christopher Hitchens
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is a wonderful and sad book by the great literary wit of our time. His poisonous, poorly argued, and completely out-of-character God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything notwithstanding, Hitchens was inspiring on a number of levels.

This short collection includes seven short essays and some fragments written while he "lived dyingly" after being diagnosed with the cancer that took his life, plus a lovely afterward by his wife and a fitting forward by his editor.

I appreciated reading his thoughts regarding mortality, but I found that my sadness about his lack of faith and his rejection of God kept me from fully enjoying the wit and insight on display. Yet it was well worth the short time it took to read, of course. His discussion on the ironies of prayer on the trouble with Pascal's Gambit were worth the price of the book for any believer interested in the mind of the honest atheist, for example.

I also appreciated the amusing and heartbreaking anectdotes that gave me some insight into his last months. His brief and witty remarks on writing in one's own voice also helped explain why so many readers felt as if he were writing personally to them.

(I've written about Hitch a number of times, once even comparing him to Flannery O'Connor's Hazel Motes, the hero of her Wise Blood.)
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The Book of Job Meets Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends

Matt Mikalatos, Imaginary Jesus (Barna 2010) 225 pages, $14.99.

Matt Mikalatos is on a quest to encounter the real Jesus. But first, he has to deal with the imaginary Jesus that he has been hanging out with. Imaginary Jesus hangs with Matt at the Red and Black Cafe in Portland, never says no to him, and is comforting, yet "traditional" (he sports sandals and a robe with a powder blue sash). As the book opens, however, Matt doesn't even know that he's hanging with imaginary Jesus. He thinks that it's real Jesus.

That's when a burly man in work clothes wanders over to their table at the Red and Black, starts up a conversation with Matt about Jesus, and ends up punching imaginary Jesus in the face, sending him on the run. It turns out that this is the apostle Peter, here to help Matt deal with imaginary Jesus. As they chase imaginary Jesus through Portland, we learn about Matt's reason for creating this Jesus and why he needs go if Matt wants to know the real Jesus in more than a superficial way.

After the first few chapters, I was hooked. At first, I thought the book was designed to be just an amusing theological discussion (sort of a Jesus and the Victory of God with a sci-fi gimmick hook, but funny and 500-pages shorter), so by the time I met Testosterone Jesus, Magic Eight Ball Jesus, and CEO Jesus, I was a little disappointed that the theological critiques and reflections were so brief (and sometimes shallow as a result). But the book was more than amusing-- it was laugh-out-loud funny in spots-- so I stuck with it. By the time I hit page 132-- right after the snow tubing race between Meticulous Providence Jesus, Free Will Jesus, Matt, and Can't-See-the-Future-It's-Unknowable Jesus-- I realized that this really was a "not-quite-true" story about Matt's own search to find an answer to that age-old question, "Where were you, Jesus, when . . .?" And suddenly, as I shifted from reading straight theology to listening to a brother tell his story, I found the theological insights not so shallow-- and much more applicable to the know-it-all reading the book. And it was still hilarious.

The problem Mikalatos addresses is a real one. We all have a tendency to create our own "personal Jesus" to fit our own needs and hopes, to match our pet theologies, to keep us safe and comfortable. Our imaginary Jesus is often very much like Jesus, but with the hard sayings, the personal challenges, and even the deep, abiding love excised. The problem is, a relationship with an imaginary Jesus is just a relationship with . . . myself. At one point, Matt tells imaginary Jesus that he longs for the real Jesus-- he wants "the startling, bizarre, amazing relationship with the God who created the whole universe . . . . " Imaginary Jesus replies: "He's not me. I'm just you. You're a lonely man who talks to himself in the dark." To move from this place is a real and continuing journey for all of us.

Along Matt's journey, we meet some Mormons, who, as you might imagine (!), have their own imaginary Jesus, who used to be like us, but got a promotion to godhood. We meet the folks in the atheist Bible study, who take the claims of the real Jesus seriously as they read the text of the gospel of John. And in a stunning a moving exchange, we meet Mary, who tells Matt of her experience at the cross.

The story is a generous one, even as it pokes fun at our narrow conceptions and silly ideas about how to cope with the problem of life in the world. Some will be offended by certain references and the ways that Matt dismisses one imaginary Jesus after the other, and there aren't too many movements in the church that don't end up on the pointy end of Matt's humor (men's retreats, the emergent church, the hip all-white inner-city church, conservatives, liberals, etc.), but the tone is charitable throughout. Sure, he is making fun, but he is making fun of all of us and our fallen imaginations, not Jesus, the One we seek. The atheists and the Mormons, for example, have some of the most important insights in the book. Not as much as Daisy, the talking Donkey, but some good ones nonetheless.

Imaginary Jesus is a fun and worthwhile ride, a hilarious but compelling approach to narrating the quest we're all on to find the real Jesus.

________________

PS I've only been to Portland once, and the only reason that I went was to go to Powell's Books, my second-favorite bookstore of all time. Imagine my delight, then, when imaginary Jesus leads Matt and his friends to Powell's, where they are confronted by a veritable herd of imaginary Jesuses. I can only imagine (!) what other gems native Portlanders will find.

My favorite bookstore, of course, is Hearts and Minds Books, where I got my copy of Imaginary Jesus. If you had read Byron's Booknotes Blog that introduced me to IJ, you might have a copy already, too, and you wouldn't be wasting your time reading about it on my blog!

Hitch, Hazel Motes, and The Loser Letters, Pt 1

This week I've been wondering whether, in the back of Christopher Hitchens's mind, Jesus is "a wild ragged figure" moving "from tree to tree," motioning Hitch to "turn around and come off into the dark where he's not sure of his footing." I hope so, because I'm a Hitchens fan, except when he's talking about God (the only subject he doesn't seem to know much about).

It's an odd thing, probably, to wonder whether Hitchens is like the Christ-haunted Hazel Motes, the freakish hero of Flannery O'Connor's Wise Blood, who leaves--and doesn't leave-- his revivalist roots to start "the Church Without Christ."

Let me explain. (Though I warn you, it will take me two posts until I return to Wise Blood and the wild ragged figure haunting the recesses of Hazel Motes's mind).

Last week I happened to read two really interesting pieces of fiction. While in the middle of O'Connor's 1952 novel, I had the pleasure of picking up Mary Eberstadt's recent The Loser Letters: A Comic Tale of Life, Death, and Atheism (Ignatius 2010), a satire in the form of letters written by a fervent atheist convert to the New Atheist leaders (Hitchens, Dawkins, Dennett, Harris, et al), encouraging them to shore up some of their weaker arguments. In the course of the book, Eberstadt winsomely exposes the fundamental premises of the New Atheism as problematic, to say the least. At 145 pages, it was a quick and interesting read.

In the tradition of the Screwtape Letters, Eberstadt plays hip, young Devil's advocate, advising the Four Hoursemen-- because "this new Atheism hasn't actually convinced anyone"-- how to get more converts.

In her first seven chapters, Eberstadt, with a mix of snarky backhanded compliments, funny, Twitter-gen slang, and simple logical argument, addresses seven basic problem areas for the new Atheism:

Sex. In her first substantive letter, Eberstadt's convert opines that Atheists run the risk of losing the younger generation "because everybody on the godless team writes about sex . . . as if the all the years from 1960 on never existed."

"So in this letter I'd like to draw Your attention to just some of the legacy of the Sexual Revolution, in the hopes of making our Movement less vulnerable to the unfortunate facts." These facts begin with "the experience of most people who have passed through the godless generation." In short, universal experience in the wake of the sexual revolution has shown that "throwing out all the rules has actually been making a lot of people very miserable indeed." She asks, "You all do know some women, don't You?" (BTW, you can read most of this letter on the Loser Letters website).

The Existence of Belief. If you're going to argue that most of humanity has been wrong about the existence of God, you need to have a compelling reason, besides "the entire rest of the Species up to oneself was stupid as a bag of rocks til the day before yesterday." In addition, why would folks make up a God as demanding and judgmental as the Christian God?

Good Works. In short, "the actual evidence for claiming that Atheism will do as much good in the world as Christianity and other religions is embarrassingly against us." This chapter is like shooting ducks in a barrel, and Eberstadt has some fun with it.

Art. Eberstadt handles the basic problem of atheist aesthetics very well, and humorously, noting over and over again the connection between beauty and transcendence. Along the road, she takes a few not-so-cheap shots: "And against all this . . . artistic excellence, what exactly do we Atheists bring to the table? The Brooklyn Museum of Art? Elton John? Your books? Freak dancing? Rammstein?" Funny.

Atheist Converts to Christianity. She mentions, among others, C.S. Lewis, Alister McGrath, Evelyn Waugh, Malcolm Muggeridge, G.K. Chesterton, Anthony Flew, Mortimer Adler, and Francis Collins.

Families. Chapter Six of LL is entitled "Query: Do Atheists Know Any Women, Children, or Families?" It is my favorite chapter, as Eberstadt does a great job making simple a central and complex observation about religious faith. "Nobody on our side," she says, still playing the atheist, "really seems to get what it is that drives so many of the believers to [God] in the first place":

What is that thing? It's that most people live in families, and that most experience religion through and because of their family members . . . . That's what Atheist anthropology isn't getting, don't you see? Nobody really settles the big issues like You all imply they do-- like they're some Ayn Randian Ubermenschen sitting by themselves in a garret, say; or the last emo scragglebeard left alive on Lost, stuck on some mountain someplace and trying to piece out [God's] existence on their lonesome own.

She follows with a wonderful discussion of the familial bonds and what they do to the purely materialistic, mechanistic worldview.

Life. Chapter 7 deals with the "moral high ground" on the abortion issue, and the topic is clearly in Eberstadt's sweet spot.

The Loser Letters is short, fun, interesting, and right. I thought that her last several chapters, tying the philosophy into the personal story of the narrator, were a bit uneven-- at times compelling and beautiful, at times contrived-- but they were full of insight, wit, and truth like the rest of the letters.

Pick up the book and learn a thing or two, having some fun while you're at it.

Tomorrow, I'll explain how reading The Loser Letters in the midst of reading Wise Blood, like eating garlic toast on top of a chocolate shake before bedtime, caused me to dream of Christopher Hitchens as Hazel Motes.

The Children of Men, by P.D. James

In the most recent issue of the The Christian Lawyer (now available online), I write about the importance of reading. To introduce my claim that our self-induced addiction to distraction and amusement hinders regular reading and study, I quote from Neil Postman’s wonderful introduction to his important book, Amusing Ourselves to Death, in which he compares the apocalyptic visions of George Orwell’s 1984 and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World:

Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed oppression. But in Huxley’s vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity and history. As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think. What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. . . . Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would be come a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy.

I was reminded of this interesting contrast recently as I read one of P.D. James’s early novels, The Children of Men (1992). It tells the story of a world suffering from mass infertility-- our world has mysteriously lost the ability to reproduce. It’s 2021, and folks can point back to 1995, year “Omega,” as the year the last baby was born, and the governments of the world are working to solve the problem. It is a thriller, of sorts, though not much like the mysteries for which James is justly famous. Its protagonist gets involved in an anti-government movement, only to discover that his recruiter is pregnant with the first baby to be born in 26 years. As the novel progresses, James’s protagonist begins to move away from the fatalistic disillusionment of the masses toward hope, even as real life struggles to return to the world.

What struck me in the context of Postman’s comparison of Huxley and Orwell is the way that James highlights the connection between their major themes. In other words, James writes of trivial culture that has become a captive culture, a culture at once oppressed by Big Brother and at the same time needing, even desiring its oppression.

In the end, it’s a book about the miracle of life. Not just life as in being alive, but the contrast between the rich life of those embracing their duties as creatures made in the image of God and the trivial life, a life that leads ultimately to degradation. Along the way, James explores the relationship of these themes to freedom and oppression, power and sacrifice.

The culture that is the setting for this compelling story is one that has lost hope because it has literally lost its vision. Without a legacy, with no future for the race, vision is gone. Ironically (since pregnancy is no longer a risk), even sex has lost its appeal, and government-sponsored “porn centers” exist to keep interest alive, just in case. The love of life has been replaced by violence, children and family by the regulated breeding of cats and the manufacture of beautiful dolls.

Triviality and violence, oppression and complacency, all mingling in a world that has lost its vision. It’s a poignant picture. And a timely reminder.

What are Book Reviews For?

On a flight last week, I caught up on my Books & Culture reading. As I was reading Miroslav Volf's interesting piece on Nicholas Wolterstorff's important new book Justice, I caught myself really, really enjoying the experience of reading his take-- on Woleterstorff's take-- on various others' take-- on Justice.

I don't know Dr. Volf (see, not even on a first-name basis). He has, however, been an encouragement and a help to me over the years. Not exactly a friend, probably, since we've never met and he doesn't know me. But sort of. Like a friend, he's helped me think about stuff. He's helped me decide what to read. And what not to read. I've read some of his essays and articles, and I've heard him talk to other people, and I've read other people talking about his books. And it was fun to hang out with him last week as he was talking about justice-- mainly somebody else's views about justice.

That's pretty weird, when you think about it. And I have tons of almost-acquaintances like Dr. Volf (may I call you Miroslav?), who like to muse about other people's thoughts and share them with me in book reviews and essays.

I've often wondered why I get more joy-per-minutes-invested in review essays than from any other reading. I suppose, for starters, that they're a pretty efficient way to get smarter-- I can read them in in one sitting and learn about two interesting points of view at once. In addition, reviews give pretty solid guidance on where to spend my limited reading resources (both time and budget resources are fairly scarce). But I think the thing I enjoy most is that the experience expands my community. I find new almost-acquaintances and run into old ones all the time in the pages of B&C, Touchstone, Christianity Today, First Things, and the Sunday book section. Maybe book reviews serve the same function as cocktails at a reception: they give you something to hold onto and loosen up the social joints while one attempts to make friends-- get to know people, talk about stuff, encourage others, relate.

Sure my joy is incomplete-- see 2 John 12-- but it's a pretty cool sort of joy, nonetheless.

Pryor Posts India

My friend and colleague Scott Pryor is blogging from India, where he is posted on a Fulbright Teaching Scholarship at the The National Law School - Jodhpur.

Visit the blog to enjoy, among other goodies and fine pictures, his blog-as-you-read summary of Nicholas Wolterstorff's important Justice: Rights and Wrongs (Princeton 2008) and even a slide show presentation he made to law students from Asian nations about the provisions in the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures for relief of the poor and indigent.

Professor Pryor is on sabbatical from Regent University School of Law.

Redeeming Law and InterVarsity

Over at the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship website, my friend and colleague John Terrill has posted a very nice review of Redeeming Law. JT directs InterVarsity's Professional Schools Ministry.