Grasping for the divine

"Grasping for the divine" (Esther O'Reilly)

Hollywood ETs

Regarding the true identity of UFO and ET sightings, one question I have, which I haven't bothered to research, is the extent, if any, that their resemblance coincides with the advent of Hollywood movies from the 1950s about alien invaders. 

I'm not suggested that reports of ETs and UFOs date from that period. For all I know, they may go back centuries or millennia. Rather, the specific question is whether the appearance of ETs and their spacecraft have evolved in ways that that correspond to Hollywood movies. If that's the case, then it seems unlikely that these are genuine ETs. We shouldn't expect their physical appearance or their technology to mimic Hollywood movies. At least, that wouldn't be realistic. I suppose you could salvage that explanation by claiming that they are playing to human expectations. But it certainly invites the explanation that whatever else they are, these aren't really intelligent biological organisms from another galaxy.

However, I admit that I haven't studied the issue. I have a limited interest in ufology because it doesn't threaten my theology. Moreover, ufology is a vast trackless swamp, so you can easily lose your bearings as you get drawn deeper into the many layers of ufology. 

Interplanetary politics

1. From what I've read, Perelandra is the most popular entry in the Space Triology, although a few connoisseurs (e.g. Rowan Williams) prefer That Hideous Strength. Perlandra's my personal favorite in the Space Trilogy. 

Perelandra was initially Lewis's favorite until he wrote Til We Have Faces. Some literary critics agree that that's his best novel, but that may be because they think they're supposed to admire it and rank it higher than the others. For a couple of reasons, I think it's possible that Lewis himself overrated Til We have Faces. The myth of Cupid and Psyche had captivated him since he read it for the first time in 1916, when he was still a teenager. But there were many false starts. He tried to do a poetic version. He struggled with how to retell the myth for almost 40 years. His own worldview as well as the interpretation evolved over time. Cf. Peter Schakel's chapter (20) in The Cambridge Companion to C. S. Lewis.

In addition, the breakthrough moment came when he talked it over with his future wife:

Jack has started a new fantasy–for grownups. His methods of work amaze me. One night he was lamenting that he couldn't get a good idea for a book. We kicked a few ideas around till one came to life. Then we had another whiskey each and bounced it back and forth between us. The next day, without further planning, he wrote the first chapter! I read it and made some criticisms…he did it over and went on with the next. D. King, ed. Out of My Bone: The Letters of Joy Davidman (Eerdmans 2009), 242.

So he may have associated the book with his wife, which lends it a special poignancy for him.

2. Because for most readers, myself included, That Hideous Strength is a letdown after Perelandra, it raises the question of how or whether it could be better written. Another question is whether he should have ended with Perelandra. What do you do for an encore? If the final installment can't equal, must less surpass, the second entry, would it be wiser for Lewis to quit while he was ahead rather than end with an anticlimactic climax?

In fairness, it's not a bad book. It has some memorable scenes. Strokes of genius. It's prophetic. But it's not all of a piece. 

3. As every commentator explains, That Hideous Strength marks an abrupt stylistic shift from the first two installments, due in part to the newer influence of Charles Williams and spent impact of Tolkien. Tolkien was no longer a creative stimulus for Lewis, in part because Lewis had outgrown Tolkien, who was a smaller talent, and due to irreconcilable artistic visions.    

But over and above that, a change was inevitable. At a scenic level, That Hideous Strength can't compete with the extraterrestrial landscapes and seascapes of Venus and Mars, or their species. That's exacerbated by the fact that Lewis makes no pretense of astronomical accuracy. They exist in his cosmological mythos. That frees him to indulge in surreal flights of fancy unconstrained by what's physically possible. By contrast, That Hideous Strength must have a more realistic setting. After all, his readers are earthlings. 

4. One of the tensions in Out of the Silent Planet is Lewis attacking secular science and its counterpart in hard science fiction. In particular, the materialist notion that outer space is mostly deserted and dead. But as a matter of fact, that's the case. And even though Lewis didn't have the benefit contemporary astronomy, c. 2020, he must have known back in the 1930s that there was no presumption of other life in our solar system. 

Of course, this is soft SF, not meant to be accurate, but then, what does his critique amount to in that respect? It works at the level of his fictional cosmology, but it's not a refutation of the hard SF view of the universe as mostly deserted and dead. 

However, that's offset by the fact that soft SF is never obsolete, whereas the danger of futuristic hard SF is to become dated when overtaken by real events. It works if you have a dualistic view of reality, where there are spiritual agents behind the physical realm, who participate in the physical realm. Interaction between two different domains. Sacramental universe. 

5. Despite the comedown, there is some justification in the third and final installment. All three share the common theme of a primordial angelic rebellion. Against his will, Ransom is drawn into the internal affairs of Mars. Then he is summoned to Venus. The Martian guardian angel visits earth to facilitate the trip. 

In terms of dramatic logic and closure, it makes sense that events come to a head on earth. Having decisively intervened on Venus, it's only fair that heavenly angels lend Ransom a hand for a critical battle with the dark side on earth. Especially since earth is the epicenter of the cosmic rebellion. That rounds out the dramatic arc of a story that began with Mars and proceeded through Venus. 

6. In addition, it gives Lewis a pretext to reinterpret the King Arthur mythos–a theme many English poets and novelists find irresistible. Merlin fits into Lewis's philosophy of myth and magic. However, making Ransom a descendent of King Arthur is ad hoc. King Arthur has no useful role to play in a 20C setting. He's timebound in a way that Merlin is not. 

Portal between two worlds

We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain (Heb 6:19).

In science fiction, there are two kinds of portals: portals from one time to another and portals from one place to another. The first concerns time travel from past to future or future to past while the second concerns multiverse travel from one parallel universe to another.

On a related note, The Magician's Nephew was the last book Lewis wrote in the Narnia series. It provides a backstory for Narnia. One particular example is how it provides a backstory for the magic wardrobe. The wardrobe is made of apple wood that originates in Narnia. The unstated principle is that the wardrobe is a portal between Narnia and our world because it exists in our world but it originates in Narnia. So it's connected to both worlds. 

These are fictional examples. Heb 6:19 illustrates the same basic principle, only this is factual. The souls of living Christians exist in this world, but are connected to heaven or the world to come by an anchor chain. Like a lifeline, where one end is wrapped around the waist of the Christian while Jesus is holding the other end from heaven and reeling it in. Jesus connects us to heaven and pulls us through because he came from heaven and returned to heaven. 

Star Trek: Picard

1. Out of curiosity, I saw the pilot episode of Star Trek: Picard. I did it in part because the pilot episode can be viewed for free. If I cared enough, I could view the second episode for free by taking out the temporary subscription, then canceling it, but I don't care that much. It's not really fair to judge a series by the pilot episode, but I'll do it anyway. I was never planning to watch the entire series. 

2. I've been viewing Star Trek on and off since 1966. TNG was arguably the most successful of the spinoffs (some Trekkies prefer DS9), so if you're going to exhume one of the spinoffs, that's the obvious candidate. 

3. The newest iteration of the franchise is a star vehicle for Stewart. It will succeed or fail based on his ability to center it. Pushing 80, he looks and sounds his age. In his prime he was a larger-than-life stage actor squeezing into the role of a TV actor. You could often see the frustration as he had to hold so much in reserve. Occasionally he had a scene where he was free to cut loose and perform on a theatrical scale, but that was rare.

Now his situation is the opposite. At his age the reserves are gone. That sets a low ceiling in his ability to rise above a certain dynamic range. 

The Picard character was never all that sympathetic. Aloof and rulebound. For someone who made his career exploring alien civilizations, he was quite narrow, chauvinistic, and intolerant. He treated the Starfleet code of conduct as a universal norm. In one episode, Worf's wife is murdered. Worf exacts revenge by slaying her assailant. That's the Klingon honor code, but Picard disapproves.

However, Stewart's aging process has mellowed Picard. It lends poignancy to the character. 

In that regard, it's striking to compare Stewart, in his prime, playing an old man in "All Good Things…" to Stewart as an old man. Despite his formidable acting chops, Stewart's attempt to play his older self wasn't very prescient or convincing when you compare it to the real elderly Stewart. 

There is a certain irony in the fact that Chris Pine has been bypassed to go back Stewart and TNG. Especially for atheists, there's sentimental appeal to watching beloved actors over the years reprise old roles. Since they deny the afterlife, it gives them a sense of rootedness in their past.  

4. There's a silly fight scene at Stardleet Archives where a female android singlehandedly protects Picard from Romulan terrorists. Doesn't the Starfleet complex have surveillance and security? Can't they scramble/beam armed guards to the fight scene?

5. Picard is having paranormal/precognitive dreams. How does he have that ability? Will the source of his dreams be explained? Is this like hive mind telepathy, where his dreams are subconsciously tapping into other (alien?) minds? Even if that's the case, it wouldn't explain paranormal/precognitive dreams about androids, since their "minds" operate on a different basis, a different wavelength. 

6. The series will have guest stars like Jeri Ryan as Seven of Nine. That betrays a certain lack of confidence on the part of the TV producers. She was the actress/character who rescued Voyager from ratings oblivion, so it's understandable that the producers wish to include her, but her character doesn't belong in the TNG timeline. 

7. The episode suffers from tired plot ideas. Data gave his "life" to save Picard. One goal is to revive Data. But was his positronic mind/memories destroyed? Is he gone forever? 

That recycles The Search of Spock, where Spock gave his life to save the crew. Can he be restored? They have a new body, but what about his mind? Vulcans have a soul or katra. But did he transfer his consciousness to someone else (McCoy) before he died? And can the T'Pau reunite the soul to the body? 

8. Another tired plot idea is the destruction of homeworlds. In Generations, a probe collapses the Veridian sun, wiping out inhabited planets in its solar system. In The Undiscovered Country, an explosion on Praxis dissolves the ozone layer of Kronos. In Star Trek (2009), Vulcan is destroyed by an artificial black hole inside planet. Now, in Star Trek: Picard, Romulus is destroyed when its sun goes supernova. This is lazy screenwriting. 

9. In addition, the destruction of homeworlds suffers from a tension in SF metaphysics: time-travel. In a genre where time-travel is feasible, the obvious, easy solution to the destruction of your homeworld is to go back in time and change a key variable, thereby averting the cataclysm and restoring the status quo ante.

10. Admittedly, it might not be possible to prevent a supernova, but that goes to another scientific absurdity. A sun doesn't go supernova overnight. Surely Romulus would become uninhabitable long before its sun went supernova, at that late stage in its lifecyle. So the Romulans had plenty of lead-time to evacuate and colonize another M-class planet.

11. Time-travel poses a dilemma for the SF genre. On the one hand it's one of the most appealing conventions of the genre, because it's such a nifty way to illustrate and explore hypothetical or counterfactual scenarios. On the other hand, the principle is too powerful, too flexible. If feasible, it would be overused and have a radically destabilizing effect. It would obliterate historical continuity as plenary or cosmic history keeps resetting to create alternate timelines that replace the last timeline. So SF writers are arbitrarily selective about the convention. 

Frankenstein and Blade Runner

I made an earlier post about Frankenstein here.

I'd like to make another observation: the film Blade Runner has significant parallels with the novel Frankenstein. For example:

• Both are about the creature's (Frankenstein, replicants) rebellion against his creator (Dr. Frankenstein, Dr. Tyrell). 
• Both cast the creator in the role of a hostile creator. A creator who wants to kill what it created. The creator believes what it created is an abomination.
• Both cast the creature in the role of a moral blank slate (John Locke, Steven Pinker).
• Both show the creature only wanting to live and to love, but due to hostility from its creator, it is forced to fight and even kill humans in order to survive.
• Both stories take their cue from Eden and the Fall in Genesis as well as Milton's Paradise Lost (among other things). Except both swap moral blame between creature and creator, where the creature has done no wrong, while the creator has wronged the creature. Hence the creature believes he rightly rages against his creator. Like Prometheus, the story is something of an antihero story. An atheistic antihero story.
• It's telling Ridley Scott also directed Prometheus (part of the Alien franchise). It's telling because Prometheus has the same themes. Prometheus is an origin story for life (humanity) on Earth. An origin story based on panspermia. There's no God involved, but rather a godlike extraterrestrial species known as the Engineers. The Engineers created humans, yet the Engineeers are hostile toward humans, and created the Alien species in order to wipe out humans.

At least that's my take, but I'm no literary scholar or film critic.

Me, myself, and I

A common way to unpack the notion that you have a counterpart in a parallel universe is that you and your counterpart had the same past up to a moment when a variable changes, resulting in you splitting into two of you with different life histories after that moment. 

In my admittedly limited experience with parallel universe fiction, you make contact with your counterpart, or the reader/audience observes your counterpart, some time after the split. A cliche example is that you're a hero in one universe but a villain in a parallel universe, yet we aren't shown what caused the difference. The story doesn't go back to the split. Parallel universe fiction frequently neglects the dramatic potential of retracing the two forking paths to the moment they split off. Two exceptions are The Butterfly Effect (2004) and Mr. Nobody (2009). 

In addition, there are two different ways to model forking paths. One is serial forking paths, where an individual goes through both doors at once, emerging as two copies in parallel worlds. Then that process continues at successive stages. Every so often he and his counterparts go through another set of doors up ahead. That generates exponential copies: 2, 4, 8, 16…

That would be difficult to write about or film because it quickly becomes unmanageably complex with too many diverging plots. 

Another is parallel forking paths, where it forks off at the same point in life. He comes to multiple sets of two doors at the same stage.

Say, there's the door where his parents divorce, and the door where they stay together. The door where the mother has custody and the door where the father has custody. The door where his brother commits suicide and the door where his brother doesn't commit suicide. The door where he marries his high school crush and the door where he misses out. The door where he wins the football scholarship and the door where he loses. The door where his blinded in a baseball accident and the door where he's not. The door where he becomes an atheist and the door where he becomes a Christian. In the latter scenario, that breaks the cycle. 

Although these are fictional alternatives in human imagination, they have a grounding in God's imagination. We never imagine anything God didn't imagine first. 

Are superheroes false gods?

https://godawa.com/podcast-are-superheroes-false-gods/

The doorway

I think one of the most enduring literary symbols is the doorway into another world. The doorway represents an exit from our world and an entrance into a better world.

From Dark City to the New Jerusalem

In this post I'd like to explore two interrelated themes. Although they're not intrinsically interrelated, it's useful to compare them.

In the scifi film Dark City (1998), as I discern it, aliens have abducted a group of humans. Seems to comprise the population of a small town (hundreds or a few thousand). They've transported the humans to an experimental menagerie in outer space. The aliens are telepathic. In addition, they've constructed machines that amplify their telepathic abilities. The machines can change states of matter. Using this metamorphic technology, the aliens create and recreate cityscapes based on the garbled memories of the human captives. 

The protagonist, John Murdoch, is telepathic, too. It may be a latent ability, but his experience in the penal colony is a catalyst for his telepathy to assert itself. At the end of the film, he defeats the aliens. He is now in a position to create scenery more to his own liking. 

Watching this makes me think, if I was trapped on the penal colony in outer space with that many inmates, and I had the freedom to create an artificial setting, what would that be? What's my preference? 

Now let's segue to a parallel. In Rev 21-22, John describes a vision of the New Jerusalem. It's tricky to visualize because the description is a montage of two different motifs: the new Eden and the New Jerusalem. A park-like city. 

One question that raises is that if you were a director, filming Revelation, how would you visualize the scene? What would you show the audience? 

Another question is what the original audience was expected to imagine. On the one hand, no one in the original audience had ever seen the original Eden. What that looked like is an educated guess. If it was located in lower Mesopotamia, the garden of Eden might be on a fluvial island. If it was located in upper Mesopotamia, it might be a vale in a mountain cove. 

Whatever the original setting, it seems highly unlikely that the garden of Eden was the most beautiful place that ever existed. There's fierce competition for that distinction. There are many fabulously scenic locations around the world. And there's no one most beautiful place, because there are different kinds of scenic landscapes, towns and cities. It would be fascinating to step into a time machine and see the original Eden, but would it be your favorite place to live? 

Some of John's audience had seen Jerusalem. But with all due respect, Jerusalem is very far from being the world's most beautiful city. The religious or nostalgic appeal of Jerusalem, especially for gentile Christians, has more to do with the idea of Jerusalem rather than the reality. If the new Jerusalem actually looked like the earthly Jerusalem, that would be quite a let down. 

When we think about the world to come, what what do we envision in our mind's eye? What would be ideal? Where would you like to live in the world to come? Do you have a concrete image? A particular setting? 

Analogously, if you were Murdoch, what setting would you choose for yourself and your fellow captives? Humans wax nostalgic for a lost golden age, but what makes it golden? No war. No suffering. No mortality. But what about the setting? 

Would it be more urban or more pastoral? Like Venice? Or an Alpine meadow? Like a tropical island? Or the Redwood forest? 

A conservatory combines urban and bucolic elements. An arboretum under glass. It might include an aviary with songbirds. It might have streams and ponds. 

What about a church? What style? Byzantine? Gothic? Romanesque? 

If Gothic, English Gothic (e.g. York cathedral, King's College Chapel) or French Gothic (e.g. Amiens, Notre-Dame de Reims, Sainte-Chapelle)? 

Surely the world to come won't have less worship than in the here and now. So places of worship make sense. 

Would you simulate the four seasons? Would you simulate day and night, sunrise, sunset, a full moon, solar eclipse, lunar eclipse, the Morning/Evening star, comets, and meteors? Would you simulate rainbows and the Northern lights?  

Here's another complication: in the Dark City hypothetical, Murdoch must create a uniform setting for everyone. But there's no one-size-fits-all ideal. People like different kinds of scenery. There is no one favorite place for everyone. So what if the world to come is more customized? As I've often argued, hell may well be customized, and by the same token, the new earth may well be customized. 

Of course, we can just wait and see. But cultivating heavenly-mindedness includes reflection and self-examination on what we think is ideal. What is best for you and me? 

The reality may take us by surprise. The reality may be far better than we can hope for or imagine. But that means there's no risk of disappointment if we begin our contemplations now. If they fall short of what's to come, so much the better. 

Revelation: inside and out

Revelation is one of those books of the Bible that many Christian readers keep coming back to. Unlike, say, 1-2 Kings, which has a straightforward plot and little subtext, Revelation is hard to reduce to a single perspective. From modern readers, the added appeal of Revelation is that it's the most cinematic book of the Bible. 

To my knowledge, premils typically think Revelation has a linear plot (at least Rev 5-22) whereas modern-day amils typically think it has a cyclical plot, although the return of Christ breaks the cycle. But perhaps that's a false dichotomy. 

Consider a comparison. A plot device in science fiction is the temporal loop. Here's an illustration of what I mean: a character wakes up in a bedroom. He glances at the clock. It shows the time and date. He gets dressed and goes outside. Nothing feels unusual. During the course of the day he witnesses a cycling accident, notices a pretty jogger, and sees a customer spill coffee at the cafe. He goes to bed, wakes up in the same bedroom, glances at the clock. Everything repeats. Between the character falling asleep or waking up, the cycle resets. 

This happens several times without variation until he has an unshakable sense of déjà vu. Hasn't he seen all this before? Hasn't he done all this before? How long has this been happening? It can't be real. He must be stuck on some sort of illusion. 

This time, when he wakes up, he tries to change a variable, hoping that will break the cycle. He intervenes to prevent the cycling accident. When he wakes up, it's the same date. So he changes a different variable. He intervenes to prevent the coffee from spilling. He takes sleeping pills to oversleep or sets the alarm clock to wake up in the middle of the night. 

He hopes, through dumb luck, to change the key variable, like flipping a switch. Finally he wakes up, glances at the clock, and it's a day later. Or he wakes up in different bedroom. He made his escape. He's back to reality. 

Is the plot linear or cyclical? Depends on the standpoint of the observer. From the viewpoint of the character, inside the temporal loop, the experience is cyclical. The action keeps returning to where it began. In a sense, it has no beginning or ending, like a Möbius strip–constantly folding back on itself. 

But suppose this is a movie. From the standpoint of the movie viewer, outside the temporal loop, the experience is linear. The movie viewer doesn't experience a day repeating itself. Rather, he watches a character experience a day repeating itself. 

In that respect, Revelation operates at two different levels. There's the internal standpoint of John. His experience is immersive. He is drawn into the world of the vision, as if he's there. 

By contrast, there's the external standpoint of the reader. He is reading the description of John's experience from outside the world of the vision, as an outside observer. His experience is characterized by linearity, as he reads one scene after another in literary succession. The reader isn't like a character who wakes up on the same day, over and over again. Rather, it's like watching a character wake up on the same day, over and over again. 

However, it would be possible for a reader, using his own imagination in addition to John's imagination, to see the action through the eyes of the narrator. Projecting himself into the world of the vision, using John's description as a conduit. Making an effort to visualize the picturesque descriptions as if the reader was standing there, seeing it for himself. That takes more effort, but it's a rewarding exercise. 

So Revelation may exhibit linearity and periodicity alike, depending on whether we adopt a standpoint inside the visionary world or outside the visionary world. These are two different reading strategies. 

Likewise, if you were a moviemaker, filming Revelation, you'd have to choose which standpoint to display. Cinematically, I'd opt for the immersive standpoint. 

And, to complete the parallel, there's a sense in which John exits the loop when Jesus returns–in the vision. The return of Christ breaks the cycle. 

In addition, there's a certain parallel with the Fourth Gospel, anchored in the dual consciousness of Christ. At a human level, Jesus experiences time from within the standpoint of 1C earthbound observer. He processes time as present, moment by moment.

Yet he also says things to indicate that he's conscious of the past, of OT history. Not remembering, as if he was there–although that would be impressive enough. But as if he is there (at least at the level of consciousness). Equally conscious of all times. In addition, he says things things to indicate that he's ever-conscious of his eternal state. From that standpoint, he's outside any particular time or place, and ultimately beyond time and space entirely. 

Moreover, the narrator says things about Jesus that reinforce the same shifting perspectives. A timebound consciousness side-by-side a consciousness that transcends time. An awareness that's simultaneous with all times and ultimately outside of time.    

Still Not Living in a Computer Simulation

https://www.proginosko.com/2019/05/still-not-living-in-a-computer-simulation/#more-3785

Multiverse narration

As an amateur fiction writer, something I find confining about conventional narration is the need to have a single plot. By that I mean, you may start with an idea for a story involving a set of core characters, but that can be developed in more than one direction. There are different directions in which to take the plot. For instance, suppose you begin with two guys and a girl. The guys are best friends. Both guys love the same girl. Let's call them Buck, Brett, and Amber. That kernel of the story generates potential conflict between friendship and romance. On the one hand there's the platonic love between two straight men. On the other hand, there's the romantic love that each guy has for the same girl. And there's the question of how she reciprocates their affection. Here are some alternate plots based on that kernel of a story:

1. Buck is dating Amber–although they're not committed to each other. And this point it's for fun, but the possibility of marriage hovers in the back of their minds. Buck is aware of the fact that Brett loves Amber too, and he senses that she has feelings for him–yet he doesn't know how strong. He gives Brett permission to date Amber. Even though he wouldn't like to lose her to Brett, he'd rather take the risk than have Brett resent him or Amber harbor nagging regrets about what she might have missed out on. He wants her to choose him because she'd prefer to be with him.

2. Buck and Amber are engaged. But in the heat of the moment, Amber hits on Brett, who reciprocates. They have a fling behind Buck's back. Although Buck doesn't know about it, Brett is wracked with grief for betraying his friend. He's torn in two directions. He wants to confess to Buck because he doesn't deserve Buck's friendship when Buck is in the dark about how his best friend double-crossed him. But he's afraid that if he comes clean, it will destroy the friendship. With trepidation, he confesses to Buck. His worst fear comes true. Buck never speaks to him again. In addition, Buck breaks up with Amber. 

3. Same as (2) up to a point, but on this plot variation, Buck forgives Brett. He appreciates the temptation Brett was under, and respects him for taking the risk of coming clean. Nevertheless, Buck breaks up with Amber. 

4. Same as (2) up to a point, but on this plot variation, Brett is too worried to confess. Buck finds out on his own that Brett and Amber had an affair. Buck breaks up with Amber. Because Brett didn't confess to Buck (3), Brett doesn't get the credit he would have had he leveled with Buck (3). 

5. Brett impregnates Amber. To conceal the affair, she initiates an abortion. 

6. Same as (5) up to a point, but on this plot variation, she wants to keep the child yet Brett pressures her into getting an abortion to conceal the illicit affair.

7. Same as (5) up to a point, but on this plot variation, they seek an abortion by mutual agreement. In (5-7), the abortion causes them to drift apart. 

8. Amber has a miscarriage before the pregnancy becomes evident.

9. Brett confesses to Buck before Amber has a miscarriage. He could have gotten away with it. 

10. Amber has an open relationship with both guys. Each father a child by Amber. 

11. Amber dies in childbirth, leaving Buck and Brett to pick up the pieces. 

12. Brett never confesses to Buck and Buck never discovers the affair. But they drift apart become Brett's unconfessed guilt eats away at the friendship. In (2), the friendship ends from Buck's side; in (12), the friendship ends from Brett's side. 

13. After dating Buck, Amber goes off to college and marries up. 

The dilemma which these plot variations pose is that each plot variation could make a good story. They all have dramatic interest. They explore ethical issues. Classic themes of friendship, betrayal, and romance. Each plot variation might be worth developing. But in conventional narration, a novelist or screenwriter must opt for one to the exclusion of the others.

Suppose, though, a creative writer uses the plot device of the multiverse. In that case, he doesn't have to choose. He could have a story with alternate intersecting plots that play out in a parallel universe ensemble. That could work for a novel or a dramatic TV miniseries. The action would cut back and forth between intertwined, alternate storylines. 

In addition, it could be cast in a theological framework, where God is the fictional Creator of the multiverse in which these counterfactual scenarios play out. Moreover, by having the same characters take the road not taken at every fork in the road, that would illustrate the consequences of different choices in life. Both good and bad consequences. 

Operation Noah's Ark

As I've remarked on more than one occasion, long-range Bible prophecies picture the future in terms of the past. They use imagery that would be intelligible to the original audience. If we take futuristic Bible prophecy seriously, we have to mentally update it. 

With that in mind, consider the stock objections to a global flood: On the one hand, it isn't big enough to accommodate a representative sample of every animal. On the other hand, a wooden ship that large already lacks structural integrity. 

How would animals cross natural barriers before and after the flood? How could such a tiny crew care for so many animals? What about specialized diets? What about specialized habitats? What about waste disposal? What about dinosaurs? 

What about aquatic animals? Are they on the ark? If not, how do they survive the blending of fresh water and salt water? What about flora? 

Since I incline to the local flood interpretation, my own position sidesteps most of the stock objections to the global flood. Mind you, most of the stock objections make anachronistic assumptions by reading things into the text that aren't there. 

Suppose, just for fun, we do a futuristic take on Noah's flood. In the 23C AD, God dispatches the angel Gabriel to recruit Noah. Noah is sent back in time to build the ark and save the planet. He brings a tech team. 

The ark is a floating storage facility for DNA samples. The ark is powered by a fusion factor. Aerial drones and underwater drones collect DNA samples from all terrestrial, marine, and fresh-water species–including insects. Samples are stored in onboard freezers at –80°C. After the flood, faunal and floral species are recreated from stem cells, using advanced robotics. 

I could go into more details about engineering and terraforming but that would disrupt the timeline by giving Triablogue a preview of future technology. I had to sign a nondisclosure agreement and run a draft past the Archangel Gabriel (head of celestial security) to redact classified information. In fact, there's the possibility that we're actually caught in a time-loop, having done all this before, because the timeline was already disrupted by the initial temporal incursion.  

Are we living in a computer simulation?

https://www.proginosko.com/2019/04/are-we-living-in-a-computer-simulation/

Assessing Bible translations:

Wesley Huff:

Brains in a vat

By the same argument, ‘vat’ refers to vats in the image in vat-English, or something related (electronic impulses or program features), but certainly not to real vats, since the use of ‘vat’ in vat-English has no causal connection to real vats (apart from the connection that the brains in a vat wouldn’t be able to use the word ‘vat’, if it were not for the presence of one particular vat — the vat they are in; but this connection obtains between the use of every word in vat-English and that one particular vat; it is not a special connection between the use of the particular word ‘vat’ and vats). Similarly, ‘nutrient fluid’ refers to a liquid in the image in vat-English, or something related (electronic impulses or program features). It follows that if their ‘possible world’ is really the actual one, and we are really the brains in a vat, then what we now mean by ‘we are brains in a vat’ is that we are brains in a vat in the image or something of that kind (if we mean anything at all). But part of the hypothesis that we are brains in a vat is that we aren’t brains in a vat in the image (i.e. what we are ‘hallucinating’ isn’t that we are brains in a vat). So, if we are brains in a vat, then the sentence ‘We are brains in a vat’ says something false (if it says anything). In short, if we are brains in a vat, then ‘We are brains in a vat’ is false. So it is (necessarily) false.  Hilary Putnam, ‘Brains in a vat,’ Reason, Truth and History, (Cambridge 1981), 14-15. 

i) Even though this is a famous science fiction scenario, in the future it may be a realistic scenario:

https://pittsburgh.cbslocal.com/2018/05/17/pig-brain-reanimated-ethics/

ii) As an anti-skeptical argument, I don't think Putnam's argument succeeds. The argument, if successful, is counterproductive. It would mean that even if you are a brain in a vat, you won't be in a position to recognize your predicament because you lack the language and concepts to entertain that possibility. But surely that's the non plus ultra of global skepticism. 

iii) However, I don't think his argument works at another level. It's true that to recognize your predicament as a brain in a vat, you need an external frame of reference. However, the lab could have a camera trained on the transparent vat, with tubes and wires. That information could be fed into the brain so that a disembodied brain could see itself in the vat, with the neurointerface. 

iv) From a Christian standpoint, the source of consciousness is the soul, not the brain. And even if (ex hypothesi) brains were harvested in the womb and deposited in the vat, spending their entire lives in the vat, God could reveal himself directly to the embrained but disembodied soul–just as God intervenes in human history. Take revelatory dreams, where God gets right inside the mind of the dreamer. If need be, God could enter the mind of the embrained but disembodied soul. Bypass the neurointerface. Make himself known from within.  

Cosmic simulation

I was asked a follow-up question on this post:

http://triablogue.blogspot.com/2018/08/cosmic-programmers.html

What you would say if an atheist said for the sake of argument that he accepted that the transcendental argument is valid and reason and logic do need a transcendent source, but that we’d have no way of knowing if that source is the Triune God or Billy the alien programmer? 

i) To begin with, the notion that we're virtual characters in a computer simulation presumes the possibility of artificial intelligence. But that's hotly-contested. According to the hard problem of consciousness, mind is not reducible to a physical arrangement. 

ii) An alien can't be the source of abstract objects. An alien can't be the source of logic because an alien is a contingent being, so he can't ground the necessity of logic. If logic is simply how he thinks, then logic lacks normatively. He's a fluid entity. 

iii) An alien can't be the source of numbers because he has a finite, timebound mind whereas numbers are timeless, infinite, transfinite objects or ensembles. 

iv) An alien can't be the source of possible worlds because he himself exemplifies a possible world. 

v) Can he be the source of truth? If there were no minds, there'd be no true beliefs. As a contingent being, his nonexistence is possible. If truth has a contingent source, then the nonexistence of truth is possible. But is it true that the nonexistence of truth is possible? 

Cosmic programmers

Recently I was asked how I'd respond to this question:

Your recent discussion with the pagan brought back a question I had thought of a year or so back when Elon Musk was making all those headlines for saying he thinks reality is a computer simulation.

What would you say to an atheist who tries to reverse the transcendental argument by saying that perhaps reality is the product of something we would understand as a simulation, that way it is true that everything in our universe does indeed receive its value and commands from a “creator” or “creators” outside it programming everything. We’d never have any way of knowing these creators apart from their revelation to us.

Further, suppose that many of the arguments theists use in this universe (the moral argument, the argument from the universe being finite chronologically) are true in this universe as the creator(s) of this universe did indeed make it, but they don’t necessarily inhere within the creator(s) universe. Perhaps there is a way in their universe for it to be eternal, or for them to have objective values inherent in themselves.

Further, what if this theory is said to do more to account for our reality. What if all the gods and goddesses in this history of the world were actually where their cultures say they were doing what they were said to have been doing. Perhaps they programmed Baal to be the ancient god of the Canaanites and Buddha to live amongst the ancient Indians. Wouldn’t this account for why so many different cultures are so adamant that their gods exist?

Finally, how could we know that the Christian God isn’t part of the simulation too? Perhaps they programmed it so that the Christian God did all the things we believe he did in the Scriptures, create this universe, foreknow, predetermine, call, justify, glorify, etc. Perhaps with regard to this universe the Christian God is indeed God, but there is actually, behind wherever he exists, other creator(s)/programmers.

Sounds like a really hyper-Marcionism, I know, but I’m thinking of modern video games like God or War where there are indeed multiple culture’s deities existing side by side, or a novel like Gaiman’s American Gods where gods throughout all history exist together.

Is this one of those times where we’d just have to have faith in God’s pronouncement that He alone is God? Even if he might not have any way of knowing there is anything beyond/above Him?

Lots of moving parts. 

1. Consider the nature of transcendental arguments:

Because of their anti-skeptical ambitions, transcendental arguments must begin from a starting point that the skeptic can be expected to accept, the necessary condition of which is then said to be something that the skeptic doubts or denies. This will then mean that such arguments are ineffective against very radical forms of skepticism, which doubt the laws of logic, and/or which refuse to accept any starting point as uncontentious; and it will also mean that they may be effective against a skeptic who is prepared to accept some starting point, but then ineffective against another skeptic who is not. But neither of these features of transcendental arguments need be felt to be disabling: for the skepticism of the radical skeptics is perhaps of dubious coherence, or at least of little interest because they seem so unwilling to engage with us, while the second limitation may mean merely that different transcendental arguments are required for different skeptical audiences.

Because of the need to find an uncontentious starting point, transcendental arguments will also then characteristically be first personal, by beginning from how I or we experience, think, judge, and so on. Thus, while it is perhaps reasonable to hold that there are necessary conditions for the possibility of ‘extra-personal’ entities such as material objects, substances, the universe, time and so on, a transcendental argument which is directed against skepticism is unlikely to be concerned with exploring such conditions, as the skeptic is unlikely to admit the existence of the things to which the conditions belong.

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/transcendental-arguments/#KeyFeaTraArg

From this it follows that an atheist can't produce a transcendental argument along the lines you hypothesize because the thought-experiment is skeptical rather than anti-skeptical. You can't produce a transcendental argument to justify skepticism since the whole point of transcendental arguments is to defend realism and common sense rather than antirealism. 

2. It would be self-defeating for an atheist to raise this objection since, if taken seriously, the thought-experiment is equally incompatible with atheism and monotheism alike. Why should this be a problem for Christians but not for atheists? If polytheism is true, that falsifies atheism as well as monotheism. 

3. Or is this a variation on ufo religions, where human encounters with ancient extraterrestrial astronauts kickstart religion? But that only pushes the question back a step: how do the cosmic programmers originate?

4. Is the idea that Yahweh is the god of our universe, but not the god of the multiverse? Each god only exists in one universe? No god exists in more than one universe?

But according to the logic of the multiverse scenario, each parallel universe corresponds to changing one variable, with whatever adjustments that requires, while leaving other things intact. In one timeline I'm raised by my parents. In an alternate timeline I'm an orphan. In another timeline I'm raised by my dad. In another timeline I'm raised by my mom. In one universe I have a brother, in another universe I'm an only-child. In one universe my hometown is New Orleans, in another universe my hometown is Albuquerque. 

However, it wouldn't be a different god for each parallel universe. Changing the god is one variable, with a parallel universe (or more) corresponding to that altered variable. But many altered variables don't entail changing the god in charge. So the same god would exist in more than one universe. Even if we play along with the thought-experiment, Yahweh will have jurisdiction over a vast number of parallel worlds. 

Just run through OT history and mentally change a variable. Suppose Yahweh calls Abraham's brother out of Ur rather than Abraham. Suppose Isaac runs away rather than submitting to sacrifice? That creates alternate timelines, but Yahweh is the same deity in those alternate world histories. 

5. If the gods are necessary beings, then they must exist in every possible world or parallel world. So does it mean that each god has jurisdiction over one universe? How does that work? Are they assigned jurisdiction by one supreme god who's above the others? But then, he's in charge of the whole multiverse. Or do they simply agree to divvy up the multiverse? If so, what prevents a theomachy? A civil war in the multiverse between competing gods? 

6. Are the gods supposed to be virtual characters in a cosmic simulation–having no reality outside the simulation–or do they represent projections of the cosmic programmers, where there's a real agent behind the avatar? Do they only exist in the world of the story, like a video game, or do they stand for the cosmic programmers?  

7. Polytheism is a part of terrestrial world history, not a part of multiverse history. So it's not like Yahweh is the god of this universe while Zeus is god in a parallel universe and Baal is god in yet another parallel universe. Rather, these are territorial gods in the same universe. Patron gods of city-states or nations.

8. Are different cultures so adamant that their gods exist? Some ancient writers are quite skeptical about folk polytheism. In addition, there's lots of syncretism where the gods of one pantheon are amalgamated into the gods of another pantheon. To that extent they're not viewed as separate individuals, but more like stock fictional characters. 

Likewise, you had people who switch gods (e.g. a wife who adopts the religion of her husband). 

9. Some theistic proofs can be extended to a multiverse, viz. teleological, cosmological, argument from reason, argument from consciousness, argument from abstract objects, moral argument, principle of sufficient reason.

10. Suppose I can't disprove a skeptical thought-experiment? So what? If I can't disprove that you're a philosophical zombie, or a virtual character in the cosmic simulation, is it permissible for me to vivisect you? It's not murder if you're not a real person. But we don't take hypothetical scenarios that seriously–for good reason. 

11. Skeptical thought-experiments are like ethical dilemmas. If you're really caught in that situation, then you just do whatever you can do without compunction since you have no alternative. It's like On the Beach, where the doomed survivors decide how to spend their remaining months of life. 

2001: A Space Odyssey

2001: A Space Odyssey has most of the elements I tend to love in science fiction. It attempts scientific and technical realism. It moves at a pensive pace. It has stunning visuals and awe-inspiring music. The story as it unfolds is strong. The villain is fitting and worthy. What's front and center is ideas over action. It doesn't pander to the audience. In fact, quite the opposite, in its challenge to make the audience think, to ponder and wonder. It has a consistent and meaningful overall message. The film sits with you long after leaving the theaters, as it were. It's thoughtful, reflective, meditative. So I'd say I have a high appreciation for the movie as a work of art, as evidence of Stanley Kubrick's mastery as a filmmaker and storyteller.

However, the film's "philosophical statement about man's place in the universe" (Roger Ebert) is precisely why I don't enjoy watching it. It's secular through and through. Humanity evolves, then transcends itself, beyond man. Secular salvation on the silver screen. Although I suppose it reflects the fact that even secularists like Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke know this flesh and these bones aren't all we are, not all we're meant to be; that we're made for something more. In this respect, I think the star child is visionary, but it takes a cue from and riffs off of Christianity. A man of dust transformed into a man of "heaven". A seed is sown, it dies the death, then blooms into a "heavenly" body. Rather than God remaking us, we've remade ourselves, albeit with help from an apparently benevolent if enigmatic and god-like alien species tugging us along the pathway until we reach the next evolutionary stage. Born anew, the perishable clothed with the imperishable, from dust to stardust. Putting away childish ways, childhood's end, becoming true man, which is star man. The beatific vision of the star child depicted on celluloid is alluring indeed - man in wonderment over man, gazing upon the old earth from a perch in the new heavens - but in truth the star child is a gross caricature or twisted parody of the new creation in Christ. If we look past the cinematic mask, through the angelic disguise, then we might consider how the star child is nearer Frankenstein's monster than God's new Adam.