Friday, November 21, 2014

Can the Giant be Roused? Slumber versus Rigor Mortis

There are wonderful visual images in literature, in Gulliver's Travels, for example, the image of Gulliver, as the Lilliputians called him, a "man-mountain," being restrained by the smallest of strands and pegs. Popular culture also offers stunning visuals, the "Final Destination" series of movies has the recurring theme of a morgue, and in the first outing, the director takes us inside the morgue where a body is on the slab being prepared for embalming.  Oddly, literature and popular culture depend on the image of the human body in repose to set stories into action, to create tensions, and the like.  Fortunately, these are stories.  They entertain, they can amaze, inspire, and even startle or frighten.  Who avoids a vague unease when presented, by Edgar Allen Poe or a modern director, with the reality of having been buried alive?

When we write, when we create, we reflect the image of God, or at least, we can reflect it.

God is a writer. He has written in stone, as the story of the Ten Commandments tells us, and He writes in hearts, as the testimony of His grace tell us.

When we write, we can reflect His image in us. I think that is certainly the case with the writing of JRR Tolkien, whose The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are suffused with a distinctly Christian and Catholic theology. The long struggle between good and evil plays out in the story. Death and Resurrection do too. Redemption and forgiveness are there. Agape defines the fellowship of the Ring.

Today, though, I've been in a conversation with friends about our Nation. That conversation puts me, again, in mind of how I see the Nation in which we now find ourselves. I'm including this short video link from youtube.

You'll understand me better if you watch it, and understand that I see America, particularly, and Western Civilization generally, as Theoden, and the culture of the last six or seven decades as Grimma Wormtongue, bathing us in despair, self-loathing, and a willing acceptance of our own end.

Obama and his sycophants are not, necessarily Grimma, at least not alone. The gospel of doubt, of fear, of self-loathing, is preached in academia, has fed generations of college students who, in turn, became America's teacher corps. That same gospel is then replicated as efficiently as the production of RNA and DNA in a cell in schools the Nation over.

You can hear the whisper of it. "You aren't an exceptional nation. In fact, you're a tired, old thing, worn from years of taking more burdens on than anyone should have done. You've had your day on the stage, and what do you have to show for your ham-fisted attempts after all, except the loathing of France, the mocking of Russia, and the shadow of China on your heels?"

For my Republican friends, you should mark this point. 

We do not need a technical Republican. We do not need an efficient manager. We need a wind of inspiration. A voice, a clarion, waking us sensibly both to the present danger of our despair and to the bright possibilities of returning to the track where we so vigorously trod before, a path into a future filled with new mornings and bright days. This means, unfortunately for some of you, that we do not need Romney, and we do not need Bush. Neither has the voice. Neither embodies the message. Even among the proven, successful governors, it will not be enough that we select the best governor of the most productive State, unless that governor has that prophetic voice that echoes Reagan's in message and impact.

We need our own Gandalf.