Looking at the out of doors
Roeland Park, KS
Looking at the out of doors
Roeland Park, KS
Oft as the shades of evening fell,
In the school-boy days of old,—
The form work done, or the game played well,—
Clanging aloft the old school bell
Uttered its summons bold;
And a bright lad answered the roll call clear,
. . .
Heaven send, that when many a heart’s dismayed,
In dark days yet in store,—
Should foemen gather; or, faith betrayed,
The country call for a strong man’s aid
As she never called before,—
A voice like his may make answer clear,
Banishing panic, and calming fear,
--Reverend A. Frewen Aylward.
Photo: Harrovians and local boys photoed outside the Lord's cricket ground in 1937. Photograph: Jimmy Sime/Getty Images
A vote has just been held, and I’m proud to say the title of this post has been voted, “Least likely to interest anyone even remotely.” I’d like to thank all those who voted and this guy for being my inspiration.
I just read Ovid’s The Metamorphosis. My Greek mythology has always been weak, so I thought I would strengthen it by reading a classic. Little did I know what I was getting into! The book was written when Jesus was my nephew (don’t stop here, you’ll get the wrong idea about my Christology), Emry’s age and if it is any indication of the moral state of the Roman mind at that time, the Roman mind was filthy. Every conceivable sin is outlined and relished. If a mysterious man were to hand me The Metamorphoses to read and review without mentioning its historical esteem or its classic status, I would throw the book out the window of my study after two or three chapters of rape, incest, pederasty, sinful deities and silly stories about bleeding trees. I know I’m two thousand and four years too late for this review to affect the book’s sales or the author’s status, but it’s never too late to keep someone from soiling their mind with literary refuse. All this is to say, don’t read the book; read a summary or something.
I did gain one insight from reading Ovid’s ‘masterpiece.’ It gave me a picture of what real myth looks like, and in real myth, the Gods are more human than the humans. Jupiter can’t control his passions, and Juno, his wife, constantly punishes him by turning his lovers into bears or other dreadful things. There is Diana, the self-righteous virgin and Athena, who becomes so jealous of Arachne, a tapestry maker, she turns her into a spider. You may be thinking, “That doesn’t sound like human action to me!” But I assure you, if the slighted wife had the power to turn her husband’s lover into a bear, she would. And if jealous persons could transform the objects of their covetousness into arachnids, they would. Humans only lack the means to do these terrible things, not the will.
Even more importantly, reading the obvious myth of The Metamorphoses made Scripture, by contrast, seem incredibly real and down to earth. The Gods of Ovid’s book are married, and naturally jealous. But Jesus, knowing that without sin, there is no need for human marriage states, “At the resurrection people will neither marry nor be given in marriage; they will be like the angels in heaven.” How refreshingly logical! The Bible does record miracles, but its miracles are so sensible next to the capricious acts of divine intervention in The Metamorphoses. It is glaringly obvious that a human mind inspired every word of Ovid’s work. That is not so apparent in Holy Scripture. If The Bible is myth, it is well-disguised myth.
So I present to you the Ovidological argument for the inspiration of Scripture. I know it is almost completely subjective, anecdotal and incomplete, but here goes. Read the myths of Ovid (I know I told you not to read them earlier, but the argument requires it.) and then read the Holy Scriptures. It may not sew up every hole in your mind as to whether the stories of the Bible are true, but it will give you a context for real myth and hopefully give you an appreciation for real truth.
R. Eric Tippin
In my very chilly study on 8th Street
October 6, 2012
Okay, this is the first iteration. Really I am only beginning with a slight wisp of an idea and am afraid it originated more from daily thoughts than from actual thinking. By this I refer to "thoughts" as the confrontation with the outer while "thinking" as an embodiment of rheumatoid moments without the arthritis. The pleasant communion in the inner sphere before confronting the external textures. In other words, Driving a car demands thoughts while driving home this point needs more thinking. A distinction that describes probably a 99/1 split of my daily kilometers. Yes, I know I am an american (actually North American as my good friend J.A. would like to remind me) and should probably describe distance in miles, but I am raising a British son it seems. The morning project on this brisk saturday of a day, as my son mentioned in passing, was going to be a "catapult." He caught me unawares with his British terminology, but in the end I did discover he was referring (with accurate king's english none-the-less) to a slingshot. Our first iteration of said catapult gave its full effort to produce a gentle arching trajectory of about 5-7 meters. Without a doubt, further iterations are needed to support the slightest hope of wilderness survival.