In this ongoing exploration of knowledge, the time has come for me to offer an explanation of what I mean by an interpretive grid, that perhaps rather nebulous thing that seems to come between the individual and the cosmos. The following is an attempt to answer the fourth question raised in response to my original question about knowledge. Links to previous discussions are provided below.

4. What is an interpretive grid and what does it do to the raw data? Is there a non-metaphorical way of talking about the “cooking” of the raw data? Perhaps more importantly, if there is “cooking” going on, what is the nature of our access to IT (the cooking)? Do we watch it happening? Infer that it is happening? If we watch it, what does it “look” like? If we infer it, from what premises?

By interpretive grid I mean that collection of beliefs, experiences, desires, dispositions, and propensities to act which determine the manner in which an individual thinks about and responds to external inputs and data. The interpretive grid determines the categories with which an individual might collect and sort the data he receives. It enables him to see and/or understand things as such-and-such; it is the means by which raw input is ordered and interacted with by the individual.

It seems that the operation of the individual’s interpretive grid on the raw data is observable, to some degree at least. Through introspection, a person can take stock of many of his beliefs, desires, and dispositions and analyze the ways in which those beliefs are operating on the new data which is being presented to him. However, the interpretive grid does not seem to be completely accessible to the individual because some portion of it is in use as long as the individual is thinking, experiencing, analyzing, or observing. The means by which an individual interprets the world is a part of him, a part of his thinking, analyzing, and understanding and must be turned in on itself in the act of introspection.

The problem created by the existence of the interpretive grid is not that it necessarily bars one from knowing the truth about the world, however it does seem to bar one from knowing that he has true beliefs. In other words, the individual cannot compare his beliefs about X as such-and-such with X itself; he does not have access to the thing itself due to the mediation of his beliefs, dispositions, etc. which arise between his self and the object. This seems to create a situation in which the individual is tragically isolated from all other things, imprisoned behind a grid that at best is a very clear window, and at worst is a wall of stone through which no light can peek.

Here We Go ‘Round the Mulberry Bush: Foundational Principles of Knowledge
1. Mulberry Pickin’s: The Relationship Between Being Foundational and Being Unassailable
2. Mulling on Mulberries: The Significance of Differences in Belief Among Intelligent People
3. What’s A Mulberry (To You)?: The Limits of Perspective on Obtaining Objective Truth

The girl that I am in love with has recently become a vegetarian.

Being a vegetarian is not normal. Vegetables are nice. I like them. The girl I love is nice. I like her. but being a vegetarian is not normal.

However, the prospect of eating only vegetables (and cheese, etc. etc. i.e. eating only everything but meat) has made me think carefully and existentially about food. I say existentially because I’m wondering how much of our experience with food derives from food, as opposed to our imaginings about food, or the significances we attribute to eating certain foods, etc.

My first reaction to the thought of “going vegetable,” as I might call it, must have come from one of the involuntary muscle groups I think, if muscles can cause emotional responses. Because I did not need to think about how to respond, or think even about what “going vegetable” might entail for me, there was just simply and suddenly a great big sense of being aghast. My mouth might have hung open a bit. I probably blinked once or twice. I was thinking about In ‘n Out. I probably licked my lips. I was thinking about Orange Chicken and chow mein. I was thinking about all the blessed number of hamburger variations out there. I just kept thinking about meat and meat and meat, accompanied, as I mentioned with a distinct sense of being completely aghast.

I don’t even think I was particularly cognizant of the connection between the Sushi Crab rolls in my mind and the aghast sensation all through my body, but only that they were in very deep conflict with each other.

I can’t say how long this lasted.

But within the week I was able to move on, and I began to process “going vegetable-ism” with the much greater control (which some presume to call clarity, though I’m not so sure) that our heads give us.

I don’t know how to explain this, or convince any of you about this, so, I’m just going to assert it: the pleasure that comes from food itself is negligable, meaning, you can neglect it and be fine. Steaks are yummy. I don’t think anyone’s contesting that. But yummyness itself is negligable.

I realized that there is a disparity between the full significance and pleasure I get out of eating meat, and the actual pleasure that is in eating meat. Call me crazy. But I bet you’re crazy too.

Why? is the next question. On one hand, in my head, I can totally swallow the idea of giving up meat. But then I find that I have these attachments to meat that far exceed what meat even has to offer.

It’s the very same way with any one thing that we get really excited about. Nothing sucks quite as much as exposing your unharnessed excitement for T. S. Eliot to a well versed scholar of poetry who then replies, “Yeah, Eliot’s pretty good.” And suddenly you realize that Eliot is a human poet who wrote human poetry while all this time you’ve been reading him as a endless genius god of poetry. But when the well-versed prick of poetry calls the spade a spade… all you can do is admit that you were caught up in an excitement that exceeded the poem’s actual successes or failures.

On the other hand, nothing is greater than to connect with another person who is as unreasonably excited and lost in the enjoyment of the same thing you are.

What do we make of that?

It seems it isn’t hard to be the stoic. You will perhaps always win the argument. but there is some sort of virtue, perhaps, in discovering more pleasure in a thing than the thing is worth.

But there too is a fine line between that and idolatry. idolatry too is the taking of pleasure or placing of hope in a thing beyond what the thing is worth.

I have now opened more cans of worms that I have hooks to fish with. And I must leave these thoughts off squirming as they are either to bake in the sun and crust on to the dock or else to find their own way back to cool soil where someone else can dig them up again and sell them to some other fisherman who isn’t as sleepy as I am right now and needs to go to bed as badly.

alright, enough.

Joe Carter, one of my favorite bloggers, has won the “Best Religious Blog” category of the Weblog Awards, 2005. Mere-O garnered a healthy 98 votes, which is encouraging, given our competition. Thank you to all those who helped us stay ahead of Mere-O friend Charles Lehardy!

In other news, I am going on blogging hiatus for the rest of 2005. I am disappearing tomorrow to finish a project I have been working on for some time–a book that I am hoping to vanity publish (thanks for the term, Jon) in January.

Finally, starting January 1st, watch for exciting changes here at Mere-O. 2006 is going to be an exciting year for Mere-O, and we’re eagerly anticipating its arrival!

I hesitate to post this because I think the Narnia film very, very good. The film captured the major ideas of the book, which is all you can ask for. The second time I saw it, I liked it far better than the first time because I had more perspective as far as evaluating the film in its own medium.

But the one thing I haven’t heard anyone talk about yet that truly bothered me both times I saw it was the constant sarcasm amongst the children as well as the desire to go home. My guess is Andrew Adamson, director of Shrek, has a sense of humor and a framework that is prone to sarcasm. Also, I’m sure at some point in the making of the script someone suggested Lewis made his characters too good and they needed to make them more “realistic.” That is why in the film we have Peter being condescending to Edmond even towards the end, we have the sweetest of little girls, Lucy, making a sarcastic comments to Susan when they all get into Narnia and when she calls her older sister “boring.”

The beauty of the characters of the children in Lewis’ books is that they conjure a deep desire in you to be good. The books show that morality is the truest adventure: one does not have to be “edgy” to find fulfillment. Lewis accomplishes this in his books in a completely believable way – it wouldn’t be so inspiriting otherwise. I missed this theme in the film, but they have plenty of chance to make it up in subsequent films in the chronicles.

I had a birthday last week, and, as a part of the evening celebration, took a moment to “zoom out” on my life. The psalmist reminds us that human life is like grass, or clouds. It is brief and passes by. In light of this brevity, What are those things worth doing? What is not just futility? George Herbert wrote a poem about an experience he had. It is a pleasant little piece, and makes a suggestion about what is worthwhile.

In this moment of reflection his words came as a conviction and comfort. Take a moment, if you like, to smell this small flower of a poem.

“Life”

I made a posy, while the day ran by;

Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie

My life within this band.

But time did beckon to the flowers, and they

By noon most cunngly did steal away,

And withered in my hand.

My hand was next to them, and then my heart:

I took, without more thinking, in good part

Time’s gentle admonition:

Who did so sweetly death’s sad taste convey,

Making my mind to smell my fatal day;

Yet sug’ring the suspicion.

Farewell dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,

Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament,

And after death for cures.

I follow straight without complaints or grief,

Since if my scent be good, I care not, if

It be as short as yours.

Of course, Athanasius (denizen of the 4th century as he was) knew nothing of postmodernism. Nevertheless, his wonderful treatise On the Incarnation refutes a typical Christian postmodern criticism.

A major motivation for the postmodern Christians I’ve met – and Daniel Fuller author of Unity of the Bible and a Christians who may not declare himself as postmodern, but uses similar phraseology – is to cut off the shackles of the bankrupt “modern” Christianity and move beyond. What exactly “beyond” means is a point of much controversy, but the point is to become “A New Kind of Christian”, especially through engaging the narrative of the Bible in a new way. One consequence of this idea is that we ought to throw out systematic theology and philosophical sounding reasoning about the Bible. Fuller and a self-declared postmodern Christian friend of mine hardly represent the whole movement but the gist of the argument is that Christians can’t do systematic theology because it takes them away from the all important narrative. As any true inerrantist, I fully agree that we must make the Bible the foundation of our belief structure. But instead of throwing off the so-called shackles of the past and becoming critical of all those who have passed down the traditions to us, we must devour the works of great fathers of the past like never before.

Athanasius is one of those men.

He demonstrates for us how to stay rooted in the Scripture while doing systematic theology. The first and largest section of his treatise is devoted to the Coming of the Word and the Victory of the Cross. He lays out from the time of creation why we human beings need the Word to come and save us. He doesn’t just quote the Bible, but he captures the central ideas and movements of the Scripture and shows how Christ, His death and resurrection bring all to completion.

So this Christmas season don’t rush to the next promise of “new” and “cool”. Head back for the rich tradition that will ultimately challenge us in a way the most cutting skeptic never could. Read a man like Athanasius, trying to fend off heretical Arians from orthodoxy, and find a treatise founded on the story of God’s redemption of mankind. That will get you charged up for December 25 and will cause you to consider what it meant for God to become a man, walk among us and even die for us. Become an old kind of Christian.

I previously blogged about Professor John Haldane’s new appointment at the Vatican. As I was perusing the high-brow ecumenical journal First Things, I was excited to run across an article on philosophy by Haldane entitled “What Philosophy Can Do.”

In it, Haldane summarizes and critiques the current state of philosophy. He contends that the divorce between the the untrained thinker and the trained professional stems from the misguided understanding of the role and nature of philosophy. Specifically, it has become divorced from the interests and language of the naturally curious because it has neglected the issues of mind, soul, and God.

Haldane’s positive thesis regarding philosophy is interesting and persuasive–it amounts to a rejection of a notion of abstract thinking that philosophy inherited from Liebniz and Hume. If nothing else, it explains why “possible world” modality may not actually be useful for describing and interpreting reality.

If you can, read the whole thing. It’s well written and worth the effort.

Sometimes I feel like the monkey who chased the weasel ’round and ’round the mulberry bush in trying to understand how one can know he has discovered truth. In an attempt to stop the circle and moved forward, I asked the following question:

What are the foundational (and therefore unassailable) principles and criteria
by which an individual may set forth to distinguish Truth from Error? How are
these principles and criteria truly and justifiably known?

In response to this question a number of other questions were raised. This is a continuation of my response to those questions. Links to the rest of the conversation are at the bottom of this post.

3. What is the relationship between being limited to (stuck “in”) one’s own perspective and having (or not having) access to objective truth? If having a perspective which is different from the perspecitves of others is the problem [i.e., the thing that keeps individuals from accessing objective truth], then is the God’s-eye perspective really any better? Is God stuck with the God’s-eye perspective? Or can he choose another one?

An individual (which includes having and being limited to a particular perspective) may have access to objective truth if truth is the sort of thing that can be had through operation of human faculties such as sense and reason. For the purpose of this discussion, let us assume that truth is this sort of thing. So, in principle, those humans that rightly exercise their minds and senses will come to know objectively true things about themselves and the world. “This is cold,” “That is hot,” “This is love,” “That is God,”–all statements which are coherent and possibly true–are arrived at through a particular perspective, through a particular interpretation of an individual’s experiences and application of one’s cognitive faculties. It is necessary for individuals to come to interact with the world in this way and to come to know the world through the exercise of their bodies and minds as there seems to be no other way for information (including knowledge) to enter the soul.

However, the necessity of the individual perspective in approaching the world seems to be the greatest obstacle from knowing that one indeed does know objectively true things. The obstacle arises from being limited by one’s perspective to see and understand things as “such-and-such”–seeing and understanding things to be as they appear to me. Given our assumption above about the nature of truth, it is possible that an indivdual may correctly see and understand something as “such-and-such” (i.e. the thing really is the way it appears to the individual to be); however, the individual has no way of knowing that his perspective or perception has yielded true knowledge since he is limited by that perspective to see it in a particular way. No way of knowing, that is, unless there are some principles of interpretation that can guarantee a correct interpretation of the object being viewed or studied.

The God’s-eye perspective is, in this sense, simply one more perspective among perspectives. The superiority of the God’s-eye perspective comes not in it being a non-perspective, but rather in being the perpsective that has all the relevant information and principles of interpretation, allowing one to know things as they really are.

Here We Go ‘Round the Mulberry Bush: Foundational Principles of Knowledge
1. Mulberry Pickin’s: The Relationship Between Being Foundational and Being Unassailable
2. Mulling on Mulberries: The Significance of Differences in Belief Among Intelligent People

I just returned from being on the radio.

B-.

I’ve realized that being articulate while under the pressure of time is very challenging for me. He also asked a few questions that I drew blanks on, which was particularly frustrating. But I opened with a good line, so perhaps that will go a ways toward redemption.

Mere-O friend Joshua Claybourn of IntheAgora would have been surprised at my language regarding Narnia. As I mentioned, the film isn’t perfect, but I chose not to mention those parts I thought weak because on the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed it. In particular, Aslan’s charachter was underdeveloped, making the crucifiction scene less impacting. Additionally, I thought the White Witch especially bad.

Though not as effective as it could have been, the movie was not a disappointment. There wasn’t, I thought, a huge gap between the promised product and the actual delivery, largely due to Lewis’s careful and powerful storyline and enjoyable performances by the Beavers and the Pevensies.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, a movie I have long anticipated, did not disappoint. It was not perfect–and by that I do not mean that it substantially deviated from the book–but it was cathartic, uplifting, and thoroughly enjoyable.

The movie opens in surprising fashion for those who have read the texts, but the twist is effective. The opening shot of a Nazi pilot dropping bombs on London immediately establishes the tone–there is no middle ground in the fight between good and evil. Additionally, it contextualizes the events that occur in Narnia and suggests that the battle between good and evil is not limited to that enchanted land, but continues here and now.

The rest of the movie is thoughtful and fun. The Beavers are more than delightful. Lucy is as charming as others have suggested. The final battle seen is excellently crafted. But the story centers upon Edmund and his betrayal, and it is Edmund who delivers a solid, compelling performance–his awareness of his sinfulness when revealed to Tumnus as the betrayer is palpable. It is Edmund’s smile that is broadest, as if he is bubbling over with joy, when they first see the thrones and no wonder, for his was won at the greatest cost.

But the story is more than Edmund. It is also Peter, whose courage in the battle will inspire ten-year-olds (and some twenty-three year-olds) everywhere to charge against the White Witch. The story is also Susan, whose reluctance to fight evil nearly destroys the three Pevensies. It is Lucy, the spirited one, whose devotion to goodness is relentless and endearing. It is Aslan, whose sacrifice trumps the White Witch’s skepticism about the power and effectiveness of love.

Though some parts of the movie were slow, though some performances found wanting, the movie is a beacon of optimism and hope. It is a story that does not shy away from pain, sadness or sinfulness, but begins in them and redeems them, ending with a joyous chase of the White Stag through the Narnia woods. In that respect, it could be considered Father Christmas’ gift to an often cold and wintery world.

I’ve posted fairly frequently on Narnia-related topics recently (see here, here, here and here).

It comes to an end tonight–we have tickets to see it at 9:45. I am hoping to pull together a review afterward, as Hugh is giving away radios and my best reviews usually happen immediately after watching the film.

Additionally, I will be on KKLA tomorrow (Saturday) evening at 8:00 p.m. PST discussing the film and related issues with Dr. John Mark Reynolds. If not so blessed as to live in range, you can listen online here.

Over at the WeblogAwards, Mark Olson of Pseudo-Polymath is up for best blog of the Top 3501-5000 blogs. Go vote for him. Mark is easily one of the most literate bloggers I read every day. His blog is always thought-provoking, and often over my head.

He also introduced me to Wing to Wing, Oar to Oar, an amazing collection of essays and selections on courtship and marriage. You can count on a few citations working their way into my upcoming book…

Here’s more evidence that Narnia is going to be simply huge:

The Christianity Today weblog is a round-up of links.

Articles related to Narnia or Lewis? 45.
Articles related to King Kong? 0.

Narnia also has the advantage of having had months of newspaper articles written about it.