As Christians, we say in our hymns and elsewhere that "God is glorious," or "glory to God in the highest." 1 Peter 4:11 says (in part) "To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever." But what does "glory" mean to us?
One of the first things I think of when I heard the word "glory" is a Renaissance painting with light engulfing the main figures. C.S. Lewis suggested that one of the primary purposes of nature is to give us a meaning for "glory" -- stunning, grand vistas can give us a small sense of the vastness of our God. But I think, when I really come down to it, what represents glory best for me is music.
To illustrate my point, the piece at this link is, to me, transcendentally beautiful. It's what I imagine Heaven sounds like.
What fascinates me is the thought that once, there was no such thing as music. It wasn't always there -- it was created. This, to me, is an example of God's glory that I can wrap my head around.
The most creative, fantastic musician in the world may invent a genre of music. But the thing about music is that it feels more like physics than painting -- it's as though the melodies and harmonies were there, we just had to discover them. So even the great musician who starts a new category of music is really just a trailblazing explorer, mapping out new territory which existed long before he did. By comparison, the musician is providing a drop in the bucket, while God provides the ocean the drop came from.
So many things about God are shown by the existence of music. He is unimaginably creative, because he invented the entirety of music from Himself -- salsa and classical, rock and R&B. He's fond of consistent rules, because music, though artistic, has many rules which govern it. Finally, it shows that He is merciful: Music serves no "practical" purpose in our lives. We don't need it to live. How great is our God, who gave us such a tremendous gift! Who chose to make something so beautiful, even though it wasn't strictly necessary. Who loved us enough to grant to us an ability to appreciate it, even though we didn't deserve it.
To me, this is the glory of God: all the music that ever was, every song that transported us, every melody which haunted us, is the tiniest drop in the ocean of His creative power. There was no such thing as music until He spoke, and saw that it was good. And through His great mercy, we were given ears to hear it.
Perhaps glory is perceived differently by everyone. Lewis saw it in the grandness and uniqueness of nature, and for me it's represented by the beauty of music. We should all work to try and understand God's glory in our own way.
Showing posts with label C.S. Lewis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label C.S. Lewis. Show all posts
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Why a World?
As Christians, we believe that God the Father created all that is through Christ -- "Through him [the Word, or Christ] all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made." (John 1:3) Occasionally it has occurred to me to wonder, why a world? What purpose does the physical universe serve in God's plan? I got many of these ideas from C.S. Lewis, though a few may be original.
What can we learn about God's plan? First, we know that the Father begot the Son -- "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1:14) The Father is sufficient in Himself; He needs nothing. Everything that is or could be is contained in Himself. We can see that it was good to beget the Son, because God is good and He chose to do so. He did so, in the words of the Nicene Creed, "before all worlds." Therefore it pleased God the Father to create something separate from Himself of the same kind as Himself. Having begotten Christ, the Father says "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased." (Matthew 17:5)
Perhaps the most likely reason for God to create what we know is to create spiritual creatures who could share in His glory -- less than Christ, but possessing the free will necessary to choose to love their maker. While of course I can't know for certain, I see no other viable reason for God to do so. I'll proceed from the assumption that this was His motive, to the extent that I'm capable of understanding His reasons.
If many spiritual beings were His intent, why not make many Christs? Well of course when it comes to God it's close to meaningless to talk about "what if" -- for us, if some circumstance had been different, things could have happened differently. For God, things are determined by His unchanging, eternal nature. He is subject to no external forces, and as such could never fail to enact His will. However, even then there is a logical difficulty with the concept of God begetting many Sons. In what way could they differ from each other? Each would be a perfect reflection of the Father; each would be all-knowing and all-powerful, as granted by the Father; each would have the same relationship to the Father. In John 1:1 we read that "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." How could there be another Word? How could it be different, when the Word is eternal and unchanging and true? The only thing it could be to allow multiplicity would be "incomplete," in which case it is less than Christ.
We see, then, that the idea that God could beget more than one Son seems a logical impossibility. So, if God chooses to create many creatures capable of loving Him, they cannot be of the kind that Christ is. They must be smaller, less than Christ -- containing less of the Father's essence. They must be created, not begotten. So let us assume that God now chooses to create lesser beings. What form then will these creatures take?
Perhaps we would assume that these creatures could be purely spiritual, in the way that God probably is (though this is not certain; Genesis 3:8 says in part "Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the LORD God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day"). This brings up a difficulty, however. Imagine two purely spiritual beings, consciousnesses outside of space or time. How would they interact? If they could "touch" each other at all, how would they distinguish between themselves, with no obvious boundaries between them? How would they process ideas between them, without time? It's difficult to conceive how this could work.
So perhaps in order for minds to communicate with each other, they require some sort of idea of space and time -- space, to allow them to separate themselves from each other; time, to allow them to present ideas, process received information, and produce new statements. This is not enough, however. They still have no method of communication, so we need matter of some kind. These entities need some amount of matter over which they have power to use to communicate with each other. They must not have too much power, however: if one is entirely in control of its surroundings, no other would be able to use those surroundings to communicate. Therefore we need some sort of neutral outer world, which the different consciousnesses can all affect in the same way. That way they can all use the same methods to make sounds through the air or gestures carried by reflection of light which enable communication.
In attempting to envision some way many for souls to exist and interact with each other, we have already arrived at something quite akin to the world we know. As it is with God, the way He made things is the only way they could be, because He is all-powerful and because His nature does not change. So, while this is not a definitive proof by any means, I believe it's a useful theory for why there is a universe and what purpose it serves.
What can we learn about God's plan? First, we know that the Father begot the Son -- "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1:14) The Father is sufficient in Himself; He needs nothing. Everything that is or could be is contained in Himself. We can see that it was good to beget the Son, because God is good and He chose to do so. He did so, in the words of the Nicene Creed, "before all worlds." Therefore it pleased God the Father to create something separate from Himself of the same kind as Himself. Having begotten Christ, the Father says "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased." (Matthew 17:5)
Perhaps the most likely reason for God to create what we know is to create spiritual creatures who could share in His glory -- less than Christ, but possessing the free will necessary to choose to love their maker. While of course I can't know for certain, I see no other viable reason for God to do so. I'll proceed from the assumption that this was His motive, to the extent that I'm capable of understanding His reasons.
If many spiritual beings were His intent, why not make many Christs? Well of course when it comes to God it's close to meaningless to talk about "what if" -- for us, if some circumstance had been different, things could have happened differently. For God, things are determined by His unchanging, eternal nature. He is subject to no external forces, and as such could never fail to enact His will. However, even then there is a logical difficulty with the concept of God begetting many Sons. In what way could they differ from each other? Each would be a perfect reflection of the Father; each would be all-knowing and all-powerful, as granted by the Father; each would have the same relationship to the Father. In John 1:1 we read that "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." How could there be another Word? How could it be different, when the Word is eternal and unchanging and true? The only thing it could be to allow multiplicity would be "incomplete," in which case it is less than Christ.
We see, then, that the idea that God could beget more than one Son seems a logical impossibility. So, if God chooses to create many creatures capable of loving Him, they cannot be of the kind that Christ is. They must be smaller, less than Christ -- containing less of the Father's essence. They must be created, not begotten. So let us assume that God now chooses to create lesser beings. What form then will these creatures take?
Perhaps we would assume that these creatures could be purely spiritual, in the way that God probably is (though this is not certain; Genesis 3:8 says in part "Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the LORD God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day"). This brings up a difficulty, however. Imagine two purely spiritual beings, consciousnesses outside of space or time. How would they interact? If they could "touch" each other at all, how would they distinguish between themselves, with no obvious boundaries between them? How would they process ideas between them, without time? It's difficult to conceive how this could work.
So perhaps in order for minds to communicate with each other, they require some sort of idea of space and time -- space, to allow them to separate themselves from each other; time, to allow them to present ideas, process received information, and produce new statements. This is not enough, however. They still have no method of communication, so we need matter of some kind. These entities need some amount of matter over which they have power to use to communicate with each other. They must not have too much power, however: if one is entirely in control of its surroundings, no other would be able to use those surroundings to communicate. Therefore we need some sort of neutral outer world, which the different consciousnesses can all affect in the same way. That way they can all use the same methods to make sounds through the air or gestures carried by reflection of light which enable communication.
In attempting to envision some way many for souls to exist and interact with each other, we have already arrived at something quite akin to the world we know. As it is with God, the way He made things is the only way they could be, because He is all-powerful and because His nature does not change. So, while this is not a definitive proof by any means, I believe it's a useful theory for why there is a universe and what purpose it serves.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Pain's Purpose
I discussed "accidental" forms of pain in an earlier post. I suggested that in some cases, pain might be used by God for our good in the same way a doctor might cause us pain to help us. I'd like to elaborate on why this might be so.
Much of this is influenced, or even paraphrased, from The Problem of Pain, by C.S. Lewis. It is a particularly brilliant work on an important and rarely-discussed subject. Pain can have some awful consequences: it can lead the devout away from God, or convince the unbeliever that God must not exist. But properly understood, it should not have these effects.
First, what is pain? Pain is a sensation which is disliked by the person experiencing it. It can be physical or mental in nature, but it is by definition unpleasant.
To understand why God might allow us to experience pain, let's consider the effects of pain. Pain is something which cannot really be ignored: we may ignore pleasure (who notices a comfortable pair of shoes after the first day?), we may ignore good, and we may ignore evil. We don't ignore pain.
How many times do we spend hours trying to find a way to sit that doesn't bother our back, or to walk that doesn't aggravate our sore foot, or a way to lay down that doesn't irritate our sunburned shoulders? We always react to pain; always seek a way to make it go away. Only if nothing works and we're forced to come to accept it do we stop trying to make it go away. Even then, though, we'll do much to stop it.
Pain, then, can be one of the strongest motivating factors for us. Awareness of a great evil often does not motivate us to action like awareness of a small pain.
Our reaction to pain is stronger than most all of our other priorities: a man whose conscience had not convinced him to stop an evil action he is committing would nonetheless stop if he suddenly experienced pain. This is true in both directions, of course; good actions are as likely as bad to be stopped dead in their tracks by pain.
It is a sad fact of human nature that choosing to rely on God, to depend on and obey Him, is very difficult for us. We must choose to do so against ourselves, sacrificing what we want for what He wants of us. This process is extremely difficult for the contented man -- what need have I for God, if all is well? What could he offer me if I'm already happy? As Lewis puts it:
This seems unmistakably true; in my worse moments of contentment or satisfaction, I had little use for God. It was later, feeling unfulfilled, that I turned back towards Him. Without that feeling, that sort of mental anguish of confusion about the meaning or purpose of my life, I would not have returned to God. Pain motivated me to change for the better.
If a man is evil, but has all he wants, what would motivate him to seek God? Unless some sort of pain is present, why would he want to change?
This leads us to a terrible point: God may allow pain into our lives, not out of cruelty, but out of necessity. What else can convince us that we must change? What else can drag us from our complacency to His arms?
This is an awful thought, but one borne of the awful evil within us. The good in us rejoices to be nearer to God, but much of our nature is happier with the easy path, the path of least resistance. There is much resistance within us to surrendering our will and our preferences to God; the easy path will be followed until it becomes hard.
And what does it tell us about God, that he would use this method to bring us to Him? Is He cruel, for allowing us pain? Or is He kind for doing whatever He must, suffering alongside us, to bring us to Him?
We see, then, that pain is a terrible but necessary tool to guide us to the right path. Without it, we would not recognize that we must change. God would not have been kinder to spare me the anguish of uncertainty that I once felt; indeed, to have spared me the pain which brought me to Him would have been cruelly indifferent.
God cares for us and will do what is best for us, though we curse or hate Him for it -- in the same way we cursed and hated Him when He came as a man to save us. How glorious He is, that He is so great and so humble at once! How lucky we are to serve a God who deserves all honor and praise and yet is not proud.
As we see, pain is a necessary instrument of God's kindness, though it does not appear as such at first. Our own nature is such that pain is often the only thing we listen to, louder even than our own conscience. May we choose to listen.
Much of this is influenced, or even paraphrased, from The Problem of Pain, by C.S. Lewis. It is a particularly brilliant work on an important and rarely-discussed subject. Pain can have some awful consequences: it can lead the devout away from God, or convince the unbeliever that God must not exist. But properly understood, it should not have these effects.
First, what is pain? Pain is a sensation which is disliked by the person experiencing it. It can be physical or mental in nature, but it is by definition unpleasant.
To understand why God might allow us to experience pain, let's consider the effects of pain. Pain is something which cannot really be ignored: we may ignore pleasure (who notices a comfortable pair of shoes after the first day?), we may ignore good, and we may ignore evil. We don't ignore pain.
How many times do we spend hours trying to find a way to sit that doesn't bother our back, or to walk that doesn't aggravate our sore foot, or a way to lay down that doesn't irritate our sunburned shoulders? We always react to pain; always seek a way to make it go away. Only if nothing works and we're forced to come to accept it do we stop trying to make it go away. Even then, though, we'll do much to stop it.
Pain, then, can be one of the strongest motivating factors for us. Awareness of a great evil often does not motivate us to action like awareness of a small pain.
Our reaction to pain is stronger than most all of our other priorities: a man whose conscience had not convinced him to stop an evil action he is committing would nonetheless stop if he suddenly experienced pain. This is true in both directions, of course; good actions are as likely as bad to be stopped dead in their tracks by pain.
It is a sad fact of human nature that choosing to rely on God, to depend on and obey Him, is very difficult for us. We must choose to do so against ourselves, sacrificing what we want for what He wants of us. This process is extremely difficult for the contented man -- what need have I for God, if all is well? What could he offer me if I'm already happy? As Lewis puts it:
Now God, who has made us, knows what we are and that our happiness lies in Him. Yet we will not seek it in Him as long as He leaves us any other resort where it can even plausibly be looked for.
This seems unmistakably true; in my worse moments of contentment or satisfaction, I had little use for God. It was later, feeling unfulfilled, that I turned back towards Him. Without that feeling, that sort of mental anguish of confusion about the meaning or purpose of my life, I would not have returned to God. Pain motivated me to change for the better.
If a man is evil, but has all he wants, what would motivate him to seek God? Unless some sort of pain is present, why would he want to change?
Until the evil man finds evil unmistakably present in his existence, in the form of pain, he is enclosed in illusion. Once pain has roused him, he knows that he is in some way or other 'up against' the real universe: he either rebels (with the possibility of a clearer issue and deeper repentance at some later stage) or else makes some attempt at an adjustment, which, if pursued, will lead him to religion.
This leads us to a terrible point: God may allow pain into our lives, not out of cruelty, but out of necessity. What else can convince us that we must change? What else can drag us from our complacency to His arms?
It is just here, where God's providence seems at first to be most cruel, that the Divine humility, the stooping down of the Highest, most deserves praise. We are perplexed to see misfortune falling upon decent, inoffensive, worthy people -- on capable, hard-working mothers of families or diligent, thrifty little tradespeople, on those who have worked so hard, and so honestly, for their modest stock of happiness and now seem to be entering on the enjoyment of it with the fullest right. ... Let me implore the reader to try to believe, if only for the moment, that God, who made these deserving people, may really be right when He thinks that their modest prosperity and the happiness of their children are not enough to make them blessed: that all this must fall from them in the end, and that if they have not learned to know Him they will be wretched. And therefore He troubles them, warning them in advance of an insufficiency that one day they will have to discover. The life to themselves and their families stands between them and the recognition of their need; He makes that life less sweet to them.
This is an awful thought, but one borne of the awful evil within us. The good in us rejoices to be nearer to God, but much of our nature is happier with the easy path, the path of least resistance. There is much resistance within us to surrendering our will and our preferences to God; the easy path will be followed until it becomes hard.
And what does it tell us about God, that he would use this method to bring us to Him? Is He cruel, for allowing us pain? Or is He kind for doing whatever He must, suffering alongside us, to bring us to Him?
I call this a Divine humility because it is a poor thing to strike our colours to God when the ship is going down under us; a poor thing to come to Him as a last resort, to offer up 'our own' when it is no longer worth keeping. If God were proud He would hardly have us on such terms: but He is not proud, He stoops to conquer, He will have us even though we have shown that we prefer everything else to Him, and come to Him because there is 'nothing better' now to be had. ... It is hardly complimentary to God that we should choose Him as an alternative to Hell: yet even this He accepts. The creature's illusion of self-sufficiency must, for the creature's sake, be shattered; and by trouble or fear of trouble on earth, by crude fear of the eternal flames, God shatters it 'unmindful of His glory's diminution'. ... And this illusion of self-sufficiency may be at its strongest in some very honest, kindly, and temperate people, and on such people, therefore, misfortune must fall.
We see, then, that pain is a terrible but necessary tool to guide us to the right path. Without it, we would not recognize that we must change. God would not have been kinder to spare me the anguish of uncertainty that I once felt; indeed, to have spared me the pain which brought me to Him would have been cruelly indifferent.
God cares for us and will do what is best for us, though we curse or hate Him for it -- in the same way we cursed and hated Him when He came as a man to save us. How glorious He is, that He is so great and so humble at once! How lucky we are to serve a God who deserves all honor and praise and yet is not proud.
As we see, pain is a necessary instrument of God's kindness, though it does not appear as such at first. Our own nature is such that pain is often the only thing we listen to, louder even than our own conscience. May we choose to listen.
Monday, January 12, 2009
The View of Heaven from Earth
Thanks to John for the chance to post on his blog. This has been on my mind lately and I appreciate the chance to write some things down.
Our view of Heaven is an important aspect of our Christian life. As the Gospels of Matthew and Luke both say, "where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Is Heaven our treasure?
I know until recently I hadn't given Heaven a huge amount of thought. Even now my thoughts go to the standard vision of puffy clouds and people in white robes with halos and harps. The sarcastic jibe "pie in the sky" is not so far from how I tend to think about Heaven.
The clouds-and-harps view may, for all I know, be close to literally accurate. However it's important to reflect on the idea of Heaven. Is it just a really nice place that we like so much we don't want to fight? I believe this had been my idea of Heaven for a long time: a place which has such lovely scenery and such nice music and activities that it will make us happy to reside there forever. War, pain and suffering would not exist there for the same reason that civil strife doesn't erupt on the beach in Hawaii.
However I've come to think of this as a very limited view of Heaven. How often have we ever been truly happen for very long? When has anything really made us happy for longer than a week or so? If a really fantastic resort is the best Heaven can offer, how long could it possibly be before we got bored?
The main impetus of my changed thinking on the subject has been the great 20th century Christian writer, C.S. Lewis. If you're thinking "The Narnia guy?" then you've got the right man. If you weren't aware he wrote a series of brilliant Christian books, you are now, and I recommend a visit to your local book store.
In The Problem of Pain, Lewis describes his view of Heaven like this:
I find the idea of a "secret thread" connecting all the things we love to be very profound, and it rings true in me very deeply. I imagine a mosaic, in which every great beauty or love we've ever experienced is simply a tiny tile. We experience only the smallest glimpse of this mosaic at a time, and only in the most powerful of our experiences; yet if we were to see the whole we would know with certainty what it was.
This leads me to wonder, if humans are mere "moist robots" (as the atheist Scott Adams, of Dilbert fame, calls us) what need is there for this mosaic? Where does it come from? Why should we each have differing interests? Wouldn't society be easier to hold together if we all shared the same loves, if we could express ourselves fully and be understood fully? The Christian answer, as I see it, is this: We are each a unique expression of some infinitesimal part of God, unique and valued equally in the eyes of the Creator.
This mosaic, the perfection we yearn for, is not to be found on this Earth. What we desire is the fulfillment of our unique souls, to attain finally and fully the beauty and love we feel for these objects. And where do beauty, goodness, and love come from? They all find their ultimate expression in God, from whence they came. Thus to attain the beauty of the mosaic is for our uniquely shaped souls to be filled to the brim with the God who is the source of beauty.
I believe this answers a possible concern about Heaven -- what place or experience could constitute perfect happiness for everyone? Perhaps being with God uniquely satisfies each soul, in the way that is perfect for each. Lewis, in a different book, compares each soul to a lock which God fits into in a unique way. God represents an infinite set of keys, one for each soul.
I find this to be a truly amazing thought. Imagine the sense of awe you felt at the sight of an amazing vista, or the transcendental feeling you get from certain music -- if these are just glimpses through dirty glass at the source, how awesome must the source be!
Heaven, then, far from being a particularly nice resort, is instead the ultimate expression of the desires of each soul. This brings me to a few final questions that seem to be answered by this view of Heaven.
With the resort image in mind, I wondered why there would be no marriage or family in Heaven. Wouldn't you want to spend time in the perfect place with the people who you care about most? Now, though, I believe that there is no need for marriage or other sorts of special relationships because all the needs and desires which give rise to our most intimate relationships (the need for companionship, or to be special to another person) will find their complete and perfect fulfillment in God Himself.
I've also wondered how there can be people with no strife or pain between them. All acts of evil, however, come from some sort of need or desire -- the desire for money, or safety, or companionship, or even the desire for pleasure itself. If all our needs were truly fulfilled, then we would have nothing to fight about.
I certainly can't say for sure that this view of Heaven is the correct one; God grant me that if I'm wrong that I should find out. Still, I think it helps me to understand the ideas involved. A man lost in a cave who sees the tiniest spot of light is joyful for the light itself and the respite it provides from the darkness; but how much better to see the sun!
Our view of Heaven is an important aspect of our Christian life. As the Gospels of Matthew and Luke both say, "where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Is Heaven our treasure?
I know until recently I hadn't given Heaven a huge amount of thought. Even now my thoughts go to the standard vision of puffy clouds and people in white robes with halos and harps. The sarcastic jibe "pie in the sky" is not so far from how I tend to think about Heaven.
The clouds-and-harps view may, for all I know, be close to literally accurate. However it's important to reflect on the idea of Heaven. Is it just a really nice place that we like so much we don't want to fight? I believe this had been my idea of Heaven for a long time: a place which has such lovely scenery and such nice music and activities that it will make us happy to reside there forever. War, pain and suffering would not exist there for the same reason that civil strife doesn't erupt on the beach in Hawaii.
However I've come to think of this as a very limited view of Heaven. How often have we ever been truly happen for very long? When has anything really made us happy for longer than a week or so? If a really fantastic resort is the best Heaven can offer, how long could it possibly be before we got bored?
The main impetus of my changed thinking on the subject has been the great 20th century Christian writer, C.S. Lewis. If you're thinking "The Narnia guy?" then you've got the right man. If you weren't aware he wrote a series of brilliant Christian books, you are now, and I recommend a visit to your local book store.
In The Problem of Pain, Lewis describes his view of Heaven like this:
There have been times when I think we do not desire heaven; but more often I find myself wondering whether, in our heart of hearts, we have ever desired anything else. You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that. Again, you have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life; and then turned to the friend at your side who appears to be seeing what you saw - but at the first words a gulf yawns between you, and you realize that this landscape means something totally different to him, that he is pursuing an alien vision and cares nothing for the ineffable suggestion by which you are transported. ... Are not all lifelong friendships born at the moment when at last you meet another human being who has some inkling (but faint and uncertain even in the best) of that something which you were born desiring, and which, beneath the flux of other desires and in all the momentary silences between the louder passions, night and day, year by year, from childhood to old age, you are looking for, watching for, listening for? You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it - tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest - if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself - you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say 'Here at last is the thing I was made for.'
I find the idea of a "secret thread" connecting all the things we love to be very profound, and it rings true in me very deeply. I imagine a mosaic, in which every great beauty or love we've ever experienced is simply a tiny tile. We experience only the smallest glimpse of this mosaic at a time, and only in the most powerful of our experiences; yet if we were to see the whole we would know with certainty what it was.
This leads me to wonder, if humans are mere "moist robots" (as the atheist Scott Adams, of Dilbert fame, calls us) what need is there for this mosaic? Where does it come from? Why should we each have differing interests? Wouldn't society be easier to hold together if we all shared the same loves, if we could express ourselves fully and be understood fully? The Christian answer, as I see it, is this: We are each a unique expression of some infinitesimal part of God, unique and valued equally in the eyes of the Creator.
This mosaic, the perfection we yearn for, is not to be found on this Earth. What we desire is the fulfillment of our unique souls, to attain finally and fully the beauty and love we feel for these objects. And where do beauty, goodness, and love come from? They all find their ultimate expression in God, from whence they came. Thus to attain the beauty of the mosaic is for our uniquely shaped souls to be filled to the brim with the God who is the source of beauty.
I believe this answers a possible concern about Heaven -- what place or experience could constitute perfect happiness for everyone? Perhaps being with God uniquely satisfies each soul, in the way that is perfect for each. Lewis, in a different book, compares each soul to a lock which God fits into in a unique way. God represents an infinite set of keys, one for each soul.
I find this to be a truly amazing thought. Imagine the sense of awe you felt at the sight of an amazing vista, or the transcendental feeling you get from certain music -- if these are just glimpses through dirty glass at the source, how awesome must the source be!
Heaven, then, far from being a particularly nice resort, is instead the ultimate expression of the desires of each soul. This brings me to a few final questions that seem to be answered by this view of Heaven.
With the resort image in mind, I wondered why there would be no marriage or family in Heaven. Wouldn't you want to spend time in the perfect place with the people who you care about most? Now, though, I believe that there is no need for marriage or other sorts of special relationships because all the needs and desires which give rise to our most intimate relationships (the need for companionship, or to be special to another person) will find their complete and perfect fulfillment in God Himself.
I've also wondered how there can be people with no strife or pain between them. All acts of evil, however, come from some sort of need or desire -- the desire for money, or safety, or companionship, or even the desire for pleasure itself. If all our needs were truly fulfilled, then we would have nothing to fight about.
I certainly can't say for sure that this view of Heaven is the correct one; God grant me that if I'm wrong that I should find out. Still, I think it helps me to understand the ideas involved. A man lost in a cave who sees the tiniest spot of light is joyful for the light itself and the respite it provides from the darkness; but how much better to see the sun!
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