Pico Ultraorientalis

Just another WordPress.com weblog

Archive for February, 2017

You are a bottom dweller!

Posted by nouspraktikon on February 26, 2017

Where do we live?  How do we live there?

In the year 1911, the French science fiction author Maurice Renard produced a literary oddity entitled The Blue Peril.  It is written in an irritating, aphoristic style which I fear has scarcely been improved by the diligence of the translator.  None the less it is a masterpiece of originality, being a predecessor of the alien-abduction genre, a disgraceful progeny to be sure…but a theme which was no doubt thought provoking at first telling.   In 1911 the human race was still awed by the atmosphere, it was the “outer space” of then current science and technology.  So Renard’s tale of creatures who navigated the upper stratosphere and fished for humans and their artifacts was sensational at the same time that H.G.Wells’ stories alternatively amused and horrified the English reading public.

I recommend The Blue Peril, not because it is easy or satisfying to read, but rather as a disorienting reorientation to who we are and where we live.  For indeed we are bottom dwellers, fish in an ocean of atmospheric blue.  To be sure, we are confident that we are “on top of things” and unless we are mariners we reassure ourselves that we live our life on solid ground.  Yet what we call the oceans are just deeper, more viscous fluids below the top layer of our atmospheric sea.  Like marine mammals who cannot venture into the blackness of the seams between the continental plates, we are out of our depth even in the shallows of the blue-green seas, none the less we make our dwelling far below the true surface of the planet.

We do not think this way normally, but that is the reality of our situation.  More importantly, it is our situation from the point of view of our Heavenly Father.  Honestly, I know nothing about the religious opinions of monsieur Renard, and would not be surprised if he held atheistic views similar to those of Wells.  None the less, what he wrote is as much science fact as science fiction, and as always science and religion are in much closer conjunction than the enthusiasts of either are willing to admit.  For there are certain characteristics of the ocean which everybody, scientist or not, is compelled to admit.  Let’s list just a few of these characteristics.

*It is a place which teems with life.

*It is a place of death, a death which feeds upon the teeming life in its bosom.

*It is a place of immense pressure.  This pressing-down and pressing-in of the surrounding fluid is not normally sensed by the creatures, since each is provided with a frame which equilibrates the  interior and the exterior of the organism at its normal depth.

*It is a dark place, and its opacity increases with the depths, none the less all the sentient creatures who dwell therein have some sensory apparatus which they feel gives them an perfect representation of reality.

*It is a place of constant flux.

Indeed, these things are as true of our own world as they are of the world of whales and fish.  We tend to overestimate the solidity of our own environment when we consider it otherwise than as the shallows of a planetary ocean.  Granted, at our lubberly depths the barometric pressure is less and the intensity of light is somewhat greater than in the submerged shelves, let alone the trenches.  These are things which science can measure.  However there is no meaningful measurement of “flux” if by that we mean change in a generic sense.   Until there is a storm we think of the air as empty space, and until there is an earthquake we are unimpressed by the slow drift of the continents.

Yet with the human race there is a further complication.  For we are not just ordinary fish, but amphibious hybrids composed of matter and spirit.  Thus we are doubly submerged, living not only beneath the currents of the sky, but also trapped inside a creature of our own making.  This latter is even less tangible than the air, since it is mental rather than physical.  There is no name for it, or rather, there are too many names, and each school of philosophy cleaves to its pet nomenclature.  We might call it civilization, or culture, or history, and while the old philosopher Ibn Rushid (a.k.a. “Averroes”) called it the world-soul, the more recent theologian Telliard du Chardan called it the “noosphere.”  I would like to call it the “Anthrosphere” but perhaps we should hew close to scripture and think of it as a great Leviathan in who’s belly we dwell, mistaking the phosphorous of its interior for the stars.  But they are not the true stars, even if fixed stars are only an idea…for the entire animal  is in constant motion.

I know this is a grim analogy, but there is worse to come.

The “Sauvants”

In Renard’s fiction these were the criminal fishermen of the air who fetched up terrestrial samples (animals, plants, minerals, and humans) into their floating continent.  Here science fiction and science fact part company.  Atheism declares that there is nothing but the void above us.  Revelation disagrees, without endorsing Renard’s fantasy.  How so?  According to Christianity we need not fear being “caught” by malevolent entities above our heads.  Rather, we were caught long ago, and not through some cruel accident but rather by entering into an agreement with our common ally against the Creator.  All of us since Adam have been born into the belly of the Leviathan!

Rather, it is our Heavenly Father who deigns to fish us out of our delusional heaven, out from the bottom of our invisible ocean.  Moreover, this invisible ocean from which we must be liberated is not so much the physical atmosphere as the mental “anthrosphere”…our perverse insistence that we are the masters of reality dwelling on an illuminated summit.  This hubris is made even more pathetic by a fallen humanity’s tacit cooperation with equally or more fallen spirits.   Here again, the actual situation is worse than that confronting Renard’s horrified Frenchmen and Frenchwomen in the (fictional) year 1911.  At least the “sauvants” were corporal in a bizarre fashion, but the spirits are not just external threats.  They are potentially internal, and far from being recognized as threats, are either ignored or welcomed.

In reality, the danger is not that we will be “snatched up” like the protagonists of Renard’s fantasy.  On the contrary, the danger is that in our fallen state we see no necessity of being “snatched up.”  Fallen man and fallen woman are happy dwellers on the bottom of this thin blue sea that we call a world.  Habituated to flux and the companionship of delinquent spirits, the thought of a heavenly firmament afflicts such creatures with vertigo.  Their perversity will not admit a cosmology where Heaven is more substantial than Earth, they conceive what is above as vapid and trailing out into a void.  Thus they cling to the ocean floor like snails, like shellfish.

Yet there are others who feel out of place in this invisible abyss.  The pressure of the waters is palpable to them, and at last becomes insufferable.  They seek out the mercy of the Compassionate Fisherman and suffer themselves to be entangled in His net.  They perceive that their fellows are in great danger, but stumble when they try to speak of a place beyond the surface of the sea, indeed, a place beyond the allegory of surfaces and substances.  They view with apprehension how those habituated to the bottom have become at home in their shells.   Indeed, like snails.

Perchance, escargot!

 

 

Posted in Art, Christianity, Fiction, Novels, Philosophy, Theology, Traditionalism | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment »