The Maze Runner

This past weekend, I finished reading The Maze Runner by James Dashner. Then my son, Luke, and I went to see the movie. As is so often the case, the book was far better than the film. We both agreed on that. Nevertheless, both were entertaining.

Whenever I read any fiction of watch any movie, TV show or even go to the theatre (rarely, sadly), I’m always on the lookout for connections between the story and the Story; themes which affirm that the one Story which is most profoundly true is still leaving echoes inside human beings, even broken ones. It seems that we simply cannot tell stories without reflecting in numerous ways the deeper reality of who we are, what we need, what we desire, what we long for, why we matter . . . I could go on. And every time I read stories, I’m reminded of how astonishingly vacuous, misguided, colourless and profoundly untrue is the Story given by our culture. I speak, of course, of secularism humanism. Materialism. Atheism. A story so unutterably awful and false, it deserves to be shamed every time it rears its ugly head.

Time plus Matter plus Chance is no Story to hang your hat on. It is devoid of Hope.

What are stories? They are the means by which we discover meaning. That verb I use advisedly. Discover. Filmmakers don’t necessarily think through the deeper themes of what they communicate. Sometimes they do – the Wachowski brothers, the Cohen brothers are exceptions, perhaps – but mostly, they unwittingly reveal Truth simply by reflecting on what makes humans tick, what drives us, what we desire, the forces with which we wrestle. The best ones know instinctively what makes a great story. They can recognize a great script and what is needed to turn it into a beautiful work of art.

And then, of course, there’s just old-fashioned entertainment. Make stuff blow up and male teens are hooked. Let’s call that our baser nature!

So, what connections, what cracked mirrors did I find in The Maze Runner? Here are a few:

Contains mild spoilers.

The boys are sent to a glade in the middle of a giant maze by people called Creators. Captivity is bad. They desire freedom.

The Creators, who have imprisoned them, are considered the enemy. A dystopian vision of the future is a very common theme nowadays.

The boys live in community, each one learning to do a job necessary for the survival of the group. They must work together to survive.

The boys who are sent to the Glade don’t know who they are. They can only remember their names. Loss of core identity causes great pain.

One boy, however, is different. He’s the main character called Thomas. He is a salvation figure, who goes through a process of self-discovery as his memory returns gradually. (Done well in the book, very badly in the film). He is opposed by a boy who’s angry, who blames him for their condition. Thomas has a real-life enemy who’s trying to obstruct him in his quest to save the group.

The boys have a clear purpose: to escape from the Maze. They discover a code – meaning – which helps them work out how to escape from the Maze. The Creators, they discover, have set them a test. Strength, perseverance, working as a team, bravery are the qualities needed to pass the test.

Yet . . .

Protecting the weak is good. In an agonizing scene near the end, our hero, who has led his people to freedom – echoes of the Exodus – is unable to save his friend. It’s a moving moment in the book. Less so in the film.

Not surprisingly, there is the inevitable scene in which one of the boys sacrifices himself to save another.

Drenched with pathos and heart-rending to watch – mirroring as it does the greatest act of love performed on earth – paying the ultimate price for the sake of another will always move an audience to tears.

Which is as it should be.

Purpose. Value. Meaning.

Stories don’t work without this Holy Triumvirate. Characters must have value or we won’t care what happens to them. They must have a clear purpose. They must have a challenge to overcome. Actions must mean something and that meaning is related to the first two, that humans are valuable and we’re here for a reason. It seems so blindingly obvious, you’re probably wondering why I’m writing it down.

Because we need reminding.

All stories contain themes, tarnished reflections of the True Story. That human beings really are valuable. Not just for the purpose of a story, but really, truly valuable. That humans really do have a purpose on this planet. That actions contain meaning. It matters what choices you make because there is order – a way things should be – to the universe and even in our brokenness, we are still able to perceive it, though dimly.

And that’s why Time plus Matter plus Chance is so unutterably awful. No value. No purpose. No meaning. No . . . the way things should be. And of course, no Hope.

And it’s why our Big Story is not just wonderful because it is true. It is wonderful because it makes sense of our stories and our lives. C.S. Lewis once wrote,

I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.

And every time I read a story or watch a movie, I see the shining lights of Value, Purpose and Meaning, telling me that I’m valuable; I have a purpose, my actions mean something.

Now which book shall I read next . . . ?

© Richard Collins 2014


Something rather than Nothing

From my last post, you may remember that I mentioned a series of Youtube videos called How (movie title) should have ended. I expressed my strong dislike for such videos. To be more precise, there is one in particular which I watched and from which I recoiled with horror. I’m the emotional type!

So, here’s why.

The Youtube video is called How Lord of the Rings should have ended. Just below the screen, the user has uploaded this strapline:

Gandalf forgot a very simple option when the fellowship decided to destroy the ring.

The video contains cheap animation and lasts just over two minutes. It has over 23 million views. The gist of it is this: While Sauron is distracted, Gandalf and the four hobbits are carried by a huge eagle to Mt. Doom. As they fly over, Frodo drops the ring into the lava which swirls deep in the mountain thereby destroying it. Sauron is defeated. As the ‘victors’ fly away, their dialogue goes like this:

-Well, that was incredibly easy.

-Yes, it was.

-Can you imagine what it would be like if we had walked the entire way?

-Ho ho, don’t be so ridiculous. (They all laugh)

One of the posted comments:

I always thought LOTR was padded. Three hours per movie? Why not just have Sam and Frodo FLY to Mt. Doom instead of walking the whole goddamn way?

So, what is so objectionable about this video? Isn’t it just a bit of fun? Well, of course it’s ‘just a bit of fun,’ but underneath, there’s a subtext which concerns me greatly.

If there’s struggle, if there’s pain, we don’t want it. Indeed, if it can be avoided, it should be.

You’ll notice, first of all, the use of the words ‘simple,’ and ‘easy’ in the Youtube users’ remarks. If an easier option is available, it must, by definition, be preferable. Why tramp over those jagged rocks, scale the mountain, do battle with Shelob . . . why have anything to do with Gollum if you can fly over the mountain and solve your problem in one easy move?

If you found that you didn’t have an immediate answer to this question, then well, I think that’s a problem.

The writer, Tim Keller, in his excellent book, Walking with God through Pain and Suffering, makes this superbly observed point: Modern secular humans lack any useful resources for coping with suffering.

Given the Story they propose, which ends with extinction, suffering is devoid of any kind of value or purpose. When you only have one life, suffering is always a hindrance, an obstruction to personal happiness. And personal happiness is the only goal worth pursuing. There is no silver lining, there is nothing to be gained from going through adversity. The tragedy is that Christians are deeply influenced by this aspect of our society’s zeitgeist. Indeed, when confronting the existence of evil and suffering, Christians are often left shrugging their shoulders, unable to offer any kind of meaningful answer. So, let’s address one of the most basic questions regarding human existence.

Why is there something rather than nothing?

Whoa, that came from out of left field (If you’re a UK reader, that’s a baseball reference!) Let me explain.

Make no mistake. All the evil in the world was foreseen by our Creator. I wonder if you’ve ever heard this one? The world isn’t as God intended. When Adam and Eve fell, the world stopped being the one that ‘God intended.’ Words are powerful things, aren’t they? They alter how you see the world. Think for a moment. What kind of God doesn’t always get what He wants, doesn’t get what he intended?

Let me be absolutely clear about this. The God of the Bible, the real God, the one who exists eternally and in glory, always, always gets what he wants. Always. God isn’t God unless his power is omni- and his knowledge is omni-. So yes, that means that the entire history of the universe is known to your Creator. And mine. All the good stuff and all the bad. Before it happens. That means that this world is the one which God planned from within his timeless existence (it’s okay, not even the brightest philosophers know how he does it either – you’re not alone!) And it means this is indeed the world which God ‘intended,’ if by ‘intended’ we mean the one which he foresaw and which he created. And of course, there is only one of those and you’re living in it.

In another post, I’ll address how his intentions can incorporate the Fall but right now, let’s apply this to the problem of suffering. If God knows that the Holocaust will take place, or the Hundred Years War or the 1918 Influenza pandemic, then why, oh why, did he choose to create in the first place? When he chose to write the Story, why didn’t he choose an easier option? Why didn’t Christ die a couple of weeks after Adam fell? Why go through this lengthy trawl through Israelite history (hiking up mountains and fighting huge spiders)? Why not sort things out nice and tidily at the beginning?

The first answer to this question comes from the book of Job. As you might imagine, this book informs a lot of my views on pain and suffering. In chapter 38, God finally gives his response to Job and his ‘friends.’ We’ve waited for 37 chapters, remember, and we sit with baited breath to hear what the Ultimate Authority will tell us. And his response is a description of divine power. What?!? Yup. I’m God and you are not. That just about sums it up. It’s beautifully written but that’s about it. I made a lot of stuff and . . . you haven’t.

But once you think a little deeper, you realize that God’s answer makes perfect sense. It’s more than an assertion of his power, a reminder that we are puny and he is our creator. It’s a category distinction and that’s immensely important. This particular category distinction makes all the difference. To tell a creature, ‘you wouldn’t understand’ or ‘you are not privy to such knowledge’ is one thing. But it’s so much more than that. Just read this verse:

Do you know the laws of the heavens?
Can you set up God’s dominion over the earth?

If you are not humbled by it, then . . . well, you should be. You ignorant modern man, who wishes for things to be made easy, who thinks that an ‘easier option’ is even available, who hasn’t bothered to think through the ramifications of your criticism, be still and listen to the One whose knowledge not only surpasses yours infinitely but whose knowledge is in a category which you don’t occupy, for it is Divine Knowledge and you are NOT divine.

Why is the problem of pain and suffering so hard to understand? Because we’re human. We’re not God.

Why is there something rather than nothing?

Because God deemed it right and good to create a world in which evil and suffering exist, because in his infinite wisdom, he is at work to achieve his purposes, which are right and good. If you think you know better, then you are simply asserting knowledge which you do not possess. And that’s ignorance; it’s not knowledge.

The second reason that I dislike those Youtube videos has to do with the issue of greater goods. Greater goods are the benefits which arise from struggle, pain, difficulty, suffering. Let’s summarize the unintentional wishes of our naïve Youtube friends.

Let’s get rid of the profound and deeply touching friendship forged between Frodo and Samwise Gamgee. Let’s eliminate the courage displayed repeatedly by both of these hobbits. Let’s do away with that perseverance which Sam displays when Frodo is unable to walk the final steps up Mt. Doom. Let’s cancel out the grace which pours out of Sam all the way there, when his friend, Frodo, believes Gollum instead of trusting his friend from childhood. Let’s get rid of all these benefits and while we’re at it, let’s delete the rest of the cast, whose friendships and courage and love and goodness shine like stars in the darkness.

In the face of greater goods, our response ‘suffering hurts so it must be stopped immediately’ surely appears misguided. And yet, when your child is suffering, ‘stop it now!’ seems the only natural response. We are too small, too inward-focused to appreciate what is taking place. We think we know better, when we are ignorant of our own ignorance.

In the New Testament, you’ll notice that there is a lot written about suffering. Peter, in particular, references the suffering of the saints a lot. Where does he write that they should pray for it all to go away? Nowhere. Greater goods are nowhere more in focus than in those numerous passages from Peter and Paul on perseverance and patience and most of all, trust in God.

God is far more interested in developing human beings who trust him than eliminating suffering at every turn. Indeed, perhaps heaven itself is not fit for beings who have avoided suffering at all costs. I believe that God’s development of virtue in the human being is one of his most important objectives in writing our Story. In LOTR, Samwise Gamgee reflects on the story of which he is a part and on stories in general:

It’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer.

What if the development of the soul – crafted in the crucible of pain and suffering – is essential to its ability to appreciate the wonders of heaven? What if souls thrill to the glory of God, seen most clearly in the crucified Christ . . . only when they have undergone a measure of deprivation and agony themselves?

Maybe when that new day comes, souls who have learned to trust, who have persevered, who have sacrificed, are the ones who possess perfected vision.

They are the ones who can truly see that the sun really does shine out the clearer.

© Richard Collins 2014


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