Time

I keep telling myself this. All things in the fullness of time.

And what comes of it, comes of it.

I'm getting a little sick of C.S. Lewis. I was reading through his science-fiction trilogy, 'Out of the Silent Planet', 'Perelandra', and 'That Hiddeous Strength.' But it got to be a bit much when the sacrifice of Ransom was equated to the passion of the Christ, when Destiny and the free will of Man to walk with God were made equivalent, and when the figure of the King was introduced to be basically omnipotent, omnibenevolent and all-accepting of the will of Maledil, that the death of races is truly only the beginning of creation.

I see what he's getting at, but was disappointed. I think it's better for an author to make his own arguments than to render his discussion and end point ambiguous by grafting it onto something as complex and infinitely re-interpretable as the Bible. He had already made it abudantly clear that the Lady was an analog of Eve, and that the whole point of Ransom's journey to Perelandra was to influence whether or not there was a second Fall. But rather than carving out his own interpretation of the causes and consequences of our flawed humanity, he dove straight into the depths of the Bible (to the point where I had to start looking up specific Biblical references to try to understand what he was getting at). Out of nowhere! All by introducing Evil as a direct, anthropormorphic entity who talked endlessly and had a penchant for disembowelling local fauna.

I still have the third book left, along with my copy of 'The Screwtape Letters,' but at this point, it's tempting to go off on a tangent and research the Children's Illustrated version of 'Thus Sprach Zarathustra,' instead. Nietzsche! You know, for kids! I'll admit, it's not originally my idea, and that it's not the most useful of exercises given how prone I am to falling into the trap of Existentialism. But just think about how awesome a children's illustrated primer to 'Zarathustra' would be. Imagine a toddler, sitting quiet in a chair with this book in his lap, not moving. He looks up at his mother, who has just walked into the room, and timidly asks, "Mother? What is touch?"