[SB] Sabbath Blessing

[Molly Wolf]

Movie Review

We have, in town, a perfectly charming cinema, an odd duck of a place 
that charges about two-thirds of the normal ticket price. I've been 
to more movies since I moved here than I'd attended in the previous 
ten years, at least.

And so, when "The Golden Compass" opened yesterday, I thought "what 
the hey" and trundled off to see it. I'd heard about some of Philip 
Pullman's theological claims, but I like to keep an open mind. It's a 
struggle sometimes, I admit, but it's generally a good idea.

There were only two of us in the theatre (it's a small town, and it's 
winter). About half-way through the movie, I had a brief battle with 
myself. Did I stay for the whole thing, or did I fold up my buttered 
popcorn and go home? Not, I hasten to say, because I was upset or offended.

No: I was bored.

It was like being shown an absolutely brilliant bit of Victorian 
watchmaking. All exceptionally clever and beautifully done, but 
purely mechanical. To find it really appealing, you have to be into 
horology. And I am not.

The battle that the movie is fighting is not one in which I have an 
ox to be gored, because the premises for the warfare aren't ones to 
which I subscribe. It's a little like President Bush and Iran: you 
may believe that this is what the war's about, but that's not what I see.

One side, represented by Philip Pullman and Richard Dawkins and the 
like, condemns religion as thought-control and manipulation and 
dishonesty -- and I have to be fair and say that organized religion 
has, sadly, provided this group with a whole lot of ammo.

The other side, where I have the honour to be, isn't fighting that 
particular battle. We say that God *could* have done thought-control 
and chose not to, allowing us perfect freedom, with consequences 
sometimes highly painful for ourselves and God. Some elements of some 
organized religions try to protect us from those consequences by 
controlling belief and behaviour, usually with even worse 
consequences. (My particular corner of the Kingdom is not, in fact, 
into controlling belief, encouraging us instead to think for 
ourselves like crazy, even if it makes for quite heated debates at 
times.) If Pullman and Dawkins want to charge at that particular 
pattern, they have my fullest blessing.

But at the same time, I've known since I was a kid that there is a 
something else, and the absence of that something else was what left 
the movie feeling so empty and dull. Put idiotically, there is a 
shine on things. There is a gloss of joy and purposefulness to life, 
if you're willing to be open to that, as some people are and others aren't.

Those who aren't open to it look at those who are, and they see us as 
being self-deluded or just plain silly, just as those who are 
tone-deaf to music can't understand what the fuss is about. And those 
of us who *are* open to it can't always withstand the pressure to 
turn deaf; we can't explain what it is that we're alive to, and we 
can be, and have been, silenced by the pressure to conform. 
Especially when our own side is handing the ammo to those who are attacking us.

Isn't it odd? The pressure to conform to unbelief is exerted in 
self-imposed resistance to a "conformity" which is not of God's 
honest asking, but something we have, in our own failure, imposed on 
ourselves. Gnosticism continually climbs back onto its steed and 
charges off in search of a fight that it itself originated, rejecting 
a dualism it holds up as truth: that soul and body are separate 
things; that only the knowing can *know*.

I saw another movie in our charming, odd theatre last summer. It was 
at least as brilliantly presented as "The Golden Compass", and it was 
also about a battle over control and freedom, between conformity and 
the unconventional, with clear-cut villains and heros. But 
"Rataouille" was utterly delightful because it was full of joy, 
packed down and brimming over; it was about creativity and passion 
and excellence and delight. It was, in short, a movie about the shine 
on things.

Ultimately, I think the battle isn't about controlling thought, 
although both sides sometimes strive to do that, with unsatisfactory 
results. In first-world countries like the one I live in, there is 
little pressure to be religious; there can be quite heavy pressure to 
deny faith altogether. I know, because I've experienced that, as 
everything from chilly, gentle mockery to outright battle.

But for me, at least, it isn't really about belief, although belief 
is important in shaping how I make sense of experience. The nativity 
tells me that God dwells *in* this life, not detached from it. The 
resurrection tells me that ultimately, it does come round right, 
although not always on this side of death. God doesn't tell me what 
to do or how to behave; God holds out a model that, to me, makes 
sense, and to which I can shape my life in healing, important ways.

Which is more beautiful, ultimately? A golden compass, arcane and 
intricate and mechanically telling truth by unknown means, when asked 
appropriately by those in the know, or a small black cat, curled up 
in a patch of winter sun, his nose on his toes and his fur gleaming? 
The Golden Compass", he is an ordinary object. Next to him, "The 
Golden Compass" is a failure. One is alive; the other is not.

Oh -- I sat out the movie. Since there were only two of us in the 
theatre, I figured it would be too obvious if I left. The other 
customer didn't much like the movie either.