A New Power Has Arisen!

A few days ago I finished watching a television series entitled Kings.  It is essentially a retelling of the biblical tale of King David.  Although it isn’t too obvious with the show’s story arc, the first episode is as plain as can be.  David goes to war for his country against their southern enemy, and while on the front lines he destroys a tank . . . a Goliath . . . with a hand-made grenade.  In doing so, he rescues his king’s son and sets the path for future peace between the two nations.

The religious component of this show is blatant.  The ruling king, Silas, started as a soldier and rose to the top by way of powerful friends and a revelation, which in turn persuaded the people of the country, Gilboa, to follow him.  Once David gets the eye of the king, these miracles begin to happen to him.  The court minister revokes his blessing to Silas and instead supports David.  God ceases “talking” to Silas and begins to show light on David.  In other words . . . Silas is on his way out, and David is rising from being a mechanic-farmer-soldier to being a top aide to the king and country.

This storyline, while incredibly fascinating to me, also relates to my thesis for my website.  Science fiction authors utilize their own religious backgrounds to teach readers about religious dissonance and unity.

This story is “science fiction.”  There is no futuristic technology – hell, the queen looses her Blackberry in the third episode – or anything of the sort, but rather it is an “alternate universe.”  There is no map shown, but all of the countries mentioned are monarchies that were created fairly recently, out of ages-long political and social strife.

The creator of this show, Michael Green, obviously had some ulterior motive, possibly religiously-related, for writing the pilot.

What was it?

I believe that there were two reasons.  The first was “just for fun.”  He liked the story from the Old Testament, and imagined a modern way to incorporate the parables outlined in the Book of Samuel (Sefer Shmuel) and the Book of Chronicles (Divrei Hayyamim) (the two – or four – books concerning the life of King David (David HaMeleh)).

That is completely acceptable; many authors attempt this.  C.S. Lewis used the birth, death and re-birth of Jesus as his base for the Chronicles of Narnia.  Many other writers use the concept of a “chosen people” or “chosen one” to fill their books, such as Neo in The Matrix, Ender in Ender’s Game and even possibly Arthur Dent in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

The second plausible reason for Green to write the plot for Kings with a biblical slant is that he wanted to share his own belief with others, and figured that he might as well use talents he already held (screenwriting) and a medium through which hundreds and maybe thousands of citizens would witness his work (the screen).  That, too, is acceptable.  Is that not the basis for The Da Vinci Code?  Dan Brown was already a writer prior to his “Christianity-deciphering” best sellers (Digital Fortress, 1998 . . . Angels & Demons, 2000), so why not use every outlet he had to get his points across?

No matter how controversial each of the aforementioned authors is (well, except for Douglas Adams.  He's awesome.), every one of them teaches through their writings.  Green demonstrates that a solid belief in God (and, indeed, every citizen of Gilboa has – or had – staunch beliefs in God and their divine-right king) has the power to unite, but then also destroy, should the “God-spoken” have a change of heart or interpret signs to be against them.  Lewis writes about unity with Aslan the Lion and the Pevensie children overcoming the great evil that is the Ice Queen.  Brown, on the other hand, could be said to “separate” with his books. What is his true goal when he calls out the Catholic Church for “mistakes” long forgotten?

As a side note, I find it funny that two of the authors I am discussing here have colors for their last names.

In the end, religion has this power.  The power to create, the power to destroy.  The power to unite, the power to separate.  I believe, however, that the true meaning is in the eyes of the “beholder.”

I Say Tomato, You Say Pomidor . . . on the Moon

So, Professor Lloyd lent me a book last week, entitled "The Celestine Prophecy," by James Redfield.  I did start it over the weekend, but only really got into it . . . today.  From the two chapters that I have read, it is about a manuscript, the Manuscript, which was found in the Peruvian forests sometime in the latter half of the latter half (so, like the last quarter or so) of the Twentieth Century.  This Manuscript details nine principles of life that all humans will eventually obtain, in order, through intense psychological and spiritual "awakening."  Hm, sounds like my kinda deal!

There are, of course, some issues.  Not bad issues, just . . . issues.  The greatest one, perhaps, is that this document is written in Aramaic.  And found in Peru.  Huh.  Last I checked, the Incas didn't speak a lick of Semitic tongue.  This does follow, however the Mormon belief that a small band of Israelites found their way to the New World a long, long time ago and set up shop in the southern US.  It is possible, as most beliefs are, that during these proto-Jews' divine travels they wrote this epic essay, but Redfield doesn't give any explanation.

I like to think that there was an original language, a language that everybody spoke, or at least a lingua franca of Pangaea that stayed with humanity through the ages, until the introduction / evolution of the linguistic tree.  This is the thought of some historians of the Biblical ages, although not necessarily the consensus of some people of the past.  There is a common test that some kings and other elders have performed to try to determine the original language.  This test is quite easy . . . give a newborn to a couple of deaf-mutes, restrict verbal access to the child, and see what language they come out speaking in the end.  Herodotus, or Papa History, told a story that ancient (and Herodotus lived in the 5th century B.C.E., so that's pretty damn ancient) Pharaoh Psamtik once did this test, and the first words the child spoke were not dissimilar to Phrygian terminology.  The conclusion in this Egyptian court was that Phrygian was at least the "modern-day" form of the original language.  King James V of Scotland also tried this, some time later, and his conclusion was of Hebrew.  More recent trials, of King Frederick II and Emperor Akbar, had identical results to one-another.  The children didn't speak.  Wow, whodathunkit!?!? 

Now, at least the first two trials make sense.  Phrygian was the an elite language of its time, and Hebrew was a revered language later on, especially in the more-religious (Christian) areas of the world.

This does pose a question, possibly philosophical, in relation to science-fiction universes: how in the world can everybody on all 100 central planets speak the same language?  That has always proved difficulty for me.  No matter what galaxy you look at, it is generally the same concept (not so much for Star Trek, but the various planets weren't united yet).  In Firefly / Serenity, Star Wars, and even Ender's Game, everyone speaks the same language!  There are outliers, and thus the necessity for something akin to the Babel Fish (of Douglas Adams' lore), but it seems that there would have had to be an original language, if only for a specific galaxy.  In Ender's Game, for example, Earth was already united under the equivalent of the UN's flag, and English was the predominant dialogue for the citizens of this world.  Once we (humans) started populating the outer arms of the Milky Way (and beyond), English came with us, and because there weren't any linguistic aliens around yet, English stuck.  That is essentially the same story with Firefly / Serenity (Whedon).  The question I have with those universes is why was there no more evolution of English?  With so many planets, no matter how "flat" the universe can get, there must be some alteration of the language.  Not even English, which is so malleable that even the Germans managed to just mold it and not destroy it, can encompass all emotions, all expressions, all events.

 

Star Wars, on the other hand, is just way too complex to analyze.  Since we don't even have a back-story to the galaxy far, far away, we have no way in knowing how English, let alone humans, got to Coruscant or Tatooine or Naboo.  There are hints throughout the stories of humans being the "colonizers" or the "invaders," but no hint to where home base was.

I mentioned earlier that English cannot stand on its own attempting to describe certain aspects of life.  I firmly believe this.  I don't know much in too many languages, but I utilize what I do know to a great extent.  I say "Ciao" instead of "Goodbye," "Rega" instead of "Hold on," and "Oui" instead of "Yes."  If only a way to retain a minimal amount of what I learned last year abroad, exercising these words (Italian, Hebrew and French, respectively) and phrases (there are others)  helps me conquer this debate in my own mind better.

There are instances of a Common Language, a lingua franca of the Universe, but even then it is comprised of many other, pre-existing languages.  I hope to learn at least two more languages before exiting university; learning not fluently, but grasping the basics good enough to recognize it when it's spoken and to incorporate certain words and phrases into my every-day language.  It can be as odd as Yiddish, as popular as Chinese or as fictional as Elvish (Elvis-ish?  Uh-huh.), but I'm gonna learn it.  Language is such a divider, but it doesn't have to be.  Not every language can speak for itself, and must call upon its dictionary-brethren to help it out sometime.

Capisce?  Ani yodeah . . . esta muy dificil.

(Italian, Hebrew, Spanish)

Do you get it?  I know . . . it is very difficult.

The best we can to is try to understand each other.  In more ways than just the one.