127 Hours and Needing Help

The recent Danny Boyle film 127 Hours is not very good. Or, more accurately, there's not a lot to it.  In the film, James Franco plays Aron Ralston, a hiker who got his arm stuck under a rock while canyoneering in Utah in 2003. After the titular amount of time, Ralston amputated his arm with a generic Leatherman and walked to safety, having long since run out of food and water. Boyle does a good job ratcheting up the tension (despite everyone knowing exactly what's going to happen and when) but doesn't really give us anything beyond the guy-standing-next-to-a-rock narrative. Well, that's not quite true. He tries to give us more, but comes up short.

As he's running out of water and energy, Franco gets out his camcorder and records a good-bye to his parents and family. Then, as his delirium increases, he starts talking about other things in his life. One of the things he reminisces about is his tendency to tell no one his canyoneering plans, as the solitude adds to the adventure: he's more of a heroic character if there's no possibility of rescue. Boyle's mistake is introducing this potentially powerful idea more than halfway through the film.

As he faces his more and more imminent demise, Franco chastises himself about this sort of faux heroism and terminal self-reliance.After the auto-amputation, he walks out of the canyon and spots some other trekkers. Boyle shows everything out of focus, Franco unable to muster the strength to speak. Finally, he shouts, "Help me!" Then Boyle cuts into a crystal-clear close-up in which Franco exclaims,enunciating clearly, "I need help!"

This character arc (as poorly developed as it is in the film) is a distinctly Christian one. The Law, says Paul is Galatians 3, served as a "disciplinarian until Christ came." In other words, the Law functions to drive us to to Christ, to our need for a savior. That rock in the Utah canyon was Franco's "disciplinarian," driving him to acknowledge his need for a savior, driving him to his admission that he needs help.

Of course, now that Christ has come, Paul says that we are no longer under a disciplinarian. That's the Good News...that the boulders of our lives, the painful teachers, hold no more sway over us, and we are free.

Ozzie Guillén and the Worst Verse in the Bible

Ozzie Guillén is the manager of the Miami Marlins, one of several high profile Latin acquisitions the club made in an attempt to appeal to south Florida's large Latino population. The Marlins' overtures to this community even went so far as the opening of a new stadium in Miami's "Little Havana" neighborhood. After only five games in the dugout, though, Guillén, a famously controversial figure, has made the Marlins cringe in the worst possible way.

In a recent interview with Time magazine, Guillén apparently expressed his admiration for Fidel Castro. Google "Guillen Castro" for more stories on the subject than you can shake a stick at. Suffice it to say that this is a large problem for the Marlins, which exist in the midst of a city populated largely by Cuban refugees and their descendants. Guillén apologized in a press conference yesterday (4/10), blaming internal translation issues (he claims that he was thinking in Spanish and trying to speak in English, and didn't say what he really meant) for his blunder. The question now becomes, "Will the Miami community accept his apology?"

Yesterday on the Mike Lupica radio show, Don La Greca suggested that there are some people who won't forgive Guillén, whatever the quality of his apology. In other words, no amount of contrition will be enough. He likened the reluctance to forgive to the class of people who, no matter what, can't forgive Michael Vick for what he did to dogs. When I heard his comment, my first thought was, "How can you possibly compare one man's verbal support of an unpopular (albeit a really unpopular) politician to another man's murder of animals? One is just a spoken thought, while the other is a nefarious action!"

And then I remembered the worst verse in the Bible.

Matthew 5:22:  "But I say to you that every one who is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother shall be liable to the council, and whoever says, `You fool!' shall be liable to the hell of fire."

This worst verse in the Bible follows Jesus reminding the people of the law that they're more familiar with: "You have heard it said, 'Thou shalt not kill.'" The fact that a spoken thought, either "You fool!" or "I love Fidel Castro," carries the same punishment as an outward act is, as Keith Olbermann might say, the worst thing in the world. If you extrapolate a little further, and use Jesus' injunction against lust as an example, the thought alone is enough. This just could not be more crushing. It levels the playing field...totally. This is what prompts Paul to claim that no one is righteous...not even one. The fact that the bad news is so bad (Can you imagine? The audacity to require that our thoughts be pure and holy?) means that the Good News better be great. Luckily, it is:

One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at Jesus: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:39-43).

A Savior Who Descends: The Gospel and The Time Machine

In George Pal's 1960 classic The Time Machine, H.G. Wells (Rod Taylor) invents the titular contraption and travels thousands of years into the future.  There, he does not find the Utopian society that he wished for, but a sharply divided "human race," which has evolved into, on the one hand, vicious, subterranean Morlocks, and, on the other, peaceful, laissez-faire Eloi.  Before Wells (known as "George" in the film...that's, apparently, what the "G" stands for...) knows about the Morlocks, though, he interacts only with the Eloi.  He finds their life idyllic, if dull.  On occasion, though, a great horn sounds, and the Eloi turn into strange automatons, marching mindlessly into caverns in the Earth.  We find out later that they are marching into the clutches of the Morlocks, and to their death.  Nothing George can do, no shouting, shaking, or pleading, can break the Eloi out of their trance.

Christians go into a similar trance when they hear the announcement of the Law.  "Love your neighbor."  "Give to the poor."  "Honor your father and mother."  We think to ourselves that these things are right and good, and that we will obey.  And so, we begin our march.  We think that to march is obedience, and that righteousness and success live at the end.  We cannot be shaken out of this belief.  But, like the Eloi, our march leads only to death.

St. Paul says that he was once alive apart from the law, but that once "the commandment came, sin sprang to life and I died" (Romans 7:9).  The problem is that we can never know when we have loved our neighbors enough, or given enough to the poor, or honored our fathers and mothers enough.  The Law, the requirement, the superego, can never be satisfied.  Thus, the march can only end in death.

George must descend into the lair of the Morlocks to save the Eloi.  It's the only way.  Paul cried out for a savior from "this body of death" (Rom 7:24) and if the Eloi were capable, they'd do the same.  They are in a trance, though, convinced, like us, that the obedient march is the way to salvation.  But a savior must come from outside, someone immune to the siren song of the Law.  So it is:  "For our sake He made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Cor. 5:21).  The Law leads only to death, but it is only from death that we can be resurrected to new life.

Adjusting to Free Will: Thoughts on The Adjustment Bureau

The preview for The Adjustment Bureau was a provacative one.  Or, it was a provacative preview if you are suspicious about the existence of "free will."  The trailer simply assumes that everyone believes in free will and that an organization (like, say, an Adjustment Bureau) that would try to curtail it would be the embodiment of evil.  After all, isn't our free will what makes us...well, us?

In the film, Matt Damon plays a congressman who accidentally sees "behind the curtain," and is made aware of a team of agents whose job it is to keep human beings "on plan."  A plan has been written by "The Chairman" and is unquestioned by his minions in fedoras.  Well, except by enlightened Anthony Mackie, who eventually helps Damon get the better of the whole Bureau and forces The Chairman to change his/her plan.

In the below scene, the always wonderful Terence Stamp responds to Damon's question about "free will:"

Now, don't get too bogged down in Stamp's historical games here.  I'm only really interested in his last sentence, because it strikes me as profoundly true.  "You don't have free will.  You have the illusion of free will."  In fact, just after this clip, Damon protests that he makes thousands of decisions every day, about clothes, coffee, etc.  Stamp suggests that he has free will in the unimportant things but lacks it in the vital things of life.  This sentiment is echoed by Martin Luther, who suggested that we have free will in "things below us" (e.g. what to eat for lunch, who to ask to the prom) but lack it in "things above us" (e.g. being in a right relationship with God).  The movie, though giving Stamp its best speech, comes down on the side of free will. the Bureau can only attempt to keep people "on plan."  They have some limited supernatural powers, but are ultimately hamstrung by the will of their charges.

Funnily enough, though, the most persuasive argument in the film is in an early scene, and it argues against the film's point, and even against Stamp's.  If Luther (and Stamp) said that we have free will in the things below us but not in the things above us, what are we to make of this?

Now, in the film, this scene is used to illustrate Matt Damon's decision not to be bound by market research anymore, i.e. to make use of his free will.  But aren't we all bound by the sort of forces he mentions in his speech?  We want to be perceived in a certain way, and so dress accordingly.  Even those among us (hippies, punks, goths, etc) who claim to be rebelling against "society's rules" find themselves constrained to think, act, and dress a certain way.  I submit that the evidence of our lives suggests that we don't even have free will in those things "below" us.  We imagine that our choices of clothing, coffee, and career are free.  But think about all the sources (parents, society, friends, goals, etc) of pressure that push us one way or another.  Suddenly, our "freedom" begins to reveal what it actually is: an illusion.

The final nail in The Adjustment Bureau's coffin is an ironic one.  It is his love for Emily Blunt that compels Damon to continue bucking the Bureau and attempting to make his own way.  The Bureau keeps trying to bump him back on plan, and the reason he's so resistant is that he wants to be with Blunt.  But he hasn't made a rational free will decision to desire Blunt!  No one does!  We call it "falling" in love for a reason!  It happens to us; it's not chosen by us.  And thank goodness it does.  As Terrence Stamp's speech illustrates, our track record of rational decision-making isn't great.  Perhaps the illusion of free will is preferable to the real thing after all.

When is a Three Point Shot a Declaration of Independence?

Only one game after controversially benching Kobe Bryant during a key fourth-quarter stretch, Lakers head coach Mike Brown felt forced to do something similar with All-Star center Andrew Bynum on Tuesday.  Bynum, a seven-footer who has taken eight three-pointers in his entire NBA career, took an ill-advised (and let’s be honest…all Bynum outside shots are ill-advised) three point shot during the Lakers 104-101 win over the Golden State Warriors.  It barely touched the rim, missing by a mile.  Incensed, Brown immediately called Bynum to the bench and put in a substitute.  Bynum did go back into the game after a stretch, but the benching was clearly punishment for a shot the sanity of which the play-by-play announcers questioned during its flight.  So far, this is uninteresting.  Anyone who’s ever played basketball has probably been pulled out of a game by a frustrated coach, and moreover, everyone who’s ever played basketball has probably, at one point or another, deserved it.  It’s what Bynum said to reporters after the game that has raised eyebrows.

“I don’t know what was bench-worthy about the shot, to be honest with you,” said the Lakers’ big man. ”I made one [Sunday], and I wanted to make another one. That’s it. I guess he took offense to it, so he put me on the bench.”

“I’m good,” Bynum said. ”I guess it’s ‘Don’t take threes’ is the message, but I’m going to take another one and I’m going to take some more, so I just hope it’s not the same result. Hopefully, I make it.”

So there you have it: message received, and message ignored.  People think that punishment will correct behavior.  Andrew Bynum’s postgame comments illustrate a competing (though more accurate) truth: punishment incites rebellion.  The law (e.g. don’t shoot three-pointers if you don’t have a reasonable expectation of making them) asks for a certain behavior.  Bynum got it right: Don’t take threes.  When it doesn’t get what it’s looking for, the law inflicts punishment, hoping that a program of reeducation will produce better results the next time.  Unfortunately, as Christian theologians have always noted, the law is much better at asking for a result than it is at achieving it.

Martin Luther likened the relationship of the law to results to a lion held down by steel bands.  The lion fights against the bands…and the tighter the bands become, the more viciously the lion fights.  We fear freeing the lion because of the ferocity with which it strains, forgetting that all the while the lion is fighting the bands, not us.  Released, the lion has nothing to struggle against, and will likely cease its struggling.

In the world of competitive basketball, of course, sitting a player on the bench for long enough may well break him of a bad habit.  But so far, it’s having the reverse effect.  Bynum is planning on launching more shots from long range, not fewer.  As our view lengthens, though, and our scope expands, we might well note that even if Bynum is eventually benched enough to force him to stop shooting threes, won’t he consider his coach a ruthless tyrant and undermine him in other ways?  Won’t he be much more likely to find another team in free agency (or at least threaten to do so unless Brown is fired)?  Is the tightening of the bands on Andrew Bynum (though it might work on the surface) worth the damage it will surely cause to his fragile (i.e human) psyche?  Aren’t we all happier free, and isn’t it true that grace (e.g. the freedom to shoot) can provide the space to realize what it is we’re really good at, and allow us to settle into the behavior, by choice, that the law was asking for in the first place?

Don't Poke the Bear: The Law of Chastising Boo-Birds

Monday night was "Chris Mullin Night" at the Golden State Warriors/Minnesota Timberwolves game. Mullin, the most popular Warrior ever, had his jersey retired before the game. These sorts of ceremonies are invariably feel-good affairs for fans, and it was going just as expected on Monday night. Then Warriors owner Joe Lacob took the mircophone and things got ugly.

Bill Simmons wrote a scathing article yesterday (3/21/11) on Grantland.com about the sixty ways that the Warriors franchise has antagonized its fans (through bad drafting, terrible trades, and horrific luck) since it last won a championship in 1975. Lacob, though (it should be noted in his defense), is a new owner and not responsible for the bulk of the Warriors woes. However, what he is responsible for is trading Ekpe Udoh and Monta Ellis to the Milwaukee Bucks for Andrew Bogut and (via a second trade with the San Antonio Spurs) Richard Jefferson. In short, after decades of losing, Lacob apparently gave up on this season by trading an up-and-coming talent (Udoh) and one of the most exciting scorers in the NBA (Ellis) for a currently injured-for-the-season big man (Bogut) and an uninspiring small forward with an albatross of a contract (Jefferson). So when Lacob took the mic, the fans let him have it.

Mullin gets cheered, as you can see, as he walks out. His cheers fade as he attempts to defend Lacob. As Mullin retreats, Hall-of-Famer and greatest-Warrior-ever Rick Barry grabs the microphone and tries a different tack. He doesn't defend Lacob, he chastises the fans. And that's when the interesting thing happens. The boos reach their zenith as Barry exhorts the fans to have some class.

The biblical explanation of this phenomenon comes from St. Paul, who says both that when he didn't know what coveting was, the law of "thou shalt not covet" came in and awoke in him "all sorts of covetousness" (Rom 7:7-8) and that the law was brought in so that the trespass might increase (Rom 5:20). It is fashionable to think that if you can open someone's eyes (educate them) to their "sin" (or, for instance, their classlessness) they'll realize that they should stop. The Golden State fans illustrate, as Paul supposed, that, in fact, the opposite is often true: chastisement increases sin!

The old sayings stick around because they're true: There's no quicker way to get a kid to stick their hand in the cookie jar than to forbid them, and, apparently, there's no easier way to get a booing crowd to boo harder than to call them out on their classlessness and demand that they stop. 

Hit 'Em For Money, Hurt 'Em For A Little More

The recent revelations about the New Orleans Saints' "bounty" program have rocked the talking-head world at ESPN. The Saints, apparently,  had a program, administered by defensive coordinator Gregg Williams (who ran similar programs at previous teams), wherein players received cash bonuses for inflicting injuries on opposing players. For instance, knocking a quarterback out of the game might get you $10,000, and getting him carted off on a stretcher might earn you $20,000. No one seems to be particularly surprised that this kind of thing was going on; many have suggested that this occurs on every team, and that the Saints mistake was writing it all down and keeping track.

I don't want to get into the morality of paying players to intentionally injure other players, although I will say that it seems an awful lot like criminal activity (aggravated assault) to me. When Tonya Harding paid her boyfriend to take out Nancy Kerrigan, people went to prison. It has been notoriously difficult to prove "intent" on the athletic field, but with documented records of who got what for hurting whom, intent seems a bit easier to prove. Alternatively, I want to use these revelations (and especially the response of several former players) as an opportunity to talk about a theological idea: casuistry.

Over the last couple of days, I've heard both Mike Golic and Marcellus Wiley (former players) say that everyone is overreacting to this story. They say that they "went after the quarterback" as hard as they could on every play, and couldn't have done more if they'd been paid to. Their argument was, in effect, that the devastation of a hit would be the same, whatever the motivation of the player delivering it. Put another way, they said something like: "Football is a violent game, and people are going to get hurt playing it. We all know that going in. Paying people a little extra to put a little extra on some hits isn't going to change anything."

Casuistry might well be defined as "an attempt, via nit-picking, to appear to obey a rule whilst breaking it." It seems that it would be clear to the most uneducated observer that while a player might not be able to hit a quarterback harder  to earn their little bonus, they might well be able to hit them in the knee or in the head. And since when is "I play a game that is inherently violent" an acceptable excuse for attempting to injure another person? The best example of casuistry of all time is this 2005 story in The Telegraph, the first line of which is, "Machines will perform euthanasia on terminally ill patients in Israel under legislation devised not to offend Jewish law, which forbids people taking human life." Yowza.

As humans, we answer "thou shalt not kill" with "I'm not killing. This machine that I invented, put in place, and turned on is!" Apparently, as football players, we turn "don't intentionally injure another person" into "don't intentionally injure another person unless they signed up to play a game in which they might get injured anyway." Casuistry is the human occupation. It's what we must do when faced with a rule that we cannot follow. We mold the rule to fit our behavior, because we find that we cannot improve our behavior to match the requirement of the rule. When Jesus gives us the ultimate rule, that to be in a relationship with God, we must be as perfect as He is (Matthew 5:48), we turn to casuistry for an escape hatch. Usually, though, we're caught out, and look, like these former NFLers, pretty ridiculous.