timeimmortal

Well, I have to say that this was one of the best episodes of the current season of Battlestar Galactica to date, and certainly one of the better ones in the whole series. Not only did it take a very reasonable look at the twin concepts of death and dying, but it did so in a way that certainly hammers home just how much of a departure the show’s themes are from what could be called the “traditional” treatment of Religion in science fiction. And unlike Babylon 5, in BSG it seems to be the case, more and more, that God is real and, what is more, that He is actively involved in the Universe.

Barb Nicolosi has an excellent analysis of this and a few other themes, and I will probably borrow some of the structure of her post in my own reflections.

> Theology

I think it’s clear that the producers and writers of Battlestar are attempting to communicate the reality of God within the show; He exists and, what is more, is very personal and present. The theme of “I am with you” resonates throughout the show, with the line being uttered by several different characters (always in relation to death, and in particular in relation to consolation in times of suffering and fear of what lies “beyond”). The experience of God’s “I am with you” is described (by Nana Visitor, who turns in one heck of a guest performance) as being accompanied by a sense of being warm and safe. That same sense resonates at the end of the episode when Samuel Anders consoles the dying Number Eight, and then with the same words.

This also speaks to the agentic actions of God in the series; not only does he address people directly, as in the case of Emily Kowalski, but He speaks through other people (as in the case of Anders). Of course, God’s speaking through other characters had been alluded to in previous episodes, in reference to the Cylon Hybrids, and it serves to note that once again a basestar’s Hybrid serves in a prophetic role. More on that later.

Also, I can’t help but observe that this is another instance in the series in which impending death and the passage between death and life has been abstracted with imagery involving water. In Faith, the imagery involves a ship crossing a river, where lost loved ones await the arrival of the recently deceased with open arms in an air of joy and celebration. (Grace noted that she’d heard a similar analogy of the passage between life and death from a priest at her church in Vermilion.) In Resurrection Ship, Part II, when Lee Adama is slowly dying of oxygen deprivation in the cold of space, the imagery invovles him at first floating, and then slowly sinking, into a dark abyss of water.

And I think that these scenes not only communicate the reality of God and His actions in the Universe in BSG, but also the realities of heaven and hell. One observes that William Adama is an atheist, and certainly Lee Adama has shown no religious sentiments in any episode of the series so far (and in fact, it could be argued that the way in which he discusses sacramentality with Starbuck in this episode demonstrates an “outside looking in” perspective).

The connection is tenuous, I realize, but the sense that one comes away with is that there is a connection between these different bits of visual imagery that relates to the people having them. For the secular Lee, the passage across the water is despairing and doomed. For the religious Emily, it is a time of joy and hopefulness.

At any rate, the existence of both a personal and present God and an afterlife is quite clearly communicated. There is a supernatural dimension to the Universe in BSG, and what is perhaps most impressive about it is that it is being demonstrated, more and more, in such a way that shows that the existence of the supernatural is an idea which is compatible with empirical realities, albeit in ways that at times require understanding things in ways that could be termed “outside the box.”

> Prophecy and Kara Thrace’s destiny

“The destiny” is back with a vengeance in this episode, especially with the Hybrid’s prophecy as she is being disconnected: “Thus will it come to pass. A dying leader will know the truth of the Opera House. The missing Three will give you the Five who come from the home of the Thirteenth. You are the harbinger of death, Kara Thrace. You will lead them all to their end. End of Line.”

The prophecy would seem to start out by referring to Laura Roslin, who has made forays into the Opera House before. In light of Roslin’s experiences with Emily Kowalski in this episode, the “truth” of the Opera House could possibly refer to a future repudiation of the Colonial religion by Roslin (which would mean the claims of Gaius Baltar’s “Head Six” back on Kobol, in which she claimed that the Colonial Scriptures are lies, fabricated to cover up the reality of life on Kobol, which included ritual human sacrifice).

Alternatively, it could mean that Roslin will be the one to whom the identity of the fifth Cylon is first revealed.
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BeliefNet has an interview with Ron Moore, the mastermind behind the new iteration of Battlestar Galactica that I have been watching with avid interest. The topic of discussion is the Theology of the show, which is both a timely topic (given the intensifying religious debate that is shaping up as the show continues through its fourth, and last, broadcast season) and also a necessary discussion.

I’ve been trying to ferret out, for months, exactly where Moore is attempting to take the religion in the show, but one consistent thought I’ve had in all that time is that I really do want to applaud how he has handled the issue in its entirety. Outside of Babylon 5, very few science fiction series have ever really handled the issue of religion in any serious fashion (Deep Space Nine, which Moore also worked on, is the one exception I can think of), and indeed too much of science fiction seems predicated on the assumption that religion will go the way of the dodo by the time humanity well and truly takes to the stars.

I guess that’s why it’s called “fiction,” but still.

Some viewers say the show stereotypes fundamentalist Christians as kind of robotic, while others are saying, “This is great…pagans are finally the good guys!”

The parallels between the Cylon beliefs and fundamentalist Christian beliefs, yeah, there are certain aspects of it there, but there’s also the roots of the drama, also contains things such as Al Qaeda’s use of its religious practice to justify what it does. That’s part of who the Cylons are too, they aren’t just really stalking horses for fundamentalist Christianity.

There also seem to be elements of Eastern religions in the show with Leoben Conoy, another Cylon, talking about consciousness and reincarnation. Does each of the different models of Cylons represent a different religious point of view?

I think that’s true. Part of the idea of Leobon was to separate it from easy stereotypes of Christian beliefs. There wasn’t really a hierarchical church, there wasn’t an easy notion of Heaven and Hell. Leoben was starting to talk about things that were more Buddhist — consciousness, Enlightenment and reincarnation. I thought it was interesting to marry those notions to the idea of one deity.

As to Moore’s own religious views:

Do your own religious views shape the story lines?

I’m an Irish Catholic, not practicing. It probably just reflects my interest in my movement from Catholicism to atheism to agnosticism to interest in Eastern religions. I think the show is a reflection of my acknowledgement that faith and Religion are a part of the human experience, even if I’m not quite clear on exactly what it all means and what I truly believe. The most direct reflection of me in the show is this idea that when the Cylons became self-aware, when they became sentient, when they became people, they began to ask themselves the existential questions: “Why am I here? What is this all about? Is this all that I am? Is there something more?”

My view is that that’s fundamental to a thinking person. And that inevitably leads you to questions of faith and religion and “what will happen to me when I die?”

…

There’s been a lot of chatter on the message boards about the spiritual character of the show, with many people saying they enjoy it.

It’s fun to do a science-fiction series that isn’t just dealing with secular matters. I’m really glad people are responding to it.

I might not agree with Ron Moore’s personal religious convictions, but I applaud him heartily for putting things in this way. The show sets up very nicely many religious discussions, and even in the last couple of episodes there is a great example that one could draw upon.

In looking at Gaius Baltar’s newfound zeal for preaching monotheism amongst the Colonial population, one can draw certain parallels between that monotheism and Christianity. And yet, at the core of the monotheistic sentiments is a doctrine which is actually a logical inversion of Christianity. For whereas Baltar teaches that…

God only loves that which is perfect and he loves you. He loves you because you are perfect. You are perfect. Just as you are.

…Christianity teaches that God loves us in spite of our imperfections, that God — through Jesus — perfects that which he loves.

Things like this motivate a lot of thought, I find, and I think that’s something to be applauded in a television show, especially a science fiction show. Religion is an inescapable part of the human condition, and always has been; it is folly to think, like Gene Roddenberry did, that religion will disappear in due time. It won’t, and more importantly will continue to serve as an impetus for human action and reason for all ages yet to come.

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I was reading something that Babylon 5 creator Joseph Michael Straczynski said in regard to forgiveness. He was talking, specifically, about an episode of the series that dealt directly with the Catholic concept of atonement, and with forgiveness, and was commenting on how he had enjoyed writing something that he, himself, was so very much at odds with.

His being an atheist, Straczynski explains, means that he cannot believe in forgiveness, and cannot offer it.

And I have lost people. Too many people. Lost them to chance, violence, brutality beyond belief; I’ve seen all the senseless, ignoble acts of “God’s noblest creature.” And I am incapable of forgiving. My feelings are with G’Kar, hand sliced open, saying of the drops of blood flowing from that open wound, “How do you apologize to them?” “I can’t.” “Then I cannot forgive.”

As an atheist, I believe that all life is unspeakably precious, because it’s only here for a brief moment, a flare against the dark, and then it’s gone forever. No afterlives, no second chances, no backsies. So there can be nothing crueler than the abuse, destruction or wanton taking of a life. It is a crime no less than burning the Mona Lisa, for there is always just one of each.

So I cannot forgive. Which makes the notion of writing a character who CAN forgive momentarily attractive…because it allows me to explore in great detail something of which I am utterly incapable. I cannot fly, so I would write of birds and starships and kites; I cannot play an instrument, so I would write of composers and dancers; and I cannot forgive, so I would write of priests and monks and Minbari….

I read this yesterday, and it instantly drew to mind a previous response I had given to Nicholas, who had asked for examples of “sanctifying grace” that could not be explained away by attribution to natural causes. Leaving aside the fallacy inherent in the question, my answer, now as it was then, is that the act of forgiveness is an example of manifest grace that cannot logically be attributed to natural phenomena.

I would posit that the act of genuine forgiveness — and its being regarded as a good thing — cannot always be attributed to natural causes, for the simple reason that forgiveness in its most genuine form does not involve “forgive, but do not forget.” It is more complete than that, requiring us to both grant that we absolve the person who has wronged us and that we will not in any way hold it against them; in any future dealings with them, we will not anticipate the possibility of a repeated transgression.

I think the reasons this is counter-intuitive to nature should be obvious: the instinct to survive should motivate a person to either never forgive a transgression or to forgive the transgression but to treat the transgressor with hesitance in any future encounters.

And indeed, I can observe in my own life that there does seem to be a spectrum at work in people; I’ve noticed, both in my own family and in my wider circle of friends and acquaintences, that the degree to which a person is secular correlates directly to the degree to which they are willing to offer forgiveness to others for wrongs done against them. Certainly, JMS (above) reflects this in his own views which, while incorrect, do have the virtue of consistency.

Complete forgiveness means allowing oneself to again become totally open, and thus vulnerable, to the other, and to a repeat offence. In a purely materialistic/naturalistic framework, since vulnerability is something most human beings naturally attempt to avoid displaying, forgiveness should be non-existent.

And yet, people offer forgiveness in this way quite often. Not always, of course, but often. And to do so, I think, puts a human being far outside of his or her nature. A nun, shot in the back, falls to the ground uttering her last words: “I forgive, I forgive.” A Pope makes a point of visiting in prison the man who attempted to murder him, and offers him his complete forgiveness. A man, nailed to a Cross, begs that the crowd of his murderers be forgiven, for they did not know then the full magnitude of their actions. That’s about as contrary to “natural causes” as one can get.

This was on display again recently, given evidence by Sister Marie Curran in her testimony against the young man who, three years earlier, shoved her to the ground and stole her purse.

Yes, it’s a small example, but the actions of the good nun are telling.

Sister Muriel Curran faced the man who shoved her to the ground and ripped away her purse three years ago. She quoted Scripture. She thanked him for the guilty plea that spared her a trial. And she asked a Baltimore County judge not to send him to prison.

“There is possibility and hope — I believe in it, it’s what I’m about — in rehabilitation and a future,” the 78-year-old nun said yesterday, explaining that she has difficulty believing in a penal system that sometimes leaves criminals worse off than before they went to prison. “I’ve taught too many boys in my life not to believe that growth and change can take place.”

Police officers waiting for other cases listened in astonishment.

The defendant’s aunt and grandmother wept openly. Even strangers sitting in the courtroom sat spellbound and dabbed at their eyes. The veteran prosecutor handling the case fought back tears and later characterized the scene as “the single most profound thing I have ever heard in a courtroom.” And the convicted robber, Charles R. Dodson, 22, hung his bald and tattooed head as he tearfully offered apologies and begged for the forgiveness that the nun had already granted.

Ommitted from the above are the details of the injuries suffered by Sister Curran: five ribs broken, torn rotator cuff, bruises to her face and arm, and a gash above her eye — one of her arms no longer has its full range of motion, and she cannot live alone. And yet, faced with the man who shoved her — then a 75-year old woman — to the ground and impacted her life thusly, she hurried only to offer her complete forgiveness. One is sure that, were she to meet Dobson in the future, she would not do so with any hesitance or reservation — her forgiveness of him was complete.

That is spectacularly contrary to nature.

And indeed, the good Sister attributed her actions solely to the Gospel:

Reading from a card, Sister Curran quoted a letter in the Bible from the Prophet Jeremiah: “For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare, not for woe! plans to give you a future full of hope.” Turning to face Dodson, she said, “That is my hope for you, Charles. I would like to give that to you.”

She reached out to hand him the card. She then extended her arm again. And although the sheriff’s deputies assigned to the county’s courtrooms usually prevent anyone other than defense attorneys from touching a defendant, no one interfered as the snowy-haired nun in the navy suit and white blouse shook the hand of the tattooed man in a dirty white T-shirt who had robbed her three years earlier.

As a living witness to the Gospel and to Jesus, one would strive mightily to do better than Sister Curran. Christ came to bring forgiveness from sin, and bade us all to forgive one another as well. It is ludicrously hard to live up to that ideal, in no small part because it contravenes the natural inclination of the human heart to do so. And yet, people do forgive.

And out of that forgiveness springs all manner of incredible results, results that in many respects defy explanation. Were atheists truly correct in their assertions of God’s non-existence, one would think that the act of offering forgivness wouldn’t have anywhere near the power it would. That it does have that power should, I think, tell us something profound.

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