Book Journal 2023: Flood and Fury: Old Testament Violence and The Shalom of God
Author: Matthew Lynch

The tagline on the back cover poses the question “what do we do with a God who enacts and condones violence”. Narrowing in on two of the most essential narratives in the Bible associated with violence- the flood story and the Canannite conquest- he works to transform that question into one more in tune with how scripture itself functions as both a sacred and literary work. If the above question is relevant to many of us today attempting to engage this work as a cross cultural movement into an unfamiliar language and worldview, learning the questions the authors and readers of scripture were asking in their world can be helpful in navigating the “challenge of violence in scripture”.

There is a good deal in Lynch’s analysis of these two central narratives that was familiar to me in terms of approach and information, albeit being one of the most concise and accessible treatments of these approaches and ideas that I have come across in a good while. And then there were some wonderful surprises. Some truly paradigm shifting surprises that left me wishing I could put this in the hands of as many people as possible. This was especially true when it came to the conquest narratives. I’ve spent a whole lot less time there than I have with the flood narrative, so that’s where I was most fully engaged.

A quick and cursory summation: central to his claims about these texts is the basic concession that part of the challenge of engaging the text is the existence of contrasting views inherent within the text operating in dialogue. This is of course the result of differing points of perspective being contained and retained and preserved with intention on the part of the Biblical editors. One of the central concerns that emerges from this process is, if God indeed spoke into and acted within history, how does this shape, and indeed reshape their understanding of their present circumstance when it comes to knowing who God is by the way God acts in and for the world.

This becomes especially complex once we begin to contrast shifting points in Israel’s own formation, locating within their story majority-minority points of view. This becomes a stepping point for navigating an important facet of scripture for us reading from our own vantage point as foreigners “into” the culture and language of their day; the role of internal critique. This becomes hugely important for engaging scripture from the outside looking in, as so often the tendency is to assume our role as judge and jury of the other, and such an act of othering, of which assumptions of our being “more” evolved and civilized and them more archaic belongs, is the best way for us to ensure that we miss and misappropriate what the text is doing in its world. A crucial point of perspective is to remember the movement present in the biblical narrative- enslavement, liberation, exile- and to understand that someone looking at this story from the point of exile is to going to be asking particular questions that a liberated or enslaved peope are not. When it comes to being good readers of scripture, and when it comes to learning how to allow these stories to shape us from our present vantage point this side of Jesus’ resurrection, we have to allow these different realities to exist in conversation.

One example when it comes to being good readers of Joshua. Noting how it speaks from the perspective of having arrived in the land and having been unsettled from the land, and how this perspective writes, using an intentional literary design, the “conquest” story in the light of the Exodus narrative, can help bind us to the bigger picture of a people contending with both promise and failure. This only becomes more apparent when connecting the conquest with the flood narrative, illuminating how it was that the ancient readers and authors saw a world to be in contention with the enslaving “spiritual powers”. This plays the connection between Joshua and the Exodus in direct relationship to the true conflict. It also gives us a way of teasing out how it is that we make sense of seeming points of contention when it comes to violent acts commanded by and attributed to the hand of God and a voice that witnesses to the character of God pointing to a different and opposing way of acting in and for the world, including the Canannites. If God did indeed speak into and act within the world in a revelatory fashion (as their convictions held to be), the question that follows, in line with the flood story (itself connecting us back to Geneis 1-5), is how does this character shape the way we live together in our present context. This is what we find in careful readings of the ever changing rules that follow an established people being prepared to take residence in the land within a world filled with violence. As readers of scripture it might feel puzzling at first glance to imagine a seemingly violent text being opposed to such violence, and yet as careful readers such a vision can come alive in transformative ways when we become attune to the larger narrative at play. Not least of which is reckoning the “”liturgical” presence of Joshua, a liturgy bent not on the story of displacing a people but in displacing the idols that hold the world in the grip of violence. Joshua on this front becomes a story of the completed Exodus, one that leads straight into the reality of exile on the basis of these same idols shadowing the greater vision of a liberated creation. Which of course leads to a new Joshua (Jesus), which careful readers can note is told through a Gospel story patterned after the Exodus and the Exile, the very thing that translates it as a “new covenant” story. A completion of both stories brought up together in God’s liberating work for the whole of creation.

A brilliant book, which blends important scholarly interest with pastoral intent. Especially formative for those who struggle to reconcile the sacredness of scripture with pertinent and important questions about the problem of its seeming violent depiction of God. It appeals to a narrative approach mixed with literary and historical criticism, but in a way that upholds the central conviction in the revelatory act of God in and for the world. It holds scripture as sacred, and is intently interested in the question of who God is based on how God acts in and for the world. The character of God should be at the forefront of the narrative, and when we allow the text to speak on its own terms it should draw us closer to knowledge of who this God is. Books like this are an extremely helpful resource then for learning how to become better readers and more faithful adherents to the story contained within in.

Film Journal 2023: Godless: The Eastfield Exorcism
Directed by Nick Kozakis

A gut punch. Not something I expected from an exorcism film that, for all appearances, seems like your run of the mill genre film.

I don’t know how it was pulled off, but the way the Director tows the line between retaining a respect for religion and faith while digging deep into the potential of its abuses was quite profound. This will leave you unsettled, uncertain, angry. All sorts of emotions.

Equally impressive how it uses elements of the genre, employing many of the classic staples of horror to evoke scares and an entertaining ride, to bring out something so rooted in the real, earthy nature of its context.

This would make a fascinating double feature with the Pope’s Exorcist, or even the Exoricsm of Emily Rose. So much potential for discussion. And I say that as someone of faith. This is the sort of dialogue that faith needs.

Film Journal 2023: Somewhere In Queens
Directed by Ray Romano


It’s not unusual to talk about right time, right place when it comes to viewing film. This is the subjective side of film critique, and I think its fair to say this carries more weight than any objective measure. True objectivity is, after all, something of a fallacy, and most objective critique remains in the realm of social construct.

If it’s true, and time and place can play a central role in informing a given experience with film, the fact that the ending to Romano’s directorial debut hit me like a ton of bricks probably reveals more about my life in this present moment than it does about the film itself. I needed to hear its affirming message,

The film certainly earns the emotional beats however, soaked as it is in Romanos penchant dry humor. He smartly allows the film enough breathing space for the whole cast to develop as fully fleshed out characters, each with their own distinct personalities. The strength of the film is in the way these different characters come together, clashing at points and complimenting at others. It offers an intimate and endearing portrait of famijy, exploring generational dynamics, the role of tradition, trauma, expectations, healing, forgiveness. Within that we get a film that astutely navigates the simple ebb and flow of every day life, where small things become big and big things are made small within the context of familial connection. From this comes these striking redemptive moments within the individual characters, each traversing their own paths through these shared spaces.

Just don’t be surprised if your right time, right place elicits some necessary tears.

Film Journal 2023: The Eight Mountains
Directed by Felix van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch

I remember when Broken Circle Breakdown released I was championing it everywhere I went to as many people as possible. I found the films writing and it’s thematic focus, along with the central performances, to be a profound revelation, especially considering it was the Directors debut.

I had been eagerly awaiting his follow up for a while, excited to see what he would come up with next. Perhaps the most striking feature of The Eight Mountains is the way it reframed a similar dedication to the performances and the thematic weight within a much broader cinematic presence and scope. The story is here is sweeping, tracking its main character, a young boy named Pietro from Turin, not only through time, but through the grand backdrop of the mountains employing a contrast of weighty, existential questions and intimate concern.

There is a cast of characters present in the film, all of whom form the backdrop of Pietro’s journey. Given that Pietro’s voice, reflecting on his life’s story from a time and space years removed, is the narrator for the film, we get all of these stories from his perspective. If I had a slight criticism, it would be that this limits our ability to really get to know these supporting characters from their own points of view. This is especially pertinent when it comes to Bruno, a childhood friendship which ends up experiencing distance after Pietro’s father offers to adopt him and aid him in his future studies. Much of the film is interested in the clash of worlds that this relationship represents, Bruno introducing and opening up Pietro to his upbringing in the mountains away from the city, and Pietro challenging Bruno with his more cultured outlook. As the film unfolds, the early action of his father in adopting Bruno from the mountains and anchoring him in the idea of the city becomes a source of conflict between father and son, which, as we also come to know early in the film, expresses itself through this same necessary clash between mountain space and cultural realties.

Thematically speaking, these things become fully realized in the symbolism of the eight mountains, an ancient cosmological image in Buddhism and Indian philosophy. It is the thrust of this imagery, which surfaces at a crucial point in the film as a named concept, which moves the clash between lifelong friends and estranged father and son into that cosmological vantage point. The intimacy of the human struggle becomes a matter of existential concern.

The way that the camera captures the mountainscape is similar to the way it captures the intricacies of the city. It imagines it in minute details, lakes becoming meeting places, rocks becoming destination points, mountains becoming buildings and skyscrapers grassy outlooks neighborhoods. Which is what makes the mountain both an escape from the world and a meeting place within the world, an idea that presents a fascinating juxtaposition. What it means to be alone, what it means to be togther, two portraits of existence and meaning that loom large against lifes persistent struggle. And the film never answers this tension, rather it lets it linger.

What it means to make a life, or to make a succesful life, is a question very much ingrained into the fabric of this story. To make a life against the struggles then becomes the focal point of the films own deep rooted longing and desire for some sort of reconciliation. For me, my mind kept wandering back to the story of the Israelites in the Judeo-Christian scriptures, and more specially the metaphor of the nation being depicted as a first born son. I reflected on the questions we find the nation asking in the midst of their own exile. At one point, Pietro wonders through the narration, “what do I do with a failed dream and a promise that is not my own.” It’s one thing to say that the failed dream is mine. It’s quite another to say that my life is shaped by the failed dream of another for me. This points to that idea that we are intimately connected to the story of another, and when the dreams for us by those whom believe in us and see us for who we truly are fail, that’s when our ability to trust this world and the nature of our existence really gets rocked. For Israel, it was the seeming failure of God’s promise to make right what is wrong in the world that held them captive to their exile, chasing after all manner of idols in exchange. For Pietro, it is the failure of his father’s dreams that leads him and Bruno to a kind of shared exile.

And yet, the story of Jesus intersects with this narrative in a powerful way, ringing through the noise, and in the case of this film a lot of silence, to remind us that the promise is not ours, it is rather found in the faithfulness of God. It is in Jesus that we find the promise fulfilled, just as Pietro finds on his journey the fulfilled promises of another.

Subsequently, I also found a lot of prodigal son story embedded into the subtext of this film, framing the different relationships from within their differing vantage points, the two childhood friends often swapping roles. The notion that time and distance does not disconnect them from the dream becomes a powerful throughline. Ultimately though it is about the friendship that develops between these two kids become grown men. Given that we see this from Pietro’s perspective, the film has a way of moving quickly through time when we find him speaking with the greatest degree of confidence about his past, and then slowing down at points that force him to stop and reflect and linger, often on the mountaintop. In that sense this is a very spiritually laden film that pays a lot of attention to changing and shifting vantage points in space and time, much like we might find moving from the low ground of civilization to the silence of the peak.

There is much more that the Director embeds into that idea that pays off nicely within the larger narrative, but stripping it down to its most essential and basic idea, The Eight Mountains wants us to consider how the center remains even as one traverses the circle that makes up the broader world and experiences around it (to use the framing device). Eastern philosophy tends to frame it’s stories in circular terms, but here the Director adds a subsequent thought; Can we return to where we were once we’ve left to explore the circle? Certainly the temptation is there to want to do just that. And there is a sense in which the journey to the circle is meant to bring us back to where we started, only as different and transformed persons. Perhaps then what the Director is getting at is that the promise inevitably points us towards something new, something transformed. To return to where we started is not only to return as someone new, but to return to a place that must look and feel different as well. Further yet, it is to look forward with a different frame of reference, just as we do within the story of the person and work of Jesus. But we do so with that foundation firmly in place. The thing that reminds us that there is a dream and that the promise is being carried through the belief and action of another, a belief and action that claims the power to shape who we are and what this world is.

Film Journal 2023: Asteroid City
Directed by Wes Anderson

Reminiscent of Anderson’s earlier work, Asteroid City plays with his familiar style of humor and eclectic framing while sticking to embedded themes rather than reaching for anything overly subversive. What makes his latest effort that much more intriguing however is that, on paper at least, it feels very much like a spiritual sequel to French Dispatch. If French Dispatch reflected on the nature and importance of art and the ensuing relationship between art and artist as a shared relationship, Asteroid City pushes that question further by wondering how it is that the world that produces such art holds meaning, if it does at all.

Two deeply existential stories, one calling back to the earlier days of Anderson’s career, the other the culmination of his present evolution. Taken together it forms an exciting endeavor from one of the world’s most visionary Directors.

The film takes an inventive approach to the structure of its story, cutting between a documentary about a Director making a play and the play itself. One is in black and white, the other is in color, providing a striking contrast between the two perspectives on the story. On a purely story driven level the “play” portion of the film follows a group of young students competing in a science program in a place out in the desert called Asteroid City. An event dirven by the promise of inventions that can help us know more about the world is upended by an unexpected event, throwing everything that they once thought they knew about themsleves and the world into question.

At one point, one of the central characters in the remarks, “I still don’t know what the play is about.” Its a fascinating line that, in the context of the film, bridges the artistic process with larger questions about life itself. The answer to the question comes in the midst of a great deal of uncertainty, suggesting “That doesn’t matter. Just keep on telling the story.” If this is how a Director creates a meaningful work, what lingers in the air of the sentiment is the question of a lived life. Can we live in the face of such unknowables, or are we driven to live based on what we know. It’s a powerful point of exploration that then works its way through the different points of the human experience represented in the film, such as grief, belonging, aloneness, uncertainty, being misunderstood and not fitting in, of being remembered and seen and feeling like we have a place in this world beyond just taking up space.

The backdrop of the 50’s echoing the looming fears of nuclear war and communism is a setting that allows Anderson to play with different cinematic influences from that era, something he details in a book written to compliment the story of the film. Munroe plays a prominent role in that inspiration, which fits the film’s interest in the intersection of art and life. This is set alongside the promise of progress, and part of what Was teases out, which becomes especially clear in his nod to the recent Covid crisis, is the limitations of progress when it comes to meaning. This becomes a big part of the films overall concern. In fact, the film revels in the idea that all of its questions can’t ultimately be answered, intersecting with appeals to religion. Can we know that God exists? Can we know that our lives have meaning? Can we know that what we do will have significance? Can we know how the stuff we invest in will bear out reward? Can we know how this world works? How we function in it?

Can we know the story?

Or are we left to simply tell it? To live it?

If Anderson has anything to say, the answer is we can’t, at least not truly. How we respond to this is left to those questions that then define our lives against thay uncertainty, at best hoping to point to something that is true and meaningful outside of oursleves. Or at least trusting that such meaning exists at all.

Film Journal 2023: Nimona
Directed by Troy Quane and Nick Bruno


A rough first three quarters pays off in the end with a satisfying third act. The pivotal point comes with a pairing of subsequent scenes that fill in the backstories of our characters, explaining motivations, bringing the different characters together, and establishing an arc for potential redemption.

Unfortunately the sum of its parts is mired in an inconsistency that leaves the third act feeling marooned on its own island, separated from the shoddy dialogue and superficial caricatures that frame most of the story to that point. The animation is fine, but even there we are given nothing to really sink oursleves into outside of something that, I think, is meant to be a fun. I’m not sure it delivers on that front, milking a tired “metal girl as bad girl” cliche from the get go. As I mentioned, the dialogue, and to a point the voice work, is pretty poorly imagined.

The premise follows a knight (or a knight in the process of being knighted) in a futuristic medieval world who finds himself on the wrong side of the law after the Queen dies in his presence and, by all appearances, by his hand. This forces him to go on the run where he then encounters a magical (and metal) shape shifter in the form of a young girl bent in her seeming isolation from the world to be an evil villain. To live into her role as someone the world seems to fear rather than embrace. She seems elated to have found this man who can fulfill her dream of being an evil duo, believing he is a true villain. But things are not as they appear, and this leads to a concerted effort to correct wrongly held perceptions of the man as bad. Thematically speaking, of course (this can be seen from a mile away), this works itself into a story of a shape shifter coming to terms with being misunderstood as well. Which of course is where this relationship becomes a place where they each are able to see each other for who they really are. That becomes a critical part of the overall journey and the foundation for the film’s eventual emotional payoff.

I confess. I rarely if never do this, or can’t remember the last time I did, but I almost turned this off around the halfway point. I’m glad I stuck with it though, as the film’s potential becomes apparent in the final stretch.

Reading Journal 2023: Babel: An Arcane History
Author: R.F. Kuang

The time period is the early 1800s. The setting is Oxford. The context is the colonizing interest of the British Empire.

From here, following an immigrant who is sent to study at the Royal Institute of Translation, emblematic of the Oxfotd Library tower, the book begins to blend fact and history with metaphor and magic. Silver bars, which are described as deriving their enchantment from translation, becomes the tool Btitain uses to gain power over the world. Translation comes from those the British have colonized and thus begun to make “British”, assimilating the chosen (the ones with promise) to bridge one language and culture to another,

Anyone paying attention to literary best of lists in 2022 will likely have come across this title. Those singing its praises have been endless, although it has not been without its share of critics, most occupying space in the “too woke for its own good” crowd.

Let me be clear, I do consider myself a critic more than a fan of Babel, however “too woke” is not something I subscribe to. I just found the book to be uneven in its approach, despite liking the ideas here quite a bit. I love the idea of language as a window into the human experience. I love the history of language. Much of this to me though felt like it was trying to bridge a character driven historical fantasy with  Wikipedia page full of information and data. I don’t doubt the information, where it manages to intersect with the story i could see the potential of trying to imagine these things functioning together. They are occupying space in a school after all. But it felt to me like an overplayed hand being dealt too soon and too often. The game is over before it could even really be played, and given this is a sweeping, 600 page plus novel that’s not a good thing. To that same end the book feels more like a surface level and entry point discussion of ideas that deserved more depth, so both the ideas and the characters seem stretched far too thin.

I can see the appeal though, and why I gained so much traction and attention. I just really wished it had lived up to its name for me personally.

Reading Journal 2023: MonoThreeism: An Absurdly Arrogant Attempt to Answer All the Problems of the Last 2000 Years in One Night at a Pub
Author: JD Lyonhart

From the opening page of this book I felt seen. Which is always a good sign when it comes to a worthwhile read. Why did I feel seen, or in what way? That comes down to the structure of the book. Lyonhart is using both theology and philosophy to dig into some key and necessary questions about existence, and more importantly how the concept of God fits into that equation. But he explores these questions by way of a fictional “conversation” between three people at a bar. In some ways it functions as a joke: a barista, a believer and a skeptic walk into a pub. In another way this structure becomes a way of seeing ourselves in each of these persons depending on where we find ourselves in relationship to the questions.

While I found myself a mix of all three, the way the skeptic walks into the room and has the conversation naturally consumed by existential matters in a matter of seconds felt instantly familiar. Anyone who knows me knows that I am adverse to small talk and am prone to turning any gathering into one big theological or philosophical disccussion. I am who I am for better and for worse, which of course is a statement I can make part of the philosophical/theological equation.

Beyond that, does the structure work? It probably won’t for everyone of course, but I think it does help to break down complicated ideas into bite size segments. It at least makes it an entertaing read anyways, even if it does earn a few eye rolls along the way. More importantly, I think the substance is good.

On the substance front. Whats up with the title? It’s an obvious reference to the idea of the trinity. Maybe a bit misleading since the book is actually about the question of existence. One of the key premises of the book is that the trinity is not so much a theology or doctrine but rather language that forms from the bigger questions and concerns behind it relating to existence. The central conceipt is this:

1. The use of science to explain the origins of the universe presents us with a conundrum
2. The idea of God as a way to explain the origins of the universe presents us with a conundrum.
3. Recognizing that the origins of the universe is a conundrum is a necessary foundation for engaging the question fairly.

What is this conundrum? Lyonhart boils it down to the simple tension that exists between Being, defined as something without a beginning and an end, that wasn’t created, and was not caused, and Becomming, something that is created and has a cause and occurs in time and space.

A portion of the discussion that occurs in the book, and the arguments made by each character, are given to fleshing out if and why and how Being and Becomming present a necessary conundrum. This is explored on the macro level (how can Being engage in an act of creation without being bound by Becoming in time and space, and if Becoming is how we understand this world and our experiernces in space and time how is it that we can lay claim to Being without falling into the trappings of infinte regress, meaning that infinity gets stuck in a never ending cyle of progressions when bound to space and time), and on the micro level (how do we relate to Being, be it God or concepts and ideas in a world where Becoming can be messy erratic, senseless, aimless). Most of the questions that speak to our existential crisis float between the macro and the micro. If there is one hugely important note to make about Lyonhart’s approach it would be this; he is upfront that the arguments the book is making between the different characters are not about proofs, they are about problems and the way we seek possible solutions to them. And we cannot attend to the problem unless we are willing to admit the problem exists first. Its not about answers, its about how we navigate (reason or live) within those problems.

Everything for Lyonhart comes back to this important foundation: the conundrum of the origins of the universes. And perhaps its there that he moves us towards the idea that what matters most to most people is not the macro but the micro. What philosophy and theology does is it reminds us that how we navigate and respond to problems in the everyday, be it relationships, struggles, joys and aspirations, have their root in assumptions we make at the macro level, often without even knowing or understanding it. In this way the book is at least helpful in teaching us why the complex ideas do matter, and even how they have the power, when grappled with, to shift and shape how we live on the micro level.

Personally, If found Lyonharts arguments to be at their strongest when he is fleshing out the conundrum of Being and Becoming. Even formulating those words as a way of capturing the central and most important ideas concerning the necessary tension of our existence was extremely helpful. I find myself using those words all the time now in discussions elsewhere. The weakest argument is the moral one. But I also think that arguing towards the idea of God as a possible and/or necessary answer is most difficult within the moral equation, probably because it relies too much on necessary caricatures and too convenient defintions of reallity. Its simply not true that relgion can claim a moral-less society can reason us towards the idea of God, at least not effectively, and when employed can often create more harm than good. Part of the issue of course is that morality is confined to time and space. It is, by its nature, something that necessitates becoming to be true and real. Yes, its true that we can come up with all sorts of examples concerning the conundrum that happens when you try and pair this with Being, and those are all fair and good ways of reasoning within the problem. But the problem itself is not whether a society could or would ever emerge as a moral one in any equation we can present. I think logically speaking it always would, at least in degrees. The real conundrum belongs further back in the question of meaning and truth concerning our existence. For example, attaching moral Becoming to Being can turn time and space into an illusion. Science can demonstarte how beliving that reality is an illusion (meaning not bound to space and time) leads to certain outcomes of apathy and cynicism as a necessary implication. The given is morality, the problem reaches back further into questions of meaning and source.

Taken as a whole, I think the foundaiton the book explores is storng, some of the questions it addresses from that foundation have more or less merit. and interest. But for me, I find discussions like this to be highly enjoyable and challenging regardless, and this book finds a creative way to engage it.

Film Journal 2023: Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken
Directed by Kirk DeMicco

For me, Ruby Gillman represents a tale of two films. Or better yet, a story of competing expectations.

Not entirely on it’s own, albeit, rather in relationship to another animated release this weekend, Nimona. Although from a small selection or voices, engagement with film Twitter had sold Nimona as better than expected, a chance to celebrate animation coming from somewhere other than Disney. And perhaps even edging out Disney on the basis that it is a welcome original in a company seemingly scared to see past sequels, remakes and IPs.

There is a slight irony then to Dreamworks quietly doing its thing in the face of contrarians. And that irony is pointed in my direction as well. For some reason I continue to keep discounting Dreamworks as a lesser company, even though I consider one of it’s most popular franchises to be one the better and most consistent entries in a crowded field, often proving to be far more intelligent than I give it credit for (Despicable Me). Or the fact that I consider How To Train Your Dragon to be one of the greatest trilogies of all time. One needs only look to the recent success of Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and The Bad Guys to know that the company behind Shrek, Madagascar, and Kung Fu Panda hasn’t lost its step. And that’s not even to get into my appreciation of the Secret Life of Pets, Abominable, The Croods, and yes, even Trolls.
So here I was, coming in to Ruby Gillman with the complete opposite of expectations as Nimona, being severely underwhelmed by the trailer and underestimating the Dreamworks brand.

And here I am on the other side of both viewings being underwhelmed by Nimona and pleasantly surprised by Ruby Gillman. Not only that, but having a complete flip in terms of experiences.

In Nimona I felt the first 3 quarters to be messy and flat, featuring a poor script and lackluster voicework. But the strength of its third act elevates it to being something worth viewing, accentuating the story’s potential in terms of emotional resonance. In Runt Gillman, the third act struggles a bit, but the first three quarters features some sharp writing, good storytelling, and some memorable performances. All of which prove more than enough to carry it through the third act problems.

To be clear, part of the reason I think the third act struggles is because it is attempting to balance big, dramatic stakes with its desire to write this story for a younger audience. A relevant point to keep in mind in terms of measuring its success. It very well might achieve that directive, which brings up another point of comparison in my mind. The news circuit has made much of Elementals lackluster performance at the box office, and I would argue that the lack of success is due to the film being targeted to an older audience. In that case in have made much of my plea for families with older teens to go see it, as I think where it might miss with a younger crowd it will resonate with those on the older side, coming of age. Occupying screens alongside Elementals second week, Ruby Gillman tells a story that should resonate with younger viewers.

As mentioned, I really enjoyed the characters here, blending myth with a practical, down to earth story about navigating those early years in high school. It hits on important themes regarding perception of oneself and perception of others, family and generational dynamics, and finding your way through those generational shifts, each asking their own questions while sharing space in the gaps. And I really enjoyed the world building that surrounds these characters too. It does a nice job balancing the underwater world with life on the land, utilizing some imagination as it brings these worlds together, in conflict and in harmony.

All of this to say, if anyone is concerned about a lack of original animated fare, all three films mentioned above are good options (Elemental being a great one) that deserve your support, especially if we want to see more down the road. I’m pulling for Ruby Gillmans success.

Claim: the law of non-contradiction is fundamental. There is nothing higher that we could use to prove its existence, for it is already the highest law.

Response: Could we not say that time, space, and causality might not be provable but that is because they too are fundamental? I mean, how could one prove the existence of the law of causality? For whatever evidence caused us to believe or disbelieve in causality would inadvertently assume it, by the very fact that it was able to cause us to believe it. We simply have to assume causality in order to have any knowledge of the external world. For otherwise, there would be no reason to assume that the person in front of me caused my mind to perceive that there is a person in front of me, in which case any causal relation between our minds and the world breaks down, and we can know nothing about the world. If we can’t prove causality, we just have to assume it in order to even begin dealing with the world. Causality is fundamental.

(Ultimately) all argument for its reality is circular. Therefore the law of causality and the lenses of time and space are just as fundamental and just as provable (or rather, unproveable) as the law of non-contradiction. The man who denies the law of non-contradiction should be quite happy to also affirm it. And if you say that’s a contradiction he will smile and say: “So what?” It’s only the man who maintains the law that can’t understand how you can both reject it and affirm it at the same time.

Application: You can conceive of infinity or the universe popping into existence without a cause. You cannot conceive of an infinite regression of past Becoming? You can only concieve of these ideas separately. Thus the necessary contradiction will always be fundamental.
‐‐—–‐——-‐-‐————————————————————————————————————–Claim: The universe is rational and exists according to the law of non-contradiction

Response: The minute we engage the question of the origins of universe, regardless of the thing we employ to try to answer it (theology, philosophy, science), we are facing the problem of infinite regress. The idea that something has no beginning and no end (Being) and the idea that something exists that was not caused not only betrays the only categories of thought we have for understanding reality (Becoming, or cause and effect), it throws them into disarray,

Here is an example of the problem:
“Someone punches you in the face. Within the rule of cause and effect your face would fly out of the way and her fist would occupy the space where it once was. Two things can’t occupy the same space at the same time otherwise it would be a contradiction. If cause and effect didn’t apply then when she punched you that would no longer cause your face to fly out of the way, and so your face and her fist would suddenly be in the same place at the same time and in the same way. Which sounds a whole lot like a contradiction, or, at least, about as close to a contradiction as you can get in the physical world.

(Thus) if causality were not real, then practically speaking . . . not only would effects occur without causes but contradictions would occur as well.

An effect is limited by the contours of its cause. For example, a computer can only create simulations and outcomes that are within the possibilities of its pre-existent programming. In the same way, a logical world can only continue to create logical things, because an effect is limited by the nature of its cause. Like causes like… if things pop into existence out of nothing, there is no cause or pre-existent nature that dictates what the effect will be like; no laws or logical programming that guided their coming into being, for they literally came out of nothing. Why then couldn’t contradictions or infinites pop into existence uncaused out of nothing? If there is no logical womb from which effects derive, then what manner of monsters may come roaring out?”

Application: The very idea that Being (something that wasn’t caused) exists means that Becomimg (cause and effect) is a contradiction. So often though we reason from Becoming as a way to ignore the problem of Being and call that rationality or reason. We establish the rules of the game based on an irrational assumption on the basis that reason should not appeal to irrational claims. This is at the root of most of our disputes about matters of Being. We assume Being to be true all the time, but we reason as though it doesn’t exist
(borrowing from JD Lyonhart)