Robert Miller rightly points out that science is consequential. It matters whether or not my doctor understands the nature of sickness and has at his disposal some strategies for cure. But Pascal’s Rule does not say that science is inconsequential. His Rule only points out that questions that matter most to us — how should I live? how should I die? — lead us away from those areas where our minds seem most capable. We can formulate utterly convincing mathematical proofs, but the proofs offer no consolation, no moral guidance. We can calculate the odds of chemotherapy, but we cannot find a formula to answer the question of whether the pain and debilitation are worth the extra months. It was for him no doubt a painful, humiliating discovery. He was, after all, a brilliant man.

After further discussion with readers, including the original one to whom I responded, I would like to clarify my earlier remarks about The Golden Compass. Books of substance have an “atmosphere,” as C.S. Lewis put it, along which the text runs, an atmosphere that permeates the text and is not explicitly stated. When my friends and I were 6-8, we were not converted by the overt symbolism in The Chronicles of Narnia, but we were no doubt affected in some way by the atmosphere of the stories. Those parents who believe that the anti-Christian atmosphere of The Golden Compass et al. would hurt their young children would do well to guide their children to other worlds of imagination. Once children are older, however, the books and movies could be useful in showing the contrast between the values and atmosphere of atheism and those of Christianity, a contrast more helpful than harmful to their spiritual growth. In summary, while I maintain my initial assertion that Philip Pullman alone will not make children into atheists, I accept the correction that parents should handle his books more carefully than I had previously written.

For some time now many scientists, even and perhaps especially those connected to the climate alarmism movement, have worried about the exaggerations and downright apocalyptic scenarios which have come out of the writings of some of their scientific colleagues like James Hansen or James Lovelock, let alone laymen like Al Gore. Deliberate scare-mongering, done to get the public’s attention and action, can backfire and bring discredit on the whole movement.

Now comes support for these worries from a surprising source, Pope Benedict XVI, in a message prepared for World Peace Day on January 1, but released today, warning us against the climate change prophets of doom. He does not take sides in the scientific debate: “Humanity today is rightly concerned about the ecological balance of tomorrow.” But he does believe the case against global warming is over-hyped, that solutions to global warming must be based on firm evidence and not on dubious ideology, and that care for the environment must not mean that the welfare of plants and animals takes priority over human need.

This message will greatly annoy the global warming crowd, who will point out that the pope is not a scientist (and neither is Al Gore). But at least they won’t be able to claim he’s in the pay of the oil industry.

I don’t know, Rusty. Physics may not give us words of comfort for a friend dying of cancer, but molecular biology may teach us how to cure him.

Maggie Gallagher has been making eloquent, sophisticated arguments proving simple (some would say self-evident) truths for years now: Marriage is good for spouses, children, and society at large; or, in her words, married people are happier, healthier, and better off financially.

To Maggie’s arguments we can add another: married people leave smaller carbon footprints; divorce hurts the environment. So, if you’re not gonna do it for the kids, do it for Mother Nature.

Back in the December 2005 issue, we published a poem from the science-fiction writer Kevin Andrew Murphy. As I wrote at the time, the difference between good and bad may be larger in the sestina than in nearly any other form of structured verse: When sestinas are good, they are very, very good; and when they are bad, they are awful.

But Kevin managed to fall on the good side. His image, he told me, was an old Advent calendar with little windows that opened to show a scene from the season—five windows opening on five literary winter moments. I remembered the poem as I was walking home last night and thought our readers might like seeing it again:

Advent Windows

Holy Holle, Mother Winter,
Shakes her eider till it flutters,
Till the ticking frees its feathers,
Drifting, shifting into snowflakes,
Soft as swansdown, slowly falling,
Blanketing the world in whiteness.

Robed in furs of spotless whiteness,
Rapt, the Snow Queen watches winter.
Glacial ice, her mirror, falling,
Shatters into shards: each flutters
Through the air; her splintered snowflakes
Fly, all fletched with freezing feathers.

Fairies paint the panes with feathers,
Frost the frames with hoary whiteness,
Limn the pines and posts with snowflakes,
Weave the world the gown of Winter,
Fragile lace, its frills and flutters
Fixed, all frozen water falling.

Ghosts of past and present falling
In with future float like feathers
Round the miser; each one flutters
Trailing winding-sheets whose whiteness
Rivals that of Old Man Winter,
Swirling, thick as churchyard snowflakes.

Standing stark amidst the snowflakes,
Faint, the Little Matchgirl, falling,
Strikes a match to ward off winter,
Sees it blaze like phoenix feathers,
Green and gold and Hope’s bright whiteness—
Like a dying moth, it flutters.

Mary rides; her heart still flutters,
Though she does not know of snowflakes
Save a star whose wondrous whiteness
Blazes forth to stop man’s falling,
Heralds Hope like angel feathers
Left within her lap last winter.

Hope still flutters, icons falling,
Six-vaned snowflakes, Heaven’s feathers,
Stars of whiteness lighting winter.

—Kevin Andrew Murphy

Pascal once wrote, in so many words, that the certainty of our knowledge is inversely proportional to its significance. The truths of physics give us no words to say to a friend dying of cancer. Evolutionary biology cannot console us at the graveside.

A reader of my review of The Golden Compass found it “baffling.” I had written that “neither the film nor the book is likely to make any converts to atheism. Just as most children walked away from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe with religious convictions unchanged, so will they leave The Golden Compass as they were when they came.” In response our reader wrote:

First of all, how does he know that children walked away from the Lewis story unchanged? C.S. Lewis has helped to form the minds of many as a teacher and a writer. Some, like Sheldon Vanauken (A Severe Mercy), have written about the direct impact of Lewis on their beliefs. That being the case, why should one not expect to find the same thing happening with an atheist
like Pullman.

Secondly, the reviewer seems to be saying that what we read and view does not affect us and, in fact, leaves us unchanged presumably for either good or evil. Really? If that’s the case then why should anyone read First Things instead of Playboy?

A feisty response to be sure, but one with two questions demanding an answer. In response to the first query, I base my assessment that The Chronicles of Narnia have not converted many children on the testimony of people I know–Christian and non–who read the Chronicles as children. Many have commented on how they did not notice the religious imagery as children, and that only after they were told of it did they see it leaping off the page. As a Christian child, I noticed some of Narnia’s symbolism, but the full beauty of Lewis’ depiction of Christianity moves me much more as an adult.

We should indeed expect that the same thing would happen with Philip Pullman: Children may get a glimpse, a glimpse that will not influence them much one way or another, while adults will see more to ponder. Certainly Christian parents whose children will read Pullman’s books will want to talk to their children about the messages contained therein, but parents should be helping their children hone their skills of intellectual discernment anyway, whether atheism or Christianity undergirds the works they read.

Having said this, my response to the second point becomes rather obvious. I am not arguing that what we read has no effect on who we are; to do so would be in flat denial of my own experience. I am simply arguing that children do not notice the deeper elements in a story to the same extent as adults, and that they are not destined to become atheists if they read The Golden Compass.

As for the comparison between First Things and Playboy, I’m afraid that my ignorance of the latter will prevent me from serving as a good judge. However, I believe I am correct in thinking that Playboy would not have published an article as fine as Jason Byassee’s “Not Your Father’s Pornography” (subscription required).

From C.S. Lewis, My Godfather, by Laurence Harwood, out soon from IVP:

(1) Turn off the Radio.

(8) Be sure you know the meaning (or meanings) of every word you use.

*Notice he said “nearly all.” Ahem . . .