Welcome to The Square Inch, a Friday newsletter on Christianity, culture, and all of the many-varied “square inches” of God’s domain. This publication is free, but please consider becoming a paid subscriber to enjoy all my offerings!
Dear Friends,
I’m back from my lengthy trip to British Columbia. It was a wonderful time reconnecting with friends, meeting new ones, and relaxing in the glorious Canadian Rockies. The H. Evan Runner Academy—put on by the Ezra Institute For Contemporary Christianity—was a success. I spoke to the “delegates” (students) a total of six times. Four lectures on the rebirth of ancient paganism we are presently witnessing all around us, a devotional on Daniel’s three friends—and, more importantly, their “fourth” friend— and a final grab-bag lecture on a Christian view of media, entertainment, and sports. The students were a bright crop of young, serious Christians, and it was a pleasure to participate in the event.
Among the “highlights”—I can scarcely use that word—was walking with my wife and 8-year-old daughter across two suspension bridges. The first one looks like this, and the second is just like it:
Okay, so… You should know that I hate heights. When my daughter induces me to go on the Ferris Wheel at Scheel’s, our local outdoor megastore, I hate it. They always stop me at the top to let other people on and I just sit there, swinging, with my legs turning to jelly. So how did I get roped into walking this little bit of devilry? Let’s just say I decided to get a lot of Dad points.
I did not look to the right. I did not look to the left. I did not, in any way, shape, or form enjoy the view, much less look at it. Eyes straight ahead, hands on the cables, shuffling step by step. I’m sure the view was spectacular, with the waterfall spilling down through the canyon, but it’s a view I am happy to say I will never see.
And these folks at the Golden Skybridge are pretty crazy. They’ve got zip lines across the canyon, a giant rope “swing” out into the canyon, and they’re building some kind of “mountain coaster” through the canyon. No thank you to all three. But if you’re a thrill seeker, I think I can recommend it. But I don’t recommend it.
Escape To Reality
During my final lecture at the Academy I was, among other things, riffing on how sports are a celebration of our creature-hood. As a brief sketch, what I mean is that a game is a microcosm of what it means to be a creature in God’s world. First off, we are in no way “necessary.” God did not have to make us or the universe. The entire cosmos is gratuitous—a free gift. Likewise, there is no “reason” for a game of sports. It serves no ulterior purpose other than itself (we don’t “play” to feed ourselves or supply the bare necessities of our lives). Further, the cosmos is orderly and structured. It has boundaries. And yet, mysteriously, it is a place of surprise, spontaneity, freedom, and possibility. Sports are an example of what we call in political theory ordered liberty. Boundaries and norms that foster and produce freedom. That’s a deep mystery, and it is a reflection of creation itself. That’s what I mean by a celebration of our creature-hood.
I used an example I have used before, but first I had to insist to the students that chess is a sport (To prove that I will just note that top players burn up to 6,000 calories a day during a tournament—just sitting there using their brains). In the game of chess there are 64 squares and 32 pieces. There are ironclad rules of movement. No, you cannot move that pawn backwards (you should have thought of that five moves ago). Chess is as “rigid” a game as you get.
And yet … mathematicians tell us that the number of possible games of chess is ten to the one-hundred-twentieth power. That is a number greater than the number of atoms in the known universe.
So the rigid, structured boundaries of the game (a game for “squares,” in more ways than one) produce essentially infinite possibilities. No two chess games are the same. It is a game of the unexpected, not the expected. How can there be that kind of freedom in a game of strict rules? Because that is the nature of the created order. The cosmos is one of ordered liberty. Following the rules does not cancel out our freedom; it is the prerequisite for our freedom.
My brother is a competitive chess player. He’s a couple of years older than me and he is attempting to do something that is very, very difficult: become a better chess player in his middle age. Most Grandmasters retire around age 40 because they inevitably just lose a mental step or two, and can no longer compete with these teenage and twenty-something prodigies. While very difficult, Dan’s goals are pretty modest. He wants to get his official chess rating to the 2000 mark—“Expert.” And he wants to be the chess champion of the state of Montana. He gets another shot at that in a few weeks.
In the run-up to the championship tournament, the Montana Chess Association is publishing some biographical sketches from each of the participants. And Dan wrote something very profound in his:
Chess is a beautiful game to me, in part because it reflects the created order of our universe. There are infinite possibilities with plenty of room for creativity and artistry, yet certain fixed laws that cannot be imagined away by personal preferences or ideologies. The pawns are still pawns, the kings are still kings, and the pieces remain black and white. The pawns cannot go backward. Life has consequences. The game provides me an escape to reality from our ever-changing world.
I love that: an “escape to reality.” A lovely phrase entirely subversive of our contemporary political and cultural chaos over questions of meaning and identity. Black is not white, and—to put a fine point on it—kings cannot be queens. And when a player embraces these facts, as he or she must, the result is not a constrained, stunted, boring experience. It is freedom. And it is thrilling.
Are you confused about the rules? In a world that cannot define what a woman is and insists that men can menstruate and breastfeed, I suggest we all sit down and play a game of chess.
And enjoy an escape to reality.
Monday’s Off The Shelf was a nostalgic reflection on my own published doctoral thesis. I promise it wasn’t as egotistical as it sounds. This week’s Quarter Inch featured a profound quote from C.S. Lewis’s Prince Caspian, one that is sticking with me even today. You can read those features along with this one every single week for $5 a month. I’d love to have you on board for the entire Square Inch experience. Please consider subscribing!
Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful weekend!
Burning calories using your brain might be the best news I have heard in a long time!!