Substance, not Absence

I am a structuralist at heart. In oversimplified terms, that means I enjoy finding identical patterns in disparate places. For a long time, I've complained that books and other media published for religious audiences are applauded because of all the things they do not contain. You've heard it, I'm sure. "There's hardly any swearing! There's no sex. There's no violence. There's no homosexuality (problematic in itself). There's no. . ." etc. There's also usually very little plot, conflict, diversity, or meat. Literarily, it's sugar-free cotton candy. Sure, it doesn't have the stuff in it that culturally somebody (probably somebody else. These are decisions that most people outsource) decided is a problem, but it also doesn't contain any sustaining nutrients.

When I studied abroad during my Master's program, my tutor carefully explained some differences in grading systems between this country and his. Whereas we here in the United States university system often begin each assignment with an a priori perfect score and then watch that score become chipped away as errors are discovered in our work, their system assumed nothing. Each paper began with nothing, and a score was slowly built up one strength at a time.

These two systems seem to correlate in a way that is meaningful to me in the context of mortality, time, and agency.

Think about our pattern of calculating religious success: do we begin in infancy with a perfect score and then slowly chip away at it every time we commit sin (or omit good works)? Is that really how it works? Could one of us, hypothetically, actually achieve heaven by not doing anything wrong in this life, or was part of Jesus's privilege his divine physical parentage?

Do we have a spiritual-health-meter at the top of the screen, and every time we get hit with sin it diminishes a few pixels?

What if we switch our thinking a little. What if instead of starting out with what we think is perfect behavior and watching ourselves consistently diverge from that imaginary perfection (we're never going to have any accurate idea of what "perfect" actually looked like. Even Jesus looked like a sinner to most churchgoers in his day), we begin understanding each day, each week, each month and year, as our allotted time resource, and with this resource we are building something. When we get back to heaven and show God what we have done with the coins he gave us, are we going to say, "look at all the sex I didn't have. Look at all the money I didn't steal. Look at all the television and movies I didn't watch. Look at all the sugar I didn't eat."?

Is that going to please God? I dunno. Maybe. But I'd rather have something to hand back. I'd rather be able to say, "look at the words of revelation that I treasured in my heart. Here is the time I was able to give to help others. Here are the hours, the calories I sacrificed for my family. These are the friendships I made and maintained. Those are animals I rescued and gave a happy home to. These are the spiritual gifts I developed in fulfilling my callings and practicing faith. This is the joy I experienced from the tender mercies you gave me. This is the oil in my lamp."

We talk a lot about what God is going to make of us, what he's turning us into - a mansion, a currant bush, whatever. I mean, of course we should accept God's pruning and remodeling and whatnot. Let's not take a metaphor too far. God gave mortality to us. He sacrificed his beloved son for our agency. And no matter how often we talk about giving our will back to Him, maybe He doesn't want drones or automatons. Maybe He doesn't want Stepford Saints. Maybe He finds delight in seeing the good we do without his micromanagement? Maybe he's tired of dictation and he wants to see what we will write of ourselves.

As for media that is so proud of itself for what it doesn't contain, can we still call it praiseworthy? Because it all sounds meh to me.

Be Literature, not media.