Unlike the communications with aliens movie 'Arrival,' starring Amy Adams as Louise Banks, there's nothing alien about the way God talks to us, writes Bishop Robert Barron.

There’s nothing alien about the way God talks to us

By  Bishop Robert Barron
  • January 7, 2017

Like E.T., Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Independence Day, and a host of similar films over the past 30 years, Arrival explores the theme of an alien visitation to Earth.

In this iteration, Louise Banks (played by Amy Adams) is a linguistic expert who is called upon by the U.S. military to facilitate conversation with visitors from another world, whose space crafts land (actually they hover a few feet off the ground) at a number of locations around the globe.

This meditative film has a great deal to tell us about communication, language and the patience required to enter into the cultural environment of a higher intelligence. As such, it speaks, whether its director and writer intended this or not, about God’s distinctive manner of communication and the process by which we come to understand it.

To her surprise, Louise one night is whisked to a remote site in Montana, where she is briefed, encased in a suffocating protective suit and then brought into the presence of the aliens, who turn out to be octopus-like creatures moving slowly about in a liquid environment.

After her initial astonishment, Louise commences to reach out, writing a few simple words on cardboard and indicating their meaning through gesture. Almost immediately, the creatures respond by squirting an ink-like substance that, presumably under their intelligent direction, forms itself into calligraphically rendered circles. This is their unique, highly-sophisticated and utterly alien language.

Much of the quiet drama of Arrival occurs as Louise endeavours to understand this qualitatively different form of communication. She comes to grasp that any attempt at “translation” of this strange argot in the ordinary sense is futile. As she enters into the world of the extraterrestrials, she comprehends that their symbol system bears a distinctive, quasi-mystical relationship to time and that she is receiving from her conversation partners much more than mere information.

I won’t go any further into the plot, but I would like to elaborate upon what this film says, at least implicitly, in regard to what we call divine revelation. A core conviction of the Christian faith is that God has spoken to His people, that a real communication has come from His transcendent realm and entered into our consciousness. Furthermore, believers hold, this communication is codified in the Bible, which, accordingly, is not one book among many, not one more human attempt to express our convictions about God, but rather, in a real sense, God’s word to us, God’s language, God’s speech.

I am insisting on this point because our approach to the Bible these past many years has been dominated by what scholars call the historical-critical method. This is an interpretive approach that places exclusive emphasis on uncovering the cultural, historical and linguistic setting for a biblical text and the intentionality of that text’s human author.

These are legitimate concerns and whatever truths we learn in this regard are good. But the danger is that a hyper stress on the human and this-worldly dimension of the scriptural texts can blind us to their sheer strangeness, to the disquieting manner in which they draw us out of our world into another world.

A confidently rational attitude toward the Bible can make an interpreter cocky, feeling firmly on the ground, approaching biblical language as if it were any other poetic and historical communication from the ancient world. But this is repugnant to the patience and humility required to let God’s always unnerving, always disquieting communication be heard.

The Second Vatican Council clearly taught that the Bible is best construed as “the Word of God in the words of men.” More contemporary interpretive methods have helped us to appreciate the second part of that observation, but I fear that they have obscured the first.

In their poetry, their philosophy, their literature, their spiritual musings, human beings, across the centuries and across the cultures have been saying lots of things about God, but the Bible is not so much human speech about God, but God’s speech about Himself.

As much as we revere Shakespeare, Homer, Aristotle, Dante and T.S. Eliot, we don’t pronounce, after reading aloud their language, “This is the Word of the Lord.” But we say precisely that after we read the Bible. We are not meant to translate the biblical world into language accessible to us; rather, we are to allow ourselves to be “translated” (the word literally means “carried across”) into the space opened up by the Bible.

I mentioned above how the alien craft in Arrival don’t quite land. They are massively, overwhelmingly present to the Earth, but don’t touch down. The Earth doesn’t hold them. That’s not a bad visual metaphor for God’s speech in the Scriptures.

(Bishop Robert Barron is an auxiliary bishop of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles and founder of Word on Fire Catholic Ministries.)

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