This is a double-portion blog entry. Some of you may have to click a link in your email, to see the full post.
I hope that my readers would bear with me, as I take a deep dive into the meaning of a modern Pinocchio tale and how it reflects upon the nature of God and how we relate to him. I believe you’ll find it worth enduring until the end.1
Visual Story-Telling
YouTube Vlogger2 Josh Keefe asks the question “If Christians believe in a limitless, creative God, then why are we making unimaginative movies of such low quality?” He has a point.
Non-Christian films (the very good ones) seem to understand visual storytelling. For example, these filmmakers firmly grasp the messaging conveyed through close-up shots; they tell the audience We’re about to obtain some personal insight from these characters. That is, if a close-up is in the context of an inter-personal conversation, then we’re being told that these two are not only approaching each other visually, but emotionally, as well.3
Christian films, for the most part, seem to not understand this sort of emotional messaging contained in cinematography. Instead, these films come across as Sunday sermons posing as movies. As a result, they miss the point of story-telling. They tell sermons, not parables.4
Jesus understood visual story-telling. This is why he spoke in both sermons and stories, each with their own respective audience. He separated the visual story from the sermon; he didn’t merge them, as the Kendrick brothers have often done.
To all people, Jesus told the truth, but the truth came in two forms: direct explication and indirectly, through metaphor.
To all people, Jesus told the truth, but the truth came in two forms: direct explication and indirectly, through metaphor.5 The former—the directly explicated message—was provided by Jesus to his disciples, and anyone else seeking the truth. Metaphors, on the other hand, were provided to the outside world in the form of parables.6
These stories were another way of packaging the truth, doing so through concise narrative. Through parable, the message isn’t readily apparent; the message is in the metaphor. Once properly decoded, parables can actually strike the decoder at a deeper level than the meaning contained in direct messaging.
Parables are not about what’s on the narrative’s surface level; they’re about the metaphors they contain. Jesus understood this, which is why he spoke through them, so that, “they may be ever seeing, but never perceiving” (Mark 4:12, ESV)—“they,” meaning, those who weren’t close enough to him to obtain the truth directly from him.
This is not to say that Jesus spoke incomprehensible gibberish. It’s only to say that his parables would only be understood to those who cared to investigate the meaning found in the metaphors. This was problematic—not for Jesus, but for his audience. That is, those outside of Jesus’ circle were too lazy to look beneath the surface of his stories to understand them. As a result, they couldn’t perceive their meaning.
Those on the inside were privy to both the clearly explained messaging—i.e., the sermons and other direct sharing of the heart of God—and they were exposed to the parables and their meanings. They got the whole package.
To the outside world, Jesus spoke the word in parables “as they were able to hear it” (Mark 4:33)—meaning, in a limited capacity—while, to the disciples, he explained everything privately (Mark 4:34). This illustrates Matthew 7, verse 8: “For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened” (ESV). To all who seek Jesus, the meanings of his parables are made evident.
This is why, when the disciples knocked, asking the meaning of parable of the sower (in Matthew 13), Jesus gave them answers, including the meaning of the metaphors. Hence, the seed of the parable isn’t seed; it’s the word. The soil of the parable isn’t soil; it’s the hearts of those who receive the word.
The types of soil aren’t really the path, rocky or thorny ground, or good soil; they’re the sorts of hearts that might receive the truth, only to effect growth in productive or not-so-productive ways.
Soil stands in for hearts; seed stands in for the word. The latter is planted in the former. It’s not about crops; it’s about seeding the Kingdom.
Movies as Parables
For us, in contemporary times, movies are our parables. And, while they don’t come from the mouth of God, himself—and, while they often, if not always, come from the left-leaning, godless minds of Hollywood writers—they nonetheless can be worth watching.
Why? Because Hollywood’s films sometimes contain surprisingly positive messages coming from the most unexpected places.
Though Hollywood films are produced by what’s been termed the liberal Hive-mind of Hollywood, they still often convey messages that support conservative, and even Christian, values.7 What follows are some examples of films that, according to those discussing them, unintentionally present a conservative or Christian message.
In one of his YouTube videos, novelist and former screenwriter Andrew Klavan discusses how, in his words, Hollywood “accidentally made a great Christian film” when it created Dead Man Walking (1995, rated R), starring Sean Penn.8 Klavan’s thesis is that the film doesn’t work so much as intended—i.e., as an anti-death-penalty film—as it shows “a depiction of Christ acting in … a world of tragedy, evil, and cruelty.” (Also of note in his Vlog entry is how he had come to a saving relationship with Christ through an unusual source: the metaphors contained in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s 1866 novel Crime and Punishment.)
Matthew Miller, of the Logos Made Flesh YouTube channel, talks of The Shawshank Redemption (1994, rated R). His thesis is that the movie is actually the greatest Christian film ever made.9 Miller says the film delivers an allegory of Jesus in a “message of hope and enduring friendship, which remarkably come[s] together in a Christian act of redemption.”
Miller posits that Shawshank’s Andy Dufresne, apparently risen from the dead, is a metaphor for Jesus, while Morgan Freeman’s character Red represents the church that seeks out Christ.10 (For more on The Shawshank Redemption, please see my earlier post on the subject).
Ben Shapiro, also of The Daily Wire, discusses how Hollywood just can’t help themselves—or, as he puts it, is “accidentally conservative”—when it comes to infusing conservative messaging into films. This is ironic, since conservatism and Christian values are contrary to Hollywood’s publicly espoused beliefs.
For example, Shapiro says that films such as A Quiet Place (2018, rated PG-13), Arrival (2016, rated PG-13) and Soul (2020, rated PG) all deliver decidedly pro-life messages. The Florida Project (2017, Rated R), he adds, depicts how the nuclear family needs both a mother and a father in the home.11
A.I.: The Pinocchio Parable
In this vein of Hollywood unwittingly producing commentary on the Christian condition, Steven Spielberg may have done the same, with his film A.I. Artificial Intelligence. Or should I say, Pinocchio? Specifically, Spielberg comments on free will and the doctrine of predestination.
Spielberg’s film is an unabashed retelling of Pinocchio. I characterize it as such because it has little to do with Carlo Collodi’s children’s book The Adventures of Pinocchio, except for the kernel of Collodi’s story: an artificial boy—specifically, in Collodi’s case, a sentient marionette—yearning to be a real boy.
Spielberg’s version of the story is as far removed from the original as was Disney’s 1940 telling of the 1883 story. Collodi12 presents his protagonist13 in an extremely negative light, one that insists we not sympathize with him (Pinocchio). Collodi tells us his Pinocchio is ”a rascal of the worst kind,” “rude, lazy, a runaway,” and “a disobedient son.”14
Collodi’s Pinocchio is even murderous, bashing to death (with a hammer) the cricket who tried to befriend him (before he had a chance to sing “When You Wish Upon a Star.”) However, in Disney’s telling of the story, our protagonist is, by design, very sympathetic. In the words of Slate Magazine’s Nathaniel Rich, he is a “a cheerful little puppet who desires nothing more than to be transformed into a real live boy.”
Spielberg takes this same artificial boy trope and translates it from 19th century Italy to 22nd century New Jersey—and the major cities on either side our fair state: Philadelphia and New York. He also shifts genre, from that of the fairy tale to science fiction.
Like Disney’s Pinocchio, the director of Jaws and Schindler’s List makes his version of Pinocchio sympathetic because this character is designed by the writer and director to be so. This Pinocchio isn’t so much of a wayward ragamuffin as he is a victim of circumstances.
Also divergent from Collodi, Spielberg explains the sentience of his protagonist. Instead of a block of wood that is mysteriously imbued with an ability to think for himself—and, therefore, capable of disobeying his father—Spielberg’s Pinocchio is explicitly presented as an artificial intelligence programmed to behave and think like a boy, and to take the place of a real boy.
This Pinocchio has more than his own thoughts; he has his own emotions, as well (or, so we’re led to believe). This Pinocchio’s creator, known within the narrative as Professor Hobby, introduces the idea to his team of robot engineers.15
Inside the Parable: Act I
Global warming has done its thing. And from his offices far above the now-submerged Manhattan, Professor Hobby begins by discussing with his engineering team the need for an emotional robot child.
This child, he says, will imprint himself upon adoptive parents living in a world where, due to human population growth, they require governmental approval to procreate. He says that “To create an artificial being has been man’s dream since the birth of science.” He elaborates:
I believe that my work on mapping the impulse pathways in a single neuron can enable us to construct a mecha of a qualitatively different order. I propose that we build a robot who can love. … Ours will be a perfect child caught in a freeze frame, always loving, never ill, never changing. With all the childless couples yearning in vain for a license, our little mecha will not only open up a completely new market, it will fill a great human need.16
In other words, to create a moving, thinking, anthropomorphic robot is the easy part. The hard part, which they must endeavor to create, is the robot (called a mecha) who will love.
And so Cybertronics of New Jersey designs such a thought / emotion engine. Their prototype, David, is given to a family ready for just a synthetic child.
The father / husband of this family is employed by the company. Henry and his wife, Monica, have an ailing son, in a cryogenic coma, apparently beyond the reach of Cryogenic’s advanced science. His wife is an emotionally prepared mother who, we’re told, should be grieving the loss of her son, Martin, who has been in a coma for months. Instead, she mourns the entrance of Martin’s replacement, unsure of whether or not David’s arrival is a good idea.
After some initial protest—I can’t accept this! There’s no substitute for your own child!17—Monica warms up to David’s presence in her home. During this emotionally conflicted process, Henry intervenes to tell her that, at the right time, she can execute on David the imprinting protocol—a touch, followed by a series of words—that will cause him to be fully, emotionally bound to her:
The show of faith my company has placed on me, on us, is extraordinary. Now, there are a few simple procedures we need to follow, if and when you decide to keep David. If you decide to keep him, there is an imprinting protocol consisting of a code string of seven particular words which need to be spoken to David in the predefined order that’s been printed here. Now, Monica, for our own protection, this imprinting is irreversible. The robot child’s love would be sealed—in a sense, hard-wired—and we'd be part of him forever. … Don’t imprint until you’re entirely sure.18
The ball is in Monica’s court. Emotionally curious and without the nearly dead Martin in the home, she does what opportunity and her instinct tell her to do: she implements the protocol. At this point, David shifts from calling her Monica to using a familial term of endearment. “What were those words for, Mommy?” he asks.19 She is, now and forever, a part of him.
Inside the Parable: Act II
With this set-up, the first act concludes and the second act begins. It commences with the introduction of a character who has been lurking in the background this whole time—Martin, the family’s organic son who has exited his coma and has re-entered the home.
Martin continues his recovery and is soon jealous of the bond between his mother and David. He manipulates her into reading Collodi’s original Pinocchio (Martin is as much a rascal as Collodi’s Pinocchio).
Martin later manipulates David into cutting a lock of Monica’s hair. This causes Henry to believe that David was attacking Monica. Henry wonders aloud to Monica if David shouldn’t be brought back to Cybertronics for destruction, saying, “If he was created to love, then it’s reasonable to assume he knows how to hate; and if pushed to those extremes, what is he really capable of?”20
Later, at Martin’s birthday party, Martin’s friend tests David’s Damage Avoidance System (DAS) by nearly stabbing him with a cake knife. David panics, hiding behind and holding onto Martin, exclaiming, “Keep me safe, Martin! Keep me safe!”21 Taking his panic backwards, he reiterates the same message (“Keep me safe!) and plunges into the swimming pool with Martin, nearly drowning him.
For Henry, this is the final straw. Martin has succeeded in ridding the household of the synthetic competition he had for his mother’s affection. Monica tells David that they will be going on a picnic, with the idea of returning him to Cybertronics, where destruction awaits. However, she can’t bear to bring him in; instead, she abandons the picnic, and David, on the side of the road, like an irresponsible pet owner who would similarly discard their unwanted dogs or cats. Panicked, he pleads with her:
David: If Pinocchio became a real boy and I become a real boy, can I come home?!
Monica: That's a story …
David: But a story tells what happens!
Monica: Stories are not real! You're not real! …
David: Why do you want to leave me? Why? I'm sorry I'm not real. If you let me, I'll be so real for you!22
Inside the Parable: Act III
Now, if the reader would be so kind, I’d appreciate if they read these next few paragraphs like a kindly old children's book narrator—preferably one with a British accent.
Thus began the journey of the poor, abandoned David, out across the jungle habitat of Haddonfield’s outskirts. Though, as he ventured out, he was soon captured by those who would, for sport, destroy the artificiality brought to their familial landscapes by robotic engineers.
Along the way, David befriends another synthetic, a gigolo named Joe who knows women like none other. Together, they escape their captors and seek out the pay-per-play version of Google, Dr. Know, who tells them what William Butler Yeats told his readers:
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping
than you can understand.23
David and Joe travel, hand in hand, over land and sea, to the place of David’s origin, the submerged Isle of Manhattan, at the end of the earth. All the while, they seek out the Blue Fairy of Collodi’s tale, she who would make David a real, live boy. And wouldn’t you know it—he does find her: at the bottom of the sea waiting to make his dream come true!
Okay. Now you can drop the accent.
As we had seen, earlier, David is convinced that Monica doesn’t love him (yet he loves her). He’s convinced that this is because he’s a mecha—a mechanical, inorganic, boy. He’s also convinced that, if he can somehow become organic (real), by in some way reaching the Blue Fairy and asking her to change him into one, then Monica will love him.
Joe, however, is not convinced. He thinks that David’s mommy hates him, like those who had captured the two of them had hated them. David counters Joe:
My mommy doesn't hate me! Because I'm special ... and unique! Because there's never been anyone like me before. Ever. Mommy loves Martin because he is real and, when I am real, Mommy is going to read to me, and tuck me in my bed, and sing to me, and listen to what I say me, and she will cuddle with me, and tell me every day a hundred times a day that she loves me!24
David and Joe venture to Cybertronics, the place of David’s creation. There, David discovers that he isn’t unique, after all. No, he’s just one of many who look, talk, and think just like him. This causes David’s spirit to plunge into deep despair and he plunges himself into the murky waters below.
Then, as out of a fairy tale, a school of sardines whisks David to the under-sea Coney Island, where the Blue Fairy of Storybook Land waits for him. He petitions her, but she answers not. She’s as an idol whose mouth cannot open. For his part, David is as Dr. Hobby had said: caught in a freeze-frame, unrelenting from unceasing supplication to the fairy who would make his dream come true.
Thousands of years pass and a prophecy of Joe’s is made manifest: We are suffering for their mistakes because when the end comes all that will be left is us!25 An ice age befalls the earth and humans are gone. All that is left is ice, the ruins of mankind’s existence, David, and the super-mecha who have inherited the earth.
The super-mechas find David fully encased in ice. They liberate him, only to find him still hoping and dreaming of the love of his life: Monica. The film then fades to white.26 In the haze of this white, David wakes up, as from a dream, in the home he once knew, seeing with new eyes the new world around him, filled with all he had once known, in the happiness he once had lived in.
David’s new super-mecha friends animate for him the Blue Fairy. She explains to him that, without an organic sample of Monica, she cannot be brought back. He presents to them the lock of her hair, taken at Martin’s behest, millennia ago.
Without excuse, they bring Monica back, with the understanding that he can only have her for one day. Satisfied with that, he awaits her return. David finds her, just waking up again.
He then experiences the happiest day of his life. There is no Martin, no Henry. There is only Monica.
He makes her coffee. They play hide and seek. They celebrate his birthday.
The day comes to an end. For the first time ever, David, like his human counterparts, sleeps.
David is happy. All is right with the world.
The End.
God’s Nature: Not
But is everything right with the world? No. Because we’ve just witnessed a series of illusions.
We haven’t witnessed a happy ending. We’ve witnessed a tragedy.
As I’ve said, early on, movies can be parables. If I may add to that, a philosophy that I adhere to is that everyone we meet sets an example for us—either of what to emulate or of what not to emulate; everyone is either a good example or a bad example.
My father, for example, was an anti-hero to me; his bitterness and cynicism told me all I needed to know about what not to emulate. And, if film is parable, then a film either illustrates a good example or a bad example—what to strive for, or not.
The Star Wars prequel trilogy is an elongated parable. It illustrates how bitterness can overcome an otherwise virtuous character, Anakin Skywalker, and turn him into a villain (Darth Vader). This Skywalker—vis-à-vis Luke Skywalker—is a fictional anti-hero; his character traits are to be rejected. These films tell us to strive not be like him.
The Shawshank Redemption’s is also a parable. Its Andy Dufresne illustrates how joy isn’t something that need be specific to a time and place, that prison walls can’t restrict its movement, that joy is eternal and boundless (I might add that this is especially true of the joy that God gives). Andy is a fictional hero; his character traits are to be accepted. This film tells us to be like Andy.
So what does A.I Artificial Intelligence demonstrate? It demonstrates what the nature of God is not like. As a result, it asks us to consider what God is really like.
The film doesn’t necessarily present a counterfeit. Instead, it asks us to consider the genuine article.
Faithful Misrepresentation
David, the artificial boy, is set up to be the hero of the story. Like his predecessor, Collodi’s Pinocchio, he is in the mold of the epic hero. As Wikipedia puts it, “Like many Western literary heroes, such as [Homer’s] Odysseus, Pinocchio descends into hell; he also experiences rebirth through metamorphosis, a common motif in fantasy literature.”
As put by Professor Hobby, David’s creator, David is a “Success story.”27 He is an example of “the greatest single human gift: the ability to chase down our dreams, … something no machine has ever done.”28 He is the story’s hero.
As Martin had been lurking in the background of David’s story, as his antagonist, Dr. Hobby had also been lurking in David’s background—as his creator. In one moment, he is identified with the Blue Fairy, she who would make David a real boy.
Hobby tries to convince David that he is a real boy, because he has had his emotional protocol—or, what The Terminator calls his Mission Parameter—activated. He tells David, “You are a real boy—at least as real as I’ve ever made one, which, by all reasonable accounts, would make me your Blue Fairy.”29
To David, Hobby is his Blue Fairy. But to himself, he is as God.
When asked about the moral obligation one may have toward a loving robot child, Professor Hobby responds with a question of his own. He invokes the Rêshîyth of the Bible’s first word, in Genesis 1:1—the Hebrew word from which translators give us three words: “In the beginning.” Making the case for such a child, he asks, “In the beginning, didn’t God create Adam to love him?”30
Professor Hobby comes across as a kind and gentle inventor. When we learn of his motivation, we find that he simply wants to help others like himself, who have lost a child of their own, or who are unable to conceive one of their own. He just wants to provide a child who would be like their own, yet organically not theirs.
Yet, out of this apparently pure motivation, this professor—this Pinocchio’s Geppetto—is more akin to Dr. Frankenstein, especially the one from James Whale’s 1931 version of the story, who famously exclaimed, “Now I know what it feels like to be God!”31
As Mary Shelly’s novel Frankenstein is aptly subtitled “The Modern Prometheus”— Prometheus is the Greek god “credited with the creation of humanity from clay” (Wikipedia)—so this tale of a not-so-real, live boy ought to also be titled The Modern Pinocchio. This is because it features a creator in the mold of Prometheus who would fabricate a new sort of quasi-human child, one who would love.
Or, so we’re led to believe that he loves. He does not. David is but, as Professor Hobby puts it, “A perfect simulacrum”32 of a child who loves. But he does not love. His love is but a simulation.
As we see throughout the film, David appears to be full of emotion. He runs the full gamut of emotions.
David swings from security to anxiety; from peace to shock, fear, and horror; from friendship to camaraderie. He also ventures into disappointment, depression, despair, abandonment, sadness, anguish, anger, jealousy, and even rage, as he bashes to death the David replica who would befriend him, in much the same way that Collodi’s Pinocchio bashes to death his little cricket friend—in David’s case, with a table lamp, not a hammer.
Above all of this is obsession. David is obsessed with Monica.
Monica is the one in the family who had imprinted herself upon him and he must have him all to herself. His obsession invokes jealousy. He is as eager to get rid of his step-brother Martin as Martin was to get rid of David; like Martin, he wants Monica for him and him alone.
All of his adventures, since the time he was banished from the home, are about getting back to Monica, as Odysseus’s adventures are all about him getting home to his wife, in Ithaca. Once David gets to Professor Hobby’s offices, the place where he was born (manufactured), he murders his replica because he considers this David replica to be competition for Monica’s affection. No one else can have her but him.
Yet, these are all programmed responses. Their manifestations are as real as any non-programmed human responses would be. Though, they are programmed responses, nonetheless.
How did David get to be so programmed? By the God-like Professor Hobby and his team, at Cybertronics of New Jersey.
But Professor Hobby has the wrong idea of who God is. He asks, “Didn’t God create Adam to love him?” The answer is both Yes and No.
Yes, we were created for the purpose of loving God; but, no, we were not created to love God with an emotion engine inside of us, like David’s, making that love happen. For, once we are programmed, we are no longer choosing to love him as the Jewish Shema says, “with all [our] heart and with all [our] soul and with all [our] might” (Deuteronomy 6:5)—i.e., without reservation.
Yet, some would say that we don’t choose to love God of our own accord, that we’re programmed by God to do so. Predestination theology says that no one can claim to love God as a choice made of their own free will; instead, this doctrine says that it’s a choice entirely of God’s doing.
This negates the idea of loving God. It negates the idea of Christ having a bride who has chosen to make herself pure and holy, to freely cling to him.
This theology, on the one hand, says we ought to live up to the Shema and love God with all that’s within us; it also claims that we can’t really do so unless God has destined us to do so. It’s a theology that re-molds God in the image of Professor Hobby—he who would program his creation to fully understand love and walk in it, while living a programmed life of obsession toward those upon whom they’ve been imprinted.
But let’s not bash, as David would bash, another theology, one that some wonderful people have encamped around it.33 Rather, let’s speak more of the importance of knowing that we are called to freely love God, without coercion.
Without the ability to freely choose to love, there can be no love. And God desires those who would love him freely.
This brings me to the point of the parable. A.I. Artificial Intelligence misrepresents God. Put another way, it faithfully represents what God is not: a programmer of quasi-human appliances who faithfully love their creator.
Origins of Freedom
That God asks his people to freely choose him is a notion that goes back to the garden of Eden:
And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die. (Genesis 2:16 – 17, ESV)
This edict set up the first choice that man had been asked to make. The consequences were laid out. The implications were clear: Eat all you want from the tree of life. With that access, live forever with me. Eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, apart from my direction, and you are doomed to die. I suggest that you choose life.
When the mosaic law was fully delivered, by the mouth of Moses, God gave the people of Israel a choice. Reflecting the Edenic edict, God again called on his own to choose abundance, blessing, and life:
I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore, choose life, that you and your offspring may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying his voice and holding fast to him, for he is your life and length of days, that you may dwell in the land that the Lord swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give them. (Deuteronomy 30:19 – 20, ESV)
Notice how we’re told here that loving God is linked to choice—i.e., choosing life? God is life and the life that we have is based on the choice we make, on a daily basis, to love him.
Joshua also tells the people to make a choice:
Put away the gods that your fathers served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. And if it is evil in your eyes to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve—whether the gods your fathers served in the region beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you dwell. But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. (Joshua 24:14 – 15, ESV)
Here, the choice pertains to which God, or gods, will be served. And if we look at this choice in light of the call of Moses to choose “The Lord your God,” loving the Lord may be compared to serving the Lord. The choice is nearly identical; the only difference is in making our loving look like serving, for if our loving isn’t visible through our service, then is it really love at all?
As the history of Israel had progressed, God’s people had strayed from him and had often been corrupted, through the worship of other gods and in the thoughts that continually led them toward the deities of other nations. He again gave his people a choice, reminding them of his mercy and desire to pardon, if they would only turn to him:
Seek the LORD while he may be found; call on him while he is near. Let the wicked forsake their ways and the unrighteous their thoughts. Let them turn to the LORD, and he will have mercy on them, and to our God, for he will freely pardon. (Isaiah 55:6 – 7, ESV)
The Right to Choose
The passages above illustrate that God encourages his free agents—i.e., those who are free to make both positive and negative choices—to choose in favor of his presence in their lives. They demonstrate that God doesn’t program choice-making, as Dr. Hobby had programmed David’s emotional protocols.
With the creation of a race of free agents, God set up a scenario fraught with risk and reward. There was the risk of rebellion and sin—each of which indeed had occurred in both the spiritual and natural realms. There was also the reward of the fellowship of many a spiritual and natural ally who would carry out his will in heaven and on earth.
Knowing all of this, Our Father weighed the risk and reward and chose to give us choice. He did so because he highly valued the end result: a multitude of those who would choose him above all other gods, knowing there is none like him (Exodus 15:11), valuing him above the world and above all that the flesh has to offer.
But there’s more to this than a simple risk-reward analysis. Why choose? Why do we even have the right to choose God over Satan? God over the way of the world? God over the flesh?
I touched on the answer earlier—i.e., that 1) God wants those who would freely love him and that 2) love, by definition, involves the choice to love or not. But there’s a deeper answer than that. Old Testament Scholar Michael S. Heiser may have the solution.
Please bear with me, as we get a little technical; I promise, it won’t be for long.
Heiser’s specialty is the Hebrew language. One thing he says about Hebrew, vis-à-vis English, is that it is verb-driven (English is noun-driven). That is to say, in Hebrew, meaning is primarily derived from the action of the sentence before it is from the subject of the sentence.
With that in mind, Heiser zeroes in on the first part of Genesis 1:26: Let us make man in our image. Specifically, he looks the object of “Let us make man.” He considers the ‘in’ (in our image), because that little word can also be translated ‘as’.
This corrects the verse to “Humankind was created as God’s image.”34 This change makes a big difference.
Heiser goes on to say that we are therefore designed to reflect God to the world around us.35 He says, “We are created to image God, to be his imagers. It is what we are by definition.”36
What does this have to do with choice? Everything.
Heiser continues by discussing attributes that we share with God which contribute to our ability to image (reflect) God to the world. These include “intelligence and creativity.”37 Another attribute we share with God, which helps us to image him to the world is: Freedom. Heiser says:
If humanity had not been created with genuine freedom, representation of God would have been impossible. Humans would not mirror their Maker. They could not accurately Image him. God is no robot. We are reflections of a free Being, not a cosmic automaton.
Put another way, God did not intend to create imagers that did nothing. … God’s original intent was to arm his imagers with both the will and the ability to carry out his decrees. Representation of God as his imagers and possession of free will are inextricably related. (emphasis mine)38
“His imagers,” he says, are armed with “both the will and the ability” to image God. And, I might add, since God is not an automaton, and we are made in his image, neither are we automatons. We have the ability to carry out God’s decrees and the will to carry them out or not. We are not beings of programming and emotional artificiality, like A.I.’s robot boy, David.
We are, instead, like God—not to every extent (like omniscience), but to the extent that we are free to enter into covenant relationship with him, to love him, without reservation. And we are free to fail, so that our Father might pick us up again.
We are admonished to “not use [our] freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another” (Galatians 5:13). Yet we are free, nonetheless.
Willful Love
I will close by considering one of the words that Monica had used to emotionally wake David up, which, in turn, emotionally imprinted him upon her. That word is Tulip.
TULIP is also an acronym used by those who believe that we don’t freely choose God. It’s used to describe various aspects of predestination theology. It stands for the following:
Total Depravity. All human beings are born so corrupted and depraved by sin that even our reasoning ability is so damaged we’re incapable of repentance.
Unconditional Election. If a person comes to Christ and is saved, it’s because they were chosen specifically by God to be saved.
Limited Atonement. (Partial atonement) Christ died only for particular people. Also known as Limited Grace.
Irresistible Grace. The sovereign work of the Holy Spirit in those he has chosen to save that irresistibly overpowers the will of the elect sinner in such a way they are unable to refuse, resist or reject the gospel.
Perseverance Of the Saints. What is called ‘once saved, always saved’ and ‘eternal security’—meaning, God will not allow one of His children to fall away from His grace.
With one exception, I’ll not go into why each of these theological points have issues. The atonement of Jesus on the cross for our sins is, of course, not limited—as the ‘L’ in TULIP indicates—because we’re told that God is not “wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” (2 Peter 3:9, NIV).
With the rest of the above points, you can see that this doctrine is opposed to the idea of us being God’s imagers on earth. This is a theology not of humans freely loving God, but of God programming a people to act as David had acted: emotionally involved, yet through no choice of their own.
The Pinocchio Parable of Carlo Collodi is a story of a child who was as The Shining’s Jack Torrance (incorrectly) described his son Danny: “A very willful boy.” This Pinocchio was willful, stubborn, lazy, and selfish. But, in the end, he exercised his will to become less of a rascal and more of a responsible young man. Collodi’s parable had a lesson: If you can overcome your willfulness, you can reap the rewards of study, obedience, and hard work.
David, of A.I. Artificial Intelligence, had no will of his own to exercise. The film portrays David as the good guy. The bad guys are those in the film who denounced artificiality. They were portrayed as the bad guys because they were brutal in their destruction of apparently sentient (though artificial) life. The film, however, tricks us into considering them evil. They’re not really the bad guys.
To me, I can relate to these Bad guys. I believe that God wants genuine, willful love demonstrated toward him. He wants genuine imagers who would love him with all of their heart, mind, will, and strength—without reservation, and without the programming that comes either from above or below.
Photo credits: The Internet Movie Database: A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001). “Photo Gallery.” Accessed 25 October 2022. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0212720/mediaindex/?ref_=tt_mi_sm.
A Vlog is a video web log, a visual version of a web log, a blog. A Vlogger is one who produces Vlogs.
For another article on the importance of visual story-telling—in this case, as it pertains to the color red—and how it relates to the Bible and Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List, please see my previous post “Weaving the Scarlet Thread”.
The Kendrick brothers, in their fictional work, produce such high-message / low-metaphor, preachy films. Their documentary work Show Me the Father (2021, rated PG) is far superior to their other films; this work demonstrates their true calling. For more on metaphor, keep reading.
A metaphor is simply a way of comparing one thing to another. Many male, blue-collar workers have well-exercised, meaty fingers; one might even say that they have Sausages for fingers. This is not to say their fingers are composed of sausages. It’s just to say that, in a certain sense, they can be compared to sausages.
A parable is defined as a short allegorical story directed at a specific audience. “The secret of the kingdom” was given to those on the inside, Jesus said, “but to those on the outside everything is said in parables” Mark 4:11.
I understand the two—i.e., Christian and conservative—don’t necessarily overlap; I’m speaking of the general overlap between the values of these two camps.
Klavan now works for The Daily Wire. His YouTube channel is here.
Warning: If you check out his video linked in the previous sentence, beware of the explicit language coming your way, as he directly quotes the film.
This is quite ironic, as Morgan Freeman is known for being an atheist. For more on this, see the Huffington Post, here.
The films that Shapiro and others I’ve here mentioned come in a variety of ratings, from PG to R. I understand that, simply because of their ratings and individual sensibilities, not everyone will be willing to look into these films. The point, however, is not to have you go down a road in which you’re uncomfortable. It’s to know that, regardless of MPAA rating, Hollywood—who doesn’t understand Christian / conservative values, and doesn’t care to—nonetheless distributes films that support those values. Andrew Klavan describes the irony this way: “Great movies, great Christian movies, great art, great Christian art, great true art, great American art is not made by great Americans; it's not made by great Christians. … I'm pretty sure it's made by great artists. [These are] people who love the arts. The arts are changed by people who love the arts.”
Collodi was not his real name. His actual name was Carlo Lorenzini. Like Vito Corleone, who was originally named Vito Andolini, Lorenzini took on the name of the town in Italy from which he came: Collodi, about an hour’s drive outside of Florence.
A protagonist is a narrative’s primary character. Along the way, he is typically met with an antagonist, whose morality is contrasted with the protagonist and challenges him or her, in one way or another, during their journey. For example, in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy is the protagonist; the Wicked Witch of the West is the antagonist.
Collodi, Carlo. The Adventures of Pinocchio (Translated from the Italian by Carol Della Chiesa), Charles Keller & David Widger, 1883. Project Guttenberg (Release Date: January 12, 2006), https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/500/pg500-images.html. Access date: 3 November, 2022.
Outside the narrative, the protagonist’s creator is known as Steven Spielberg, as, in addition to being the film’s director, he is also its screenwriter. Spielberg wrote the screenplay based on the Brian Aldiss story “Supertoys Last All Summer Long" and was greatly influenced by 2001: A Space Odyssey director Stanley Kubrick, who had originated the idea and who had worked with Spielberg on the project for decades.
A.I. Artificial Intelligence, Dir. Steven Spielberg. Warner Bros. / Dreamworks Pictures / Amblin Entertainment, 2001. Fios on Demand. 27 October 2022. 4:15 – 6:33
Ibid. 11:28.
Ibid. 13:11 – 13:58.
Ibid. 23:56.
Ibid. 42:17.
Ibid. 44:14.
Ibid. 51:07 – 51:55.
Yeats, William B. “The Stolen Child.” Poets.org. Posted date: Unknown. https://poets.org/poem/stolen-child. Accessed 3 November 2022.
A.I. 1:31:44 – 1:32:06
Ibid. 1:32:52.
The Fade to white convention in film-making contrasts with Fade to black. The latter is often seen at the end of movies; it indicates closure and the end of the real narrative. Fade to white, on the other hand, represents ambiguity and openness. It’s often used to indicate that characters have entered a state of dream-like, or uncertain, reality. The Fade to White convention being used in the third act of A.I. Artificial Intelligence suggests David may not really be enjoying a final day with Monica, but that he’s only dreaming of such a day.
A.I. 1:42:05.
Ibid. 1:42:37 – 1:42:44.
Ibid. 01:41:15 – 01:41:25.
Ibid. 6:55.
Frankenstein (Universal Studios, 1931). “It's Alive!—Frankenstein (2/8) Movie CLIP (1931) HD.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qNeGSJaQ9Q May 31, 2011. YouTube, uploaded by Movieclips. Accessed 1 November 2022.
A.I. 2:30.
I Recently lost a close friend who happened to be an adherent of Calvinist theology. He loved God and God’s people more than he loved Calvin. He is, and will always be, sorely missed. His adherence to Calvinism never became an impediment to our relationship.
Heiser, Michael S. The Unseen Realm: Recovering the Supernatural Worldview of the Bible. Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2015. Pg. 42.
I relate to this concept as my wife relates to me. When I thank God for my wife, I do so by thanking him that she is to me a faithful reflection of the image of God in my life. She faithfully represents; she faithfully images the God of the Bible into my life.
Heiser. Pg. 42.
Ibid. Pg. 59.
Ibid.