A Sort of Homecoming
Recently, my wife and I watched all six Star Wars movies in preparation for The Force Awakens—a feat I hadn’t done in years—and I remember my vaguely alarmed reaction during the credit-crawl for A New Hope.
Recently, my wife and I watched all six Star Wars movies in preparation for The Force Awakens—a feat I hadn’t done in years—and I remember my vaguely alarmed reaction during the credit-crawl for A New Hope.
On bad days, I get worried not when the writing dries up but when it comes too easily, when it tumbles out onto the keyboard with a clatter like a hailstorm. Obviously, in those moments, something went wrong.
But mostly when I laughed, I laughed not because of the priest-man’s antics, or because of the students’ enthusiasm for debauchery. Mostly I laughed to hide my uneasiness.
Things like sex or empathy work better the less you engage with them analytically, the less you step back and watch yourself doing them.
He suggests that imagination is the essential component of sympathy. To imagination, I would add faith, also—faith that what you feel is maybe not so different from what I feel.