Jules believes that it is a sign from God, a
miracle, and he resolves to quit being a hitman and "walk the earth," like Cain
from Kung Fu, seeking out adventures, trying to find out what God wants to tell
him.
Body:
The
frametale of Pulp Fiction is familiar to most people of my generation. In the
opening act of the movie, two hitmen (Jules and Vincent, played by Samuel
Jackson and John Travolta) nearly miss being shot to death by one of their
panicked victims. The two friends differ in their interpretation of events.
Jules believes that it is a sign from God, a miracle, and he resolves to quit
being a hitman and "walk the earth," like Cain from Kung Fu, seeking out
adventures, trying to find out what God wants to tell him. Vincent is appalled
at Jules' decision, telling him he's going to be "a bum."
In the closing scene of the movie,
Jules and Vincent argue about the meaning of their near miss. Jules says (to
paraphrase) that "it doesn't matter whether or not this was an honest-to-Hoyle
miracle," that God could do mundane things such as "helping me find my car keys,
or turning Coke into Pepsi." Then Jules says what I think is one of the most
important lines in the movie: "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I felt
the presence of God. God got
involved."
I'm not a huge Tarantino
fan, and I'm not going to go into my next Bible Study and recommend to the
little old ladies that they rent Pulp Fiction for deep spiritual insights. But I
think he hits upon something here. It is not the randomness or statistical
improbability of the event that matters - what matters is the meaning we assign
to it. Again, I don't think Tarantino is a devout Christian, but I think he
understands faith better than many Christians do. (Actually, I think Tarantino
is a moralist in much the same way Alfred Hitchcock was - you'll notice there
are certain kinds of people who wind up dead in his movies. In spite of the fact
that both directors play with the boundaries of black and white, there is a kind
of rough justice in the movies of each. One of the saddest parts of Pulp Fiction
is when Vincent dies, and we see the paperback novel lying there - which he will
never finish. I think it's pretty clear what the writer/director believes is the
better interpretation.)
Miracles are,
in part, dependent upon our interpretation of them. I read a Discover magazine
article long ago about how a researcher "reduced" the miracle of the crossing of
the Red Sea to a geophysical explanation. The article actually used the word
"reduced." A researcher had theorized that a gale-force wind or a seismic event
could easily shift water across a large expanse, exposing a land bridge for a
period of time. What I couldn't understand was why anyone would think that
explained anything, much less reduced it. The word reduce tells it all.
Similarly, our biology textbook in
college would "explain away" the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. In the unit
on evolutionary biology, the introductory page was about how seismic events
caused the destruction of an ancient city, and how "superstitious people" (this
is actually how the editors put it) attributed such events to an angry, wrathful
God. This textbook was published by a major publisher. I winced as I read it.
Did the editors really need to give creationists any more evidence that they
were pushing an atheistic, anti-religious, anti-homophobic message? How was this
relevant to the discussion of evolution, apart from antagonizing the
creationists? And again - did they really think they had explained anything?
(Later on, after reading archeological research about the possible whereabouts
of Sodom and Gomorrah, I realized exactly how far the editors had stretched the
truth, presenting extremely hypothetical research as history).
When PBS aired the Question of
God, the roundtable participants couldn't help facing the same
chimera. When one athiest in the group challenged one of the believers, he chose
to approach it this way: 1. Do you believe in
the resurrection? 2. Don't you want to know
how it happened?
He didn't get to
finish his argument, but the idea was to push toward a naturalistic explanation
of how the resurrection happened. Even if you could do such a thing, would you
really have explained it? And yet, if you do believe in the resurrection,
wouldn't you love to know how?
So we
are faced with two sides of a statistically improbable event: 1) Life,
miraculously, exists. 2) How did it happen?
Then, perhaps, 3) If you find out how,
does it cease to be miraculous?
Sure,
you can quibble about what miraculous means, but plop Jules and Vincent down
beside Moses when that wind blows and the land bridge appears. Jules says, "God
got involved." Vincent says, "It's just a strong
wind."
When you get down to the
question of what we should actually teach in schools, I can't help but remember
wincing at the poor decision of the editors of my college textbook. Any theory
of origins is going to be loaded. To say that evolution is "random" and
"uncontrolled" may not necessarily be anti-religious. It may be one way of
correcting the idea that there are naturalistic processes that operate according
to a telos, some end goal. The idea that evolution has some "point" of superior
development has been destructive both scientifically and socially. But it can
also be a way to short-circuit discussions of meaning, religious or otherwise.
My opinion on the subject? Don't teach
Intelligent Design in biology class. But do teach kids philosophy and rhetoric!
Show them Pulp Fiction! (Okay, maybe not.) The travesty in education is not that
kids are subject to religious or anti-religious bias, but that they aren't
taught philosophy and rhetoric at all. They are not given the tools to make
meaning, either individually or as communities. In such an environment,
Jules/Tarantino is the hero - splicing together a religion of old TV shows,
gangster films, martial arts movies, and a few misquoted Bible passages. I'll
take that kind of faith over some school board's dusty prejudices any
day.