Inkwell Musings

Film Project: Great Myths of the Great Depression

2012-01-23T23:17:00.000-05:00

I'm blogging again. However, I've decided to transfer my blog to my own domain. You can find it here: http://nicolebianchi.com. I may still post here from time to time, but probably only to reference posts I've written on that other site.

In Other News
The past several weeks of my life were spent preparing for my college’s spring semester and working with my brother on a film project for a video contest that is being run by the Foundation for Economic Education. The competition asked high-school and college students to create an 8-minute film on Lawrence Reed’s essay “Great Myths of the Great Depression.” 25% of our score is how many hits, likes, and comments we receive on YouTube. We have a month to promote the film. You can watch it below:

In his essay, Lawrence Reed argued that destructive government policies produced America’s Great Depression. He set out to debunk what he called the 20th century’s greatest myth: free markets caused the depression and government intervention brought about economic recovery. Read the original essay here: http://www.fee.org/articles/great-myths-of-the-great-depression.

We used Final Cut Pro, Garage Band, Photoshop and Adobe Flash to produce the film, as well as public domain archival footage and historic photographs from archive.org and The National Archives.It was terribly difficult and time consuming to put this low-budget documentary together. Needless to say, I have even greater respect for professional filmmakers for the time and dedication they put into their projects.

I hope you enjoy the film and find it informative.

The King's Speech: A Review

2011-02-07T20:02:00.007-05:00

A King’s Courage in Overcoming Adversity Embodies the Spirit of a Nation

“Some have greatness thrust upon them,” Shakespeare once observed. His words are an apt description of Prince Albert’s journey to become King George VI of England. The King’s Speech follows Albert's struggles to overcome a debilitating speech handicap in order to lead his nation through the dark days of World War II.

Prince Albert (called Bertie by his family) never expected nor wanted the throne of England. His older brother Edward, charismatic and confident, was first in line to the throne and seemed the perfect choice to lead the nation. Albert suffered from shyness and his crippling stammer only made it worse. Even before the possibility that Edward might abdicate the throne, Albert tried to find someone who could cure his stutter.

It seemed a fruitless search. After visiting nine therapists, Albert had nearly given up all hope. But his wife, Elizabeth, would stop at nothing to help her husband. She discovered an Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue, of questionable methods and even more questionable qualifications, but who turned out to be just the friend the future king needed.

This inspiring story won The King’s Speech twelve Oscar nominations. But, of course, a good story does not always make a great film. However, The King’s Speech was in good hands with director Tom Hooper. A pro at the historical drama genre, Hooper directed the popular John Adams miniseries and won an Emmy for Elizabeth I.

David Seidler wrote the screenplay that bristles with a dry English humor. When Logue asks Bertie if he knows any jokes, the Prince replies, “Timing isn’t my strong suit.” Yet, the subtle humor does not overpower the story. Seidler wrote a script that engages all of his sympathies – he too suffered from a stutter as a child.

The film also benefits from the strong rapport between Colin Firth (who plays Prince Albert) and Geoffrey Rush (as Lionel Logue). Logue insists on calling the Prince by his Christian name, in defiance of royal etiquette. Logue knows that in order to truly help the Prince, Albert must trust him. Albert must see Logue not as his doctor, but as his friend. Helena Bonham Carter turns in an equally fine performance as Albert’s wife, never wavering in her love and support for her husband.

The King’s Speech is a classic underdog story where an unlikely hero is faced with nearly insurmountable odds. It is said that Prince Albert wept when he learned that his brother Edward had abdicated the throne in order to marry the American divorcée, Wallis Simpson. Albert knew that he would be humiliated as King if he could not conquer his stammer. The introduction of the radio meant that he must speak publicly to the people. Without Logue’s help, perhaps Prince Albert would also have abdicated the throne.

However, Albert’s tenacity and courage to conquer his defect prove that he was more than worthy to lead a nation. Indeed, through his friendship with Logue, Albert truly came to know and respect the common Englishman, a class of people the royalty rarely rubbed shoulders with.

At one point, he angrily asks Logue, “If I am king, where is my power? Can I declare war? Form a government? Levy a tax? No! And yet I am the seat of all authority because they think that when I speak, I speak for them.” By the time the film reaches its climatic scene, we know that King George VI does speak for all English people – for the commoner and for the aristocrat and for all who have conquered adversity. His is a story of triumph.

The movie ends with England’s declaration of war against Germany. And, thus, The King’s Speech is elevated to a parable for the indomitable will of the English people. Though the darkness of Nazi Germany nearly overwhelmed their small island, they too would stand firm and triumph.

Watch the trailer here.

[The King's Speech is rated R for language. There are several scenes where Albert swears during his therapy. However, many viewers were shocked to learn that the film had earned an R rating (it is quite tame compared to some PG-13 movies I've seen, though I would not recommend the film for children). Interestingly enough, however, executive producer Harvey Weinstein is considering recutting the movie in order to gain a PG-13 rating. It may be re-released in theaters later this February. Read more about that here.]

Celebrating Christmas

2010-12-24T22:56:00.047-05:00

The Truth Behind the Traditions

Joyeux Noël! Frohe Weihnacht! Buon Natale! Feliz Navidad! Christmas (literally “Christ’s Mass”) is celebrated in over 160 countries by Christians and non-Christians alike. Each country has its own unique traditions and its own way of saying "Merry Christmas." And, yet, though the Christian in Germany and the Christian in New York may celebrate the holiday quite differently, they both are united in their purpose of commemorating the birth of Jesus the Messiah.

Because of its ethnic diversity, the United States boasts a wide range of Christmas traditions. When the average American decorates his Christmas tree, sings songs about Santa Claus, and sends Christmas cards, he is celebrating Christmas traditions taken from all around the world.

So, where exactly do those traditions come from? Read on to find out the history behind many of America's classic Christmas traditions (and wow your friends and relatives this holiday season with your knowledge of Christmas trivia).

The Truth Behind Santa Claus

Americans know Santa Claus as the jolly, rotund, white-bearded man who on Christmas Eve flies across the night sky in a sleigh pulled by nine reindeer. Many parents tell their children that Santa Claus brings the presents that seem to have magically appeared under the tree on Christmas morning. Most of Old Saint Nick's trappings are mythical, but he is actually based on a real person: a fourth century bishop of Myra in Asia Minor (Turkey). St. Nicholas was renowned for his kindness and generosity. In one story, a poor man had no money for his three daughters' dowries and, thus, the daughters could not get married and would be forced into prostitution. The story goes that Nicholas saved them by secretly tossing bags of gold down their chimney.

Unfortunately, Santa Claus has come to be seen as a secular symbol of Christmas -- a fact that would undoubtedly have outraged the bishop. In fact, St. Nicholas was known for his fiery temper. In 325 AD, Nicholas was a delegate at the Council of Nicaea (convened to settle questions regarding Christ's deity). During the proceedings, Nicholas became so enraged at Arius (who opposed the Trinitarian Christology) that Nicholas punched him. Of course, this behavior landed Nicholas in hot water and he was nearly stripped of his office, but the council eventually forgave him. One wonders what the real Santa Claus would do to those today who try to minimize the importance of Jesus during Christmastime.

How did St. Nicholas become the Santa Claus we know today? Well, St. Nicholas was quite a popular figure during the Middle Ages, but the Protestant Reformation discouraged the celebration of saints. The legend of St. Nicholas did survive, however, in the Netherlands. According to this article:

Sinterklaas came to America with the Dutch in the 17th and 18th centuries, and it was in the new colonies that he really evolved. The anglicizing of the name — from Sinterklaas to Santa Claus — happened by 1773, when the latter was referenced for the first time, in a New York City newspaper. Santa's waistline expanded in 1809 with the publication of author Washington Irving's book "A History of New York," in which the big man is described as portly and smoking a pipe instead of as a lanky bishop.

The Truth Behind Christmas Trees

For the Christian, the Christmas tree has come to symbolize everlasting life found in Christ. However, the tree does have its roots in pagan traditions. Fir trees and branches were used to decorate homes and temples during the ancient pagan winter solstice feasts and the Roman Saturnalia. Yet, there are other explanations for the Christmas tree.

One legend tells of Saint Boniface, an English missionary to the Frankish Empire in the 8th century. In 723, Boniface cut down the Donar Oak (Thor's oak), a tree that marked a sacred religious site of the pagan Germanic tribes. The Germanic peoples believed that Donar (Thor) would strike Boniface with lightning. Instead, "the huge oak was felled by a great gust of wind 'as if by miracle' with Boniface only making one swing of the axe." A fir tree sprang up from the center of the felled oak. The pagan peoples were converted on the spot and agreed to be baptized. They believed the fir tree must be holy and, in order to commemorate the event, they decorated the tree with various ornaments. (Another version goes that they decorated the tree with candles so that Boniface could preach to them at nighttime). Whether or not this legend is true, it is undoubtable that the Christmas tree tradition hails from Germany. Christmas trees were not popular in England until Victorian times when Prince Albert (Queen Victoria's German husband) set up a Christmas tree in Windsor Castle.

There are two other stories that might also explain Christmas trees. One involves medieval mystery plays that were often performed on Christmas Eve. Most medieval Christians were illiterate and the plays would bring to life stories from the Bible, often the stories of Creation and the Fall as December 24th was Adam and Eve day in the early Church calendar. A paradise tree, representing the Garden of Eden, was used to advertise the play.

Another story attributes the origin of Christmas trees to Martin Luther. He went for a walk one winter evening and looked up at the stars through the branches of the fir trees. He thought it was so beautiful that he cut down a fir tree and brought it home for his children. They decorated the tree with candles and decided to continue the tradition every Christmas eve.

You can read more about the history of Christmas trees here.

The Truth Behind Christmas Cards

The first White House Christmas Card was sent by Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1953. According to this article: "The first commercial Christmas cards were commissioned by Sir Henry Cole in London in 1843 and featured an illustration by John Callcott Horsley. The picture of a family with a small child drinking wine together proved controversial, but the idea was shrewd: Cole had helped introduce the Penny Post three years earlier. Two batches totaling 2,050 cards were printed and sold that year for a shilling each."

The Truth Behind Nativity Scenes

Nativity scenes are quite popular during the Christmas season, but are not always accurate to the Biblical story of Christ's birth. For instance, the Bible is silent about the actual number of wise men who followed the star. Matthew 2:1-2 says, "Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying, 'Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.'" Nowhere does it specify that there were three wise men.

Further, the Bible does not say that the wise men came to the stable at the same time as the shepherds. Rather, it is more likely that the wise men did not arrive until Jesus was much older (possibly one or two years after his birth). This would make sense because the wise men ask Herod about the child "after Jesus was born." In verse 7, Herod tells them to look for a "young child," not a newborn baby.

When the wise men do not return to Herod, he orders the execution of all male children two years and younger. This would only make sense if there was the possibility that Jesus was two years old. Further, in verses 9 and 11, Matthew tells us: "Behold, the star that they had seen when it rose went before them until it came to rest over the place where the child was...And going into the house they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him." The star did not rest over a stable or an inn, but Mary and Joseph's house.

How, then, did the traditional nativity scene come to be? Why three wise men? And why are they shown at the stable? Most likely the tradition of three wise men came about because three gifts are mentioned in the Biblical story: "Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh."

Nativity scenes began with Saint Francis of Assisi in 1223. He had the idea of recreating the Christmas story in caves with live actors. Most likely, these scenes included the three wise men. It would have been too hard to show the wise men showing up at the cave two years later! Saint Bonaventure in his Life of St. Francis of Assisi writes,

It happened in the third year before his death, that in order to excite the inhabitants of Grecio to commemorate the nativity of the Infant Jesus with great devotion, [St. Francis] determined to keep it with all possible solemnity; and lest he should be accused of lightness or novelty, he asked and obtained the permission of the sovereign Pontiff. Then he prepared a manger, and brought hay, and an ox and an ass to the place appointed. The brethren were summoned, the people ran together, the forest resounded with their voices, and that venerable night was made glorious by many and brilliant lights and sonorous psalms of praise. The man of God [St. Francis] stood before the manger, full of devotion and piety, bathed in tears and radiant with joy; the Holy Gospel was chanted by Francis, the Levite of Christ. Then he preached to the people around the nativity of the poor King; and being unable to utter His name for the tenderness of His love, He called Him the Babe of Bethlehem.

The Truth Behind Christmas Carols

The origin of Christmas carols also arose from Saint Francis of Assisi's Nativity Plays. This article explains:

The people in the plays sang songs or 'canticles' that told the story during the plays. Sometimes, the choruses of these new carols were in Latin; but normally they were all in a language that the people watching the play could understand and join in! The new carols spread to France, Spain, Germany and other European countries.

The earliest carol, like this, was written in 1410. Sadly only a very small fragment of it still exists. The carol was about Mary and Jesus meeting different people in Bethlehem. Most Carols from this time and the Elizabethan period are untrue stories, very loosely based on the Christmas story, about the holy family and were seen as entertaining rather than religious songs. They were usually sung in homes rather than in churches! Traveling singers or Minstrels started singing these carols and the words were changed for the local people wherever they were traveling.

The Truth Behind Wrapping Presents

The tradition of wrapping Christmas presents dates to the Victorian era. However, only the wealthy could afford expensive gifts and elaborate wrapping paper. Thus, wrapping Christmas presents was a practice reserved for the upper classes. This article explains the origins of wrapping paper in the United States:

In the United States, gift wrapping began to be popular in the early 1920’s. Plain tissue paper in red, green, and white had been used prior to this time. The tissue paper was flimsy and sometimes the colors would bleed. Wrapping paper often fell off of the gift or tore before the gift giving process actually occurred. The industry leader in gift wrap is the Hallmark Company. Yes, Joyce C. Hall, the founder of the company, invented the greeting card and the wrapping paper we use today. Today’s paper is still durable but easily folded. The actual invention of Hallmark’s wrapping paper was an accident and not really an invention. The Hall Brother’s store sold out of the tissue paper during the holiday season of 1917. Decorative envelope liners, made of elaborately adorned paper, began to sell for wrapping use. The liners had been purchased from a French factory. At ten cents a sheet they were snapped up quickly. The next year the Halls displayed the same style of envelope liner wrapping paper at three sheets for twenty-five cents. The marketing plan was a success and followed for many years to come.

The Truth Behind Xmas

Many Christians find the term "Xmas" offensive. They believe it is an attempt to take Christ out of Christmas. Surprisingly, however, the X in Xmas is actually the Greek letter chi and the first letter in the Greek word for Christ (Christos). But Xmas should not be pronounced "ex-mas." The correct pronunciation is (you guessed it) -- Christmas.

The image on the left is the labarum, a military standard used by the Roman emperor Constantine I. It represents the first two letters that spell Christos -- chi and rho. Thus, Xmas is an abbreviation for Christmas, but certainly does not take Christ out of Christmas. Perhaps this proves the futility of efforts by the secular word to erase Christianity from the Christmas holiday.

The Truth Behind Mistletoe

Why do we kiss under the mistletoe? Like Christmas trees, the mistletoe is a druidic custom. According to this article:

It is supposed to possess mystical powers which bring good luck to the household and ward off evil spirits. It was also used as a sign of love and friendship in Norse mythology and that's where the custom of kissing under Mistletoe comes from. When the first Christians came to Western Europe, some tried to ban the use of Mistletoe as a decoration in Churches, but many still continued to use it. York Minster Church in the UK used to hold a special Mistletoe Service in the winter, where wrong doers in the city of York could come and be pardoned.

In 1820, Washington Irving wrote in his "The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon" that "the mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses and kitchens at Christmas, and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When the berries are all plucked the privilege ceases."

The Truth Behind Candy Canes

Candy canes were originally white sticks of sugar, peppermint-less and stripe-less. They gained their signature "cane" shape sometime in 1670 when a choirmaster in Germany made the candies resemble shepherd's crooks, and handed them out to children to keep them quiet during the Christmas services. The candy was not flavored with peppermint and was not striped until the 20th century. Some say the candy cane resembles a J and, thus, is a symbol for Jesus. Others say that the three red stripes represent the trinity. Or that the red and white stripes represent Christ's blood and purity. Or that the peppermint flavor represents hyssop, an herb offered to Jesus before he died. However, there is no proof to back up any of these claims. It seems candy canes are just that -- candy canes.

The Truth Behind December 25

Why is Christmas celebrated on December 25? Was Jesus actually born on December 25? Actually, the Bible does not give a date for Christ's birth. It is more probable that Jesus was born in the spring. However, dating Christ's birth to December 25 is an ancient practice. According to this article: "The first recorded date of Christmas being celebrated on December 25th was in 336AD in the time of the Roman Emperor Constantine (he was the first Christian Roman Emperor). A few years later Pope Julius I officially declared that the birth of Jesus would be celebrated on the 25th December." December 25 might have been chosen in an effort to replace pagan holidays with a Christian one. The Winter Solstice and the Roman Saturnalia were celebrated around this date in December. Interestingly, Orthodox and Coptic churches celebrate Christmas on January 7th, and the Armenian Church celebrates it on January 6th. Regardless of the date, it is a special day that Christians set aside to celebrate the miracle of the incarnation -- when God became flesh and dwelt among us. "We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth" (John 1:14).

Merry Christmas! Have a blessed holiday season.

Luke 2, verses 9-14:

And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying:

“Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”

Happy Thanksgiving!

2010-11-25T16:46:00.001-05:00

"God gave you a gift of 86,400 seconds today. Have you used one to say 'thank you?'"
-- William A. Ward

Psalm 100. A Psalm for Giving Grateful Praise.

Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth.
Worship the LORD with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.
Know that the LORD is God.
It is he who made us, and we are his;
we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise;
give thanks to him and praise his name.
For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving with family and friends!

New York City's Poetry

2010-11-22T12:39:00.008-05:00

Musings from a poetry reading hosted by First Things magazine and featuring the poetry of Christian Wiman, editor of Poetry magazine.

I am seated in a small, crowded room on the sixth floor of a building on New York City’s East Side. It is my first time at a poetry reading. Initially, I feel out of place. I am younger than most here – too young even to drink the wine. But I find several familiar faces in the crowd. I realize that all in this room are united by a love for words and especially for poetry.

Christian Wiman, a native of west Texas, came to the city to share his poetry. He laughs, almost apologetically, when admitting that most of the poems are about Texas. But I am fascinated by the way his voice (with a hint of a Texan drawl) lifts words from the page and paints pictures of fields that “wrinkle into rows / of cotton” and dust devils that are a “mystical hysterical amalgam of earth and wind / and mind.”

Leaning forward in my chair to catch the words as they slip past, I wish for pen and paper to write down several of the lines. Wiman knows these poems by heart and does not think to allow a long pause between each reading to let his listeners ponder the graceful phrases.

There is one poem that captivates me. He calls it “Postolka,” the Czech word for kestrel. During a stay in Prague, he saw a falcon land on his windowsill. The poem recounts the moment: “Wish for something, you said. / A shiver pricked your spine. / The falcon turned its head  / and locked its eyes on mine.” I love the way I suddenly feel transported to that room. I can feel the eager anticipation pulsing through my body, and the wonder that such a large bird, loose in a city, would choose my windowsill on which to alight. What would I do in this room if I saw a falcon dive through the night air and perch on the fire escape to stare at me?

I am reminded of a passage from Mystery and Manners, a book of essays by Flannery O’Connor. O’Connor encourages writers to take up painting because it forces them to see. This is the basis of all the arts, she argues. Writing is not concerned with just saying things, but showing things. I do not know if Wiman has read O’Connor, but he has surely taken this advice to heart. His poetry is charged by a peculiar clarity of vision that creates honestly detailed portrayals of everyday life. The poems possess all the color and beauty of a photograph. And, yet, they are much more alive than a photograph: they allow a glimpse into Wiman’s mind and transcribe into words the vibrant glow of his soul.

That glow seems to fill the room, subduing his listeners into an awestruck silence or stirring them to applause. We applaud when his words inspire and encourage the glow within our own souls.

When I leave the poetry reading, I am refreshed and renewed. I find myself on the sidewalk in the cool of an October evening. But the city seems different than before, as though I see it with new eyes. I long to draw my own lines of poetry – to capture the emotions welling up in my soul and somehow offer them up to this big city.

Breakfast at Tiffany's: Book Review

2010-11-17T22:47:00.005-05:00

[This book review was written for a college writing class assignment. I was asked to write a brief essay examining a piece of literature set in New York City. In his story, Capote writes of the City: "They must see this, these lights, this river – I love New York, even though it isn't mine, the way something has to be, a tree or a street or a house, something, anyway, that belongs to me because I belong to it."]

A Review of Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's

The name "Holly Golightly" brings to mind an elegant Audrey Hepburn – slim and beautiful in a chic black dress. Hepburn recreated Truman Capote’s famous character in the 1961 film Breakfast at Tiffany’s and instantly became an icon of fashion. The film, however, presents a sugarcoated version of Capote’s original story. The 1958 novella is a harsher, cruder, and sadder glimpse of life in World War II-era New York City. Capote weaves a theme of alienation throughout the pages, examining the possibility of feeling terribly alone in a city of over twelve million people.

Told through the voice of an unnamed narrator, Breakfast at Tiffany’s follows the escapades of a young socialite, Holly Golightly, who, though she seems to have the world at her feet, tries to find a place where she belongs. The majority of the story takes place in “a brownstone in the East Seventies.” This is only a temporary residence for most of the characters. When the narrator returns to the brownstone years later, he finds only one resident still living there.

Just as the apartment is a temporary residence for the characters, so too are their relationships only temporary. The narrator and Holly become friends, but constantly argue. This tension drives the plot of the story. The narrator can see Holly’s life spiraling out of control, but seems powerless to do anything to save her.

He first meets Holly when she loses her key and rings him to open the front door for her. Later on, she requests entrance to his apartment through the window, explaining, “I’ve got the most terrible man downstairs.” This encounter reveals the most about Holly: she makes her living as a prostitute (wheedling money out of wealthy, older men) and she does not like to speak about her rather odd past (the narrator finds out later that she was a “hillbilly” and a child bride).

The plot of Breakfast at Tiffany’s is anything but new. It follows the basic outline of a romantic novel, though those looking for passion and romance will be disappointed. Capote is more interested in detailing the quiet friendship that develops between the narrator and Holly, rather than her flings with a number of rich millionaires. Further, Capote’s story is intensely realistic. Holly is hardly an innocent damsel in distress and she has no chivalrous knight in shining armor to rescue her.

Indeed, what makes Capote’s story unique is its frank portrayal of ordinary life. Most people will never find the romance they yearn for. Loneliness is a harsh reality – the narrator feels out of place at Holly’s parties, the reader feels as if he were eavesdropping on Holly’s personal life, and Holly herself ultimately finds that she is an outsider to the upper crust of New York City. This is what makes Holly’s pitiful cry all the more poignant – “Not knowing what’s yours till you’ve thrown it away.” It reveals the heart of this cautionary tale. There are two kinds of people in this world – those who find where they belong and those who do not; those who know what’s theirs and keep it and those who throw everything they love away.

Capote wrote his novella for those who are not afraid to examine the heartache and struggle of everyday life. His characters are believable and the dialogue is strong. However, everyday life does not always have a happy ending and, thus, Capote’s story is a bit more depressing than its film counterpart. Yet, this is also the reason why it surpasses the film and must be considered a literary masterpiece.

Historic Trip Down Market Street: Before and After

2010-11-03T19:07:00.018-04:00

1906 San Franciso -- before and after the catastrophic earthquake.

The above movie has gone viral on YouTube with over one million views. The footage is 104 years old -- the first movie to be shot using 35 mm film. On April 14, 1906, a camera was attached to the front of a cable car and captured twelve minutes of busy traffic on San Francisco's Market Street. What fascinates me most about this film, besides the incredible trip back in time, is the absolute mayhem of the traffic -- and not a single accident! Also, it is sobering to think that only four days later tragedy would strike this city and claim over 3,000 lives.

I recommend watching the high quality, restored version of this film that was recently spotlighted on 60 Minutes.

If you're fascinated by the history surrounding the film, watch Morley Safer's full report here. For many years, the film was wrongly believed to have been taken in 1905. However, historian David Kiehn pinpointed the date using theater marquees, car license plates, and weather records.

After watching the above film, view this footage of Market Street following the April 18th earthquake:

At a moment's notice, on a day like the one in the first film, an earthquake rocked the city to its core. San Francisco's devastation eerily resembles a bombed out European city during WWII. It should give us pause when we look at these two contrasting videos to consider how quickly disaster can come upon a city. In the first movie, we see ordinary people going about their daily lives. In the second, we see a nearly deserted street and abandoned, smoking buildings. A few people wander the street, their faces blank -- they know their lives will never be the same. It is saddening that the 21st century man can find such a scene all too familiar with what he experienced on 9/11. We are not immune to such unexpected tragedy.

Most inspiring, however, is the people of San Francisco's perseverance to rebuild their city after the earthquake. I am reminded of the 1936 film San Francisco, starring Clark Gable and Jeanette MacDonald. It tells the story of "a beautiful singer [MacDonald] and a battling priest who try to reform a Barbary Coast saloon owner [Gable] in the days before the big earthquake." The film culminates in a 20-minute recreated sequence of the 1906 earthquake. In the aftermath, Gable searches for MacDonald in the rubble. Despairing, he promises God he will reform his life if MacDonald is alive. When he finds MacDonald in a refugee camp, Gable falls on his knees, thanking God. Word reaches the camp that the fires have been put out in the city. Gable and MacDonald join the other refugees to march back to the city, singing a hymn, with cries of "We'll build a new San Francisco!" The last scene of the movie shows the smoldering city slowly transform into the modern 1930s San Francisco.

Emma M. Burke, a survivor of the earthquake, wrote these inspiring words: "In conclusion, let me say that this stupendous disaster leads a thoughtful person to two conclusions: viz., faith in humanity; and the progress of the human race. All artificial restraints of our civilization fell away with the earthquake's shocks. Every man was his brother's keeper. Everyone spoke to everyone else with a smile. The all-prevailing cheerfulness and helpfulness were encouraging signs of our progress in practicing the golden rule, and humanity's struggle upward toward the example of our Savior."

The Social Network: A Review

2010-10-20T17:19:00.003-04:00

“You don’t get to 500 million friends without making a few enemies.”

David Fincher’s highly anticipated film, The Social Network, has been advertised as a story about the origins of Facebook, the social networking website that now boasts over 500 million users. But at its heart it is a story about the origins of the site’s creator – the brilliant, arrogant, and entrepreneurial Mark Zuckerberg (played by Jesse Eisenberg).

Based on Ben Mezrich’s 2009 bestseller The Accidental Billionaires, the movie is fast paced and carried by sharp, witty dialogue. Aaron Sorkin’s screenplay prevents this story from being just another film about a down-on-his-luck-genius who becomes an accidental, overnight billionaire. Rather there is something about the storyline that is exciting, energetic, and suspenseful. The rise to fame is never easy and the view from the top can be lonely.

The Social Network artfully jumps from flashbacks of Zuckerberg’s college years (when he invented Facebook in his Harvard dorm room) to an office where Zuckerberg testifies in depositions in two lawsuits. One involves the Winklevoss brothers (both played by Armie Hammer), who accuse Zuckerberg of stealing their idea for a social networking site. The other involves his best and only friend Eduardo Saverin (played by Andrew Garfield). Saverin, Facebook’s former CFO, lent Zuckerberg money to start up the website, but was later frozen out. While the audience might sympathize with the claims of Saverin and the Winklevoss twins, Zuckerberg at one point exclaims, “If you were the inventors of Facebook, you would have invented Facebook.” Essentially, this is the story of a man who had a brilliant idea, made that idea a reality, and then found himself the victim of everyone who wanted a piece of his success.

While many of the scenes are lighthearted and there are a few laugh-out-loud moments, the film is actually quite serious and becomes a cautionary tale about the costs of fame. Though a brilliant computer programmer, Zuckerberg was fallible and made a few regrettable decisions along the way. At one point, he follows some bad advice and betrays his best friend for the sake of Facebook. By the end of the film, Zuckerberg may have 500 million Facebook friends, but he finds himself terribly alone. This is one of the subtle messages of the movie – thousands of virtual friends on the Internet cannot substitute for meaningful relationships in everyday life.

And, thus, the movie is a frank portrayal of our culture. Although it is a time of such great opportunity when a young twenty-six year old can become a billionaire, it is also a time of great depersonalization. Perhaps The Social Network has performed so well at the box-office because it is not infected by the culture’s depersonalization. It gives the audience three dimensional characters that we can understand and empathize with: the Winklevoss brothers who had good ideas but not enough drive to see them through; Eduardo Saverin who could not handle living life in the fast lane; Sean Parker (played by Justin Timberlake), the former co-founder of Napster, who jumped onboard the Facebook bandwagon and was destroyed by his own success. But most importantly it is about the creative genius of Mark Zuckerberg and a fascinating glimpse into the mind of an inventor.

Watch the trailer here.

Finding Neverland: A Review

2010-10-08T22:02:00.170-04:00

This Week’s Edition of Friday at the Movies: Spotlighting Films About Writing (Part II)

Missed last week's edition? Read Part I of this series (a review of Finding Forrester.)

Tonight's Spotlight: Finding Neverland (a review)

This review was originally written in March 2005 following the release of the film.

The story of Peter Pan has endeared itself to young and old alike. Many remember the theatrical adaptations or the bright colors and winsome songs of the Disney cartoon. But to understand the story of the boy who never grew up, one must read the original version written by the Scottish novelist and dramatist, J. M. Barrie. Tinged with childish longing, sorrow, and cruelty, this tale does not have the same feel as its adaptations. One may well wonder why it became a children’s classic. Yet, many parts are also filled with beauty and innocence.

Such is also Finding Neverland: a movie delving into concepts of happiness and sorrow -- the beauty of life and the tragedy of death.

Johnny Depp plays the eccentric novelist, J.M. Barrie, in a winning and believable role. However, as an article in The New Yorker observes, "Depp resembles Barrie in no way, except in his slenderness of form. We get a passable, soft stab at a Scottish burr but no mustache; we see more of the sweet side of Barrie." Indeed, this is not a film about Barrie's life (it barely touches the surface), but it is a well-done tribute and shows how Barrie came upon his inspiration for his most famous play, Peter Pan.

The movie begins in 1904 on the opening night of Barrie's play, Little Mary, which proves a terrible failure. However, the theater manager (played by Dustin Hoffman) is willing to give Barrie a second chance. Slightly scarred by the rejection of his previous attempt, Barrie professes, "I can do better."

Barrie seeks out the solace of Kensington Gardens to begin brainstorming ideas for a new play. Here he finds his inspiration in the form of the four young Llewelyn Davies boys (George, Jack, Michael, and Peter) and their recently widowed mother, Sylvia (played by Kate Winslet).

Barrie, throughout the film pictured as a child at heart, immediately befriends the family. He becomes a sort of surrogate father to the grieving children, enchanting them with afternoon games of Cowboys and Indians, knights and kings, and explorations of "darkest Africa."

Peter (movingly played by the young Freddie Highmore) appears to be the one most affected by his father's death. He has grown up too fast, losing the imagination of a child, unable to participate in the games of his brothers. Barrie helps him to regain the childhood he lost, encouraging him to write and pour out his thoughts on paper.

Barrie sees himself in Peter. When he was only six years old, his older brother, David, died in a skating accident. Barrie explains that his mother was terribly affected by this and would never speak or look at him. One day he dressed up in David's clothes and went to her. He says that after that day the boy James just disappeared. "I like to think he went to Neverland."

Barrie mourns over his lost childhood and that he grew up too quickly. He laments, "Boys should never be sent to bed. They wake up a day older."

But the film does not idolize childhood -- only the innocence and the romantic imagination of children. It is also a beautiful coming of age story. When one of the Davies boys shows concern for his mother, Barrie remarks, "The boy is gone. In the last thirty seconds, you just became a man."

Unfortunately, Barrie's friendship with the Davies means that he spends most of his time with the boys and with Sylvia, instead of trying to mend his crumbling marriage and damaging his reputation in the process. As his life begins to unravel, Barrie is struck by tragedy a second time. And it is clear that the success of his play Peter Pan can do little to ebb the despair he feels inside.

Yet, the film is not so much about tragedy as about not giving up in the face of failure, about inspiring others to pursue their dreams, about the power of friendship. Barrie, even at the rejection of his first play, persists in his novel idea for a new one, helped at every turn by the Davies family. In a touching scene, Barrie and Sylvia encourage Michael to fly a kite, even though he is the smallest and cannot run as fast as the others. And Barrie urges Peter to write a play, even though the boy states that his brothers write better than him.

Further, Finding Neverland shows that imagination can help mend grieving hearts and bring people closer together. However, it does not necessarily advocate escapism. A clear balance exists between being serious and pretending, as Barrie reminds Sylvia at one part in the film over a serious issue, "You can’t keep pretending."

The movie is not without its problems. Lacking a Christian worldview, it does not quite reach the excellence that it could have. There is never a reference to God and Neverland takes on the form of Heaven. It's quite simply Romantic Humanism. This is probably why the conclusion of the film feels a tad bit unsatisfying.

In spite of this, it is a fine piece of storytelling with strong acting, enchanting scenes, and a hauntingly beautiful soundtrack. And, notwithstanding its obvious problems, it still conveys countless truths. Finding Neverland is about growing up but retaining the innocence and wonder of a child, about getting over grief, about understanding death, about comforting people and bringing happiness to others. But, most importantly, it is about the exuberant imagination of a brilliant storyteller. It is about J. M. Barrie.

He thought that he had found that innocence and wonder in the Davies boys. But he was wrong. As Peter exclaims at one part in the film, "I'm not Peter Pan. He is."

Watch the trailer here.

Finding Forrester: A Review

2010-10-01T22:10:00.088-04:00

This Week’s Edition of Friday at the Movies: Spotlighting Films About Writing

I’m reserving Fridays for writing about some of the movies that I love. This October I’ll be spotlighting five of my favorite films about writing. These are the movies that I turn to when I want to be inspired. I’ll be posting them in alphabetical order over the coming weeks.

Do you have a favorite movie about writing or about a famous writer? Please do share in the comment section below. I’m always looking for more movies to add to my list.

Tonight's Spotlight: Finding Forrester (a review)

"No thinking - that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is -- to write, not to think!"

This is one of many writing tips that Jamal Wallace learns from his mentor, William Forrester, in the 2000 drama, Finding Forrester. Theirs is an unlikely friendship. Wallace (played by Rob Brown in his first film role) is an African-American teenager from the Bronx who spends most of his time on the basketball court. Forrester (played by Sean Connery) is a reclusive writer, hiding in an apartment, and using binoculars to spy on the neighborhood. Wallace's friends dare him to sneak into Forrester's apartment one night, but when Forrester finds him, he runs off and accidentally leaves his backpack behind. It turns out that Wallace is an exceptionally gifted writer; his backpack is filled with journals of his writing.

Forrester is annoyed at Wallace for invading his privacy, but tosses the backpack and journals out the window (his comments are scrawled across the pages in red ink). Likewise, Wallace is annoyed at Forrester for reading his journals, but is also intrigued that someone has taken interest in his writing. He returns to the apartment with more of his work and slowly wins over the lonely and rather bitter old man.

Forrester is not the only one to discover Wallace's talent. Although Wallace has been underachieving at his inner city high school in an effort to fit in with his friends, he scores particularly high on the Stanford Achievement Test. This catches the eye of a selective private school (who are also impressed by his skill on the basketball court) and he is soon awarded a scholarship. In this new world and completely different culture, Wallace will find his friendship with Forrester particularly invaluable.

Directed by Gus Van Sant (of Good Will Hunting fame) and written by Mike Rich, Finding Forrester is a classic hollywood tale of unlikely friendship and the importance of following one's dreams. While this storyline might seem a tad cliche, it is rescued by Connery's convincing portrayal of a brilliant author who achieved the success many writers can only dream of, but ultimately found it a hollow victory. It could not bring him happiness.

Connery's and Brown's rapport drive the film, especially their conversations about writing. The film gives a very unique image of the writer than one we are used to seeing. He is not to be shut up in a room all by himself, banging away on his typewriter. Rather, writing is a communal art, like music or dancing. It is to be shared and read aloud. Writers find their best ideas when brainstorming with others. (C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien certainly understood this when they formed The Inklings).

Though Forrester has much more experience than his young protégé, it is Wallace who utters one of the most mature and insightful lines in the movie, berating Forrester for hiding from the world, and having a locked file cabinet full of writing that nobody else can read. Forrester is squandering his gifts, burying them in the ground like the foolish servant in the Parable of the Talents. People are given gifts in order to use them to impact others, not to shut up their gifts in a drawer. Even if we write everyday, that writing will only be truly alive if others read it and are moved by our turn of phrase. One of the main purposes of writing (and of art in general) is to uplift and encourage the soul of man. Wallace accuses Forrester of being too scared to "walk out that door and do something for somebody else."

Ultimately, Finding Forrester tells a coming of age story about overcoming adversity -- having the tenacity to hone and develop one's individual talents. It certainly does not paint the road to success as trouble-free. Wallace soon comes into conflict with a teacher at his new school who refuses to believe that a student of Wallace's background could possess such a tremendous gift for writing. But Forrester teaches Wallace that it is better to exceed than simply measure up to the expectations of others. And in many ways the film exceeds our own expectations by taking a familiar plot-line and retelling it in a new and inspiring way.

Watch the trailer here.

Reverie

2010-09-27T14:20:00.011-04:00

This Week's Edition of Musical Mondays: "Rêverie" by Claude Debussy

Happy Monday!

Mondays can be rather exciting, beckoning us to explore a long and beautifully new week. However, they can also be slightly intimidating: there is so much to be done! How will we ever meet all these deadlines?

That's why I've started Musical Mondays. Sometimes a song can help you make it through a week. It might inspire you while writing, or studying, or commuting to work. What song was the soundtrack of your Monday? Share your song in the comments section below.

Today, I'm sharing "Rêverie" by Claude Debussy. It inspired the following essay I wrote several weeks ago for my college writing class. The assignment: "Tell me about your favorite word, and why it is your favorite word. I don’t want you to explain it to me. Show me instead, by telling me a story." Enjoy!

Reverie

Sometimes in the afternoon I find myself left all alone. Everyone has gone out; the rooms lie empty and silent. I switch on a piano recording and listen as the music fills the house, puncturing my solitude. I should be studying. I have my books piled in a neat stack on the floor. If I stand up, the stack reaches to my knees. Choosing a book, I flip it open and finger the pages. But my mind is elsewhere. My ears have caught the tune of the music, and the gentle voice of the piano washes over me.

It is a piece by Debussy – a piece so haunting that it distracts me from my schoolwork. Like a small child, I close my eyes and begin to dream. Long ago, I learned that I could dream while I was still awake. Although it is less real than a sleeping dream, it is perhaps more beautiful, for I can manipulate these dreams exactly as I wish. A friend once told me that they did not know how to daydream. I found this shocking -- I always thought that daydreaming was as natural as singing in the shower.

I am sure Debussy was dreaming when he wrote this piano piece. He named it “Reverie.” It is a French word, a synonym for daydream. Dissecting the etymology, I learn that it means a “wandering madman.” Perhaps that is a bit harsh, but I suppose that we who fall into these reveries have something of Don Quixote in us.

Where do I wander in my reverie? Does it matter? It is here alone that I have power over time: I can slip from memory to memory, lingering in the past. Or I can race to the future, imagining what it might be like, looking forward to things not yet written, or spoken, or touched, or seen. The piano piece ends and I am awakened from my thoughts. I must return to my work. Even now I can hear the sound of a car in the driveway: the family has returned. They will fill the house with noise. My reverie is over, leaving me to the busy reality of life. I smile. When we have such little time and so many things to do, I think it is our reveries that keep us all quite sane.

What's your song for Musical Monday? Share it in the comments section.

Snapshots

2010-09-21T20:58:00.011-04:00

In late August, I began going to school in New York City, and soon realized that there is too much to see in this busy metropolis.

But I keep forgetting to bring my camera with me. I wish I could store images in my head like I do on my camera's memory card. Yet, when I go back and try to remember, I find I have lost the important details. Or perhaps it is that I am remembering only the details that stood out to me: the rich mulberry of the art-deco uniforms worn by staff at the Empire State Building, the smell of fresh bread wafting out of Zaro's in Grand Central, the woman who leaves the train with a little white dog peeking his head out of of her pocketbook, the small boy in the subway station who must think it is Carnegie Hall because he has set up his piano keyboard and is playing Mozart's Alla Turca as if his life depended on it...the cracks in the sidewalk, the buildings that you can only see completely if you crane your neck back till it hurts, tourists who feel as if they didn't belong here, thousands of tourists who stop in the middle of sidewalks to check their maps while people who do belong here are pushing past them to get to work, to get to school, to get to a train, to hail a taxi, to do something, to be somewhere, who are happy as long as they keep moving...

"If you imagine an ordinary moment
at an intersection in New York City,
and there is a pause because there is a streetlight,
and some people are stopped and others in motion,
and some cars are stopped and others in motion;
if you were to put that into film terms as a “freeze frame”
and hold everything for a second,
you would realize
that there’s a universe there of totally disparate intentions,
everybody going about his or her business
in the silence of their own minds,
with everybody else
and the street
and the time of day
and the architecture
and the quality of the light
and the nature of the weather
as a kind of background or field for the individual consciousness
and the drama that it is making for itself at that moment,
and you think about that,
that’s what happens in the city,
in that somehow the city can embrace and accept and accommodate
all that disparate intention,
at one and the same time,
not only on that corner,
but on thousands of corners.
It's really an astonishing thing. . . . ." - E. L. Doctorow, New York: A Documentary Film

My favorite book on writing is Flannery O'Connor's Mystery and Manners. If you write or love writing (or are a fan of O'Connor or simply want to enjoy some beautiful prose), read this book. When poring over the book for the second time this summer, one passage in particular stood out to me. O'Connor writes,

I have a friend who is taking acting lessons from a Russian lady who is supposed to be very good at teaching actors. My friend wrote me that the first month they didn't speak a line, they only learned to see. Now learning to see is the basis of all the arts except music. I know a good many fiction writers who paint, not because they're any good at painting, but because it helps their writing. It forces them to look at things. Fiction writing is very seldom a matter of saying things; it is a matter of showing things...Any discipline can help your writing: logic, mathematics, theology, and of course and particularly drawing. Anything that helps you to see, anything that makes you look. The writer should never be ashamed of staring. There is nothing that doesn't require his attention.

Never be ashamed to stare (or eavesdrop, for that matter). It may seem rude, but I'm sure that O'Connor would agree that proper and undetected staring is an art form and most writers can do it quite well. After all, can we truly believe that the stuff of many of O. Henry's short stories was not lifted from the conversations he overheard at Pete's Tavern?

Why do I care about all this? Because here am I, commuting to school in New York City, the largest city in the United States, hoping that these rich and varied noises, these crowds, these buildings will somehow shatter my writer's block.

I will keep my eyes and ears open. I will remember to bring my camera. And I will share what I experience here on this blog.

This quote inspires me:

"Dawn in the big city. There are eight million stories out there." - Metropolitan

The Beginning

2010-09-16T00:32:00.002-04:00

I want to start blogging again. I want to write for the sake of writing, to feel the sweet freedom of spilling out one's soul on paper (or a computer screen, as the case may be). Over the past few years I have felt as if my writing were bottled up. I've been writing papers for school; they are graded and returned, and then I either post them on my site or leave them to languish in a lonely computer folder. But what am I writing for? Is it only a grade? Is there an audience besides my professors?

Benjamin Franklin's words are inspiring me, pushing me outside my comfort zone: "Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." Can I, perhaps, accomplish both?

It seems as if I blog in spurts. I feel the urge to blog when I start experiencing the world in a new and different way. Then things become dull, common again. My inspiration ebbs. I make excuses and tell myself I simply do not have time to write. Let's change that, shall we? I am feeling optimistic -- about life, about the world, about autumn in New York. I feel as if writing material were everywhere. And I want to write what I want to write about -- not be constricted to the bounds of a writing assignment.

And, so, I have returned. My blog is resurrected. Let the writing begin.

War is Hell

2010-05-24T12:10:00.001-04:00

A Critique of Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front

In 1928, World War I veteran Erich Maria Remarque penned All Quiet on the Western Front as a scathing denouncement of the horrors of war. Through the fictional first-hand account of a young German soldier (Paul Bäumer) fighting in the trenches, Remarque portrayed the bitter fruits of war: the alienation of an entire generation, the destruction of former beliefs and values, and the eventual dehumanization of the individual. Ultimately, Remarque challenged antebellum Enlightenment ideals and presented a worldview of Postmodernism in which man is doomed to an existence of despair and can find peace only in death.

Prior to World War I, optimism reigned. The Enlightenment philosophy taught that man was progressing and would eventually be able to solve all the world’s problems. Yet the horror and carnage of the war revealed that this progress had led to technology with the ability to take rather than prolong human life. The war struck a blow to the belief in the superiority of Western civilization and destroyed any idea of the innate goodness of man. Postmodernism soon took hold and swept away the modernist Enlightenment worldview. It emphasized a bleak disillusionment for the things of the past. While the characters of Remarque’s novel might look back with yearning for their former life, they ultimately conclude that such a life had been nothing but an innocent and naïve lie that had not yet been tested by the fires of war.

First, Remarque attacked the senseless idealism of the previous age and emphasized the alienation of those soldiers who would return from the war. When Paul Bäumer is given several days on leave, he finds himself unable to cope with civilian life. He struggles to rekindle his former dreams and the ideals of his youth, but discovers they have all been violently shattered. Bäumer observes, “Today we would pass through the scenes of our youth like travelers. We are burnt up by hard facts…We might exist there; but should we really live there? We are forlorn like children and experienced like old men—I believe we are lost.” He describes his memories of the past as looking at a photograph of a fallen comrade. Bäumer attributes this alienation to his rejection of the identity that was created for him by society. He must reject the generation that called him a hero for willingly sacrificing his life in a meaningless war. In a discussion with his fellow soldiers, he tries to determine why the war is being fought at all. His friend exclaims, “A mountain in Germany cannot offend a mountain in France.” Essentially, they are asking – for what are we dying? Lashing out against his former teachers Bäumer exclaims, “The idea of authority, which they represented, was associated in our minds with a greater insight and a more humane wisdom. But the first death we saw shattered this belief …We were all at once terribly alone; and alone we must see it through.” Rather than uniting the young men and their teachers in a common cause, the war had widened the divide between these two generations.

Second, as these soldiers were alienated from the previous generation and way of life, they were also forced to abandon their former beliefs and values. Even their faith in God was tested. Many ended up placing their lot with chance rather than trusting in the providence of God. Bäumer wryly observes, “It is just a matter of chance that I am still alive as that I may have been hit…No soldier outlives a thousand chances. But every soldier believes in Chance and trusts his luck.” This idea of chance is contrary to the teachings of the Enlightenment. Most Enlightenment thinkers had been deists. They theorized that God was like a watchmaker. Just as a watchmaker designs the watch, winds it up, and then lets it run by itself, so too God had created the world and now let it run according to the rational and orderly laws he had established (with no divine intervention by him). Bäumer, on the other hand, sees World War I as proof of irrationality rather than order and logic. He declares, “It must be all lies…when the culture of a thousand years could not prevent this stream of blood…these torture-chambers in their hundreds of thousands… The keenest brains of the world invent weapons and words to make it yet more refined and enduring.” The Enlightenment had elevated reason and professed a belief in man’s ability to progress to perfection. But had this progress accomplished perfection? Was it perfection to develop weapons that would kill and maim your fellow human beings? Uninhibited reason had not led to a utopia. Rather, it had led to the hellish reality of trench warfare and exposed the darker side of human nature.

Third and, finally, World War I dehumanized the individual. Dehumanization is often an excellent propaganda technique. Warring nations are quick to demonize their enemies. This stirs patriotic fervor. After all, the German soldiers and French soldiers had never had a personal quarrel. An innocent peace-loving French writer had no desire to fight a German farmer. Thus, the German farmer must be deceived into thinking that the French writer is evil and bloodthirsty. Bäumer discovers this reality when he becomes lost in the trenches, murders a French soldier, and then must wait in the trench with the dying Frenchman. He laments, “Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us…Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?” But the war does not only dehumanize Bäumer’s enemies. It dehumanizes him as well and turns him into a killing machine. He admits, “What do they expect of us if a time ever comes when the war is over? Through the years our business has been killing; -- it was our first calling in life. Our knowledge of life is limited to death.” He understands nothing but how to kill. Alienated from civilian life, it is doubtful whether he could ever abandon his life as a soldier. Indeed, while many would hail World War I as the war to end all wars, Bäumer scoffs at such a belief. World War I has simply triggered a cycle of killing. He declares, “The days, the weeks, the years out here shall come back again, and our dead comrades shall then stand up again and march with us…we shall have a purpose, and so we shall march: -- against whom, against whom?” Bäumer understands that even though they may put away their weapons, the world has been transformed into a society where death and killing are the only realities. With the Enlightenment beliefs destroyed, the world is doomed to an existence of irrationality and desolation. Reason no longer distinguishes man from the animal. Men have been “transformed into unthinking animals.”

Ultimately, Remarque’s novel gives no answer and no hope for how to begin building back the ruins of war torn Europe and the Enlightenment viewpoint. Nearly all of the main characters die, almost hinting that it is meaningless to continue to live in the wake of such destruction and despair. Commenting on Bäumer’s death, Remarque writes, “His face had an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come.” Indeed, death is the only thing that can bring the postmodern man seeming peace. It is the one thing that is always sure and cannot be escaped.

[See Photos of the Great War for more original pictures from WWI]

A Word on Civil Religion

2010-04-25T21:59:00.003-04:00

What is “civil religion”? Is it good to have a strong sense of civil religion inside a state? Are there any downsides to a robust civil religion?

“Civil Religion” is not so much a specific “religion” (e.g., Christianity or Islam) as a nation's universal expression of ideals and moral convictions tied to patriotism. The phrase was coined by the French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau in his treatise The Social Contract. He wrote,

Now, it matters very much to the community that each citizen should have a religion…There is therefore a purely civil profession of faith of which the Sovereign should fix the articles, not exactly as religious dogmas, but as social sentiments without which a man cannot be a good citizen or a faithful subject…Now that there is and can be no longer an exclusive national religion, tolerance should be given to all religions that tolerate others, so long as their dogmas contain nothing contrary to the duties of citizenship. But whoever dares to say: Outside the Church is no salvation, ought to be driven from the State, unless the State is the Church, and the prince the pontiff.

Rousseau believed the civil religion should be composed of the belief in an “intelligent and beneficent Deity,” life after death, “the happiness of the just and the punishment of the wicked,” and the sanctity of the law and the Social Contract. Further, intolerance of diverse faiths was forbidden unless that faith preached that salvation was found in Christ alone. Thus, Civil Religion was tolerant of all faiths except Christianity.

Generations later Marx would sum up Rousseau's Civil Religion with the phrase, "Religion is the opiate of the masses." Marx understood that this Civil Religion would mold the people into obedient citizens of the state.

Christopher Manion in his essay "St. John F. Kennedy" observes,

His [Rousseau's] Social Contract advocated absolute rule by a sovereign whose adviser, that 'mortal god' the legislateur, would interpret the 'General Will,' a mythical entity known only to him, and a proposition decidedly opposed to the natural law...Rousseau would lament that 'man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains.' For Rousseau, rebelling against religion and tradition were part and parcel of the preambles to the true social contract – so that man could be totally subjected to the 'General Will,' which was whatever the government said it was...Those who objected 'must be forced to be free,' the earmark of every ideological tyranny since. Auguste Comte, the founder of sociology, adopted a most extreme version of this totalitarian symbolism, reorganizing the entire calendar and issuing a new roster of secular saints more conducive to modernity.

Rousseau's treatise for totalitarian democracy would inspire the French Revolution and the subsequent Reign of Terror that executed thousands of innocent French citizens. Revolutionaries soon established a Civil Religion, attempting to de-Christianize France by replacing the Catholic religion with a Cult of Reason (later the deistic Cult of the Supreme Being), converting churches into warehouses, slaughtering priests, and destroying crosses. Even the calendar was transformed, abolishing the Christian Sabbath and declaring 1792 "year one"

In his book How Should We Then Live? Francis Schaeffer writes, "They proclaimed the goddess of Reason in Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris and in other churches in France, including Chartres. In Paris, the goddess was personified by an actress, Demoiselle Candeille, carried shoulder-high into the cathedral by men dressed in Roman costumes."

Jump ahead to 1967 America. Robert Bellah coins the term "American Civil Religion." Had Rousseau's Civil Religion eventually found its way to America? This Civil Religion was much more subtle than that introduced in France. Historians point to its appearance in the 1950's as a direct response to the atheism of Communism. This Civil Religion gave Americans a distinct identity and sense of unity. President Eisenhower insisted, “Our government makes no sense unless it is founded on a deeply felt religious faith – and I don’t care what it is!” American Civil Religion culminated in the creation of a National Day of Prayer in 1952, the phrase “under God” which was added to the Pledge of Allegiance in 1954, congress’ injunction in 1955 that all currency bear the words “In God We Trust,” and in 1956 the acknowledgement of that phrase as the official motto of the United States.

However, this Civil Religion of the 1950's could be seen as an outworking of Nationalism rather than true Christian faith. The flippant words of Eisenhower (that he doesn’t care what religion you choose) can be dangerous. Note that Eisenhower wasn't talking about one's personal faith, but about which religion should inform government legislation, which religion was going to unite the nation against the threat of Communism. According to The Making of the West, Nationalism teaches that "all peoples derive their identities from their nations, which are defined by common language, shared cultural traditions, and sometimes religion." Yet, Paul tells us in Galatians 3:28, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ.” We find our identity not in our nation, but in Christ. Of course this does not mean that a celebration of one’s culture is immoral or that a group of refugees cannot establish a nation for themselves (as the Jewish people did with the State of Israel), but such sentiments should not culminate in a worship of that nation (as seen in Rome, the French Revolution, and Nazi Germany). In that light, nationalism's Civil Religion becomes a false religion.

In the name of tolerance, Civil Religion rejects acknowledgment of the Christian God as the head of one’s nation, preferring instead to invoke a non-specific god at political events, public prayers, and speeches. Civil Religion is a blind religion that sees no theological difference between the Christian, the Muslim, the Buddhist, the Hindu, or even the Atheist. In this sense, Civil Religion is directly opposed to Christianity. This was the Civil Religion that took root in 1950's America. Thus, the atheist really shouldn't make such a commotion about the word "god" that appears in the Pledge of Allegiance. If it is a reference to the god of America's Civil Religion, then it means nothing.

The words of G.K. Chesterton are apt, "Once abolish the God, and the government becomes the God." This was Rousseau's purpose with Civil Religion. Before we can celebrate the fact that God is still invoked on our money, we must reestablish who this God is. We must ask ourselves: in what god does our nation trust? Our nation may sing "God Bless America," but unless that nation acknowledges the God of the Christian faith and follows God’s absolute moral standards and the teachings of Scripture to inform its moral laws, God will not bless that nation. Such references to God are as vacuous as the altar the Athenians erected to the Unknown God. Rather, like Paul, we must proclaim the one true God to our nation.

A Case for Free Markets

2010-03-13T17:52:00.004-05:00

Adam Smith’s Revolutionary Economic Theory in Wealth of Nations

[Analytical Essay written for a college Western Civilization class]

In 1776, Adam Smith penned An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations in order to discover the best economic policy a nation should follow. Ultimately, he concluded that a free-market system (in which the government had limited intervention in the marketplace) would lead to the most productive nation. Developing such revolutionary theories as the division of labor, the invisible hand, and freedom of trade, Smith successfully challenged mercantilist ideas and established capitalism as the policy that would bring the most wealth to a nation.

Up until the 18th century the policies of mercantilism had been adopted by nearly all European nations. Mercantilism taught that government regulation and intervention in the marketplace was essential for increasing national wealth. Europeans believed that the nation with the most capital was the wealthiest. For instance, Spain established its overseas colonies primarily to mine for gold and silver. Indeed, they focused on extraction, rather than colonization. But when Great Britain adopted the policies advocated by Adam Smith, their colonies prospered whereas Spain soon lost its standing as the preeminent world power.

First, Smith believed that one of the most important elements of a free society was the division of labor. Adam Smith explained the concept using the example of a pin factory. Each worker was able to specialize in the part of making a pin that he did best, instead of having to construct an entire pin on his own. Smith observed,

Each person, therefore, making a tenth part of forty-eight thousand pins, might be considered as making four thousand eight hundred pins in a day. But if they had all wrought separately and independently, and without any of them having been educated to this peculiar business, they certainly could not each of them have made twenty, perhaps not one pin a day.

Thus, the division of labor allowed an increase in production and would be a driving force behind progress, as evidenced when Henry Ford invented the assembly line and revolutionized the factory. Smith’s argument for the division of labor was also an argument for machinery. He writes, “I shall only observe, therefore, that the invention of all those machines by which labor is so much facilitated and abridged seems to have been originally owing to the division of labor.” Further, Smith’s concept of the division of labor need not only be applied to the individual worker. Indeed, his analogy of the pin factory is applicable to entire nations as well. If Holland is better at fishing and Britain is better at growing wheat, they should not try to out produce each other or compete at fishing or the growing of wheat. Rather, Britain should concentrate on growing wheat and Holland should perfect their fishing. They can then trade those commodities with each other. In that way, Britain will be able to devote its time to a trade that it does best and Holland will be able to devote its time to the trade that it does best. Ultimately, Smith’s theory benefits the individual and the nation as a whole.

Second, Smith argued that the reason the division of labor worked so well was because of a principle he called the Invisible Hand. Smith writes, “By directing that industry in such a manner as its produce may be of the greatest value, he intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention.” Self-interest, according to Smith, was the guiding principle in a free market system. He noted that the division of labor worked so efficiently because, “It is the necessary, though very slow and gradual consequence of a certain propensity in human nature which has in view no such extensive utility; the propensity to truck, barter, and exchange one thing for another.” Smith’s theory can be explained with the following illustration. A person has two loaves of bread, but he only wants one and would also like a glass of water. Another person has two glasses of water, but would like a loaf of bread as well. Thus, these two people can exchange the glass of water and the loaf of bread. Each person acted out of self-interest. If the second person did not have a glass of water, the first person would not have traded his loaf of bread with him but found another person with whom he could have traded for something that he wanted. Ultimately, this small transaction mirrors what happened in Smith’s pin factory and in other business in the marketplace. Each individual transaction may seem disconnected, but Smith believed they were all guided by an invisible hand and worked together to bring about the ultimate good for society. It is important that Smith pointed to the invisible hand and not to the government. It was not the government’s job to meddle in the individual transactions or try to divide up labor on its own. The government should not step in and appoint one man to the job of shoe maker and another to the job of baker. They lacked the knowledge to oversee such a vast and impossible task. Rather, the market place must be left to its own design. People’s self-interest was enough to benefit the nation.

Third, and, finally, as partly seen in the preceding paragraph, Smith advocated the freedom of trade. In one instance, he writes, “Labor, therefore, is the real measure of the exchangeable value of all commodities…The real price of everything, what everything really costs to the man who wants to acquire it, is the toil and trouble of acquiring it.” Thus, Smith argued against the government fixing a price on commodities. It would be impossible for the government to decide what the price milk or butter or any other commodity should be, because that was the realm of the consumer. Only the consumer could put a price on a commodity and the producer alone should decide if it was worth him selling his commodity at such a price. Further, Smith argued against the giving of bounties, pointing out that “the real effect of the bounty is not so much to raise the real value of corn as to degrade the real value of silver” and forces “some part of the industry of the country into a channel less advantageous than that in which it would run of its own accord.” Smith saw both bounties and treaties of commerce as destructive, because they gave merchants an unfair monopoly. Ultimately, the price of goods would be negatively affected. As previously stated, prices should be fixed by the individual producer and consumer. By giving a nation an unfair monopoly, another nation was unable to compete in the marketplace. The nation with the monopoly could then raise its prices. This would be destructive to the consumers.

In conclusion, Smith’s economic work established free-market capitalism as superior to mercantilism. While mercantilism urged extensive intervention and regulation in the marketplace, Smith proved that this would be destructive to the wealth of the nation. If a nation truly wanted to build up its wealth and make itself prosperous, it would allow its citizens to interact according to their own self-interest, progressing through the division of labor, and working towards the good of society by the oversight of an invisible hand. Nations did not need to increase their wealth by storing up capital but by exercising free trade. Indeed, the nations that adopted Smith’s economic theory, like Britain, soon became the leading world powers.

The Forest of Arden

2010-02-03T11:48:00.001-05:00

A Transforming Power in Shakespeare's As You Like It

[Critical Dialogue Essay written for a Western Literature class]

In his critical paper “No Exit from Arden,” Ralph Berry claims that the Forest of Arden does not act as a restorative power on the hostile relationships in William Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Berry concludes, “The idyll of Arden is an idea as much under fire as the denizens of the forest; and the final path that leads away from forest to court is a change of milieu, not a way out of those problems.” However, I contend that rather than remaining unchanged, the characters’ relationships are transformed at play’s end – Arden helps them to overcome their shortcomings, reverse their bad fortune, and see the world through different eyes.

First, Berry argues “that Arden is no paradise.” This is correct. Arden is not a place where animals and humans coexist peacefully. Indeed, a poisonous snake and a lioness threaten Oliver’s life. Yet, this does not mean that Arden cannot transform the characters of the play. Rather, the very fact that it is not a paradise forces them to experience situations that test their character, restore their broken relationships, and allow them to return to court with a better understanding of their world.

Second, Berry writes that the reason for the character’s hostile relationships is an “underlying recognition that other people’s qualities parallel and subtly menace one’s own…a simple will to dominate.” This is correct also, but if the characters abandon these perspectives, Arden has been a path out of those problems.

Such change is witnessed in the two most hostile relationships of the play: Orlando and Oliver, and Duke Frederick and Duke Senior. Oliver declares of Orlando, “I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he.” His malice forces Orlando to flee to Arden. Similarly, Duke Frederick usurps Duke Senior’s throne, banishing him to the same forest. Yet, Oliver and Duke Frederick undergo a complete transformation when attempting to kill their brothers in the forest. Orlando rescues the sleeping Oliver from a lioness. Oliver, overcome by this selfless act, repents of his cruelty and filial love is restored between the two brothers. Indeed, Oliver insists that he is a different man than the one who tried to kill his brother. Further, Duke Frederick, attempting to invade the forest with an army, is met by an old religious man who converts him. Berry scoffs at these conversions, writing, “An impulse to protect themselves…accounts for [their] sudden conversions … [having] earlier given indications that Duke Senior and Orlando represent threats to their psyches.” But, then, why do they convert at all? If their thinking is unchanged, their brothers still are threats. It is because they have undergone a deep transformation that erases any need for such protection and reconciles them with their brothers.

Third, Arden restores the chaotic world of the court back to a proper order. Rosalind, banished from the court, is forced to flee to the forest disguised as a young man. This gender bending disrupts the natural order God created in the world. So, too, Duke Frederick’s usurpation of his brother’s throne is a revolt against established authority. Yet, when the characters exit the forest by play’s end, Rosalind abandons her disguise, marrying Orlando, and resuming her proper role as a woman. Duke Frederick willingly cedes the throne to Duke Senior.

In conclusion, when the characters exit Arden they are truly free from the hostile relationships and the disorder that had created all of their problems. Hymen declares, “Then is there mirth in heaven / When earthly things made even / Atone together.” The themes of forgiveness, compassion, and love govern the world of Arden, giving the characters a way to order their lives and solve their problems outside the forest as well. Arden is not merely a change of scene, but a place in which the characters come to a better understanding of godly virtues and how to interact in the real world.

"Lord of all, Servant of all"

2010-01-13T23:17:00.004-05:00

Martin Luther’s Paradox of the Inward and Outward Man

[Analytical Essay written for a college Western Civilization class]

Martin Luther, one of the foremost leaders of the Protestant Reformation in Europe, penned his treatise “Concerning Christian Liberty” in 1520 in order to explain his belief that faith alone, to the exclusion of any good works of man, is necessary for salvation. Yet, Luther is adamant that this belief does not diminish the importance of good works for the Christian, writing, “A Christian man is the most free lord of all, and subject to none; a Christian man is the most dutiful servant of all, and subject to every one.” Through this seeming paradox, Luther argues that the Christian is two men: the inward man who is free from the condemnation of the law and, thus, does not have to do good works in order to earn salvation, and the outward man who, after being saved, does good works as a reflection of Christ. Ultimately, Luther’s division of the Christian into the inward man of faith and the outward man of good works emphasized the individual’s role in salvation and reaffirmed the sovereignty of Christ.

At the beginning of “Concerning Christian Liberty” is a letter from Martin Luther to Pope Leo X which laments the corruption in the Roman Catholic Church. In Luther’s day the Roman Catholic Church taught that faith alone was not sufficient for salvation. Citing biblical passages like James 2, verses 20 and 22, they posited that faith without works was dead. Yet, many Christians took this teaching to its logical extent, losing assurance in their salvation. They could not know with absolute certainty whether they had done enough good works to earn salvation. This led to many errors, not the least of which was the creation of doctrines like Purgatory – a spiritual place where souls of those who died as Christians could perform further penance and be thoroughly purified before entering heaven. The Catholic Church also used their doctrine of salvation through works to their own advantage, selling indulgences as a way to raise money to fund the building of their elaborate cathedrals and their transformation of Vatican City.

Yet, although Luther disagreed with the Catholic view of salvation, he does not negate good works entirely. In his treatise, he asserts the duality of the Christian nature, its spirituality and physicality, and argues that good works have a place outside of salvation. The treatise draws on passages like 2 Corinthians 4:16 to support Luther’s position, “Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.” In explanation of the verse, Luther writes, “As regards the spiritual nature, which they name the soul, he is called the spiritual, inward, new man; as regards the bodily nature, which they name the flesh, he is called the fleshly, outward, old man.” Essentially, good works have no place with the spiritual nature, but are necessary to the bodily nature.

The inward man is the embodiment of the first line of Luther’s paradox. He is the most free lord of all and subject to none. Luther argues that the only thing necessary for the soul is the word of God, as was established in Matthew 4:4: that man does not live on bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from God’s mouth. Luther writes, “As the soul needs the word alone for life and justification, so it is justified by faith alone, and not by any works. For if it could be justified by any other means, it would have no need of the word, nor consequently of faith.” The Christian understands, in light of passages like Romans 3:23, that every seeming good work of his is actually “utterly guilty, sinful, and damnable.” Every action of man, even those that appear good to sinful eyes, is defiled. It is impossible for him to attain the perfection that God’s holiness demands. Ultimately, then, it is the merits of Christ alone that save, not a man’s good works.

Luther points out that the Bible is divided into precepts and promises. The law of the Old Testament was a precept to “show us what we ought to do, but [did] not give us the power to do it.” Rather, it convicted the man of sin and showed him that thousands of good works were ineffectual at earning salvation. The promises, however, in the gospel message of the New Testament offered man salvation through faith alone, declaring, “If you wish to fulfill the law…believe in Christ, in whom are promised to you grace, justification, peace, and liberty.” In the words of Luther, the Christian takes on the “wedding-ring of faith”: his soul is united with Christ’s, as the husband and wife are united in one flesh, each taking on the possessions of the other – Christ, the sin, death, and condemnation of man, and man, the grace, life, and salvation of Christ. The inward man, clothed in the salvation of Christ, is freed from the judgment of the law, the bondage of sin, the fear of death, and the torments of hell.

This is, however, not the end of the Christian story. While the inward man through the sacrificial work of Christ is now lord of all, the outward man becomes the servant of all. And it is here in the outward man that good works find their proper place. Luther writes, “Good works do not make a good man, but a good man does good works.” Thus, the good works are a reflection of the moral state of the man. Luther uses the analogy of a house. A badly made house does not make a bad builder, but a bad builder will make a house badly. So, too, if a man is good, he will do good works. But if he is bad, he will produce bad works. A man should not do good works as a way to gain justification, but he should embrace good works as a way to glorify and honor God. Thus, the outward man becomes the servant of all in imitation of Christ who forsook the glory of heaven to redeem fallen man. Luther adjures that it is the duty of the outward man to live for others, “he must needs speak, act, and converse among men, just as Christ was made in the likeness of men and found in fashion as a man, and had His conversation among men.” Importantly, all of these works must be done freely and voluntarily and not as if man was looking forward to any reward. He is a servant, not a slave, doing all things to the best of his ability in an effort to thank God for the wonderful gift of faith and salvation. He is both reigning and serving with Christ.

Ultimately, Luther’s teaching of faith alone in “Concerning Christian Liberty” was revolutionary for its time. It overturned many of the doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church, limiting the power of the papacy, and strengthening the faith of millions of Christians. No longer would they fear that their salvation was not sure: the belief in faith alone meant that salvation was no longer dependent on man, but on the work of Christ. Yet, when Luther described Christian liberty, he did not mean Christian anarchy in which a man was saved, but could continue to indulge in the sins of his former lifestyle. Rather, Luther merely rediscovered the true goal of good works: they could not save a man, but they would identify him as a man who had been saved. For though man is instantly justified, he is in the process of being sanctified. Thus, the inward man relies solely on the efficacious power of Christ while the outward man is being transformed into a perfect reflection of God’s divine holiness.

The Madness of the King

2010-01-10T19:03:00.004-05:00

A Worldview of Despair in Virgil’s Aeneid and William Shakespeare’s King Lear

[Literary Criticism Paper written for a college Western Literature class]

Virgil’s Aeneid and William Shakespeare’s King Lear are stories of kings who, in an act of madness, forsake their kingly duties and overturn the moral order. The former relates the travels of Aeneas as he flees from his conquered homeland and seeks to establish a new kingdom in a distant country. The latter details the downfall of Lear when, in a fit of rashness, he divides up his kingdom and is ultimately exiled from his own country. Both stories deal with the importance of fulfilling one’s kingly roles and the consequences of trying to abandon one’s duties. And both stories have gods that are fickle and not accountable to any ultimate moral standard. Yet, Aeneas knows that by following his fate ultimate good will result, even though this may mean abandoning those he loves. The concluding act of King Lear, however, offers little hope for a restoration of the moral order: the characters must suffer the consequences of their actions, with no intervention by the gods, and often the innocent die with the guilty. Yet, while King Lear may have a more pessimistic ending than The Aeneid, it is merely taking the worldview of The Aeneid to its logical extent: if life is a roulette wheel, justice is destroyed and man is doomed to an existence of despair.

The Aeneid is a more optimistic tale than King Lear because fate is on Aeneas’ side. However, this does not mean his task of founding a kingdom is an easy one. Many of the gods continually plot trouble for Aeneas and his followers, but their scheming meets with little success. Jupiter, although he is on the side of Aeneas, at one point refuses to get involved, declaring, “The effort each man makes will bring him luck or trouble. To them all King Jupiter is the same king. And the Fates will find their way.” Clearly, the gods cannot kill whoever they wish. Thus, fate could be seen as a sort of power that the gods are subjected to. Yet, importantly, it is not because of any personal merit that Aeneas is destined to survive. Fate is just as fickle as the gods. The Aeneid easily could be a pessimistic tale if it were told from the viewpoint of a minor character that is not destined to survive: Dido, the queen of Carthage.

When Aeneas lands in Carthage to rebuild his wrecked fleet, his mother, Venus, worried that the other gods will use Dido for evil, inflames the Carthaginian queen’s heart with passionate love for Aeneas. Aeneas without thought for his people or his son or even the gods, returns this love. His madness impels him to abandon his destiny and stay with Dido, even helping her lay the foundations of her city—until Jupiter becomes angered. A god comes to Aeneas and reproaches him for forgetting his own kingdom. Aeneas’ love of the gods and love of his son override his devotion to Dido. Placing his destiny above his passion, he leaves Dido behind and continues towards his new homeland. This does not mean there are no consequences to his actions. Devastated, the scorned queen burns herself alive. In her last speech, she observes, “I lived my life out to the very end and passed the stages Fortune had appointed.” Fate was not kind to Dido. Though an innocent character that bore no ill will towards Aeneas and was merely a victim of a goddess’ divine spell, Dido suffers a terrifying and tragic death. Aeneas, however, emerges from the whole ordeal unscathed. Once he realizes that his destiny is more important than his passion, he repents of his actions, overcoming his moment’s madness and resuming his role as the leader of his people to find a new homeland.

Contrast this to the title character of Shakespeare’s King Lear. Like many tragic heroes of literature, Lear is burdened with a “hamartia” – a flaw in his character. Lear is rash, stubborn, and often acts without thinking. When his daughter Cordelia cannot find words to express her love for her father and refuses to flatter him, he flies into a rage, disowning her and exiling her from England. His plans to divide up his kingdom and give his authority into the hands of his daughters also appear ill thought out. Indeed, it is clear that he did not ask the opinion of his councilors for Kent calls his actions “mad.” Ultimately, his two eldest daughters banish him from their houses and condemn to death anyone who attempts to give the former king refuge. Lear now begins to truly go insane, but before completely losing his senses, he repents of his previous actions. Driven by his daughters to fend for himself during a storm, he decides to pray. Importantly, he prays not for himself but for “poor naked wretches” and declares, “O, I have ta’en too little care of this! Take physic, pomp; expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, that thou mayst shake the superflux to them, and show the heavens more just.” Lear realizes that his plight is small compared to others’ in the world. The audience might find irony in this – Lear’s plight is great, not small. He was once king of all of England and now is an exile and a beggar. Yet, Lear understands that his character is flawed, even though he thinks he is a man “more sinned against than sinning.” He regrets that he was not more kindhearted as a king and gazing on the ragged figure of Edgar, tries to rend his own garments as well, realizing that man is no different in rags or in robes. “Is man no more than this?” he asks, “Consider him well…Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.” Lear is experiencing true humility and, like Aeneas, will ultimately realize that it was wrong to abandon his kingly duties. Later on he will declare, “Pray you now, forget and forgive. I am old and foolish.”

But Lear’s repentance does not mean that the moral order will be restored. As he observed when seeing Edgar, all men are equal: rags, robes, vice, or virtue are all the same to Fate. Indeed, although Lear reconciles with his daughter, Cordelia, and gains humility, he is not able to resume his kingly duties. And while Lear begins to overcome his insanity in the last act of the play, the murder of his daughter, Cordelia, drives all reason from him. His grief ultimately kills him. One character Gloucester declares, “As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods, — They kill us for their sport.” Indeed, Cordelia’s death seems unnecessary for the plot of the play. Hers is not a sacrificial death in order to defeat evil. Rather, she is a casualty of the evil characters’ ambition and malice. In the same scene, a moral order seems to be reestablished when the character Edmund repents of his wickedness and is lead away to be executed. His brother Edgar, who had supported the king, observes, “The gods are just.” But when he hears of the plot to kill Cordelia, Edgar exclaims, “The gods defend her!” However, the gods do no such thing. Cordelia’s death is pointless and leads to no ultimate good. Rather, King Lear is broken by his suffering, dying as well, and leaving his kingdom without a ruler, having destroyed the authority structure.

Thus, both works exemplify a worldview that denies an ultimate moral standard in the universe. The end result of this is chaos and despair. It is true that, while both kings underwent periods of madness, Aeneas was rescued by a “deus ex machina” and was able to continue his kingly duties. Yet, Aeneas was only able to accomplish this because he was favored by the gods and his fate dictated that he would succeed. Fate could just as easily have favored another character and Aeneas could have met an untimely death. Indeed, this is the fate of King Lear, of Cordelia, and of Dido. Ultimately, the momentary madness of King Lear and Aeneas is reflective of the larger madness of their world – a bleak world of despair where characters live or die based on the whims of Fate.

Classic Christmas Films

2009-12-24T22:22:00.157-05:00

Celebrate the Christmas Spirit with Films that Evoke a Bygone Era

Many people are far too busy during Christmas and often forget what the holiday truly stands for. I know for my own part that I have been guilty of that. Of course, you may not even realize that you have forgotten. After all, you’re not busy buying presents for yourself, but for others. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? Well, not quite. As David Niven observes in the film The Bishop's Wife,

All the stockings are filled, all that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up. The stocking for the child born in a manger. It's his birthday we're celebrating. Don't let us ever forget that. Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share, loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shining gifts that make peace on earth.

Indeed, many Christmas films have wonderful messages about the true meaning of the season and really help you to get past all the wrapping paper and commercialization of the holiday. That’s why I love watching them this time of year.

I’ve compiled a top ten list here of classic Christmas films. I hope that several of these are your favorites or, perhaps, you’ll find one to add to your own list. And if you have a suggestion of a wonderful movie that I have missed out on all these years, please do share!

10. White Christmas (1954)

Although the film suffers from over sentimentality and a paper thin plot, it is rescued by the performances of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye as the leads and the wonderful song and dance numbers, all written by Irving Berlin. The movie follows the adventures of two war buddies, turned entertainers, as they help their former army commander save his failing Vermont country inn. Also features the talents of Rosemary Clooney and Vera Ellen as the love interests. This is a feel-good movie to brighten the holidays. In the words of the classic song, "May your days be merry and bright / And may all your Christmases be white." Watch the trailer here.

9. The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

The story-line of this classic film has so endeared itself to the imaginations of the public that it was remade into two movies, the 1949 musical In the Good Old Summertime and the 1998 comedy You've Got Mail. The original movie is set in Budapest and follows the lives of an employer, Hugo Matuschek (Frank Morgan), and his clerks as they prepare for the holidays. Klara Novak (Margaret Sullivan) and Alfred Kralik (Jimmy Stewart) fall in love as they share correspondence, though they do not know the identity of their pen-pal. When Klara is hired at the shop where Kralik works, however, the two become bitter enemies. While the movie revolves around this Shakespearean comic plot, it is also tempered by a hint of sadness -- the driving theme is a fear of loneliness. This leads to a very serious and dramatic twist half-way through that nearly destroys the lives of everyone in the shop. Of course, everything is eventually put to rights and, in a particularly touching scene between Matuschek and the new errand boy, no one is left alone on Christmas Eve. The witty dialogue and excellent acting jobs by all, including the character actors, make this a must-see. Watch the trailer here.

8. Miracle on 34th Street (1947)

Susan Walker (Natalie Wood) doesn't believe in Santa Claus. Her mother, Doris (Maureen O'Hara), has taught her that fairy tales are silly. Meanwhile a very kind old gentleman, who calls himself Kris Kringle (Edmund Gwenn in an Academy Award winning role), is hired to be the Santa at Macy's New York City store, after taking the place of an intoxicated Santa in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Kris Kringle claims to be the real Santa and his good will and warmheartedness nearly win young Susan and her mother over. But through a series of very unfortunate events, Kringle is confined to a mental hospital and in order to be discharged has to prove his identity in a formal hearing before the New York Supreme Court. Other notable performances are John Payne as Fred Gailey, Kringle's attorney and Doris' love interest, and Gene Lockhart as the skeptical judge, Henry X. Harper. Gailey summarizes the heart of the film when he exclaims, "Faith is believing when common sense tells you not to. Don't you see? It's not just Kris that's on trial, it's everything he stands for. It's kindness and joy and love and all the other intangibles." Watch the trailer here.

7. The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942)

Monty Woolley stars as Sheridan Whiteside, a famous radio broadcaster who arrives in Mesalia, Ohio to give a lecture and reluctantly accepts an invitation to dine with Ernest and Daisy Stanley (played by Grant Mitchell and Billie Burke respectively). But just as he climbs the icy steps to enter their house, he slips and falls, injuring himself. Bedridden and then later confined to a wheelchair, the cynical Sheridan commandeers the house and servants as he recuperates over the Christmas holidays, overturning the peace of the Stanley household, and refusing to leave. When his secretary Maggie Cutler (Bette Davis) falls in love with the local newspaper man Bert Jefferson (Richard Travis), the egotistical Whiteside does all in his power to destroy the romance, calling on the talents of Lorraine Sheldon (Anne Sheridan) and Banjo (Jimmy Durante). Reginald Gardiner also turns in a fine performance as Beverly Carlton; he would later appear in Christmas in Connecticut as well. Indeed, the star studded cast is one of the reasons this movie has become a holiday classic, and the sharp, speedy dialogue only adds to the fun. This is the fear of one's holiday guests overstaying their visit taken to a most hilarious extent. Watch the trailer here.

6. Remember the Night (1940)

Lee Leander (Barbara Stanwyck) faces spending Christmas in jail after shoplifting a bracelet, but assistant district attorney John Sargent (Fred MacMurray) takes pity on her, posts her bail, and offers to drive her to her family in Indiana. Lee's mother cruelly turns her daughter away, however, so John invites Lee to his own family's home for Christmas. When the film was released, Frank Nugent wrote in his review for The New York Times, "It is a memorable film, in title and in quality, blessed with an honest script, good direction and sound performances...a drama stated in the simplest human terms of comedy and sentiment, tenderness and generosity...warm, pleasant and unusually entertaining." The film encapsulates the Christmas spirit as a story of redemption and the power of love. Watch the trailer here.

5. The Bishop’s Wife (1947)

Cary Grant is Dudley, an angel sent to earth in answer to the prayers of Bishop Henry Brougham (David Niven). The Bishop is trying to build a new cathedral, but has run into trouble about the funds and prays for "guidance." His obsession with the project has led him to neglect his beautiful, but unhappy wife Julia (Loretta Young) and daughter Debby (Karolyn Grimes, who would later play Zuzu in It's a Wonderful Life). While Brougham would very much like the angel to show him a way to get the needed money from the wealthy Mrs. Hamilton (Gladys Cooper), Dudley's guidance is much different. The angel touches the lives of all (including the disillusioned professor Wutheridge, played by Monty Woolley), reminding them of the true meaning of Christmas -- selflessness and loving kindness. A Christmas gem -- who would think Cary Grant could play an angel so convincingly? Watch the trailer here.

4. Christmas in Connecticut (1945)

Barbara Stanwyck stars in another Christmas movie as journalist Elizabeth Lane, who writes a column about her gourmet cooking and her life on a farm with her husband and infant son. The only trouble is Lane can't cook, lives in a small apartment in New York City, isn't married, and doesn't have a child. When her publisher, Alexander Yardley (Sydney Greenstreet), wants to send war hero Jefferson Jones (Dennis Morgan) to her farm for Christmas and decides to invite himself as well, Lane and her editor, Dudley Beecham (Robert Shayne) risk losing their jobs. But with the help of her friend Felix Bassenak (S. Z. "Cuddles" Sakall), who owns a local restaurant, and John Sloan (Reginald Gardiner), her relentless suitor who owns a farm in Connecticut, everything looks like it may turn out "hunky dunky" (in the words of Felix). The screwball comedy is a delight to watch with strong performances by all. Connecticut really does seem the perfect place to spend Christmas. Watch the trailer here.

3. Holiday Inn (1942)

Irving Berlin's "White Christmas" was originally written for this film and soon became one of the best loved Christmas songs and the best selling single of all time. Bing Crosby plays Jim Hardy, a singer engaged to the lovely Lila Dixon (Virginia Dale), who plans to quite his job as an entertainer and buy a farm in Connecticut. Lila, however, would rather remain in showbusiness and leaves Hardy for his former partner, dancer Ted Hanover (Fred Astaire). Hardy, however, persists in his dream of farm life. Yet, disillusioned by the hard work, he decides to convert the farm into an inn that will only open during the holidays. The inn turns out to be a huge success, especially thanks to the talents of Linda Mason (Marjorie Reynolds), who has been looking for a way to break into the entertainment industry. Hardy is soon falling in love with Linda, but one night Hanover shows up at the inn searching for a new dance partner. Lila left him for a millionaire. Will Hardy be jilted again and his inn forced to close? The beauty of this film is that it does not only revolve around Christmas, but has song and dance numbers for nearly every holiday from July 4th to Valentine's Day to Easter to Thanksgiving. Watch the trailer here.

2. It’s A Wonderful Life (1946)

It seems incredible that this Christmas classic did rather miserably at the box office when first released. The American Film Institute now names it as number one on their list of the most inspirational American films of all time. George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart) dreams of leaving the small town of Bedford Falls. He reads National Geographic as a young boy and saves up his money to go to college and travel around the world. At one point, he exclaims, "I'm shakin' the dust of this crummy little town off my feet and I'm gonna see the world. Italy, Greece, the Parthenon, the Colosseum. Then, I'm comin' back here to go to college and see what they know. And then I'm gonna build things. I'm gonna build airfields, I'm gonna build skyscrapers a hundred stories high, I'm gonna build bridges a mile long... " But George's dreams are shattered when his father suddenly dies, forcing him to take over the family business, the Bailey Building and Loan. George consistently sacrifices his dreams for the sake of others, settling down in Bedford Falls and marrying Mary Hatch (Donna Reed). But even this little world is shattered on Christmas Eve and George, believing his life has been a failure, nearly kills himself. He is rescued by an angel Clarence (Henry Travers) who gives George a glimpse of what Bedford Falls would have been like if he had never lived. Clarence comments, "Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?" Capra's classic is equal parts nostalgic, touching, humorous, and thought-provoking. Stewart delivers one of the finest performances of his career. Lionel Barrymore is at his best as the horribly evil Henry F. Potter. All can relate to the struggles of George Bailey, who ultimately understood that though his personal dreams were never realized, he really did have a wonderful life. Watch the trailer here.

1. Scrooge (1951)

Although there have been numerous film adaptations of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, Alastair Sim's performance as Scrooge is often considered the best. The film presents Dickens' story with little changes or additions (and what additions there are work wonderfully for this version). Scrooge, a hard hearted old businessman, is haunted by three spirits on Christmas Eve who give him a chance to repent and forsake his miserly ways. Mervyn Johns delivers a convincing performance as Scrooge's clerk, Bob Cratchit, and young Glyn Dearman as Tiny Tim seems to mean every word he says when he declares, "God bless us, every one." The Spirit of Christmas Present emphasizes the true meaning of the holidays when he states, "We Spirits of Christmas do not live only one day of our year. We live the whole three-hundred and sixty-five. So is it true of the Child born in Bethlehem. He does not live in men's hearts one day of the year, but in all days of the year." Watch the trailer here.

Today in History: "A Date That Will Live in Infamy"

2009-12-07T14:17:00.031-05:00

Commemorating the 68th Anniversary of the Attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941

"I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve." -- Japanese Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto in the 1970 film Tora! Tora! Tora!

The following is a speech that I entered several years ago in the NCFCA's Original Oratory category where it won 1st place at the Regional Tournament. It had been adapted and lengthened from an essay originally written for the Veteran's of Foreign War's 2008 Voice of Democracy Competition which had placed 1st in the state and 7th nationally.

This is posted here in loving memory of my Grandpa Art, a WWII veteran, who passed away May 6, 2008. Also in memory of my great-uncle, Henry Koven, who died on December 7, 1941, during a deadly storm. He was far away from Pearl Harbor, fighting under the British flag as a merchant seamen but perishing on his ship the SS Sauternes (the Christmas Ship), trying to bring supplies to the Faroe Islands. And, finally, in memory of the events of that fatal Sunday morning on an island in Hawaii sixty-eight years ago today.

The Silent Soldier

How should we, as citizens of America, honor the silent veterans of our nation? This is a question that many of us probably do not think about very often, but my experiences with my grandfather have taught me that it is a very important question indeed. In fact, by answering this question, we will also discover why it is necessary for us to honor them at all.

First, then, who are the silent veterans of our nation?

My Grandpa Art never talks about his service during World War Two. Somehow it became an unwritten rule that no one was to ask about what he had done or what he had seen. In July of 2007, he turned eighty-seven years old. Even after all these years, the rule has never been broken – except once.

One afternoon when I was about seven years old, Grandpa Art visited my house, bringing with him a small box. Inside were several war medals. I remember holding them in my hand and seeing that they were beautiful. Then, he held the box and the medals in his own hand, so gently and so carefully. I knew they must also be very special.

Unfortunately, it was so long ago that I have forgotten all he said, but one thing has remained in my memory. As he talked, I remember seeing a look of pride quickly wash over his face and then disappear with sudden sadness.

There was no more talk about the war.

As a little child, I saw those medals merely as something beautiful, something, perhaps, that I might have liked to play with. But now I can look at them and know that they are much more than pretty things. I understand all that they symbolize – courage, duty, and sacrifice. All those things that my grandfather never speaks of but are worthy of honor.

What does it mean to honor? The word is rather difficult to define. One dictionary describes it as a showing of usually merited respect. Oftentimes we give this honor almost subconsciously to a powerful political ruler, a religious leader, or someone extremely talented and brilliant. Usually, no one tells us that they deserve our respect. Somehow we just know.

Yet how do you honor someone who does not wish for you to know of their achievements? Someone who refuses any special recognition?

How do you honor the silent soldier?

My other grandfather, Grandpa John, is also an American veteran, though he did not serve during a war. I believe this may be why he is more willing to tell about his experiences. Indeed, he loves to talk about the time he spent in the army. Yet, always when he speaks, his voice fills with a sense of pride. Pride because, to him, to serve was his duty as an American. I remember a conversation once where we discussed fighting for your country even if you didn’t believe in the war.

“It’s still your country,” he said.

His words have given me insight into my other grandfather’s silence. I realize the depth of the pride and the patriotism they both share for their country.

Though he may never speak about the horrors he witnessed during the Second World War or put into words the love he has for his country, Grandpa Art does not need to.

For many years, a beautiful American flag has been displayed in front of his house. He never needs any special holiday to use as an excuse. For me, this is words enough.

But still I wonder how to honor him when he does not want my honor?

Through my grandfather’s silence, I finally found the answer. It was in that look of sadness I had seen so many years ago.

He served so that his children and his grandchildren would not have to experience the same grief and sorrow he witnessed during the War. We can only honor him by preserving what he and so many others fought to attain. This means sharing both my grandfathers’ undying love of their country and never forgetting their sacrifices and those of so many other American soldiers.

Veteran’s Day and Memorial Day were created specifically as holidays of remembrance, but sadly they often become transformed into mere social gatherings. This past June, as I browsed through several newspapers on the 6th, I found only one that mentioned the events of D-day.

The philosopher George Santayana once wrote, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” In honor of my grandfather and in honor of so many others like him, it is my duty not to forget. Because of this, it is my role in honoring America’s veterans not to let others forget.

On the anniversary of D-day this year, when so many others were silent, I told as many people as I could and wrote about it on my websites so I could reach even more.

Though the silent soldier does not ask for my honor, he deserves it.

It is true that I know little about my Grandpa Art’s service during WWII, but I do know that he was a medic who served in a Medical Collecting Unit a mile behind front lines in Germany. If his experiences were anything like that of Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, then I can understand why he does not speak of them.

McCrae was a Canadian surgeon who served during the First World War. In the Second Battle of Ypres, he was in charge of a field hospital. But though he had practiced as a physician before the war, nothing could have prepared him for the horror of battle, witnessing the agony and suffering of the young wounded soldiers whose lives it was his duty to save.

One life he could not save. His close friend, Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, was killed by a shell burst on May 2nd, 1915. McCrae poured his grief into the words of a poem that has come to immortalize the fallen soldier’s and all soldier’s sacrifices for our freedoms.

In Flanders Fields [he wrote] the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch, be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Daniel Webster, a prominent early American statesman, noted that, “God grants liberty only to those who love it, and are always ready to guard and defend it.” The soldiers of our nation are the ones who are always ready to guard and defend our liberty – many times when necessary with their very lives. They dedicate themselves to making sure our freedoms are safe. That is why we must honor them. In a speech in memory of D-day, Ronald Reagan said, “Let us show them by our actions that we understand what they died for…Strengthened by their courage, heartened by their valor, and borne by their memory, let us continue to stand for the ideals for which they lived and died.”

I write this in honor of America’s veterans and all soldiers who have fought and those who have died to protect the rights we treasure.

Never forget the battles they fought, share their deep patriotism, and you will honor them as well.

"And all shall be well..."

2009-12-03T13:16:00.006-05:00

An explication of T. S. Eliot's "Little Gidding"

Modernism professed that man was living in a post-Enlightenment era. It emphasized a bleak disillusionment for the things of the world. The Enlightenment philosophy had taught that man was progressing and would eventually be able to solve all the world’s problems. Yet the horror and carnage of two world wars revealed that this progress had lead to technology with the ability to take rather than prolong human life. The wars struck a blow to the belief in the superiority of Western civilization and destroyed any idea of the innate goodness of man.

T. S. Eliot’s (1888-1965) early poetry, especially The Waste Land and “The Hollow Men”, stood at the forefront of the Modernist movement, powerfully developing the deep darkness and despair of Modernistic thought. Indeed, he had often been hailed as the defining poet of the Modernist literary movement. Yet, in order for him to claim this title, a very important event in his life must be overlooked – his conversion to Christianity in 1927. His exploration of Modernistic thought was only his search for an answer to all the despair and hopelessness of mankind’s fallen condition. Indeed, it was not until after his conversion to Christianity that he reached the pinnacle of his poetic height in the most overtly Christian of all his poems – “Little Gidding.” The poem sets at odds the redemptive power of the Holy Spirit and the destructive power of man, following the outline of Dante’s Divine Comedy – the hopelessness of the Inferno (a world without God), the refining fires of Purgatorio (the journey to an understanding and faith in Christ), and, finally, the glorious eternal communion with God in Paradiso.

“Little Gidding” is the last in a series of a poems from T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets. Though the poems act as a unified whole, each symbolizing a movement in a musical piece, it is possible to read them individually. This particular poem draws its name from a small village in Huntingdonshire where T. S. Eliot served as an air-raid warden during World War II. It opens on a scene in “midwinter spring” when “the brief sun flames the ice” and “there is no earth smell / Or smell of living thing” (1, 5, 12-13). Though filled with a sense of despair, there is a small glimmer of hope charged through these images. The speaker of the poem has not come without purpose to this village, but, rather, “You are here to kneel / Where prayer has been valid” (45-46). It is necessary to descend before he can ascend. In the beginning of The Divine Comedy, Dante attempted to reach heaven by simply climbing a steep hill out of the darkness into the light of heaven, but found it impossible. Instead, he had to journey back into the darkness and into the deepest darkness of all: the center of Hell. Dante had to realize fully his sinful state, dying to sin before he could be reborn in Christ. The first part of “Little Gidding” is a picture of Hell, a world removed from the light of God. T. S. Eliot describes what the village was like during the Blitz bombings, using “the dark dove with the flickering tongue” (the German dive bomber) as a symbol of all this desolation and hopelessness, the source of the destruction. After the houses were bombed, the ash would linger in the air for hours, covering people and their clothing,

Ash on an old man’s sleeve
Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.
Dust in the air suspended
Marks the place where a story ended. (54-57)

With this background of Hell, Eliot continues to follow the pattern of Dante, evoking a type of image from The Inferno. Indeed, lines 78 to 149 have been considered as near to Dante's terza rima form as is possible in English. In The Inferno, Dante met the shades of many of the dead, who would stop to offer him some word of warning. After a bombing in Eliot’s poem, the narrator seems to see a ghost hurrying past him, who stops to talk with him. In all of this darkness and devastation, he summarizes the Modernist view of death.

First, the cold friction of expiring sense
Without enchantment, offering no promise
But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit as body and soul begin to fall asunder.
[…]
And last, the rending pain of re-enactment
Of all that you have done, and been; the shame
Of things ill done and done to others’ harm. (131-141)

The Modernist has no hope in his future afterlife – there are no answers to all his previous mistakes. Actually, he can look forward to nothing. Man is sinful and unable to perfect himself. He cannot stop the destruction on this earth. But there is another answer. “From wrong to wrong the exasperated spirit / Proceeds, unless restored by that refining fire / Where you must move in measure, like a dancer” (144-146). On these words, the ghost disappears.

Purgatorio followed Dante’s journey through the Catholic Purgatory, the spiritual realm where man was purified from his sin after death. Eliot evokes this with these words of a “refining fire.” He writes,

What they had to leave us—a symbol
A symbol perfected in death.
And all shall be well....
By the purification of the motive
In the ground of our beseeching (194-199).

Purification does not happen over night. It is a gradual process, a journey – just as one must come to the deepest understanding of his depraved condition before he can travel upward to the light. Augustine, one of the early Church fathers, wrote The City of God, in which he described two different cities: that of man and that of God. Eliot uses this type of imagery in this part of the poem, exclaiming,

The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre—
To be redeemed from fire by fire (200-206).

In these lines, Eliot pits the symbols of the “dark dove” (the German plane) against the “dove descending” (the Holy Spirit). Man can either experience hope in the refining fire of the Holy Spirit or despair in the dark dove’s destruction. Yet, he admits that this is not always an easy decision. Being refined sometimes can be a “torment” (207). Both decisions are a fire, but the former is the only one that can lead to ultimate peace and happiness. At last, Eliot begins to build to the culmination of his poem,

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time (238-242).

When man is refined, his eyes are opened and he sees the world as if for the first time. The destruction around him can be fitted into the larger picture of God’s perfect plan. He knows that this not the end of everything for in the end “all shall be well and / All manner of thing shall be well” (255-256). There will be perfect unity and perfect peace.

When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one (257-259).

The ‘rose’ was the greatest image in Dante’s Paradiso. It was made of circles and circles, tiers on tiers of the Saints. He described it as “the rose that blooms eternal, rank on rank, in incense of praise it sends up to the Sun forever vernal.” Ultimately, it was a symbol of the eternal communion of God and man.

In “Little Gidding,” T. S. Eliot described the spiritual journey in passionate and stirring terms. To classify him as a Modernist poet when he offers such hope to the world is a terrible error. Many writers of literary criticism will go so far to classify even this poem as an example of Modernist thought. While the first half does over a bleak view of the world, the poem hardly ends there. Yet, it is true that in a world devoid of God, Modernism is indeed the only answer. There can be no hope, no peace, and no love without a God ordering and controlling the universe. History will spin out of control with no point and no purpose. The dark dove will continue its desolation with no one to stop him. Unless man is burned by “the flame of incandescent terror,” he will continue to live in a wasteland, unable to see the world with new eyes and a new soul and say from the depths of his heart, “And all shall be well.”

Works Cited

Eliot, T. S. “Little Gidding.” 1943. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors. Stephen Greenblatt, General Editor. 8th edition. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2006, pgs. 2507-2534.

The Disguise of Civilization

2009-12-02T23:24:00.006-05:00

Critical Thoughts on Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness

(Conrad's novel was loosely adapted in 1979 into the major motion picture Apocalypse Now that takes place during the Vietnam War. But such a movie deserves its own critical essay and that would be another post for another time).

Joseph Conrad, though Polish by birth, grew up in 19th century Russia. He did not learn English until his sea voyages during his teenage years. After sailing on several English ships, he decided to become a naturalized English citizen in 1886 at the age of twenty-nine. Five years later, he left the sea and took up writing as a career. Even though English was Conrad’s third language (he learned French as his second), he soon became one of the most prominent English novelists of the 20th century and was even offered a knighthood. T. E. Laurence exclaimed that Conrad was “the most haunting thing in prose that ever was.” Nowhere does his genius shine more vividly than in his most famous novella, The Heart of Darkness.

The story describes the adventures of a seaman, Christopher Marlow, during his journey down the Congo to find an ivory trader, Kurtz. Symbolism plays an integral part in the story, especially in the conclusion. Indeed, one of the most controversial literary discussions centers on the closing pages where Marlow lies to Kurtz’s fiancée about Kurtz’s last words. If a close reading of the text is taken, however, his motives are obvious. The entire story revolves around the theme of darkness – darkness being Africa, the uncivilized world. When Marlow deceives Kurtz’ fiancée, it is his attempt to protect the civilized world from this darkness.

To understand the importance of this deception, however, it is necessary to see how the symbolism of darkness develops throughout the story. The first several paragraphs open on a scene on the deck of a cruising yawl anchored on the Thames River. Several of the members of the board are sitting about, watching the sun set. It is Marlow who breaks the silence by exclaiming suddenly, “And this also has been one of the dark places of the earth” (2330). He explains,

I was thinking of very old times, when the Romans first came here, nineteen hundred years ago -- the other day. . . . Light came out of this river since — you say Knights? Yes; but it is like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightning in the clouds. We live in the flicker — may it last as long as the old earth keeps rolling! But darkness was here yesterday. (2331)

What does Marlow mean by “darkness”? The word seems have two distinct meanings throughout the novel. In this first part, it represents an absence of civilization. Before Marlow begins to speak, the sky “without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light” (2329). This symbolizes the England of Marlow’s day, glorious and powerful and dominating much of the world. Yet, he warns that it was not so long ago that England was inhabited only by barbaric tribes. It was Rome, and not England, that was the center of civilization. Subtly, he begins to compare these conquering Romans to the people of his own civilized world, remarking sardonically, “They [the Romans] were no colonists …. They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force” (2332). Though he says that the Romans were different from the Europeans because they were conquerors, he is ironically implying that the civilized nations of his day are conquerors, too, and not mere colonists. Indeed, he scornfully remarks, “The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much” (2332). Later on in the novel, when he relates his adventures in Africa, he points out the death that the colonists have brought to the Africans, describing a heart-rending picture of the black laborers,

They were dying slowly — it was very clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals, they were nothing earthly now, nothing but black shadows of disease and starvation lying confusedly in the greenish gloom (2339-2340).

The other symbolism of darkness is an inability to see things clearly. As Marlow starts to tell his story, darkness begins to cover England. It symbolizes the civilized world’s failure to understand the violence and cruelty that are going unpunished in Africa; and, also, their refusal to view the Africans as fellow human beings. When Marlow pilots his steamboat down the Congo River, he catches glimpses of the Africans dancing in the villages. His impression is one of revulsion and he exclaims,

It was unearthly and the men were …. No they were not inhuman. Well, you know that was the worst of it — this suspicion of their not being inhuman. It would come slowly to one. They howled and leaped and spun and made horrid faces, but what thrilled you, was just the thought of their humanity — like yours — the thought of your remote kinship with this wild and passionate uproar (2354).

It is not in darkness that Marlow faces this realization, but in the full light of day. He remarks, however, that “there was no joy in the brilliance of sunshine” (2352). Faced with the truth, he can only think of “the long stretches of waterway that ran on, deserted, into the gloom of overshadowed distances.” He is traveling away from this light into the heart of darkness – away from the civilized world and even the truth in Africa – into the darkness of an uncivilized world where no one can be certain of what is true and what is a lie. Indeed, when he reaches his destination, his steamboat is shrouded in fog. “The rest of the world was nowhere, as far as our eyes and ears were concerned. Just nowhere. Gone, disappeared; swept off without leaving a whisper or a shadow behind” (2357).

This is where Marlow is confronted by Kurtz: the ivory trader who displayed the decapitated heads of natives on poles outside his hut, who took his ivory by force and violence, who exclaimed in an essay “Exterminate all the brutes!” Kurtz is a symbol of what the civilized world is really doing in Africa.

…Your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others. They grabbed what they could get for the sake of what was to be got. It was just robbery with violence, aggravated murder on a great scale, and men going at it blind--as is very proper for those who tackle a darkness (2332).

Kurtz is the embodiment of the ultimate extent of a Nihilistic philosophy. Without any true God, Kurtz becomes god, ruling his ivory trading post with fear and horror. He cuts off the heads of those who refuse to submit to his will. Thus, Conrad overturned the belief of the Romantics. Man in a state of nature is not essentially good. In fact, it is society that serves as a disguise to the evil in man's heart.

Marlow brings Kurtz back up the river on his steamboat, but the trader begins to die. “One evening coming in with a candle I [Marlow] was startled to hear him say a little tremulously, ‘I am lying here in the dark waiting for death.’ The light was within a foot of his eyes” (2379). It is here that all of the symbolism in the book reaches its culmination. Kurtz is trying to hide in the darkness of the uncivilized world even while the light of truth – the truth of all his despicable practices – is burning before his eyes. As Marlow watches his face, it seems as if a veil has been rent.

I saw on that ivory face the expression of somber pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror -- of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision -- he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath: “The horror! The horror!”(2379)

When Kurtz dies, it is left to Marlow to decide whether he will tell this great secret to the world, or keep it hidden in darkness as Kurtz has done. His test comes when he visits Kurtz’s fiancée. She is a symbol of the civilized world, of the naïve blindness to what is going on in Africa. Even she cannot understand who Kurtz really was though she says she knew him best. Declaring “Men looked up to him -- his goodness shone in every act,” (2384) she proves that she has no knowledge of his barbarous actions. Then she begs Marlow to tell her Kurtz’s last words. If he tells her the truth, he will shatter all her blind trust and innocent belief.

I was on the point of crying at her, “Don't you hear them?” The dusk was repeating them in a persistent whisper all around us, in a whisper that seemed to swell menacingly like the first whisper of a rising wind. “The horror! The horror!” (2385).

Yet, Marlow keeps the truth in darkness and says instead, “The last word he pronounced was -- your name.”

And here is the great question: why does he lie? He answers it in the next breath,

It seemed to me that the house would collapse before I could escape …. But nothing happened. Would they have fallen, I wonder, if I had rendered Kurtz that justice which was his due? Hadn't he said he wanted only justice? But I couldn't. I could not tell her. It would have been too dark -- too dark altogether. . . .

By refusing to reveal Kurtz’s last words, Marlow is refusing to reveal what really happened in Africa. He does not wish to darken the light of the civilized world by exposing the cruel European practices that have until then been shrouded in secrecy. Marlow is a symbol of Europe because he turns a blind eye toward what is going on in Africa. At one point in the novel, he finds a sketch that Kurtz had drawn. It depicts a blindfolded woman bearing a torch, but the effect of the light “on the face was sinister” (2346). This woman embodies the European world. The torch she holds symbolizes the customs and civilized practices Europe is bringing to Africa. Her eyes are blindfolded, however, because she refuses to see the violent practices they have also brought. Thus, her face is threatening. Because of its blindness, the civilized world is just as much a horror as all of Kurtz' inhuman actions. This is the main message of The Heart of Darkness: the contrast between dark and light, barbarity and civilization, blindness and the ability to see.

Works Cited

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. 1899. The Norton Anthology of English Literature. 8th ed. Stephen Greenblatt, Gen. Ed. New York, W. W. Norton & Co. 2006.

Five Arguments Against Slavery

2009-11-30T14:05:00.005-05:00

Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin

[Analytical Essay written for a college US History class]

Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin presented the thesis that Southern chattel slavery was immoral. To establish this assertion, Stowe incorporated the five major abolitionist arguments into the framework of her novel in order to reveal the impossibility of political compromise over something intrinsically evil.

The first major argument of the abolitionists was that slavery was anti-Christian. Genesis 1:27 stated that man was created in the image of God. Indeed, all of the heroes of Stowe’s tale are portrayed as devout Christians. Thus, Stowe essentially argued that the only way to be a good Christian was to be anti-slavery. Yet she went even further than that. Many abolitionists of her day would not have argued for the racial equality of the African, but Stowe did. In the character of Miss Ophelia, she developed a typical Northern woman of the 1850’s. Miss Ophelia considered herself a Christian, yet admitted she had a prejudice against the slaves and couldn’t bear to have them touch her. The young child Eva had no prejudice at all, however, which forced Miss Ophelia to comment, “She’s no more than Christ-like. I wish I were like her.” Stowe expanded this Biblical argument to contend that it was the Christian’s duty to oppose the Fugitive Slave Act, a law that mandated that Northerners could not help runaway slaves and must aid in their capture. The character of Mrs. Bird quoted Scripture to support her opinion that it was her Christian duty to oppose the Act. Her husband, a senator who voted for the Act, argued with her at first, but later when Eliza and her child (two runaway slaves) beg for their protection, he sided with his wife and broke the law. Thus, Stowe essentially argued that a person was anti-Christian if he acted in any way to uphold the institution of slavery.

Second, abolitionists supported their position by drawing on the ideals upon which the nation had been founded. Slavery (and especially race based slavery) denied that all men were created equal as stated in the Declaration of Independence. Thus, slavery was anti-American. This was a similar argument to the Biblical one, but it also touched on the topic of patriotism. Slavery had transformed America into a nation where men had to flee in order to gain their freedom. Stowe used irony to prove her point. When she illustrated the slave George’s escape to Canada, she noted that if he had been a Hungarian fugitive escaping for his freedom, it would have been seen as heroism, but “when despairing African fugitives do the same thing, —it is—what is it?” Earlier, however, when George noted that he would fight for his liberty, he stated, “You say your fathers [American patriots] did it; if it was right for them, it is right for me!” Thus, Stowe paralleled the plight of runaway Africans with one of the most momentous events in American history: the Revolutionary War. With the denial of the Africans’ liberty, Americans had become what they most hated— a tyranny.

Third, abolitionists attacked the economic benefits of slavery. They reasoned that the slave’s only incentive to work was out of fear for his master. Stowe illustrated this in the plantation of Simon Legree – a plantation ruled solely by fear. Slaves could not skimp on the cotton they placed in their baskets or they would face a fierce flogging. She contrasted this with St. Clare’s household where the slaves were generally left alone. St. Clare admitted that his slaves were like spoiled children, but commented that “whipping and abuse are like laudanum; you have to double the dose as the sensibilities decline” which ultimately led to a dehumanizing of slave and master. Indeed, George was one of the only slaves who did not work out of fear when he labored in a factory. But this was mainly because he was one of the most educated and desired to work to gain his freedom. Thus, Stowe contended that the African will only be the most industrious if he is educated, but such education will ultimately lead to the African seeking his freedom. Consequently, the slaveholder must keep the African debased and in fear in order to continue to enslave him.

This led into the fourth abolitionist argument. The institution of slavery put unlimited power into the hands of the slave-holder. There were no laws protecting the slave. A master could treat his ‘property’ with as much cruelty or benevolence as he saw fit. As a result, the institution corrupted the white slave-owner’s moral values. Stowe relied heavily on historical exaggeration to prove this point, especially with her description of the plantation of Legree. Legree was the most evil of all the characters in the book. He was stripped of any morals or ability to show kindness and worked his slaves to death in order to gain a profit. Historically, Southerners argued that this would not have been in the slaveholder’s best interest, but Stowe illustrated that there was nothing to stop them from doing it. Even further, Legree attempted to destroy the saintly Uncle Tom’s faith in God. Thus, the slaveholder became the ultimate picture of depravity. St. Clare sneered that slavery ultimately amounted to “Quashy [doing] my will, and not his, all the days of his mortal life, and [having] such chance of getting to heaven, at last, as I find convenient…The thing itself is the essence of all abuse!”

Fifth, and finally, abolitionists declared that slavery transformed the South into a perpetual state of fear and instability. This argument applied first to the Southerners themselves. Stowe included a conversation between St. Clare and his brother in which they talked about slave uprisings. St. Clare believed such an uprising was inevitable. Stowe, however, did not refrain from painting such a rebellion in glowing terms. After all, such an uprising would only be natural in a nation that upheld liberty as one of its highest values, even if it had degenerated to mean liberty only for the white man. Stowe expanded upon this argument, however, to refer also to the tragedy of the enslaved Africans. While the master lived in fear of his slave, the slave lived in fear of his master. Legree’s plantation was governed like a prison camp. Stowe also exaggerated the extent to which slave families were broken up and sold to different plantations, which ultimately led to the slave’s psychological torment and despair.

These five arguments of abolitionists were often viewed as fanatical. Yet, by presenting them through the vehicle of a story that appealed to the emotions and reason of her readers, Stowe was able to change the thinking of many Americans. Her compassionate portrayal of the Africans impelled Americans to look upon them as fellow human beings. Ultimately, her arguments proved that Southern slavery was inherently immoral. Previously, the institution had been regulated and compromised on by politicians like Stowe’s Senator Bird, but the novel brought the issue into American homes and forced them to rethink their Christian duty. Slavery was no longer the realm of politics but a moral issue.

The Living Dead

2009-11-29T14:32:00.006-05:00

Leo Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich and Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis

[Literary Criticism paper written for a college Western Literature class]

Ecclesiastes 6:12 asks, “For who knows what is good for a man in life, during the few and meaningless days he passes through like a shadow? Who can tell him what will happen under the sun after he is gone?” This verse sums up the heart of two famous novels of Western Literature: The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy and The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. Both deal with the inescapability of man’s mortality. And, reiterating the philosopher in Ecclesiastes, both ask what it means to be truly alive. Yet, while Kafka’s central character is doomed to be forever one of the living dead (a man who only attains to a shadow-like existence), Tolstoy offers his readers a glimmer of hope and a way by which they can leave an imprint on the world they leave behind.

Kafka’s novel deals with an unfortunate businessman (Gregor Samsa) who wakes up one morning to discover he has been transformed into an enormous insect, while Tolstoy’s novel centers on another businessman (Ivan Ilyich) who discovers that a minor injury has turned life-threatening and he has only a short time to live. The plots might seem extremely different at first, but this is actually where the similarities begin. Both have businessman as their main characters and both businessman are relatively satisfied with their jobs and their lives – at least they have found a way to put on the façade of satisfaction. Their very different injuries are similar in the sense that they force them to give up these jobs, to become alienated from their families, and face the question of their existence head on.

Interestingly, Samsa is not alarmed by his metamorphosis into an insect. Instead, he takes the transformation in stride, trying to figure out how to get out of bed and hurry as quickly as he can so that he can make his train. This is similar to Ilyich who ignores his injury for a while and refuses to believe that he is dying. Both Tolstoy and Kafka agree then that man often tries to avoid the truth of his mortality. Yet it is with each man’s response to his injury that the worldviews of Tolstoy and Kafka begin to diverge. Although they agree that man will fight to stay alive, they portray the conclusion of this struggle very differently.

Samsa is caught in a battle between the truth of his insect body and his still human soul. The insect desires to crawl along ceilings and eat rotten food, but his human soul desires beauty and, most of all, love. This is brought to a climax in the scene where Samsa is drawn to the music of his sister’s violin. Insects have no appreciation for art, but Gregor does. However, his family reacts with horror towards him. His sister denies his humanity, declaring, “You have to try to stop thinking this is Gregor. Our true misfortune is that we’ve believed it for so long. But how can it be Gregor?” With his family’s rejection, Samsa dies alone and his body is disposed of with the trash. Thus, Kafka reveals that man’s struggle to be more than an insect is utterly futile.

Contrast this with Tolstoy’s Ilyich. As Ilyich realizes that he is dying, he too longs for the love and sympathy of his family. Yet, Ivan has never shown such kindness towards anyone in his life (throughout the book he is continually portrayed as a particularly selfish person) – how can he expect such kindness now? It is this despair that leads him to contemplate whether he has “lived as [he] should have.” This is one thing Samsa never does, although if he had he probably would have reacted similarly with Ilyich – refusing to admit (as Ilyich does at first) that his life had been a lie, mere formality and convention. Yet, this is exactly what Ilyich comes to realize. Tolstoy noted, “As a student he had done things which, at the time, seemed to him extremely vile and made him feel disgusted with himself; but later, seeing that people of high standing had no qualms about doing these things, he was not quite able to consider them good but managed to dismiss them and not feel the least perturbed when he recalled them.” Indeed, Ivan has sacrificed his own conscious for earthly treasures – as Matthew 16: 26 warns, “What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?” To a certain extent, this is exactly what Samsa has done too – forfeiting his soul and becoming an insect in the process.

But while Samsa’s life ends in tragedy, Ilyich comes to the realization that he can reverse what his life has become even in the very seconds before he dies. When he realizes that his life has not been a "good one," he stops screaming and stops resisting death. He sees his family around him and suddenly feels truly sorry for them. No longer is he grieving for himself, but for them. No longer does he fear death for “there was no death.” As he asks God to “forgive” him, Ivan is reborn and able to die in peace. He is already alive in Christ.

Samsa, however, cannot find such redemption, even though it could be argued that he deserved the redemption more than Ilyich. While he had lost his identity to the business world, he still cared for those around him, even if he was unable to spend time with them. Throughout the story his selfless acts are constantly appearing, contrasted against his family’s selfishness. After being transformed, he continues to sympathize with them. Indeed, he hides himself under a sofa and covers himself with a sheet so that they would not have to see his hideous form.

In Tolstoy’s world, however, even these acts of Samsa’s would have fallen short of earning such redemption. The message of The Death of Ivan Ilyich is clear – no man deserves redemption. Redemption is not earned, but is a gift of God. Indeed, as a foil to Ivan is Gerasim, a servant boy who is not afraid of death. He is the only character in the story that is selfless and truly shows compassion for others. As Gerasim cares for the dying Ilyich, Tolstoy writes, “By this [Gerasim] meant that he did not find his work a burden because he was doing it for a dying man, and he hoped that someone would do the same for him when his time came.” Ivan, however, cannot look back on any moments of servitude in his life that might justify him a bit of kindness. And, yet, Gerasim is willing to care for him even though Ivan does not deserve it. This is a true reflection of Christ.

In Kafka’s world there is no such agent of redemption for Samsa. His sister at first cares for him, but gradually she grows to abhor him and is the first to deny his humanity. But truly there is no other answer for the people who hold to an atheistic worldview. If there is nothing after death, how can there be any meaning in life? What gives man worth if he is but dust and a passing shadow?

Thus, the similarities between The Death of Ivan Ilyich and The Metamorphosis are similar in that they are the representation of everyman, but their differences are those of two contrasting worldviews. Those who deny God can have no existence but that of an insect. They are alienated from the world and, especially, from their Maker. Death will be the most horrifying for them (Samsa’s body is treated as a piece of garbage). Yet, those who accept Christ, as Ilyich did, will be able to experience what love truly is and will no longer be one of the living dead, but truly alive. Their existence may be short, but it will have new meaning, especially in the eyes of God. Indeed, man is not an insect, but made in the image of his Creator.

"He Seen His Opportunities, and He Took ‘Em"

2009-11-25T15:45:00.006-05:00

The Blessings and Curses of the Urban Political Machine

[Analytical Essay written for a college US History class]

William L. Riordon’s Plunkitt of Tammany Hall compiles numerous talks that New York Senator, George Washington Plunkitt, gave in defense of his political career as a ward boss in the political machine known as Tammany Hall. While progressive reformers decried this urban political machine as a cancer on American democracy, Plunkitt presents the thesis that the machine’s existence is justified because it never participated in illegal activities and actually significantly helped the struggling working class immigrants. However, this claim proves vacuous when it is revealed that Tammany Hall was actually rank with corruption and probably did more harm than good for the people of New York City.

First, the heart of a political machine is based on a patronage system. Special favors are performed for constituents who show their gratefulness by voting for the machine. In essence, they are bribed to vote. Progressive reformers saw this as anti-democratic. It directed the constituents’ focus away from the political issues of the day, using the people simply as a means to an ultimate end of political empowerment and wealth for those who ran the machine. Indeed, although all politicians court their voters to a certain extent, there usually still exists a dialogue on political issues. In Tammany Hall’s case, however, it was nearly nonexistent.

Second, although Plunkitt vehemently denied that he owned one “dishonest dollar,” the political machine did grow rich on graft. Plunkitt attempted to make a distinction between honest and dishonest graft, but he could not redefine the term itself. Graft is the abuse of one’s position of public trust for personal gain. Plunkitt admitted that, while he never used his political position to levy “blackmail on disorderly houses” or rob “the city treasury,” he had gotten “tips” from the inside. In other words, once his party was in power, he would find out that they were going to undertake numerous public works, perhaps a park or a bridge. He would then buy up all the land that he could in that neighborhood, making a large profit when the demand for that land skyrocketed after the public work was implemented. Clearly, this was an abuse of his political position. In the end, those who originally owned the land were disadvantaged because they sold it for less than it was really worth.

Third, positions in Tammany Hall were often gained by corrupt means. Plunkitt denied that they would actually “sell nominations” and attempted to draw distinctions by insisting that “There’s no auction and no regular biddin’. The man is picked out and somehow he gets to understand what’s expected of him in the way of a contribution, and he ponies up—all from gratitude to the organization that honored him.” However, whichever way the money was acquired, it was still a corrupt practice. Essentially, Tammany Hall “arranged” the nomination – they knew who would pay them back for a favor and they acted accordingly. This undermined the whole process of a democratic government. Organizations should not put a person in office, as Plunkitt seemed to believe, but rather the informed voter. Indeed, the politician should be indebted to no one except the electorate.

Fourth, and finally, Plunkitt wished for a monopolization of the political system in New York City. He admitted that his fondest dream was of the city becoming its own state. He commented, “The people wouldn’t have to bother about nothin’. Tammany would take care of everything for them in its own quiet way.” This was the kind of talk that probably alarmed progressive reformers. Plunkitt’s vision would have transformed New York City into an oligarchy. Once the other political parties were ousted, there would be no reason for Tammany Hall to even try to provide favors for its constituents. As Plunkitt observed, the people would not have to partake in the political system. Ultimately, rule by and for the people would be abolished and transferred into the hands of a governing elite.

Thus, the progressive reformers were correct in their assessment that men like Plunkitt were a cancer on the American government. The machine’s practices were eliminating the vision of the founders of America that the voters would be sufficiently represented by the politicians. Instead, machines like Tammany Hall blurred the lines between honesty and corruption.

Yet, it is important to consider whether the machine did any good for the electorate and whether this good outweighs its corruption. Plunkitt commented on the numerous favors he performed for the struggling poor in order to purchase votes, observing “What tells in holdin’ your grip on your district is to go right down among the poor families and help them in the different ways they need help.” Clearly, Plunkitt was a major benefactor to these lower class citizens. Before the emergence of the nationalized welfare state, this could be seen as a form of localized welfare. Plunkitt would secure jobs for the immigrants or provide them assistance if they lost their house and belongings to a fire or had problems paying their rent. Further, the machine made sure that the lower class immigrant vote was valuable, often times in defiance of the racist policies of many other political platforms of that time period. Essentially, political machines had to be attentive to the desires of their constituents or they would lose their votes. Yet, while Plunkitt’s policies may have benefitted the poor economically, he could only accomplish this by ignoring the needs of the general populace. In the end, an uneven favoritism would be exhibited towards one section of the electorate (the immigrant and working class) at the expense of the other (the wealthy).

To conclude, then, it would be unfair to state that Plunkitt and his political machine Tammany Hall did no good for the people of New York City. Indeed, the poor gained a much needed friend and political ally. Plunkitt helped to awaken politicians to the needs of their constituents and, ultimately, personalized the electorate. Yet, while these were certainly benefits to the machine, they could not outweigh its corruption and threat to democracy. These seeming ‘benefits’ were not the ultimate goal of politicians like Plunkitt. Rather, as he stated, he saw politics as a “game” and he was “gettin’ richer every day.” Ultimately, then, while the poor may have benefitted in the short term, they had no long term security. They were simply pawns in the hands of the bosses of New York City, men who abused their positions to slowly erode the foundations of democracy.

Father and Son, Patriot and Loyalist

2009-11-24T15:26:00.001-05:00

Critical Thoughts on Sheila L. Skemp's Benjamin and William Franklin

[Analytical Essay written for a college US History class]

Sheila L. Skemp’s Benjamin and William Franklin attempts to disprove the opinion that because Loyalists and Patriots had divergent political views they can simply be categorized into two parties: “good guys and bad guys.” Using the accounts of Benjamin Franklin (a Patriot) and William Franklin (a Loyalist), Skemp’s thesis demonstrates how both men wanted what was best for the colonies. It was their different perspectives of government, not their values, which collided.

The British government operated under a ‘checks and balances’ type system. Power was divided between the House of Commons, the House of Lords, and the Crown. If one of these sections of government attempted to encroach on another’s powers, colonists believed that either anarchy or tyranny would result. Thus, the Patriots saw parliament’s meddling in colonial affairs as tyrannous, but Loyalists saw the colonial assemblies’ desire for more authority as anarchical. Further, all colonists would have agreed that they possessed the rights of Englishmen. Yet, while Patriots would have argued that such rights could only be protected by rebelling against Britain, Loyalists stated that such rights would be threatened without a proper government to protect them.

Prior to the War, however, all colonists shared an integral belief – that they were Englishman. They were proud of their British heritage and of their King. Benjamin Franklin wrote, “Britain and her Colonies should be considered as one Whole, and not as different States with separate Interests.” (1) This was why Benjamin saw nothing wrong with and even helped his son to acquire the position of the Royal Governorship of New Jersey. The governor was appointed directly by the Crown (not elected by the colonial government). This meant that in order to keep his position, William would find himself having to consistently put the interests of the British government above that of the colonists. The Franklins, however, did not look upon these interests as conflicting. While both Britain and the colonies might have to make some compromises, the end result of their “close relationship” was “mutually beneficial” to both parties (2). As Benjamin and William began to follow very different political careers, however, this belief was continually tested. While his father eventually rejected it, William continued to cling to the traditional and long accepted view of the joint interest of England and its colonies.

Stationed in New Jersey, William’s experiences were shaped by direct involvement with colonial governments. At first, he had favorable opinions of the colonies. He grew angry over the “corrupt practices of England’s Board of Trade”, insisting that his “heart remained with the ‘Gentleman of America’” and decrying the British as having “little Knowledge of American affairs.” (3) However, while he found fault with the colonial proprietors, William still continued to cling to the belief that the colonies were dependent on the Crown. They could continue to exist in harmony by looking to the wellbeing of the empire as a whole. The wellbeing of the empire, however, was rooted in law and order. Even though William understood the colonial governments’ arguments against the various taxes that were being levied against them, he also believed that they were grasping for more power than was rightfully theirs. It was acceptable to criticize policy decisions, he argued, but the King and Parliament’s authority must still be respected. His experiences governing the colonies had shown him how “local jealousies” often undermined the public good. (4) Indeed, he and his father had already attempted once to unite the colonies with the Albany Plan of Union. The colonies had rejected it, however, fearing that it was a threat to their individual rights. This rejection, in William’s eyes, sacrificed their stability for idealist notions.

Essentially, William feared anarchy. As he observed the revolutionary activities, he wrote in a letter, “All legal Authority and Government seems to be drawing to an End here.” (5) William did not support the tyrannous acts of Parliament. Yet he also did not see them as a justification to completely dissolve colonial bonds with England. In his speech to the New Jersey Assembly on January 13, 1775, he warned against the convening of an illegal congress, stating that such an action would destroy “that Form of Government which it is your Duty by all lawful Means to preserve.” (6) Clearly, even though William did not share the sentiments of the Patriots, this does not mean that he was necessarily against their ideas of freedom, liberty, and self-government. In the same speech to the New Jersey Assembly, he agreed that the elected members of the assembly were “legal representatives” of the people of New Jersey and that they had been entrusted with “a peculiar Guardianship of their Rights and Privileges.” (7) He disagreed, however, that this self-government could be exercised without the oversight of a stronger and well-established British Empire. Independence from the Crown would result in political suicide and any “Rights and Privileges” previously enjoyed would be lost. (8) William (like so many Loyalists) did not know what the outcome of a Revolutionary War would be. He preferred to stand by a time tested system that offered stability over anarchy. The reasoning behind William’s stance proves that he was not an enemy to the colonies. Nor did he have to reject Biblical values in order to support his position. Indeed, William appears to have had a high respect for the Romans 13 command to respect the governing authorities.

Benjamin Franklin, on the other hand, as a representative of the colonies in England, came to understand firsthand the stubbornness and corruption of those in Parliament. Unlike William, he did not believe that independence would result in anarchy. Instead, he came to see the colonies as a rival power to that of England. He was cautious about revolution and at first advocated reform in the British government. Soon, however, he came to realize this was impossible. While his son urged the colonial assemblies to try to heal their rift with England peaceably, Benjamin Franklin understood how impractical this was. He saw that Britain refused to listen to the petition of the American colonies.

Neither William nor Benjamin made a decision overnight to join the Loyalist or Patriot camps. Rather, their beliefs developed as turbulent political events swirled around them. Ultimately, these decisions cannot be judged as necessarily morally right or wrong. William was just as much a patriot as his father. He loved the colonies and did not advocate a tyrannical government. Indeed, the ideas he clung to were ones previously shared by all colonists. Unfortunately, they had grown outdated and ultimately not viable. They could not survive the growing tensions between an Empire and her colonies.

Footnotes

1. Skemp, Sheila L. Benjamin and William Franklin. Bedford/St. Martin's, 1994. pg. 19
2. Ibid, 36
3. Ibid, 37
4. Ibid, 89
5. Ibid, 179
6. Ibid, 176
7. Ibid, 176
8. Ibid, 176

Dusting Off the Cobwebs, Rearranging the Shelves

2009-01-28T00:47:00.008-05:00

It's been little over a year since my last post on this blog. But that's no matter. I've decided to start writing here again. Mostly just because I miss it an awful lot. A blog is one of the few places where a writer truly feels at home on the internet.

HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
- W. B. Yeats (1865–1939)

Today in History - December 7th, 1941

2007-12-07T22:47:00.000-05:00

Remembering Pearl Harbor

This Week in History : A Garden in Milan

2007-11-30T00:03:00.000-05:00

[Meant to post this on the 28th, the anniversary of Augustine's death 1,577 years ago in 430. But since I haven't posted in so long, I suppose it'll be alright if I post it now instead.

I was browsing through old essays I had written for school and found this one I wrote several years back in the Schola Great Books II class. Wow, that seems like such a long time ago. =) It's a dramatization of Augustine's conversion.

If you haven't read any of Augustine's works, I highly recommend his Confessions. Augustine is one of the most important figures of the early Western Church and, while his theology wasn't always correct, his writing was extremely influential and helped strengthen the Christian church when the Roman Empire fell in 410.]

A Garden in Milan

I wished to speak to him, but I saw the tears rise to his eyes. He cast me a look full of sorrow and misery. The words I would have said choked in my throat.

Longing for solitude, he picked himself up and with trembling step, hurried off to a further corner of the garden.

I believe he thought I could not see him, but I could and I watched him intently. I knew what emotions racked his mind, for they racked mine as well, and I grew frightened for him.

He stumbled and threw himself down by a fig tree. The leaves danced fiercely in the harsh wind that had unexpectedly sprung up. He buried his face in his hands, weeping. I could see that from where I stood and I began to weep as well.

And then he spoke. At first, I could not catch the words, but as I listened closely, they became easier to understand. They pierced my heart and the tears fell more freely from my eyes.

“How long shall I go on saying ‘tomorrow, tomorrow’? Why not now? Why not make an end of my ugly sins at this moment?” he cried.

I had already seen the turmoil in my friend’s soul moments before. It was just after our guest, Ponticianus, had left. This man had noticed a book containing Paul’s epistles lying on our table. He immediately became overjoyed at our interest in the Scriptures and related to us a story about Antony, an Egyptian monk, who had given up everything he had to follow Christ. These things filled us with amazement at the greatness of such a sacrifice, but I noticed that they seemed to tear my friend apart inside.

When Ponticianus left, my friend addressed me in feverish tones. Although I do not recall the words he used, I knew by the strange high tone in his voice and the horrible expression in his face that he could not yet give up his sinful practices.

He ran out into the garden and I followed. In his agony, he tore at his hair and beat his forehead with his hands. And then he had run off to the fig tree and I thought it best to leave him alone.

I watched and I waited.

Then suddenly another voice fell upon my ears, light and sing-song, the voice of a child. Whether it the voice of a girl or a boy I could not tell, and at first, I was afraid it should disturb my friend, for he had looked up and inclined his head as if listening. I listened too.

“Take it and read,” it sang. “Take it and read.”

What did this mean? I had never heard a child sing these words before in any game.

My friend rose to his feet and quickly approached where I stood.

“Augustine,” I began to say, but he did not hear me. He picked up the book of Paul’s epistles he had cast aside when he left me, opened it, and read for several seconds. I watched him earnestly. And then I felt that wind that had sprung up, suddenly die down.

The voice of the child stopped singing.

My friend looked at me, his features quite calm, his face full of an emotion I had never noticed there before.

“Oh, Alypius,” he began. And then he told me everything. He told me of the emotions that had welled up within him. And he told me something that filled me with an inexpressible happiness.

For during this little episode in a garden in Milan, we had both passed from darkness to light, from wicked heathen practices to Christianity.

“What did you read?” I asked.

He showed me and I read it. And I found in those verses an admonishment that stirred my soul, but gave me great strength.

He gently put his hand upon my shoulder and said, “Alypius, we must go tell my mother. Her prayers have been answered.”

I nodded and as I looked into his face, a face devoid of all doubt and fear, I knew in my heart that this man Augustine was destined to do great things for God.

A Memory of Moments

2007-10-18T12:10:00.000-04:00

UNIDENTIFIED GUEST. Ah, but we die to each other daily.
What we know of other people
Is only our memory of the moments
During which we knew them. And they have changed since
then.
To pretend that they and we are the same
Is a useful and covenient social convention
Which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember
That at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.

-T. S. Eliot, "The Cocktail Party"

Poem in October by Dylan Thomas

2007-10-06T14:42:00.000-04:00

[This is one of those poems that makes you catch your breath -- it's beautifully rich with imagery. I took the pictures last October at Rockefeller State Park here in New York. Enjoy!]

It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
    And the mussel pooled and the heron
            Priested shore
        The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
        Myself to set foot
            That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.

    My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
    Above the farms and the white horses
            And I rose
        In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
        Over the border
            And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.

    A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
    Blackbirds and the sun of October
            Summery
        On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
        To the rain wringing
            Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

    Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
    With its horns through mist and the castle
            Brown as owls
        But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
        There could I marvel
            My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.

    It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
    Streamed again a wonder of summer
            With apples
        Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
        Through the parables
            Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels

    And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
    These were the woods the river and sea
            Where a boy
        In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
        And the mystery
            Sang alive
Still in the water and singingbirds.

    And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
    Joy of the long dead child sang burning
            In the sun.
        It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
        O may my heart's truth
            Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.

Today in History - 1066

2007-09-28T20:43:00.002-04:00

I write these over on my xanga blog, but this one seemed particularly relevant to post over here.

Last year, my Brit Lit teacher informed my class that you can't possible love British Literature and not know what the 28th of September commemorates.

941 years ago today, in 1066, William the Conqueror invaded England, forever changing the English language and culture.
Here are several interesting links to learn more:

Wikipedia on the Norman Conquest

The Effect of the Norman Conquest on the English Language

And, of course, there is the Bayeaux tapestry! You can find several fascinating books on the tapestry, like Andrew Bridgeford's Hidden History in the Bayeux Tapestry. But there are also a huge amount of websites, like this one.

1066 was also the year of Halley's Comet and it made an appearance in the tapestry mentioned above:

The Latin words read "ISTI MIRANT STELLA."
That is, "These men wonder at the star."

It was seen as a good omen for William, but a bad omen for Harold II who died at the Battle of Hastings.

dead languages

2007-09-23T23:50:00.000-04:00

Very sorry for not posting for so long. I will try and write more often over the next several months.

Do you know today (the 23rd) is the very first day of Autumn!

Happy Fall! :)

And to make this post a wee bit interesting --

I read an article this past week about how nearly half of the languages spoken today are in danger of extinction. A language actually dies about every two weeks.

Being the foreign language fan that I am (I'm currently studying Italian), this made me rather sad. You can find more info at National Geographic here and here.

Although, who said dead languages aren't cool and shouldn't be learned even if they are 'dead'? Latin, anyone?

I'm back!

2007-07-20T15:16:00.000-04:00

Whew, now I have about a month to actually enjoy my summer. Haha, yes, I'm joking -- I have been enjoying it very much. But now I'll actually have time to read.

I will have some more essays up here soon, but right now I have to post this poem. It's amazing. Enjoy!

Marginalia
By
Billy Collins

Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.

Other comments are more offhand, dismissive -
"Nonsense." "Please!" "HA!!" -
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
why wrote "Don't be a ninny"
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.

Students are more modest
needing to leave only their splayed footprints
along the shore of the page.
One scrawls "Metaphor" next to a stanza of Eliot's.
Another notes the presence of "Irony"
fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.

Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers,
Hands cupped around their mouths.
"Absolutely," they shout
to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
"Yes." "Bull's-eye." "My man!"
Check marks, asterisks, and exclamation points
rain down along the sidelines.

And if you have managed to graduate from college
without ever having written "Man vs. Nature"
in a margin, perhaps now
is the time to take one step forward.

We have all seized the white perimeter as our own
and reached for a pen if only to show
we did not just laze in an armchair turning pages;
we pressed a thought into the wayside,
planted an impression along the verge.

Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoria
jotted along the borders of the Gospels
brief asides about the pains of copying,
a bird signing near their window,
or the sunlight that illuminated their page-
anonymous men catching a ride into the future
on a vessel more lasting than themselves.

And you have not read Joshua Reynolds,
they say, until you have read him
enwreathed with Blake's furious scribbling.

Yet the one I think of most often,
the one that dangles from me like a locket,
was written in the copy of Catcher in the Rye
I borrowed from the local library
one slow, hot summer.
I was just beginning high school then,
reading books on a davenport in my parents' living room,
and I cannot tell you
how vastly my loneliness was deepened,
how poignant and amplified the world before me seemed,
when I found on one page

A few greasy looking smears
and next to them, written in soft pencil-
by a beautiful girl, I could tell,
whom I would never meet-
"Pardon the egg salad stains, but I'm in love."

Cry, the Beloved Country

2007-07-10T22:25:00.000-04:00

Yes, I've been away -- traveling around the country (I went to Texas!) and studying at an economics seminar for a week. I'm off again this Thursday to Pennsylvania, but you can read all about that over here.

Now, for all my fellow literary-lovers that have been dying for a blog post while I've been away, here is an essay on a book that is an absolute must-read. Very highly recommended by me. Watch out though -- there are several spoilers. If you don't need to be convinced by my essay to read the book, then read the book first and then come back and read my essay. :)

A Light Will Dawn: Alan Paton's Cry, the Beloved Country

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country is just as passionate and socially relevant today as it was when first published in 1948. A Zulu pastor, Stephen Kumalo, searches for his lost son in a South Africa turbulently divided by racial injustice. Ultimately, the story portrays Kumalo’s spiritual journey from naiveté to a deeper understanding of his world, from confused anger to abiding peace, from a wavering faith to complete trust in the actions of God.

The opening pages are integral to the rest of the story as they describe the beauty of natural South Africa. With rich green hills and thick matted grass, it is almost a picture of Eden. Indeed, Paton writes, “Stand unshod upon it, for the ground is holy, being even as it came from the Creator” (33). Yet, the “hills break down…They fall to the valley below, and falling, change their nature. For they grow red and bare.” In relation to Kumalo, this latter description embodies his spiritual state at the beginning of the novel. His church is located in the desolate valley, not in the vast and wonderful hills. He enters the pages a broken and suffering old man. Though his character does change by the end of the book, it is not a radical transformation. In fact, he leaves the book, just as he entered, broken and suffering. Change does not happen overnight – it is a gradual process. It will take many years to renew the valley into the image of the glorious hills that surround it. It will also take Kumalo many years to change. Cry, the Beloved Country shows only the first small steps that he must take.

For a broken man, it is difficult to begin this journey. At the opening of the story, Kumalo receives a letter, urging him to come to the faraway city of Johannesburg. His sister, Gertrude, who had journeyed there once and never returned, has been found, but is very sick. Kumalo, however, is afraid to go to the city to bring her back. Absalom, his son, had traveled to the city to search for Gertrude and never returned. Saving uselessly the money that his son would have used to go to college, Kumalo has built up a wall of lies around himself, thinking they will ease his suffering. Futilely, he tries to convince himself that his son will return, though he knows in his heart he never will. This deception only breeds anger that finally spills out in this scene.

We had a son, he said harshly. Zulus have many children, but we had only one son. He went to Johannesburg, and as you said—when people go to Johannesburg, they do not come back….My own son, my own sister, my own brother. They go away and they do not write any more. Perhaps it does not seem to them that we suffer. Perhaps they do not care for it. (39)

Kumalo does finally decide to journey to Johannesburg and, eventually, he is reunited with his sister, brother, and only son. These meetings are far from happy, however. His sister has become a prostitute. His brother is a hardened man (he has lost all faith in Christ and is embittered against the white men, using his powerful voice to speak out against them at political rallies). And, most tragically of all, his son has killed a man and is doomed to die.

Yet, these individual trials form the foundation upon which Kumalo is able to grow spiritually. The man his son killed was Arthur Jarvis, a white man who fought for the rights of the black people in Africa. Living in his isolated valley, Kumalo had little contact with white men. In the city, however, he is able to witness more clearly the struggles between the two races. Through the murder, he is able to meet Jarvis’ father who lives in the green hills. Though the two lived in such close proximity to each other, they never met or talked to each other before. It is as though Kumalo’s sight had been myopic, able to see only his own desolate valley. Yet, it is from the white men that restoration will come to his valley and peace to his soul. At the beginning of the novel, his friend, Msimangu, had told him, “The white man has broken the tribe. And it is my belief—and again I ask your pardon—that it cannot be mended again (56).” Kumalo does not fully understand this statement until he witness for himself the hostility in the city and the resentment of his brother. Later on, Msimangu clarifies his statement with the words, “I see only one hope for our country, and that is when white men and black men….desiring only the good of their country, come together to work for it (71).”

Even though Absalom killed Jarvis’ son, the father reaches out (in the memory of Arthur who fought so hard for the rights of the black people) to help restore the valley. His grandson visits Kumalo and learns about the Africans’ plight. Jarvis then sends milk to the starving children and an agricultural demonstrator to teach the Africans how to farm. Slowly, Kumalo is able to see and understand Msimangu’s words as they become a reality. At first, Kumalo could not comprehend why he had to suffer so much. His heart was full of anger and hatred. If his son, however, had not killed Jarvis’ son, restoration would probably never have come to his valley. In the depths of his affliction, Kumalo had told Msimangu, “There is no prayer left in me. I am dumb here inside. I have no words at all” (105). At first, he could not see God’s perfect plan unfolding through these tragedies, but Msimangu encouraged him that “we are not forsaken” (123). As Kumalo looked around him, he suddenly realized that even in his suffering God was there. “Who gives, at this one hour, a friend to make darkness light before me?” he asked himself.

The novel ends with Kumalo waiting on a mountain on the day of his son’s execution. The anger that he felt over his suffering is gone. He now understands what it truly means in Romans 8:28, “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” God used his trials to bring restoration to his valley and peace to his soul. As Kumalo watches the sun rise in the east, he begins to understand more deeply about God’s plans for his own country. Though now it seems that Africa is filled with darkness and hostility,

The light will come there. For it is the dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret. (312)

Just as Kumalo could not see the ends of his suffering when he was in the midst of it, so he cannot yet see how Africa will come out of its darkness. Yet he knows that it must. For, as Msimangu had told him, God will never forsake them.

Works Cited

Paton, Alan. Cry, the Beloved Country. 1948. New York, NY. Scribner, 2003.

More Poetry - The Scholar's Vessel

2007-06-04T20:50:00.000-04:00

[I wrote this earlier this year for Brit Lit when we were studying 'concrete poetry.' George Herbert was one of - if not the - masters of the form. Read his poems "The Altar" and "Easter Wings". This is such a cool form to write in. I'd love to read anyone else's attempts at it. :)]

And here's mine:

The Scholar’s Vessel

The
Sails of
My ship catch
The soft spring breeze,
And
I
Glide forward to strange lands and seas,
Bold to sail where ancient minds have pondered,
This ocean a book I freely wander...

GMH

2007-06-02T22:24:00.000-04:00

I posted an essay on here several months ago about Matthew Arnold and his atheistic worldview in "Dover Beach." Then, I decided to re-write the essay for another class, pitting Arnold's nihilistic philosophy against Gerard Manley Hopkins' Christian one. You can read the original essay here. Below are several of the paragraphs I added (this is mostly an excuse to ramble over Hopkins and post some of his wonderful poetry):

Unlike Arnold, Hopkins begins his poem “God’s Grandeur” with the line “The world is charged with the grandeur of God” (1), immediately affirming the presence of a Creator. Of this presence he writes, “It will flame out like shining from shook foil” and “it gathers to a greatness” (2-3). Like Arnold, however, Hopkins had also experienced uncertainty and doubt concerning religion. Yet, he overcame this, converting to Catholicism in 1866 and going on to become a Jesuit priest. This sudden conversion made him focus entirely on his Christian vocation. He destroyed all the poems he had previously written and abandoned writing for almost seven years. It was not until after the urging of religious leaders that he decided to embark on poetry once again. It is well that he did, for Hopkins’ writings provide a strong contrast to the nihilistic philosophy of his day, offering the other side of the argument: the argument for a God and His existence in the world.

In “God’s Grandeur,” Hopkins describes poets like Arnold and asks, “Why do men then now not reck his rod?” (4). If there is a god and everyone knows that he exists (even Arnold admitted a knowledge of religion), would it not be in their best interest to obey him? He argues further that men like Arnold are living in a delusion of their own making. “And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; / And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil / Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod” (6-8). Yet, man cannot kill God so easily. Even though man may attempt to destroy Him by destroying the nature He has created (many abuses of nature occurred during the Victorian era perhaps as consequences of the Industrial Revolution), “nature is never spent” (9). There is still hope for man because God does exist and “the Holy Ghost over the bent / World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings” (13-14).

During his lifetime, Arnold refused to call himself an atheist, hiding in the supposed comforts of agnosticism, believing in neither the existence nor the nonexistence of God. Yet, he rejected religion as superficial, blinding to true reality. “Dover Beach” may, in fact, be his only writing that conceded religion was an answer to chaos in the world: it was deceptive, but it did offer relief and a feigned security. Yet, Arnold insisted on freeing himself from this self-delusion and wallowing in the despair and darkness of the real world. Nevertheless, Hopkins argues that Arnold has actually thrown away reality for the self-delusion. In the Epistle to the Romans in the Bible, Paul wrote that sinful men “suppress the truth in unrighteousness” (Romans, I.18). Further, “they [become] futile in their speculations, and their foolish hearts [are] darkened. Professing to be wise, they [become] fools” (I.21-22). Arnold believed a world of happiness and peace must be a delusion and embraced what he thought was a reality of misery and horror. Indeed, to the unbeliever it is their reality – a “darkling plain” where fools will fight to reject God and hide from the light and truth. It is this light and truth that Hopkins still offers them in “God’s Grandeur.” For “though the last lights off the black West went / Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs” (“God’s Grandeur”, 13-14).

And here's some of that wonderful poetry I promised. :) Hopkins used a technique called 'sprung rhythm.' The Victorian Web describes it as term for a complex and very technically involved system of metrics which he derived partly from his knowledge of Welsh poetry. It is opposed specifically to "running" or "common" rhythm, and provides for feet of lengths varying from one syllable to four, with either "rising" or "falling" rhythm.

God's Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; Bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Spring

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush ;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing ;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue ; that blue is all in a rush
With richness ; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy ?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

Go here for more:

http://www.poetsgraves.co.uk/hopkins.htm

http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/hopkins/gmhov.html

Conviction

2007-05-27T22:10:00.000-04:00

Every time I visit the Schola Tutorials homepage, I am convicted. Mr. Callihan, my Great Books tutor, has this excellent quote posted:

"If we let ourselves, we shall always be waiting for some distraction or other to end before we can really get down to our work. The only people who achieve much are those who want knowledge so badly that they seek it while the conditions are still unfavorable. Favorable conditions never come."

--C. S. Lewis, "Learning in War-Time", The Weight of Glory

Amen to that.

The Deep Heart's Core

2007-05-25T12:02:00.000-04:00

The Theme of Alienation in 20th Century Irish Literature

Read "The Dead" here and "Lake Isle of Innisfree" here.

The twentieth century saw a new modernist strain in literature. Among its various characteristics, Modernism emphasized the alienation of certain individuals within an industrialized, urban world. While unique in certain aspects, this feature was merely an extension of its predecessor Romanticism. This earlier philosophy had developed the idea of the noble savage – how man is sinless at birth, but gradually the industrialized world corrupts him. Only in Nature can man remain perfect. In “The Dead,” James Joyce explores the effects of urbanization upon an individual; conversely, William Butler Yeats in his poem “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” contrasts how a return to Nature can essentially purify and restore peace to a person’s soul.

Famed for his complex character studies and utilization of the stream-of-consciousness technique, Joyce is one of the most famous writers of the Modernist era and of Ireland. His collection of short stories, The Dubliners, displays his immense talent. “The Dead” is the last story in this collection and perhaps the most famous and the most powerful. The main character is a young married man, Gabriel, who struggles with his identity as an Irishman during that country’s political upheavals. At a dinner party, one of the guests invites him to visit the Aran Isles on the west coast of Ireland. Gabriel protests that he would rather go to France or Germany and then admits in an outburst of passion, “To tell you the truth….I’m sick of my own country, sick of it!” (2515). His disgust for his homeland, however, stems from his disconnection with his Irish heritage, rather than a true dissatisfaction with the country. Indeed, his answer was provoked after the dinner guest had exclaimed, “And haven’t you your own land to visit….that you know nothing of, your own people, and your own country?” (2515). Later on, Gabriel continues to evince his anger over the loss of his heritage by declaring in his speech,

But we are living in a skeptical and, if I may use the phrase, a thought-tormented age: and sometimes I fear that this new generation, educated or hypereducated as it is, will lack those qualities of humanity, of hospitality, of kindly humor which belonged to an older day” (2523).

The Irish heritage primarily centered on the importance of the land, for the Irish had always been farmers. By living in the city of Dublin, Gabriel is alienated from the real Ireland of lush green fields and rolling hills. His schooling has drowned him in the intellectual and philosophical thought of his age, but has given him nothing of his own culture to hold onto. The tension grows when one of the guests begins to sing an old Irish song, awakening strange passions within Gabriel. He knows that the song has some sort of symbolic meaning, but he cannot quite discern what it is. After returning home, his wife begins to tell him of a boy she had known long ago who used to sing the same song to her: a country boy who died of love for her. As he listens to his wife’s story, he suddenly realizes that he has never truly loved her before – he realizes the wall that seems to stand between him and her, between him and the old Ireland.

His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself which these dead had one time reared and lived in was dissolving and dwindling (2534).

The country boy symbolizes the purity of Nature, the purity of the true, old Ireland. Gabriel is the new Ireland, oppressed by British rule and raising children who know only of the present urbanization. This last quote shows that Gabriel has no identity in this urban world and no one ever can. Only in that old Ireland could the qualities of humanity and kindly humor exist; only in that old Ireland could he have truly loved his wife as the country boy did.

Romanticism probably influenced Yeats more than it did Joyce. Indeed, Yeats drew his poetic inspiration from Shelley and Blake, even editing several of Blake’s poems. “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” (Innisfree is a small island in western Ireland) almost seems like a tribute to these earlier writers with its idyllic atmosphere. It describes a person in either a town or city, yearning to “arise and go /…to Innisfree” (1). The person of the poem is not alienated from Nature like Gabriel, however, but rather he is alienated from the city where he lives. The reason why he decides to return to Nature is because he cannot escape from it.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core (9-12).

Gabriel was faced with a similar dilemma in “The Dead.” He also was constantly haunted by this sound “in the deep heart’s core” but he decided that there was no solution to his problem. Gradually, this old world of Nature would fade away and people would be left hopeless and in despair. Yeats, however, still shares a glimmer of hope. Nature is not destroyed and there are still places that will welcome the solitary traveler, places like Innisfree and Gabriel’s Aran Isles. Just as Gabriel had drawn the conclusion that only in the old Ireland could he have truly loved his wife, so the speaker in this poem declares that he can only find peace in Innisfree, “for peace comes dropping slow, / Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings” (5-6). But his peace is truly tangible for his Innisfree exists whereas Gabriel’s old Ireland did not.

The word ‘alienation’ often has bad connotations, but the Merriam Webster dictionary defines it simply as “a withdrawing of a person's affections from an object or position of former attachment.” Romanticism showed that there were two types of alienation in mankind, one that was bad and the other good, and no middle ground in between. The Modernists delved even more deeply into these themes, oftentimes reaching very different conclusions as Joyce and Yeats did. To many, the past was lost and irrecoverable. Like Gabriel, they could only picture themselves as shadowy ghosts living in a world merely the faint outline of its lost glory. But others, like Yeats, still rejoiced in the hope that was offered to them – for the beauty and peace of Nature could never fade as long as it abided in the “deep heart’s core.”

Works Cited

Joyce, James. “The Dead.” 1914. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors. Stephen Greenblatt, General Editor. 8th edition. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2006, pgs. 2507-2534.

Yeat, William Butler. “The Lake Isle of Innisfree.” 1890. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors. Stephen Greenblatt, General Editor. 8th edition. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2006, pg. 2391.

Chesterton on "Cyrano De Bergerac"

2007-05-01T11:16:00.000-04:00

Cyrano De Bergerac, a verse drama in five acts, was performed for the first time in 1897 and published the following year. Set in 17th-century Paris, the action revolves around the emotional problems of the noble, swashbuckling Cyrano, who, despite his many gifts, feels that no woman can ever love him because he has an enormous nose. It is one of my favorite plays. And it was one of Chesterton's favorite plays too.

In his essay "French and English," G. K. Chesterton comments on several French plays. Then writes, "I do not know much of humanity, especially when humanity talks in French. But I know when a thing is meant to uplift the human soul, and when it is meant to depress it. I know that Cyrano de Bergerac...was meant to encourage man."

Now, you know if Chesterton liked something it had to be very, very good. So go run down to your bookstore or library and grab a copy of Cyrano De Bergerac. It really does uplift the human soul.

A Letter from C. S. Lewis

2007-05-01T11:03:00.000-04:00

A letter from C.S. Lewis to his best friend, Arthur Greeves, written when Lewis was seventeen:

I have had a great literary experience this week. I have discovered yet another author to add to our circle--our very own set: never since I first read 'The well at the world's end' have I enjoyed a book so much--and indeed I think my new 'find' is quite as good as Malory or Morris himself. The book, to get to the point, is George Macdonald's 'Faerie Romance', Phantastes which I picked up by hazard in a rather tired Everyman copy [...]. At any rate, whatever the book you are reading now, you simply MUST get this at once: and it is quite worth getting in a superior Everyman binding too.

Of course it is hopeless for me to try and describe it, but when you have followed the hero Anodos along that little stream to the faery wood, have heard about the terrible ash tree and how the shadow of this gnarled, knotted hand falls upon the book the hero is reading, when you have read about the faery palace--just like that picture in the Dulac book--and heard the episode of Cosmo, I know that you will quite agree with me. You must not be disappointed at the first chapter which is rather conventional faery tale style, and after it you won't be able to stop until you have finished. There are one or two poems in the tale--as in the Morris tales you know--which, with one or two exceptions are shockingly bad, so don't TRY to appreciate them: it is just a sign, isn't it of how some geniuses can't work in metrical forms--another example being the Brontes.

I quite agree with what you say about buying books, and love all the planning and scheming beforehand, and if they come by post, finding the neat little parcel waiting for you on the hall table and rushing upstairs to open it in the privacy of your own room. Some people--my father for instance--laugh at us for being so serious over our pleasures, but I think a thing can't be properly enjoyed unless you take it in earnest, don't you? What I can't understand about you though is how you can get a nice new book and still go on stolidly with the one you are at: I always like to be able to start the new one on the day I get it, and for that reason wait to buy it until the old one is done. But then of course you have so much more money to throw about than I.

Talking about finishing books, I have at last come to the end of the Faerie Queene: and though I say 'at last', I almost wish he had lived to write six books more as he hoped to do--so much have I enjoyed it.

[C.S. Lewis, The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis: Volume I, Letter of 7 March 1916]

Home Thoughts, from Abroad

2007-04-02T22:46:00.000-04:00

O, TO be in England
Now that April 's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Robert Browning

William Wordsworth's "Preface to Lyrical Ballads"

2007-03-17T21:50:00.000-04:00

In 1798, William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge (two of the leading poets of the Romantic literary movement in England) published a volume of their poems entitled Lyrical Ballads. To the first edition Wordsworth attached an “Advertisement” that briefly explained the purpose of the poems. By the third edition, however, this “Advertisement” had developed into a much longer Preface or, rather, a sort of “revolutionary manifesto about the nature of poetry” (Norton Anthology of English Literature, pg. 1495). It is revolutionary because Wordsworth crafted it around three main ideals borrowed from the French Revolution – immortalized in that war’s infamous rallying cry, “Liberté, égalité, et fraternité ou la mort!” This liberty, equality, and fraternity (brotherhood) form the basis of Wordsworth’s treatise, a treatise that forever transformed the role of the poet and his poetry.

What is liberty? The French Revolutionaries saw it as a freedom from a despotic regime. To many, it probably meant a complete abolition of all forms of government and a descent into anarchy. The philosophy that influenced the Revolution, however, was much more complex. In 1762, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, an Enlightenment philosopher, summed it up nicely in his Social Contract with the phrase, “Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains” (The Social Contract, 387). Thirty-two years later, William Blake used this same phrase as inspiration for a line in his poem “London” that speaks of “mind-forged manacles.” Rousseau and Blake saw man as negatively affected by his environment. Primitive man living in nature is perfect, a noble savage, because evil does not come from nature, but from organized society. Wordsworth embraces this belief in his Preface, attempting to show that poetry can be a path towards the liberation of mankind; that is, towards equality and brotherhood. For his poems, he chose subjects from “low and rustic life” because,

In that condition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soil in which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, and speak a plainer and more emphatic language; because in that condition of life our elementary feelings co-exist in a state of greater simplicity (Preface to Lyrical Ballads, 1499).

Using images from “the beautiful and permanent forms of nature” (1498), Wordsworth tries to guide his reader back to man’s primitive and perfect state, releasing him from his mind-forged manacles.

This liberation leads to an equality of all men; something desperately hungered after by the peasants who stormed the Bastille after suffering many years under the oppression of the aristocracy. Wordsworth sees this equality, however, not as an equality of class, but as “the very language of men” (1500), a universal tongue, echoing the eleventh chapter of Genesis in which the whole world had one language. Showing that poetry can be used to return to this equality, Wordsworth exemplifies the role of the poet, writing, “He is a man speaking to men: a man it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul” (1502). The poet is a “translator” for mankind and poetry is “the image of man and nature” (1503). Poetry can appeal to all people and the poet has no restrictions on the truth which he tries to convey. Wordsworth explains,

The poet writes under one restriction only, namely, that of the necessity of giving immediate pleasure to a human being possessed of that information which may be expected from him … as a man (1503).

This equality of speech between one man and another leads to the final element of the Revolutionary philosophy: the brotherhood of mankind. After the Revolution, the French strongly emphasized this ideal by calling each other ‘citizen,’ highlighting their common bond. For poetry, Wordsworth explains that the “poet, singing a song in which all human beings join with him, rejoices in the presence of truth as our visible friend and hourly companion” (1504). The universal language that Wordsworth previously spoke of is founded on two principles: passion and knowledge. All human beings have experienced love, anger, fear, and happiness. They have also witnessed the universal order and truth of nature. Because of this, Wordsworth believes that

In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs, in spite of things silently gone out of mind and things violently destroyed, the poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time (1505).

This philosophy of the role of the poet and poetry seems to echo the words that Samuel Johnson had penned years before in his novel Rasselas when he spoke of the poet rising to general and transcendental truths as “the interpreter of nature and the legislator of mankind” (Rasselas, 1235). Yet, instead of merely offering a short chapter on this topic as Johnson did, Wordsworth expanded the beliefs and supported them with Enlightenment inspired Revolutionary thinking. Because of this, Preface to Lyrical Ballads laid the foundations of a new poetic genre – Romantic poetry, indeed, was unlike any poetry that had been written before, creating a revolution of imagination and embracing ‘the spirit of the age.’

Works Cited

Johnson, Samuel. Rasselas. 1759. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors. Stephen Greenblatt, General Editor. 8th edition. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2006

Wordsworth, William. Preface to Lyrical Ballads. 1802. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors. Stephen Greenblatt, General Editor. 8th edition. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2006

Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. The Social Contract. 1762. Great Books of the Western World. Robert Maynard Hutchins, Editor in Chief. Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc., 1952.

Movie Reviews

2007-03-15T20:34:00.011-04:00

Classic Christmas Films - A Top-Ten List
Finding Forrester - (Spotlight on Writing)
Finding Neverland - (Spotlight on Writing)
The Social Network

The Darkling Plain

2007-01-30T20:39:00.001-05:00

[An Explication of Matthew Arnold’s "Dover Beach"]

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

During his honeymoon in 1851, Matthew Arnold visited Dover, England. As he strolled along the beach with his wife, he probably paused to listen to the roar of the English Channel, its waves driven wildly against the shore, or to stare up at the vast white chalk cliffs dominating the coastline. This visit would later serve as inspiration for his poem “Dover Beach.” The poem describes a man’s personal loss of faith, exemplifying the contrast between a time when religion was embraced without question and the modern Victorian age that introduced doubt and atheism.

Arnold believed that his poems would eventually “have their day” because they represented “the main movement of mind” of the Victorian world. Although certainly one of the reasons why he gained prominence, Arnold was also a masterful poet, able to create striking pictures with words. “Dover Beach” begins with such a picture of the calm sea, “the tide is full, the moon lies fair / upon the straits” and “the cliffs of England stand, / Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay” (“Dover Beach”, 2-5). It is not only a picture of Dover, however, but of the whole of England. The British Empire had its height in the Victorian age. England, glorious and powerful, dominated much of the world. Yet in this peaceful scene, suddenly, a “grating roar” is heard “of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, / at their return, up the high strand” (10-11). The tranquility of the night has been disturbed by this wild noise: the pebbles symbolize new opinions (for instance, Darwin’s theories on evolution) that are flooding the philosophical spectrum and undermining the Christian worldview. Arnold does not question their veracity, but he admits that they bring “the eternal note of sadness in” (14).

This sound is not new to England, however. Arnold describes Sophocles also hearing it long ago on the Ægean, referring to a passage from Antigone. It is the sound of “human misery” (18), the constant war of differing thoughts and opinions that occurs in any age, country, or culture. Arnold believes nature can be used to discover truths about the world and the sea gives him, like Sophocles, a “thought” (19) that tries to solve this war in his mind. Yet it can hardly offer him a solution. Instead, it reminds Arnold of religion and he compares the real sea to “The Sea of Faith” (21).

This Sea, unlike the sea of nature, can offer man satisfaction for the turmoil in his soul. Indeed, once “at the full, and round earth’s shore” it “lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl’d” (22-23). It is unclear here whether Arnold is referring to a time period (such as the medieval age) or simply to a previous time in his life when Christianity was accepted with absolute conviction and no uncertainty. Whichever the case, when it was accepted, his life did not experience such dark sadness and fear. As he watches his religious beliefs shattered by the new beliefs of the day (beliefs that question the existence of God and the origins of man), he can only hear The Sea of Faith’s “melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, / Retreating, to the breath / Of the night-wind” (25-27). Without Christianity, the world is left naked and forbidding.

Arnold argues, however, that The Sea of Faith was actually a delusion. In reality, the world has “really neither joy, nor love, nor light, / nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain” (32-33). Because Christianity offered these things to Arnold, it must have been false. Arnold has become a nihilist. According to the Merriam Webster dictionary, nihilism is a viewpoint that “traditional values and beliefs are unfounded and that existence is senseless and useless,” denying “any objective ground of truth and especially of moral truths.” He has no way to decide between the warring philosophies because there is no ultimate standard to judge them against. Searching wildly for a solution to this dilemma, Arnold insists on crying out to his “love” (though in the next breath he denounces any love in the world), declaring, “let us be true / to one another!” (29-30). But how can they be true when there is no truth in the world? How can they love one another when love is only a delusion?

No answer is found for these questions. He ends the poem on a note of sorrow, unable to resolve the turmoil in his soul. Instead, he describes himself as on a “darkling plain / Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, / Where ignorant armies clash by night” (35-37). For the nihilist, the world is in a constant state of war. Fear and despair are its only realities. Arnold seeks desperately to find a shred of happiness that is not a fantasy, but this fights against his own philosophy. Vainly, he attempts to create a substitution for the relationship between God and man, appealing to his fellow man for help. “Let us be true!” he begs, but they have nothing to guide them, no foundation on which to protect such a relationship – the world is hostile, religion is dead, and nature can give them no answers.

Arnold refused to call himself an atheist, hiding in the supposed comforts of agnosticism, refusing to believe in either the existence or the nonexistence of God. Yet, he rejected religion as superficial, blinding to true reality. “Dover Beach” may, in fact, be his only writing that conceded religion was an answer to chaos in the world: it was deceptive, but it did offer relief and a feigned security. However, Arnold insisted on freeing himself from this self-delusion and wallowing in the despair and darkness of the real world. Nevertheless, the Bible is clear that Arnold has actually thrown away reality for the self-delusion. In Romans, Paul wrote that sinful men “suppress the truth in unrighteousness” (Romans, I.18). Further, “they [become] futile in their speculations, and their foolish hearts [are] darkened. Professing to be wise, they [become] fools” (I.21-22). Arnold believed a world of happiness and peace must be a delusion and embraced what he thought was a reality of misery and horror. Indeed, to the unbeliever it is their reality – a “darkling plain” where fools will fight to reject God and hide from the light and truth.

Lucifer's Fall

2007-01-13T13:12:00.000-05:00

[I wrote this poem several weeks ago after studying poetry in my Brit Lit class. It's in the style of a Shakespearean Sonnet and was inspired by John Milton's Paradise Lost and texts from Isaiah and Revelation.]

Isaiah 14:12

How you have fallen from heaven,
O morning star, son of the dawn!
You have been cast down to the earth,
you who once laid low the nations!

Fallen art thou, son of the bright flamed morn,
With thy dragon’s black tail swept down the stars,
Burning, blazing, blaring into Hell born,
Never to ride skyward after these wars.
Why did thou forsake lofty light-realms to
Perish in a cursed tract of Hades?
And why strive vain against Him always true,
Baring thine heart to this wild disease?
Curséd art thou of all His creatures made,
For once thou strike the heel of His blessed Son –
Arise, Firstborn! And let all be afraid,
Heavens quake until victory is won.
This foul false serpent crush under Thy feet,
Lucifer Hell-chained in final defeat.

A Review of "A Modest Proposal"

2007-01-11T19:49:00.000-05:00

[To start my new adventures with this blog, I would like to post an essay I recently wrote for my British Literature class.]

Go here to read "A Modest Proposal."

Swift's Great Satire

Satire has existed as far back as ancient Rome (indeed, tradition says that Quintilian, a Roman rhetorician, coined the term), but it was not until the 18th century that it became a true literary genre. This period saw the emergence of such literary giants as Alexander Pope, John Dryden, and Voltaire, all brilliant satirists. Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) surpassed them all, however, considered by many the greatest prose satirist in the English language. Satire is a literary work that holds up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn, often employing irony and sarcasm. Swift's short pamphlet “A Modest Proposal” is an excellent example of his superb use of the genre. The piece addresses the Irish famine, attempting to offer a solution for the thousands of starving Irish children. Utilizing three types of persuasion borrowed from Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Swift makes the piece quite convincing, luring the unsuspecting reader to agree with the author’s basic premises before revealing his shocking conclusions – yet, though a satiric seriousness does pervade the work, a true sincerity and earnestness is at the heart of “A Modest Proposal.”

The Irish Famine of 1740 to 1741 refers to the Irish people, rather than Ireland itself. The island was rich with produce and animals; only the crops (mostly potatoes) of the peasant farmers suffered a poor harvest. The English absentee landlords fed off the abundance of the land and starved the Irish citizens to death. One historian, John Mitchell, remarked, “A million and a half men, women and children were carefully and peacefully slain by the English Government. They died of hunger in the midst of abundance, which their own hands created.” Many people wrote pamphlets to expose the ruthlessness of the English and the desperate state of the Irish or to offer different schemes to ease the poverty of thousands and make them useful to the public. With his own satiric pamphlet, Swift joined these writers, employing the first type of Aristotle’s persuasion, “ethos.” Ethos refers to the credibility of the author. By grouping himself with these other writers, Swift shows that he is embarking on a good cause. In the opening title of his piece, he explains that he wishes to prevent the children of Ireland from being a “burden to their parents” and hopes to make them “beneficial to the public” (“A Modest Proposal,” 1114). Not only, however, does he have England in mind, but he also considers the welfare of the children – with his plan they will not want “food and raiment for the rest of their lives” (1114). He also declares that he wishes to end “voluntary abortions” in which women murder their own children (1115). His reasons for his plan at first appear anything but harmful.

To further support the integrity of his schemes, Swift uses the second type of Aristotelian persuasion, “pathos.” Describing the suffering of the Irish in his opening paragraph, he appeals to human emotion, trying to awaken pity and compassion. He calls it a “melancholy object” to walk through Dublin or travel in the countryside and behold the “beggars of the female sex, followed by three, four, or six children, all in rags and importuning every passenger for alms” (1114). When speaking of the mothers who are forced to murder “the poor innocent babes,” he says it is not for shame, but because they cannot provide for their own children; indeed, the very sight of the starving infants would “move tears and pity in the most savage and inhuman breast” (1115). Yet, in the midst of wringing pity from his audience, Swift suddenly reveals his own scheme for allaying the Irish suffering. He announces,

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout (1114).

Instead of awakening further empathy, his scheme produces disgust. It is this paragraph, however, that makes it readily apparent that Swift’s pamphlet is satiric and he is ridiculing the metaphor, “The English are devouring the Irish.”

Yet, he retains his controlled and grave tone, using the third Aristotelian type of persuasion to support his satire. “Logos” employs logic and outside sources to convince the audience. Swift first appeals to a François Rabelais, a fellow satirist (who he jokingly calls “a grave author” and “eminent French physician”), to prove that his schemes will lessen the Catholic population (1116). Here he parodies the hostility that most English felt against the Papists, especially after the Glorious Revolution that deposed James II and successfully kept Catholics off the throne. Later on in the piece, he also invokes the wisdom of a friend who believes that they might use the children as a substitute for venison meat. Swift casts this plan aside, however, because the meat of older children would probably be tough and lean and some people might think that “such a practice…as a little bordering on cruelty” (1116). The irony of this statement is alarming because Swift’s actual scheme does not simply border on cruelty, but has fallen headfirst into barbarity. Nevertheless, he justifies his friend’s proposal because it was “put into his head by the famous Psalmanazar,” who had written a fictitious book on Formosa and described the selling of plump young girls as food (1117). Swift’s utilization of logos seems to fail with these repulsive examples.

At a deeper level, though, the pamphlet appears to have a very different purpose than offering up Irish children as food for the English. Swift’s Aristotelian persuasion worked perfectly with both ethos and pathos and, at a closer glance, it also works with logos. He convinces the audience of the horrible state of the Irish and the ruthlessness of the English. The English are already devouring the Irish children, already true cannibals. As he draws near the conclusion of his piece, he uses irony to emphasize this, writing that he will not consider other ways to deal with the Irish problem, “of learning to love our country….of quitting our animosities and factions, nor acting any longer like the Jews, who were murdering one another at the very moment their city was taken….of teaching landlords to have at least one degree of mercy towards their tenants” (1118). The pamphlet is a modest proposal for the preservation of a nation on the verge of extermination. He exemplifies his great misery and distress for the Irish people when he tells those who would oppose his schemes to ask the Irish parents,

whether they would not at this day think it a great happiness to have been sold for food, at a year old in the manner I prescribe, and thereby have avoided such a perpetual scene of misfortunes as they have since gone through by the oppression of landlords, the impossibility of paying rent without money or trade, the want of common sustenance, with neither house nor clothes to cover them from the inclemencies of the weather, and the most inevitable prospect of entailing the like or greater miseries upon their breed for ever (1119).

Works Cited:

Swift, Jonathan. “A Modest Proposal.” 1729. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors. Stephen Greenblatt, General Editor. 8th edition. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2006

a reappearance

2007-01-11T18:20:00.001-05:00

I stumbled over this blog several days ago, picked it up, dusted it off, and was quite displeased to find it so neglected. I hope, therefore, to restore it to the land of the living. My personal musings will still be kept on my xanga blog, but I hope to reserve my more literary reviews and chatter for this journal. I'm not sure if I'll publicize this blog at all, but I always do love it if a reader or two drops by and enjoys.

bookish meme

2006-01-08T15:16:00.000-05:00

Here's a little questionnaire I stumbled across when browsing blogs. I haven't done a "meme" in quite some time and thought it would be fun to fill out. Enjoy!

How many books do I own?

Er, I really have no idea. The book collection is scattered over the entire house, boxes of books stored away in the garage and attic and hidden on countless bookcases. But I suppose to make this simple, I might just count the books on the two bookshelves in my room, so here it goes...*Rushes back after counting all those on the bookshelves and taken from the bookshelves and left about on the floor, desk, bed, and endtable* 50, exactly.

An unfortunate habit with me: when I read a book and then have to attend to something else, I don't put the book back on my bookshelf but leave it wherever I have been reading. I suppose I really should start putting them back on my bookshelves--that way I wouldn't have to dig through piles to find the book I want. ;)

What's the last book I bought?

I haven't been to the bookstore in some time, most unfortunately, but the library is different. So, I'll change this to what books I've recently checked out of the library:

[a] Charles Williams, The Place of the Lion (Pellegrini & Cudahy 1951);

[b] Roger Hall, You're Stepping on my Cloak and Dagger (WW Norton & Company Inc.1957);

Katie Beth recommended the one above. :)

[c] Jane Austen, Emma (Oxford University Press 1995);

[d] Bennett A. Cerf and Van H. Cartmell, Sixteen Famous British Plays (Random House 1943).

What's the last book I read?

I'm in the middle of reading (and should soon finish) The Place of the Lion listed above.

Books I have recently finished:

[1] Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

[2] Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare (just finished it this afternoon...)

[3] Summa Theologica by Thomas Aquinas (well, I read excerpts here and there...)

[4] Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare

[5] The Cask of Amontillado and The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe

Here is a good site for more information about Poe and his writing.

What are the five books that mean the most to me?

This is the most difficult question of the bunch and, I must say, I'm sure I've left out several important ones. However, I think I'll just list the following (in no particular order) and please understand that this list is far from complete:

[1] Athanasius, On the Incarnation. Wow, this book is just amazing and brilliant. I don't believe I'll ever be finished lauding its praises since I first read it in GB2 last year. Athanasius' logic is stunning and profound; the book gives you a deep sense of the power and holiness of God. I recommend this to all Christians. Find the edition with the introduction by C. S. Lewis. Excellent. (If you like Athanasius, also read Anselm's Proslogium, Monologium, and Cur Deus Homo. Ooh, and Augustine's Confessions and The City of God.)

[2] G. K. Chesterton, especially The Man Who Was Thursday, but most any Chesterton will do. If you haven't discovered him yet, do so. He's an amazing writer and his stories are quite thought-provoking. Also lumped here are writers like C. S. Lewis (his Narnia series but also Till We Have Faces, The Screwtape Letters, Pilgrim's Regress), MacDonald (Lilith and must get my hands on a copy of Phantastes), and let's not forget dear old Tolkien. ;)

[3] Beowulf. This stirring epic was written by an unkown Anglo-Saxon bard. I need to read it again, but it's haunted me ever since my father read it aloud to my brother and I one December in front of a crackling fire with the winter wind whistling outside. Other good epics are, naturally, Homer's two (The Iliad and The Odyssey), Virgil's Aeneid, Chesterton's The Ballad of the White Horse, and I'll probably add Spenser's Fairy Queene here when I read it this April in GB.

[4] Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities. I couldn't end this list without mentioning Dickens. He's been one of my favorite authors for quite some time and I believe TTC is my favorite novel of his. I love the Christian themes: themes of sacrifice, redemption, selflessness. Very moving.

[5] I'm going to leave this one open. I'm sure I'll have something to fill it with in the future. :) I can't wait to read Calvin's Institutes, Milton's Paradise Lost, Dante's Divine Comedy this following semester. I'm sure they'll make it on here.

And that's that. ^_^

stars in the universe

2006-01-07T22:13:00.000-05:00

2 Colossians 3: 13, 16, 18

We are not like Moses, who would put a veil over his face to keep the Israelites from gazing at it while the radiance was fading away...But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away...And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.

meditations on manalive

In Chesterton's sometimes shocking--but altogether humorous and enthralling--novel, Manalive, we meet a man called Innocent Smith. A man who enters the pages like the great "wind that [sprang] high in the west, like a wave of unreasonable happiness." He thrusts himself upon the lives of several boarders in a boarding house and no one is the same again. "In a million holes and corners it refreshed a man like a flagon, and astonished him like a blow. In the inmost chambers of intricate and embowered houses it woke like a domestic explosion."

Innocent Smith is that explosion. He shatters the laws of convention, but never breaks the Law. Instead, he turns everything on its head. He sees the world with awe and innocence. He travels round the world, just so he might come home again. After all, is not "home" really the destination of all our travels? Do we not always wish that we might come home again?

Why can't we all be Innocent Smiths in the world? Why can't we all embrace that vibrant Chestertonian (which is actually a quite Christian) view of the world? And what is this view but to appreciate the life that God has given us. Innocent Smith has a strange hobby of threatening pessimistic professors with guns. When one professor says that men would be better off dead, Innocent quickly replies that he will help by shooting him. Of course, he never does: it is merely a ploy to show the professor how precious life truly is. And eventually he gets the professor to renounce all his previous ideas and see the world as Smith sees it.

Sometimes people can be too grave, too solemn, too serious. This is exactly what C. S. Lewis condemned in An Experiment in Criticism. He speaks of how we have raised up "a breed of young men as solemn as the brutes." He goes on to point out how such a class can't possibly enjoy literature or know the meaning and intent of what they read; I wonder how they can even enjoy life or know what their meaning and purpose in life is.

For how can we be solemn and bleak, when we are praising God? Death has been conquered. We are sharers in everlasting life.

Philippians 2: 14-16

Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life.

How can we be shining stars when we appear like everyone else? But when we smile, when we are kind, when we love life, when we love God and praise Him for all He has done, when we "glorify God and enjoy him forever," then we shall be stars. We will no longer blend into the dark of night: we will stand out, shimmering in a light that cannot be hidden.

In many ways, Manalive cannot be taken entirely seriously. We are not to threaten professors with guns, break into our own houses, journey round the world, but we are to see life as Smith sees it.

"But, manalive!" began Inglewood in exasperation.
"That's right! That's right!" came with a roar out of the rocking tree; "that's my real name." And he broke a branch, and one or two autumn leaves fluttered away across the moon.

We are manalive as well. No longer are we dead. Sometimes we forget that. We forget all that God has done for us and all that He is. Let us pray that this does not happen often, because it is too great a thing to be forgotten. It is our very life.

Ephesians 2: 4-5

But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions--it is by grace you have been saved.

The American Chesterton Society has an essay on their site about Manalive. It concludes:

So, is Innocent Smith really G.K. Chesterton? Well, let me say this: this novel is Chesterton’s most practical and least theoretical book. This is the book on how to live Chesterton. I have found that people either love this book or are neutral about it. There is no hating it. And if you are neutral about it, well, you need to go have a picnic on the roof.

shakespeare and baseball

2005-11-17T14:29:00.000-05:00

I'm updating because I did promise to try to be more regular about posting and already I'm beginning to slip back into my old habits. Quite sorry about that.

School is screeching to a halt as Thanksgiving break looms up in front of nearly all of us students. I have several math lessons to finish up this Friday, but I have already made my brief farewells to literature and greatbooks and have only a chemistry test to look forward to on Monday. As much as I enjoy school, breaks are always greeted with relieved sighs.

Yesterday, my friend approached me, carrying a large volume under one arm and greeting me with an excited, "I have something to show you, Nicole!" Naturally, upon noticing the immensity of the volume, my curiosity was piqued. It turned out to be a collection of Shakespeare plays, poems, and sonnets. I suppose I need not elucidate the fact that my friend is greatly obsessed with Shakespeare. We spent some time poring over the book, chatting about Shakespeare, showing each other our favorite sonnets (or rather she showed me her favorite sonnets), and talking about plays.

Her new favorite play is Twelfth Night. And after a little while I fell upon her true purpose of showing me the volume. She wanted to put on a Shakespeare play. Not surprisingly, I was rather skeptical at first--I am a rather cautious person. But after a while she convinced me; she has a way of doing that.

And after much deliberation, yes, we chose Twelfth Night. Eagerly she told me she would edit and condense the text, simply because we wouldn't have enough people to perform every part (though hopefully, we will have at least nine, including ourselves). But now everything else must be figured out and worked through--such as, when, where, and how we will perform it. And, even though I'm still a bit skeptical, it looks like it will be fun and I'm hoping that everything works out. I'll keep you all posted on how we progress.

And this is for Emily...

Because she wrote me a simply wonderful post over at her blog:

I thought you would like these. They're from The Old Ball Game: How John McGraw, Christy Mathewson, and the New York Giants Created Modern Baseball by Frank DeFord. (I probably just scared away quite a number of my readers who are anti-baseball, haha). Anyhow, I'm almost finished with the book--hopefully will finish it today. I think you would enjoy it.

And here are those quotes:

in defense of baseball vs. football

Moreover, at a time when most Americans labored at long, enervating hours, six days a week of ten-hour workdays, it helped, too, that baseball was not so physically demanding as the back-and-forth team sports. It is certainly no coincidence that at this time, American football, a mean grueling diversion, was a game played for the most part--and at the highest level of proficiency--by college boys who otherwise were lifting nothing heavier than textbooks. Indeed, the sport was dominated by the wealthiest young gentleman of all, from the Ivy League. These young gallants not only had the energy to engage in such a demanding activity, but they also could use football to show off, proving that they were every bit as tough as the working classes. Thus, while it is ironic, it is perfectly understandable why baseball, the softer (and, allegedly, more intellectual) game, became a professional entertainment while football, which is so much more gladiatorial, remained essentially an amateur distraction, played primarily by students, for many more years.

on why it's the national pastime

Of course, all the cultural analyzing aside, the games that a people favor are those that they find the most fun. But baseball certainly did possess certain ingredients that had made it what everybody called it then: the American national sport. First of all, it was a team game, requiring that "prompt and easy co-operation muscularly." As the Baltimore Morning Herald rhapsodized: "The fin de siecle players must possess a high order of brains, must be of correct habits, have plenty of ambition and be possessed of a certain docility and evenness of temperament such as will insure proper discipline and the frictionless working together of the whole team."

a king kelly anecdote [you probably have heard it, but I thought it was funny :)]

The King did slide. He invented the hook slide. He could hit, too--.308 lifetime. He also was famous for ducking across the infield when the sole umpire's attention was diverted, going from first to third diagonally. Once, when he was sitting out a game with a hangover, a pop foul headed near the Beaneater bench. Seeing that the catcher could not reach the ball, Kelly stood up, screamed "Kelly now catching for Boston," and caught the ball. The startled umpire had to allow the ploy, for there had been nothing in the rule book to anticipate such an instant substitution (although a new rule was quickly inserted to close the King's loophole).

tom murphy, groundskeeper, and the baltimore chop

Working with McGraw and the others, out in front of the plate he mixed dirt with a clay burnt hard. The Orioles would then swing down on the pitch so that the batted ball would hit the concrete-like ground and carom high into the air. By the time the ball came down, the batter would be on first. To this day, that is called the "Baltimore chop." Murphy also doctored the foul lines between home plate and first or third, slanting them, so that bunts would stay fair. To help the speedy young Birds, the path to first base was canted slightly downhill. Since it was common for pitchers then to reach down off the mound for some dirt to soil their sweaty hands, Murphy larded the dirt in that area with soap chips. Opposing pitchers would suddenly find the spheroid mysteriously slipping from their grasp.

keeler's kingdom

Keeler's right-field bailiwick was the wild kingdom. The field out there sloped down to the fence, so that Wee Willie, playing deep, could sometimes barely be seen from home plate. He negotiated the territory in damp, ankle-deep weeds and grass, where it was possible for him to hide extra balls that could be retrieved and tossed in should the legitimate ball in play get beyond his grasp.

matty

There are tales that umpires would surreptitiously look to Matty [Mathewson] on a close play, to get his opinion--a shake or a nod of the head--knowing that he would never call it dishonestly, even to benefit his own team. For example, it has been told in diamond scripture that one time when he slid home, he kicked up so much dust the umpire was blinded, so the trusting arbiter simply turned to Mathewson and asked him for the call. "He got me," Mathewson replied straightaway, and only then did the relieved umpire cry, "Out!"

"Why would you admit that?" asked the bewildered catcher.

"Because I am a church elder."

another trick

Since only one umpire worked a game, it was possible, simply, to get away with more shenanigans. McGraw's favorite trick, when he was playing third and a runner tagged up there, was to gently hook a finger into the runner's belt. When the fly was caught and the runner started to light out for home, McGraw would be literally holding him to the bag--but in such a fashion that the umpire couldn't see.

I have a bunch more, but I think I'll stop there--maybe I'll type up more when I finish the book. :) Thanks for your wonderful post, Emily! I enjoyed it immensely.

I hope you all have a great day!

wordsworth on bede

2005-09-08T10:10:00.000-04:00

BUT what if One, through grove or flowery mead,
Indulging thus at will the creeping feet
Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet
Thy hovering Shade, O venerable Bede!
The saint, the scholar, from a circle freed
Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat
Of learning, where thou heard'st the billows beat
On a wild coast, rough monitors to feed
Perpetual industry. Sublime Recluse!
The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt
Imposed on human kind, must first forget
Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use
Of a long life; and, in the hour of death,
The last dear service of thy passing breath!

We're reading Bede in GB3...wonderful stuff...

expectations for things not yet written...

2005-09-06T14:28:00.000-04:00

Yes, the title rang true. It means a longer post shall follow. This is merely a preface to greater things -- one of those disgustingly small and puny looking apologetic updates in which the author makes terribly long excuses as to why they have regrettably and unfortunately been ignoring their readers and their blog.

No, really, I will get an interesting (and long) entry up soon -- that is, as soon as I have a spare hour or two. I officially started my school year today, although Great Books already started last week and my TPS classes don't begin until next week. And I am having rather dark presentiments that spare hours will become increasingly hard to find as the year progresses.

But don't worry! As my readers anguish over the fact that my blog has not been updated for weeks upon end, I will probably be having an incomparably enjoyable and quite delightful time poring over ancient books, writing essays that try to resemble in size the collected works of Shakespeare, muddling my head over advanced algebra problems, attempting dangerous experiments during Chemistry, trying to translate everything into Spanish (this will take time -- I only started lesson one today O_o), practicing an increasingly longer and longer repertoire of songs on the piano, and lots of other interesting things.

And now I must bid you all farewell and leave you with this little post and, even better, expectations for things not yet written.

Oh! And this, a scene from The Pilgrim's Regress by C. S. Lewis because I always wanted to post it and now seems to be as good a time as any. Enjoy!

I saw where they came down to the white beaches of a bay of the sea, the western end of the world, a place very ancient, folded many miles deep in the silence of forests; a place, in some sort, lying rather at the world's beginning, as though men were born traveling away from it. It was early in the morning when they came there and heard the sound of the waves; and looking across the sea--at that hour almost colourless--all those thousands became still. And what the others saw I do not know: but John saw the Island. And the morning wind, blowing offshore from it, brought the sweet smell of its orchards to them, but rarified and made faint with the thinness and purity of early air, and mixed with a little sharpness of the sea. But for John, because so many thousands looked at it with him, the pain and the longing were changed and all unlike what they had been of old; for humility was mixed with their wildness, and the sweetness came not with pride and with the lonely dreams of poets nor with the glamour of a secret, but with the homespun truth of folktales, and with the sadness of graves and freshness as of earth in the morning.

ahem

2005-08-10T16:33:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my Blogger blog! Yes, new blog, new look. ^.^

This will be my full-time blog now, although I may update the other one occasionally. I decided to switch to Blogger because I had more options of creating my own template, there are *no* banner ads, Blogger hosts pictures for free, and a whole list of other reasons.

Besides, you have to agree that Blogger is so much cooler than Xanga.

*Wise nod*

Now, leave lots of comments.
__________

THERE is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

--Emily Dickinson

About

2005-08-09T10:11:00.002-04:00

The Inkwell Musings is a collection of a writer's reflections on life, literature, music, and film.

Like Pascal, these are my Pensées. It is said he jotted down his thoughts on random scraps of paper, sewing one into the lining of his coat.

My Pensées are slightly more organized, but still only fragments of my life. Anyone's experiences will be incomplete when retold on paper.

I welcome all comments, for I seek to encourage and inspire and share Christ's love with other weary travelers on this road called Life.

HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
- W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)