Letter from a student

Hello, sir,

I hope things are going well with the new school year. I am very busy, but also very happy here at college.
While enrolling for classes, I decided to sign-up for an English composition class. It's my favorite one so far.
There are only about 18 kids in the class. Last week we got broken into small "peer-review" groups to help with edits for our first paper. I just got through my edits for both of the students in my group. After having read them, I feel it necessary to say thank you for your help with my writing over the years.
Attached is the BETTER of the two essays I had to critique; I think you may find it interesting (if not entertaining) to read.
Good luck with the rest of the school year, and I look forward to hearing from you.
Thanks.

Thanks so much for the email. Great to hear from you.

That essay - sad. Sad to me that so much earnest goodwill in that writer seems to have been so squandered by an educational establishment incapable of proposing anything greater than feelings and unable to suggest any heroes besides Abe Lincoln and MLK. The lines that hit me the most were these:

But I don’t believe that my life has a plan or anyone’s life has some plan that it must stick to. In essence things do happen for a reason, but no one really knows what that reason is. So living, dying, is the best we can do and making ourselves happy within being born and dying leaves no room to ask these questions.

That this writer doesn't see any "plan" to life is a travesty. But not seeing a plan seems obvious by his style of writing. Seeing a plan, seeing order in the universe is a delight, but it is a task - not an easy thing to do, that. I think the natural tendency of most humans is to see only the darkness. If, then, we are to engage in that arduous climb out of the darkness to see the light we have to apply ourselves to the equally difficult task of learning the forms, the orders, the proper grammar and syntax of hope.

Language is a big part of this and when I was teaching you to write I was only secondarily concerned with your grade or your being able to compose a good college essay, or being able to critique the unfortunate work of another individual. What I was mostly concerned in, and still am, was not so much the success of my students but their acquisition of the ability to see the light. I think that training students to compose accurate, meticulously spelled and rewritten essays following an ordered format is as integral a part of this overall process as is learning philosophy or theology. What do we have to hold ourselves to if not the rigorous exactitude of language and the ideas which that language conveys? If we call God "Abba" it is a very different thing than calling him "Moloch" - our belief will follow our language. Without such rigor we can't really engage in that strenuous activity of seeing "the plan" and thus being happy. Then all we're left with is living, eating, sexing, crapping, drinking, despairing, dying - it's the "best we can do" (and Cancun spring break becomes the New Jerusalem).

I'm glad to have helped you get out of the cave.

Now go back into it with mercy and happiness.

Tragedy of Christ

Most commentators suggest that the Passion of Christ does not fit the formal definitions of tragedy as laid forth by Aristotle.

I would argue otherwise and suggest that, human nature being what it is, it seems unlikely that the Gospel writers living in a culture surrounded by Greek Tragedy as the major idiom would have not employed that artform to tell their story. They must have used the elements of Tragedy or elements of the popular story forms available to them. It just is too unlikely that the Gospels sprang, fully formed, from the heads of Matthew, Mark, Luke or John.

Consequently, I suggest that the Gospels do indeed employ the Aristotelean forms of Tragedy in order to convey an extremely profound insight into the nature of LOVE.

Aristotle says that:

Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its katharsis of such emotions. . . . Every Tragedy, therefore, must have six parts, which parts determine its quality—namely, Plot, Characters, Diction, Thought, Spectacle, Melody.

Certainly the Passion is serious & complete and of a certain magnitude. Further it is embellished with artistic ornament (esp. in John's narrative which is an incredible work of art). It involves mostly action, not just narrative and it arouses (or should arouse if people take it seriously) pity and fear, thus accomplishing a katharsis.

To this degree it certainly fits the definition.

Moreover, Aristotle suggests that Tragedy is the “imitation of an action” (mimesis) according to “the law of probability or necessity.”

A chain of events is set in motion which results in one and only one ruinous conclusion. Again, the chain of events, namely Christ challenging the Sanhedrin and submitting to Crucifixion, seems to lead by necessity to one seemingly ruinous conclusion.

The major problem seems to emerge from what is referred to as the "tragic flaw":

...the peripeteia is really one or more self-destructive actions taken in blindness, leading to results diametrically opposed to those that were intended (often termed tragic irony), and the anagnorisis is the gaining of the essential knowledge that was previously lacking...

There is no flaw in Christ so his "ruin" in the crucifixion stems from his self-sacrifice, not his flaw. In him there was no guile. Consequently the Passion seems to defy the Aristotelean mode of tragedy; we have a great man, a king, brought to ruin not by his own mistake but by the mistakes or evil of other people.

But here I would hazard that the gospel writers are even more clever than we give them credit. As mentioned above, the gospels do not spring out of a vacuum; they are the artistic creations emerging from the cultural womb in which their authors lived. Consequently, the evangelists would have been familiar with Greek tragedy but also with Jewish mythology. According to the latter mythical idiom the Christian story is simply the conclusion of a longer story narrated in the Old Testament.

If then Christ is fully God and fully man, he is uniting the stories of man's ruin to the story of God. We certainly see in man's ruin a terrible tragedy; the rebellion from heaven and fall from Eden. Christ participates in man's tragedy in so far as he "shares man's smudge and bears man's smell." As man, he could have chosen not to antagonize the Sanhedrin, not to allow himself to be given up to his captors, to side with Peter and drawn the sword (or legions of angels).

In this sense, then, the tragedy is twofold.

First, that he by his very birth entered into a sequence of events that follows the law of probability or necessity. All men must die.

Second, that he willingly chose to take upon himself an action which he knew would lead to his death. Heroic and noble, but tragic. Yet still "...the peripeteia is really one or more self-destructive actions taken in blindness, leading to results diametrically opposed to those that were intended." The "taken in blindness" part indicates that Christ would not have known what his captors were about. Consequently the Passion again defies the classical form of tragedy.

But what of the God part? Here, I think, is where the evangelists were looking when they conceived this great tragedy. They were looking back to the very beginning in Genesis to the moment God created man. The tragic peripeteia is a self-destructive action taken in blindness. What self-destructive action did God take? He created man. Man is the mistake that proves to be the death of God.

This may seem utterly strange and even antithetical to our theological understanding b/c of course God cannot die in the literal sense. Nor is man a mistake in any malicious sense or erroneous sense of that word. But mistake can sometimes mean risk or hazard. For instance, when we fall in love we run the terrible risk of ruination. In fact any form of love will result in ruin b/c the beloved will die. Thus if we love we ruin ourselves; die to ourselves. To not love is to not run that terrible risk of loss of the other and of self. But God is Love. He loved so much that he created this world and granted us freedom, and in so doing he set in motion an inevitable chain of events that would end in his having to choose is own death.

Some might say that this puts a necessity on God and binds him to a thing greater than himself. I'd say, no, there is no necessity put on God for he at any moment might have chosen not to love; but there is necessity, as Aquinas notes, in that God does not go against his nature and his nature is to love. Love prompted him to risk creating a free being that could ruin itself and love prompted Him to remain bound to His creation through love so much so that He "gave His only Son" to die at the hands of his captors.

Thus the Aristotelean definition of tragedy is fulfilled in the Passion; Christ's death is the inevitable result of God's initial generative love.

But the Gospels remain superior to Greek tragedy. In the tragedies redemption does not occur. Learning, wisdom, greater insight come to Oedipus, or Orestes, or Pentheus, or Jason - they learn the hard way. But they are not redeemed. In the Passion we have a figure suffering the tragic consequences of his initial "mistake" of creating through love a world that sought his destruction. But after the Passion comes the resurrection and in this the evangelists claim something remarkable about the nature of love.

The classical world authors conceive love as a dalliance, a pleasure, a treacherous illusion, but not as an enduring reality capable of bearing all things. For them, life was sorrow with occasional relief found in the pleasures of love. They could not conceive of a love that endured intense pain and triumph. The evangelists, on the contrary, are suggesting that love is the greatest thing. Paul says this outright to the Corinthians: "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." Such a sentiment would be unheard of in the classical world. Even the greatest of the classical writers, Plato, held that love was a longing for something unfulfilled; a force that drove one to near manic state. But not something that endured.

Only the Gospel writers, with their commentary on the Tragedy of the Passion, could inspire the claim that "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."

If God was willing to risk the "mistake" of creating us as free beings, if he was willing to bind himself to us by that mistake, then he was also willing to suffer the inevitable ruin of himself that would result in our salvation. He could not leave his beloved to die. This eucatastrophe is what separates the Pagan world, with all its glory, from the Christian. Only the Christian world can claim "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

Love never fails.

And in that reality lies our hope.

Becoming a Man

This is a talk I gave to the Middle School boys:

Audio Clip

The Topic I’ve been asked to speak on is “What makes a man?” Or “What do we seek for you as a graduate of our high school?”

I think of no greater example of a real man than my father, Rollin A. Lasseter III.

My father honored those things most worthy of honor; church, family, the truth.

I remember that when I was very little, it was summer, and I was playing in the alley, running the hose down to make lakes and muddy pools in the warm sun for my soldiers. And I remember my father, striding out the door with his suitcase in hand. “Where are you going, daddy?” I said. “I have to go to my mommy’s funeral,” he said. And it struck me that here was my daddy honoring his mother.

We want all of you to graduate from here as men who honor family, freedom, your country, your church, the truth; all those things most worthy of honor. So I urge you, Become honorable men.

See, when I was young boy, my father was incredibly strong. I thought of him as a giant among men. I have a very vivid memory of him building a walkway down to the lake and heaving railroad ties about, 7 or 8 feet long, as though they were Lincoln logs. I remember him paddling a canoe into the lake in early spring to hack away at the ice with a small axe, his sleeves rolled up and chips of ice zinging through the air and clipping him in the face. I remember him carrying me in his strong arms up the hill when I lost control of my sled and slammed into a tree, cutting my scalp in a long, bloody line.

Being a man does mean being strong. Strength of arm. Strength of mind. Strength of soul.

We desire that all our young men graduate strong, robust, full of vim and vigor and energy. Good at sports, strong of arm, swift of leg. Mens sana in corporo sano. So Become strong.

But there’s also sacrifice. I remember that my father made a point to attend every one of my soccer games in high school. That cost him time. I remember that my father worked an eight-class teaching job and still taught at the local college on the weekends just so we could make ends meet financially. That cost him time and effort. I vividly remember my father coming through the door on a winter morning with his beard rimed with frost. He had been outside shoveling and salting the walkway so that us kids could walk to the car without having to trudge through the snow. That cost him in time and effort.

Sometimes, to be a man, means sacrificing your own time and effort in order that others might do well. Being a man means going out of your way to help those around you; putting others before yourself; working so that others might prosper even more than you do.

What we desire for you as men is that you come to put others before yourself; that you work for the good of other people and other things first. Become selfless.

When we were growing up in Three Rivers, MI, my mother raised a victory garden in our backyard. It was so successful that she bought some land across the road and started another garden there. We grew sorgum, pumpkins, potatoes and watermelon. And the watermelon grew and one in particular grew so big that we were going to eat it on Labor Day and have a big ol’ feast. Unfortunately, the garden was near the road and someone in the night came by and stole our watermelon. My father was remarkably self-controlled, though, and merely said that we would grow more. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” he quoted, “blessed be the name of the Lord.” He was frequently this way; exhibiting those Roman virtues of dignitas and gravitas that were the hallmarks of self-controlled, civilized men.

We want our young men to be equally self-controlled. No running in the halls. No chewing gum. Be on time to class. Keep your uniform and hair neat. Follow the rules. These things promote self control. The more you can be self-disciplined the easier it will be for you to enter into that road of education which you will follow. Become self-disciplined.

My father had an office that was paneled all in cedar panels. The smell was exquisite. And as kids we would sneak back there to watch TV, or stare at the fire, or just be in his presence as he worked through the mountain of papers on his desk. Around the lentils of his room, though, he had stenciled the phrase, “Underneath are the Everlasting Arms.” It was a message of great trust in the Lord which has stuck with me ever since. Dad trusted God even when he didn’t understand Him or agree with Him.

Our young men ought to become men of faith. Trust in the Lord is no small thing, as you will discover with time. But it is an important part of being a man. We must trust that the Lord knows what He is doing, even when we do not see it or do not agree with what we see. To do this we must cultivate our faith through practice and through understanding. Become a man of deep faith.

You must take the time to listen to the world; observe the world; be still and know who God is. My father was the first person to teach me to draw. He taught me the crafts of poetry and of writing and of speaking. And in all these things he would tell me, “don’t draw what you think is there; observe it, and draw what is there.”

As young men you must learn to observe the world in all its glory and all its horror. Don’t shy away from knowing things because they are frightening and don’t abandon the beauty and glory of the world because things don’t seem to go your way. See the world for what it is, not what you want it to be. Become observers of what really is.

Yet action is vital too. My father took me to see Star Wars in 1978; it is a treat which I am sorry none of you will ever experience – seeing the first Star Wars when it first came out. We rode to the movie theater in our beat up old green Toyota; the sun was shining in through the backseat where I rode without a seat belt not knowing what I was going to be seeing but looking forward to it. The movie was, as you know, spectacular. I saw the first and then the second with my father. In the second movie Yoda says “there is no try. There is only do.”

My father followed this maxim even before Yoda did. He was always tinkering, gardening, writing, reading; he cooked and cleaned dishes, he was a chauffeur and a mechanic and an outdoorsman and a homebody. When he saw something that needed doing, he did it.

We want our young men to graduate from here being doers not just spectators in life. See what needs doing in the world! How much needs you and your talents. Become a man who is a doer, not just an observer.

We want our young men to possess strength of mind. I remember my father giving me the farewell sendoff given to all the graduating seniors of Trinity School in 1988. Each senior had a faculty member “send them off” with a little speech at dinner. My father referenced works such as the Iliad and the Odyssey and Aristotle and Luther and Aquinas and Rousseau and Tolkien. I was proud and stunned at his erudition. How wise he was and how much he knew. But in that speech he said to me “Welcome to the conversation of men, fellow traveler on the way.”

The men that we graduate will, hopefully, know much, understand much, and join with the conversation that has gone on for generations. Attend to your studies; sure you’ll get into a good school, that happens – but more to the point is that you will be a young man who understands the world and joins in that great conversation of men that has gone on through the ages. Become men who are scholars.

Finally I remember my father facing his own death. The cancer was terminal, spread throughout his body; the infections had spread causing sepsis and toxemia; the tube was up his nose to help keep him from vomiting; the ostomy bag, the blood pressure monitors, the heart rate monitors, the bother of machines that made him seem to us, the observers of this giant among men, to be weighed down with sorrow. And as I sat with him on that last Saturday, in the grey light of morning when he was drifting in and out of morphine sleep, he turned to me suddenly and said, “All is gift. All is love.” There was a man. He died two days later. God rest him.

He proved in those last moments that his life was one of great love. To be a man is to be able to love, freely. All else is subordinate to that great task.

One day each of us will face death. Our hope for our young men is, sure that they graduate well, attend university, have a family, job, etc. But mostly it is, that in those last moments when you wrestle with the fate that faces us all, you too will be able to be free enough to say, “All is gift. All is love.” That is what it means to be a man. Become men.

The Winds of the World

A talk I recently delivered to the High School boys:

Audio Clip

I've been asked to talk today about women, rules, the law, the meaning of life, and other minor issues.
Well to put my thesis at the beginning of my essay I would say, Rules exist to save us from horror and guide us to happiness.

Recently I saw a bumper Sticker on a Monster Truck that said "No Rules". There’s good husband material, I thought. Why do we have so many rules? So many rules. What a drag rules are. I gotta be me. I gotta be free. I gotta express myself. Rules seem like so much sadistic oppression; or random power plays by "the man"; or at best they seem to exist in order to prepare us for the drudgery of adult life. What purpose could rules and obedience to rules possibly serve.

I am remembered of a passage from Robert Bolt's play, "Man for All Seasons".
William Roper says, "So, now you give the Devil the benefit of law!"
To which Thomas More responds "Yes! What would you do? Cut a great road through the law to get after the Devil?"
Roper: Yes, I'd cut down every law in England to do that!
More: Oh? And when the last law was down, and the Devil turned 'round on you, where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat? This country is planted thick with laws, from coast to coast, Man's laws, not God's! And if you cut them down, and you're just the man to do it, do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I'd give the Devil benefit of law, for my own safety's sake!

…the winds that would blow then?...
The winds of the world are gale force!
We all might think we are safe and don’t need the rules. At 16 we are all Nietszchean ubermenschen barreling along without any thought to rules or courtesies or manners.

You will notice, however, that the truck with the bumper sticker “No Rules” didn’t swerve into the other lane much. Rules protect against horror. They encourage self-control. They Set boundaries. They allow us to play the game better.

With the help of rules we can become men who stand up against the winds of the world.

The necessity for obedience to rules becomes especially acute with respect to women. In 1985 there was a movie called “Breaking All the Rules” directed by James Orr. Teenagers, bank heist, a little lovin'. All the things that occur in a normal teenager's life. In the movie the characters and the director break all the rules except that the very cute girls try very hard to get the strapping young guys to like them, the guys don’t want any form of commitment, but all complications work out in the end and everyone goes away happy. James Orr must have hit every major rule cliché existing in Hollywood teen flicks. “Breaking All the Rules” was about as formulaic and rule-driven as any teen movie of the age.

Girls sometimes seem a bit like this movie. They often say that they want a guy who is wild and crazy, but they don’t. What they want is a trustworthy man who will help them, guard them, sacrifice himself for them. This is a rule of nature which hasn’t been broken in the history of the world. Men must learn to control themselves!

The Jewish faith was the first to see this reality. To appreciate how monumentally revolutionary their thought was we must consider the cauldron from which it was born. The Jewish people were surrounded by Babylonians who worshipped the many-headed, all-devouring, female dragon/goddess, Tiamat. Quite the feminine image there. They practiced orgiastic rituals to stimulate the gods. They considered life cheap and slavish to the gods. Their empire was rampant with violence, infanticide, rapine, slavish status for women, pornography.

A right royal mess it was. And into this mess came the book of beginnings; Genesis which proposes that the purpose of creation is not the gods, not man, but woman. She is the paragon; the intent of all God’s creating. Why? Because she is the life giver; she is beautiful; she is the help mate who completes us.

Men ought to be devoted to the protection of women.

We see the same sentiment in the ten commandments. Normally the commandments are read 1 to 10. From the unity of God come all the other laws in descending order. I would propose that the Jewish culture saw them more as a ladder that ran both up and down. The ten commandments can be read 10 to 1 as well. See, without governance over our sexuality (number 10; “thou shalt not covet”) the vision of the unity of God (1) is not possible. “Know, oh Israel, that the Lord your God is One.”

All codes of chivalry since have, as their goal, the protection and honoring of women.
Western culture itself is based upon the honor and respect of women.
Indeed, cultures, as Stanley Hauerwas reminds us, ought to be defined by how they treat their weakest members.

The Jews were so serious about this image of self-control of sexuality that they engaged in circumcision as an obvious and painful reminder of that need for controlling that immense power. One look at that and you’d know they meant business.

Note also that the devil attacks Eve first. Why? Well, the demonic forces, whatever they be, want to rend asunder, tear up, grind and destroy the weakest and most precious things first. After that glorious source of hope, a good woman and the family she creates, are gone, men quickly descend into monsters… horrors.

Look around you at our current culture. Women are portrayed as cheap, slavish, whorish; sex is plentiful and grotesque; abortions are rampant; murder, rapine, perversion, pornography, violence, are rife or extolled by some cable channels or purveyors of cheap teen clothing; Movies like Saw I, II, III ... XVIII, and other forms of porn violence seem popular hits; Bratz dolls – Britney Spears – Madonna – Britney Spears & Madonna; MTV spring break; Grand Theft Auto – the list goes on. And we wonder why we have an education crisis.

These horrors are the marks of the diabolic which “tears apart & rends asunder”. The experiences of loneliness, anger, isolation, self-loathing which men suffer from all stem from engaging in these horrors which promise to give us happiness and leave us … alone. Truthfully, seeking the next “pop” leads to greater and greater excess in order to satisfy that unending pit of darkness, the only limit of which is horror.

The winds of the world are gale force!

Our sexuality as men is deeply tied with who we are; not just an addition, not just a hindrance to the greater realm of thought, not just a highly pleasurable diversion to wile away a few moments of boredom. How we treat the fairer sex, how we appear to them, how we speak about them effects us deeply.

Sexuality in its properly governed realm, marriage, binds us closely to a woman who should be our friend, partner, confidant, help mate. Abuse of sexuality leads to estrangement, sorrow, loneliness… horrors.

The Laws exist first and foremost as safeguards against horror. Moreover Laws exist to train us to be able to protect the weak & beautiful in order to see clearly. Ultimately, the Laws exist to train us to see the happiness which lies in the oneness of God.

How, then, do you treat the women in your life?
The Laws of chivalric treatment of women (opening doors for them, carrying their books, keeping your mitts off their person) help us govern our actions. The laws of chivalric neatness in appearance and comportment (cutting our hair, tucking in our shirt, dressing modestly) govern our appearance. The laws of chivalric speech (how we talk about women, how we talk to women, what we listen to or read) govern our words.

See, women often appear alluring to men; they use their sexuality, their beauty, to get what they want. I remember a song from 1966, “Devil with a Blue Dress On” by Mitch Ryder & The Detroit Wheels. The lyrics ran...
Fee, fee, fi, fi, fo-fo, fum
Look at Molly now, here she comes
Wearin her wig hat and shades to match
Shes got high-heel shoes and an alligator hat
Wearin her pearls and her diamond rings
Shes got bracelets on her fingers, now, and everything
Shes the devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress,
Devil with the blue dress on

The problem is that women are not devils. Nor are they angels. They are humans like you and me; worried, tired, flawed, experiencing pain and self doubt, capable of incredible heights of greatness, yet needing salvation. If we, as men, do not control ourselves with law we come to see women first as angels – then as devils; and then we fall into loneliness. At such a point we can quickly become like the character in Beowulf, Grendel, the Grinder. The text of that great poem reads

Wæs se grimma gæst Grendel haten,
mære mearcstapa, se þe moras heold, f
en ond fæsten;

Grendel this monster grim was called,
march-riever mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and fastness;

He’s a horror living in the swamps - outside the golden realm of men and men’s law. Sort of a “No Rules” kind of guy. He eats flesh. Kills joy. Destroys property. Terrifies women. And he’s utterly, totally alone.

When we do not govern ourselves we become Grendel; a horror.
As example of what I mean; I read this article the other day in the Sun: 16 Sep 2008;

FOUR teenagers horrifically slain by Satanists — stabbed 666 times each and then EATEN. After police arrested eight suspected members of the Russian ring, one said he did not expect to be punished because, “Satan will help me to avoid responsibility. I made lots of sacrifices to him.” Another said he had got fed up with God for not making him rich and that “things improved” after he started praying to the Devil.

The winds of the world are gale force!

In contrast The Lord says: I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.

The habits of life must start now. Will you choose Chivalric or non chivalric actions? Governance of sexuality or rampant abuse of sex? Adherence to the law or flaunting of it? The choose is yours. But you have to be aware that the choices you make will have consequences.

Finally, what do women really want? They want to be liked, admired, loved; to be looked on with friendship and love, not as an object. What they really want is a man who is noble; not just another flirt, another fling. That’s a dime a dozen. They want a man who can stand up against the winds of the world, not a mister “No Rules”.

If you want happiness, if you want to avoid loneliness and the danger of becoming a horror, govern your actions NOW, your appearance, your words. Give honor to women. Stick to the law.

Make the right choice. Do not choose to be the Grendel with the “No Rules” sticker. Choose to be a man who honors women, who chooses the law of life, and who can stand up to the winds of the world.

An exchange on American Government

This is an exchange I had with a Greek correspondent of mine. I put his words in yellow to distinguish.

Something I cannot understand is the fact that a candidate is elected based on his religious beliefs(actually christian ones).Though I was like 14 years old I still remember Gore,Bush and their struggle to gain some more votes from the religious ones(much like now with Obama and McCain).
My point is:since America is a country with SO many ethnicities and religions,why does religion play such an important factor when,in my opinion,should play an insignificant or even no role at all??From what I know America really knows to respect a citizens beliefs(I really do),but making christian beliefs the main(and some times only) prerequisite for a candidate may exclude other people (and propably better than Obama and McCain) to be voted for.

It's a legit question.

I think that, barring religious bigotry and sanctimonious exclusionism (both of which, I don't deny, are widespread) there are some considerable reasons for emphasizing the religion of the candidates.

America has always had a strong Protestant Christian strain w/in its society. Only in the 18th and 19th century did Catholic populations begin arriving on these shores with the Italian, German, Irish Catholics displaced by persecution or war. The Chinese population (and hence Buddhism and Taoism) came to America during the 19th and early 20th century while the Cambodians, Laotians, Mung, and Vietnamese were really only part of the population after the wars in Southeast Asia (1950 - 1970). Jewish population has always been fairly prominent in America, probably b/c Jews were mangled and pushed about by every other country in the world (Russia esp.) I think that the contingent of Russian Orthodox and Greek Orthodox is prob. a phenomenon of the 20th century b/c of the terrible suffering that these groups experienced during that era. Islam only began to be part of the population (barring the Nation of Islam movement under Malcolm X) after the wars in Somalia and Northern Africa drove a large body of people here. Middle Eastern sons of the wealthy certainly traveled here to America for education, especially the young Saudis.

What's the point of this sort of history? Until recently America never really has had to deal much with a religious diversity as vast as the Christian/Muslim one. So finding our feet in these waters has been very tricky.

But why should it be? one might ask. Isn't America open to all? to a degree. Belief systems always effect the way one acts in the world (even if we think religion is a load of horse manure, it still is one of the most important factors for people in making their decisions about life). In so far as the belief system of a people is compatible with American culture/government they are assimilable into the "melting pot". When there is a strong opposition preventing a people from being assimilated, however, we have a problem.

So, for instance, the protestant belief in universal rights, tolerance of others, and fierce independence created this government. Loyalty to another entity on earth, it has been said, would compromise anyone serving in this government. Thus for the longest time Catholics were not in most political positions b/c of their allegiance to the pope. When Kennedy came to the presidency it was a watershed moment for Catholics b/c it disproved the idea that Catholics would be divided in their allegiance.

Similarly, certain religious beliefs in the Jewish faith have prevented men like Henry Kissinger from taking the oath of office even though he served in other branches of government.

Americans are just downright wary of anyone who might have beliefs that run contradictory to the basic principles upon which the country is founded. The system is founded on the idea of a single merciful God granting rights to his creatures (see John Locke), and if one person chooses to violate those rights they lose their own rights.

B/c Islam is perceived (for right or wrong) as a religion antithetical to those basic Lockean principles, a man professing submission to Allah would be looked upon as circumspect.

Guinness stout ginger cake

The Last Course: The Desserts of Gramercy Tavern | October 2001

Claudia Fleming

Random House

The recipe for this moist, dark, fragrant gingerbread pays tribute to Dona Abramson and Stuart Tarabour at the Bright Food Shop, a terrific little Mexican-fusion café in Chelsea where I spent some time. This was my favorite of their desserts, and it has since become a seasonal classic at Gramercy Tavern, though I've made a few adaptations and embellished a bit. My recipe has just a touch of cloves, and instead of just the ginger and cinnamon in a typical gingerbread, I use a panoply of spices, including cardamom, nutmeg, and a lot of fresh ginger, to give the cake a racy, intriguing flavor.

The most unusual thing about this recipe is that stout is substituted for the water or coffee used in most gingerbread recipes. I find it adds a lot of richness and underscores the spices. Since it is made with oil, this cake will stay moist for several days. Dress it up or simply enjoy it on its own, with coffee, tea, or a beer!

Servings: Makes 8 servings.

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Ingredients

1 cup Guinness stout
1 cup molasses
1/2 tablespoon baking soda
3 large eggs
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar
3/4 cup grapeseed or vegetable oil
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons ground ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 tablespoon grated, peeled fresh gingerroot

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter a 9- X 5-inch loaf pan, line the bottom and sides with parchment, and grease the parchment. Alternatively, butter and flour a 6-cup Bundt pan.

2. In a large saucepan over high heat, combine the stout and molasses and bring to a boil. Turn off the heat and add the baking soda. Allow to sit until the foam dissipates.

3. Meanwhile, in a bowl, whisk together the eggs and both sugars. Whisk in the oil.

4. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, ground ginger, baking powder, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and cardamom.

5. Combine the stout mixture with the egg mixture, then whisk this liquid into the flour mixture, half at a time. Add the fresh ginger and stir to combine.

6. Pour the batter into the loaf pan and bake for 1 hour, or until the top springs back when gently pressed. Do not open the oven until the gingerbread is almost done, or the center may fall slightly. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

Elanor

U2 video

I made this last night on a spur of the moment sort of thing.
Fun.

SWRC coolness

Cool.



By me.

Basho

Shadows, smoke
The long night of dreaming
Immersion, oblivion
Dry land walkabout
Shapes brush past
The cheek is numb cold
Smoke & shadows!
A passing away.
The sun. she rises.
Breathe! Beauty! Form
Shadows. Submerged. Engulfed.
Darkness. Comprehending not.
Finding the light pinpoint.
Up from the depths

Struggle

Into…

Golden leaves of a sycamore tree.

I am a ghost.
I am but a butterfly
Dreaming of you.

Books and Time

I just got back from sorting my father's something 4000 books in order to sell some for cash. Quite the job. Dad was indeed a bibliophile of the first order and though he knew much and read much he also collected much that he did not read.

It has given me pause. I enjoy music, games, books, movies, play, gardening, sport, cooking... so many things. Do I need them all? Most of the time I think of life as a banquet (where most poor suckers are starving) but I'm beginning to think my time too is limited. What do I need to read, or need to do, or what will I never look at again? That extra copy of Hemingway? Junk. The third translation of Dante (or the fourth or the fifth)? Junk. Dostoevsky? Books on Cicero? Why keep all this stuff around? I'm never going to read it. And in the time left I had best get cracking on those things that interest me most.

Wake up call.

Tornado

A Paradox

A certain individual was commenting to me the other day that as a society we have the overarching malady that we look good without being good. He intimated that there was a certain hypocrisy in how we lived and that it needed to be fixed.

Seems to me that such a thought about our society is a mistaken notion derived from a misread of Platonic insight into the soul and that such a notion leads to a desire of intimacy with others that is not possible as well as a fanaticism bordering on Zwinglian severity.

In his great dialogues, most notably "The Republic", Plato notes that interior justice or goodness is superior to the outer hypocritical mouth service that most people give to goodness. Josef Pieper has suggested that Plato claimed a clairvoyant insight into the soul not possible to humans. Justice, Pieper writes, must rest on man's choices manifested in action. Law cannot expect to change the interior person except through correction of the outer action, but no man has insight into another's soul.

Plato never really makes any such claim to insight. Rather, he is suggesting a metaphor or myth by which the individual can come to understand his own interior state. He is a mystic more than a philosopher. The state of goodness in my soul is between me and GOD but I can have an inkling of that state through Plato's works.

Pieper is right in his commentary on law, however, which must be based on outer action and is, therefore, subject to the same hypocritical mess experienced by the individual soul. Law attempts to correct or fix the problems of human actions and thus to "secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity." But it seems a frequent human misconception, reminiscent of B.F. Skinner, that by repeated actions forced on a person life can be solved and made neat. As though if we strapped the subject to the chair and force fed him Beethoven and images of violence we could force him to change and become good.

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.

Yet every human being endures a hypocritical dichotomy between what we profess and how we live.

Our life, like life in general, is messy. We have moments of great clarity, and moments of utter stupefaction. We stumble and shuffle our way toward Bethlehem to be born. We experience great successes and triumphs and we endure tremendous failures and incompetency. One moment we are sweet, insightful and loving, the next we are wrathful, annoying and incapable of seeing beauty in anything. Sometimes we fail utterly, but mostly when we fall we pick ourselves up again and once more go over the top.

Goodness. What is goodness? Is it attitudinal? Is it vision? Is it simply obedient submission to the law or forcing ourselves to succeed in everything? OR is it allowing life to be the complex, frustrating, infuriating, terrifying, mystifying, beautiful mess that GOD desires? Life is a mystery to be lived; a riotous garden of incredible wonder and disappointing failure.

It is not a problem to be solved.

Seems that the desire to solve this beautiful mess stems from an innate terror of or inability to cope with that very messiness. We can certainly claim, as did Aristotle and Thomas and other makers of law and doctrine, that certain actions lead to certain results. We can also make laws preventing or discouraging certain actions or methods to overcome certain frailties or errors. We can even demand that certain people under our care meet specific, well-laid out criteria for success or failure in a field.

But who has insight into the soul of another person? At what point can I claim that you ARE good? When do I have the ability to rectify that vast hypocritical gulf between your outer actions and your interior darkness? Do we scrub the soul maniacally like some pale-handed Calvinist or force the soul, through fire and water and incantation, to become good? What constitutes goodness, in such an instance, but my own vision of good? And if so, am I not GOD?

The Jews said that only GOD in heaven is wise, only GOD is good. Man is born a hypocrite and to live our lives with our hypocrisy always before us, never measuring up, never bridging the gulf between what we say and what we are, is the curse of Adam.

The Church calls this abyss "sin" - withoutness (sine) and it seems that the curing of sin belongs to the auspice of GOD not man.

For man to attempt to reconcile this hypocrisy generates only violence, anger, frustration, draconian law and ultimate disappointment at the failure of others to live up to our perfect and perfecting methodologies. We have to allow life to be out of our control and messily so such that the Sabbath remains for man and not man for the Sabbath.

Consequently, I don't save souls; I merely attempt to give them the ability to handle salvation when it comes to them.

GOD alone knows where your soul or my soul is and GOD alone will send the charging bull, or the Misfit, or the hurricane on board the Ghost, or the death of Patroclus, or the whiskey priest, or the bitter word from Absalom, or the wise word from Vergil to help you change.

Man's duty is to tend the field. To listen, as Simone Weill said, to what it is that we must do. To allow, as the I Ching suggests, the balance of all things to remain. To bring, as Plato suggests, what souls we can to freely choose light over darkness.

Her cancer

I had lost all thought that she was my wife.

All time stopped in that fierce apocalypse.

She dozed, drowsy, exhausted from the swim

The riptide of death and the incessant overwhelming waves.

She had gone where I could not go.

Her life was her own no more mine,

And in silence she conversed with herself and with pain.

Where in all this ragbag of guts

Is such a mystery of man contained?

And why, not knowing my bride just then,

Did I fall in love with her again?

Eros Four

A thousand fires in my heart tonight
In the place where my love's memory lies
Where late the cicada croaked on the wind
Licked at the base of the coniferous pines;
There lies the dryness of the serotinous cone
And all that the world's ignorance allows
Or disavows.

A thousand ashes in my heart tonight
In the place where my love's memory lies
Where late perched the hawk athwart the boughs to stoop
Piled upon ashes and the impending snow;
There was the comfort of the charred Monterey
And all that the world's diversions provide
Yet cannot hide.

A thousand snowfalls in my heart tonight,
In the place where my love’s memory lies
Where late sifted the owl on whispering wing
Echoed amidst the rocks and the frozen firs;
There lies the deep and dim indifference of the night
And all that the world’s emptiness gives
Or steals, or borrows.

A thousand rain drops in my heart tonight
In the place where my love's memory lies
Where late the nightingale and the whippoorwill sang
Hissed in silence on the resinous bark;
There lies the dark eternal twist of the fir
And all that the world's silence gives
And the expanse above.

The Exile of the Poets

In Book X of the Republic Socrates suggests that for the city to be perfect the poets (and all other arts by extension) must all be exiled citing “an old quarrel between philosophy and poetry”. Indeed, artwork is "that 'yelping bitch shrieking at her master,' and 'great in the empty eloquence of fools.' But the real reason of the exile is due to the comfort which art gives. Artwork becomes overly comforting and charms us into a false sense of security, yet offers no real solution to the problem:

…if poetry directed to pleasure and imitation have any argument to give showing that they should be in a city with good laws, we should be delighted to receive them back from exile, since we are aware that we ourselves are charmed by them. But it isn’t holy to betray what seems to be the truth.

Artwork charms the soul yet its “imitation is surely far from the truth.” Artwork is, in a way, a form of wizardry, an illusion which, even in its best form, only imitates the real but is not the real; “the maker of the phantom, the imitator, we say, understands nothing of what is but rather of what looks like it is.” The image which music, art, sculpture, or story creates captures some essential part of reality and as well as it captures reality we say it is “true”. Truth is the proximity of image (eikon) to the real. But between eikones and the good/real there is always a gulf, a lacuna or abyss, which cannot easily be breached; art is still only shadows on the cave wall. We have no assurance that any of the stories we tell, or music we enjoy, or artwork we pleasure in viewing has any connection to anything real; it may just be pleasant fairy tales told to children in order to prevent night fears. Art may be no more than “lies breathed through silver.”

If this is the case man is left with a terrible, unhealing wound. If our art does not connect to reality than how are we to know that we haven’t had generation after generation lying to each other and building on the lies until we no longer know the truth? Do we act the part of iconoclast and tear all the images down? It seems Plato is suggesting exactly that, when he suggests abandoning the old loves of our youth;

…just like the men who have once fallen in love with someone, and don’t believe the love is beneficial, keep away from it even if they have to do violence to themselves; so we too – due to the inborn love of such poetry we owe to our rearing in these fine regimes – we’ll be glad if it turns out that it is best and truest. But as long as it’s not able to make its apology, when we listen to it, we’ll chant this argument we are making to ourselves as a countercharm, taking care against falling back again into this love, which is childish and belongs to the many.

Our love cannot be childish; frivolously devoid of worry, responsibility, or gravitas, focused on insufficient things, seeking only self-gratification. Rather it must be strengthened by enduring its own possible non-being. What assurance does one have that he is loved? Love, like artwork, has no assurance that it is anything more than words. It cannot be measured, weighed, held in the hand. But if we are to value love as it ought to be valued it is incumbent on us to grow up, face the abyss of non-being, and realize that artwork & love are and are not real.

We are, at all events, aware that such poetry mustn’t be taken seriously as a serious thing laying hold of truth, but that the man who hears it must be careful, fearing for the regime in himself, and must hold what we have said about poetry.

The Er myth begins with battle, death and fire – Er is on the pyre when he wakes up from his visionary journey to the afterlife. Those hearing his vision have no absolute assurance that what he says is true, accept that a theophanic miracle has occurred; he has risen from the dead and so ought to know. But the battle, death and fire are themselves metaphorical for that apocalypse of the heart in which all things are transfigured and made new. Without such a transformation one’s loves, belief and understanding of art, life itself remain in an childish world of unquestioning fantasy, insensate and oblivious to the world around us. Real life is not possible in this state any more than it is possible in the realm of the tyrant who imposes his own will. One cannot be a tyrant or a child but must

… accept the fall of the dice and settle one’s affairs accordingly – in whatever way argument declares would be best. One must not behave like children who have stumbled and who hold on to the hurt place and spend their time in crying out; rather one must always habituate the soul to turn as quickly as possible to curing and setting aright what has fallen and is sick, doing away with lament by medicine.

What we are up against, our own misery, loneliness, and unavoidable annihilation are so daunting a hurt that they may leave us howling. But in this, Plato seems to suggest, we have to be men. Life is terrifying; our own oblivion almost unbearable. Yet we must look into it; we have to grapple with the angel of destruction and in that barren landscape have all our most cherished images and stories stripped away in an apocalypse of iconoclasm. Only then is the new heaven and earth able to occur; only then can the myth of Er be granted as something truly beautiful evocative of love.

Rollin A. Lasseter III 1939 - 2008

November 6, 1939 – May 12, 2008

Passed away at his home in Granger, IN is Dr. Rollin A. Lasseter. Born in Nashville, TN, he attended Montgomery Bell Academy and graduated from Vanderbilt University. He was awarded a Woodrow Wilson Fellowship to graduate school. At Vanderbilt he led his team for three contests on national television’s popular “College Bowl.” In 1969 he received his Ph.D in English from Yale University. He was named “Teacher of the Year” twice at the University of Kentucky, was invited to direct the Honors Program there and eventually joined the English faculty at North Carolina State University, where he was given tenure. He taught at St. Mary’s College in South Bend, IN, as well as Trinity School at Greenlawn and the University of Dallas, TX. After retiring he shaped the Catholic Schools Textbook Project as director, editor and primary writer. He died on the morning of May 12, 2008 surrounded by family and loved ones. He is survived by his wife, Ruth Davis Lasseter of Indianapolis, IN, as well as his sisters Nancy L. Wolgast of Leesburg, FL, and Gertrude Patch of Lexington, KY; children, John, William, Ruth Katherine, Austin, Benjamin, and Helen. He is also remembered as a grandfather to 8 grandchildren Margaret, Rollin, and William jr; Helen, Edward, Teresa, and Samuel; and Sarah.

McGann Funeral Home is in charge of arrangements. The family requests that in lieu of flowers donations be given to the Catholic Schools Textbook Project, POB 4638, Ventura, CA 93007.

Pi - Darren Aranovsky

Not a movie for the faint of heart. Violent, spooky, disturbing, and incredible.



Here the interesting thing is the coordination of number patterns.



Plato suggests that The Good is known by analogy; we approach it by studying one form after another, from particulars to generals, or from physical to patterns to consistent repeaters to Forms. I think the neo-Platonic accretion of some metaphysical realm where the perfect form of "chair" floats about for eternity is a canard. Rather, the Forms are those principle patterns from which all other form or structure emanates - descending into matter and taking on the incarnate form of crystalline structure in the material world. Not a Gnostic hatred of the physical, but rather that the physical is connected to something far far greater. That greater thing, greater even than Being qua being is The Good. To learn of it we study the Forms in their various manifestations and acquire a vision of the beauty of life's structure.

But Plato fails.

The vision he provides is magnificent and can indeed create a great hope in us of the complexity, beauty and immensity of which we are but a small part. Yet his philosophy offers no consolation for our own misery. It is little consolation to suggest that we are part of a greater beautiful pattern, or that death allows us to see what is behind these pasteboard masks, or that we can face terror (the Minotaur) gracefully. We still are in our misery. Moreover, we don't really live by philosophy, even philosophy as great as this. We live and are inspired by the knowledge that another greater than we suffered and died and endured all those things the worst of which we too endure and yet never gave in to the animalian desire to despair. Thus The Christ surpasses Socrates b/c the image of His death provides us with encouragement that another (whether in historic reality or mythological reality) was able to overcome human pain through love; to hang on to humanity and endure the worst dregs of suffering.

I've been called a neo-Platonist pagan. No. Plato is phenomenal and in many ways his philosophy surpasses the modernist philosophy of the doctrinalist Christian. But the early Church and indeed those things most powerful in the Church are themselves based on the Platonic imagery, improve it, and perfect it. Where Socrates died in a mythical peace of hemlock-induced calm, I, like the Christ, might be less fortunate. And when the time comes to call for mercy and help it will be to the Anointed one and not to the philosopher that I make moan.

Eros Two

There is a place where the neck meets the shoulder,
Where the shadow of form undulates on the wave;
A place in the mesa smoothed out by the rain,
The arroyo that runs through the ribbons of clay.

There is a place where the evening light plays,
Where the blood and the bone lie close to the skin;
A coolness of shade where the incense pools,
And the lilac scent swims in the head.

There is a place of a golden brown red,
Made bright by the beat of her pulsating heart;
When she flushes with color and her breath comes in gasps.
There where the heavenly meets the horizon

There where the night joins with the dawn
There where the mortal and immortal meet
Where the river of life links to the sea
There would I kiss her.

A recent exchange with a student

Hi Mr.Rex,
I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time to ask a question about today's discussion, if it's not too much trouble that is. I wasn't able to ask this during class because we were short on time. Anyways, I don't think Socrates' definition works. There seems to be (to me at least) a large hole in his statement "Justice is minding one's own business". This hole that I'm speaking of has to do with "one's own business"; Socrates states that each man should stick with his trade, for a farmer that is to farm, for a ruler it is to rule, however how do these men know what their trades are? It seems Socrates is saying that each man is born for a certain part of life, but what happens should men reject their role in life? It would create a need for a myth that gives men incentive to follow said roles. The myth I am speaking of is "The Noble Lie", and as we have questioned before, what happens when a man discovers that all he has believed in is a myth? It would lead to the whole definition of Justice being based off of a lie. When presented with even a slight doubt in the myth wouldn't "one's own business" be thrown into question? Wouldn't masses of men question why they should live a "good" life and question the definition of "good"? Would this cause the act of Justice (if Justice can be put into an act) to show itself to be "good" in and of itself? Thank you for your time,
Arthur Student

Lots of excellent questions here, Arthur.
Remember the quotation from John Henry Cardinal Newman "A thousand questions do not amount to one doubt."
There are three parts to the answer:

1. recall that the division of the city is in order to see the division in the soul. Consequently, "minding one's business" is a metaphor for balance within the soul. If the appetitive desires drive the nourishment and continuation of the body they are in proportion and harmonious. If they rule the rest of the person there is chaos and slavery. So "the business" in this metaphor is really about how does one work toward balance of the three realms within the soul? the 'noble lie' therefore of the metals is told in order that the citizens in the metaphor do their jobs well; but it is, in the meaning of the metaphor, a story told to create balance within the soul.

2. second we need to ask the more profound question of "what is truth?" "what is lie?" If by truth we mean empirical truth only (i.e. that which can be measured, tested, held in the hand) then we have a big problem b/c no story, no words, conversations, loves, or metaphysical realities can ultimately be measured in this post-Enlightenment manner. If, however, we mean a proximity btwn the image and the reality it conveys (which is the meaning of truth Aquinas uses) then the story is true b/c it embodies a reality even if it never happened historically. Lord of the Rings is "true" in this sense, Iliad is "true" in this sense, "Macbeth" is true in this sense. The truth or lie of the story can be discussed, examined, thought about, but its impact is felt in the soul to a much greater level than if it were merely quantifiable by hard evidence (soul itself is another one of those noble lies, BTW - show an ounce of soul or measure its contents!!!!) This realization ought not to stump a person into thinking everything is lie, but rather encourage them to take things far more seriously and pursue what really is true.

3. masses of men ought to question why they should live the good life and should question what the definition of good is. Unfortunately, masses of men do not do just this thing until it is far too late if at all. The noble lie is excellent for growing up strong in understanding of certain things, but at some point it is thrown into crisis b/c the "lie" part outweighs the "noble" part. Most men, at this point, throw caution to the winds and abandon all they have previously held true (getting a Mazarati, or a new girlfriend, or a new apartment) a phenomenon commonly referred to as a "mid-life crisis." I would suggest that it is far more beneficial for this crisis to occur early, with proper training, to see that the "noble lies" which we have heard are only lies in that they are unprovable by empirical evidence and that nobility is still something to be striven for such that we might honorably deal with life and manfully face death.

I hope this helps answer your very good questions.
AbecedariusRex

Eros One

In every young girl lies a beating heart
And fire in the veins
I feel the rhythm and the pulse of her heat
I scent the rain

The cottonwood trees that rustle and weep
And toss in the wind
Give a tympanic gesture of joy to the storm
And remind me of her.

My love like a storm cloud and the indolent air
Comes forth from her home
I sense the rumble of the approaching cataract
The electrical vein.

The windchimes chatter and ring out the change
And toss on the wind
Their tintinabulant gesture of joy
Like a gamalon plays.

In every young girl lies an incense of cloud
And fire in the veins
I feel the rhythm and the heat of the sun
The wood smoke of cedar

The high ridge of Vitinia where the sun warms the grape
And tosses the white wheat
Lies like a daughter in the late evening sun
Where we drank sweet cream.

My love like an afternoon full of the sunlight
After the rains
Brushes her hand cross the nape of her neck
In the sweet spring sweat.

The windchimes chatter and ring out the time
Like a portent of change
Their cheerful ululating gestures of joy
Like long summer days.

In every young girl lies a breaking heart
And fire in the veins
I feel the rhythm as she passes into night
The pillar of wind.

Kabbalic Post

The Jewish Kabbalists present an image of spiritual progression which depicts the manifestation of Infinite light (Qadosh) into the mind of men - called the Sephiroth. Here is a great website explaining it all.

Normally the Sephiroth, or tree of life, is presented thusly;















My contention is that perhaps the original mapping of virtues and vices is somewhat based on this progression. Why, after all, are there only seven of each? Too convenient, esp. if there are more virtues and vices which don't quite fit on the scale (which there are). Such an anomaly would suggest that the early fathers chose seven intentionally and then mapped the, in their opinion, most important vices/virtues correspondingly. If we follow the thought that numbers are qualitative as well as quantitative then the quality of 7 as a prime number is that of power derived from the combination of the earth (4) and the masculine principle of rational thought (3). Thus lucky number 7 is lucky b/c it is the power to alter things on the earth using reason. This reason leads to goods (virtues) and to ills (vices) b/c reason can effect good or ill change. Consequently, can the modes of the Sephiroth be the defining progression that creates the 7 and 7 correlation of the virtues and vices?

Here is a map of that possibility:

Poetry Post

My father always urged me to do something with my poetry. I don't think them all that great, but I decided to put them up on this blog so here is a first.

I also have insights into Odyssey and Jewish Kabbalic thought which I'll try to enter at some time soon (so look for them).

A coarctation soon let it through
The tide of the numinous
A flood inexorable
An ochre of the cardinal
The sun and the moon

A conjunction of the elements
Through the world’s bright aorta
The vesica piscis
That beats within your cage
The sun and the moon

Your little hands
May grow soon to violence
And staining of innocence
From albumen to purpura

We’re all drawn to that original
The penumbral reverie
The solitude of Albion
A sea of bright placidity
The sun and the moon

The images of paradise
That float on foaming inundates
Like welcoming Vesuvius
Soon course through your veins
The sun and the moon

Your little hands
May grow soon to obedience
And silent frigidity
At rest upon your shores

Beneath the spreading sky
And avenues of air
Where the canopy runs shimmering
Above the world revolving
The sun and the moon.

A post mortem

For those of you who do not know, my father is deteriorating rapidly and will probably pass on sometime very soon. His long struggle with cancer is finally over; cancer won the physical, but my father, God bless, won the more important battle. If you do not know my father, I consider him one of the greatest men I've ever known. He's never entered politics, he's never commanded armies, he's never invented gadgets that alter the course of history, nor has he published the definitive North American novel. But my father did two things much more important.

First, he was a dad. He loved my mother and us six children and he spent time with us. In our day and age, such fathers of honor, fidelity and courage are rare. Recently, my son said that "I love my dad b/c he talks to me." Strangely, that is what makes my father so great in my estimation... he talks to me. He engages me as a human being in conversation and thought and has, over the years, become more friend than father.

Second, he was a warrior. I don't know all the demons with which he wrestled, but I know many and am familiar with that most dangerous demon of the abyss. I know what it's like to stare into that nothingness at the heart of human existence, being incapable of a Kierkegaardian leap, and instead cowering at the edge like Kurtz saying "the horror! the horror!" Dad never gave into that. He ran the race, completed the course. Or, to use the other metaphor, he held the line against the attacks of the enemy. When he could have despaired, abandoned all seven of us, thrown away the trappings of civilization and culture and given over to the riptide of popular barbarism he chose instead honor, courage, commitment to us and to honesty. His thought was clear, neither cluttered with acerbic atheist despair, nor clouded by overly pious religious flim flam. Dad was honest and honestly courageous and I find that admirable in any man; most of all in this great friend of mine.

I don't agree with Dylan Thomas in his "Do not go gentle into that good night" that old men should respond with rage when they think about their own oblivion having accomplished nothing. Rage is not the answer. As Lord Peter Wimsey realizes in "Strong Poison" if we give in to that rage to smash things, someone will just come along, clean up the mess and return everything to the same condition it was in before. Rage accomplishes nothing. Nor does our anger at the necessity of death succeed in producing any results. We don't postpone death; nor do we ease our own death so that, like Ivan Ilych, we feel ourselves stuffed into a bag. Death comes. Tempus fugit, nocte venit. Et in Arcadia ego. If it is true that "called or uncalled the God will be there" how does raging against the god effect anything? Certainly, we don't just roll over and die, but rage? no. There is no rage.

All is gift. All is wonder. All is joy. And I am overjoyed in the midst of intense sorrow at losing my friend and father that I have a father/friend to lose. I also don't agree with Hopkins in his "Spring and Fall" that the grief is for myself. It isn't. My father dies without pain of body. The cancer has deteriorated his muscles and b/c he can't get enough nutrition his body is eating itself; eating the muscles that work his limbs. There is no pain (the doctors say) - he just grows weaker and sleepier until he falls asleep and doesn't awaken. So I don't grieve for his pain of body but thank God that he is spared that. Nor do I grieve for his spirit; he has not despaired like Denethor despite having stared into the Palantir for some time. He has remained honorable and loving and good. Nor do I grieve for myself b/c I know that I will die. My own death doesn't cause me any grief, even if the possibility of nothingness, that abyss of Hesiod and Genesis and Kierkegaard, does. So Hopkins is wrong even in his beautiful poetry.

No, my grief is because I love. To love is to feel pain. The second you open yourself to that terrible joy of love you run a great risk. The thing you love will die and no amount of transference to some abstract concept of God will replace your love of temporal things or beings. If you love you will lose and if you lose you will feel pain. The reverse formula is simple. If you do not wish to feel pain simply do not love. Love nothing. Never submit to the sweet joy of honesty and eros. But that is inhuman; it is nothingness, and if the abyss terrifies me this desert of emotional barrenness carries an equal terror. Perhaps they are one and the same, abyss and desert; oblivion - to not be remembered in love - to never love - to cease on the midnight with no pain.

I agree with Hamlet when he says

We defy augury. There ’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’t is not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all. Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is ’t to leave betimes?

My father was ready, had been ready for many years, had made himself ready by the slow, steady giving away of himself in love. When his final moment comes he will have accomplished that spiritual alchemy that transforms the leadenness of our fearful selfish little souls into the gold of love.

No, I am grieved b/c, as my brother put it, I'm selfish and don't want the party to end. But I do think that this is what the Passion of the Christ means; not wanting to let the party end, yet having the courage to endure the pain involved with allowing it to end. All men are mortal. My father is a man. Therefore my father is mortal. Thank God that he is man enough to have joined the human race and leave behind grieving but joyful loved ones.

If this is an encomium then I'll end with a final poem. This from old English, the Battle of Maldon; it was always one of my father's favorites.

Brythwold spoke, grasped his buckler, He was an old comrade, urged the men, He full boldly cheered his soldiers, "Thought must be the harder, heart the keener Spirit shall be more - as our might lessens."