Today in Greek class, we had an interesting insight into the minds of men.
Isaac was translating. His translation started out really rough, but Dr. Davies was walking him through it. "That participle (a verbal noun, for the non-Greek speaking among my audience) in the beginning," he told Isaac in his naturally booming voice, "is circumstantial. It explains the circumstances in which something takes place. So you're going to translate it as when, since, because, although, if. Right?"
Isaac: "Ummmm...."
Dr. Davies: "So, for example, you'd say 'If he was hungry, he ate'. That's a circumstance."
Isaac: "Well, you'd say 'Because he was hungry, he ate'."
Never use analogies of food when teaching a language to guys.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Why I Believe in Icons and Chants
I am reading a book called The Living God, a catechism for the Orthodox church. While doing so, I hope to post various thoughts, questions, and quotes which arise from it.
The Preface first stresses that Orthodoxy is concerned with the "ontological content" of Christianity. In other words, "It insists upon the life in Christ as a true participation in divine energies." Similarly, it discusses how the Byzantine rite is "a theology transfigured into doxology". Both of these points have the same heart, as far as I see it. Orthodoxy is about the active life of a Christian who is undergoing the process of deification we call theosis. I have recently discovered that for many Christians, theology means intellectualism and Christian life means the right emotions or good deeds. I appreciate that Orthodoxy does not condone this view.
I also loved the authors' explanation of why we quote the saints. "Our purpose," they say, "is not merely to repeat what the Fathers said, but to rediscover in union with them, inspired by them, the capacity for creating a synthesis of theological thought." Chew on that one for a while. There's a lot of meat.
They then point out that a fundamental point of Orthodoxy is that it "resound[s] in an atmosphere of beauty". They give markers of this beauty: music and iconography.
And I'm not exactly sure whence it came, but I had a bit of a revelation. I believe that chanting in Divine Liturgy and having icons is appropriate. But a mere explanation that "they are beautiful" doesn't appeal to me. Mendelssohn and Bach are beautiful. Michelangelo and Rembrandt are beautiful. But I can't really see those works of art being done in the midst of Divine Liturgy.
Nor do I particularly believe that chanting and iconography are more beautiful than such works as these. I've just seen too many inspiring paintings and heard too many gorgeous masses to believe that they are lesser. But I now have a reason for believing that those works are not appropriate in the setting of the Liturgy.
They're simple.
And let's be honest, Bach, Mendelssohn, Michelangelo, and Rembrandt are so ornate and complex that they can be downright distracting. Far too often, we scan Michelangelo's ceiling so hard to find its meaning that we forget to worship the God it was painted for. These works are complex, and can lead to either a simple or complex truth. But the fact remains: their complexity often distracts us.
But the music of chanting is not complex. Once you get the tune, it's incredibly easy to follow. And icons, at least as I see them, aren't incredibly hard to understand. Sure, they have many different parts, just as chanting choirs have all four choir parts. But they are at heart simple in nature. Icons and chanting don't ask too much of their audience. And thus their beauty is by far the most effective in its environment. When I'm in Divine Liturgy, I don't want paintings so ornately realistic that my mind wanders. I want basic shapes, following specific patterns, which ingrain the true Christian mythology into my nous and at the same time move me outside my own complex and realistic life into a reality beyond myself. When I'm singing, I don't want to be distracted by complex tunes, or by thoughts of what a "cool song" something is. I want something simple, basic to the human anatomy. Something so natural that when I'm singing it, it feels like a natural outpouring, not a special effort.
This is why I believe in icons and chanting. Because their simplicity 1) is a better environment for the Liturgy and 2) encourages Christians to have the simplicity of mind necessary for true theosis.
The Preface first stresses that Orthodoxy is concerned with the "ontological content" of Christianity. In other words, "It insists upon the life in Christ as a true participation in divine energies." Similarly, it discusses how the Byzantine rite is "a theology transfigured into doxology". Both of these points have the same heart, as far as I see it. Orthodoxy is about the active life of a Christian who is undergoing the process of deification we call theosis. I have recently discovered that for many Christians, theology means intellectualism and Christian life means the right emotions or good deeds. I appreciate that Orthodoxy does not condone this view.
I also loved the authors' explanation of why we quote the saints. "Our purpose," they say, "is not merely to repeat what the Fathers said, but to rediscover in union with them, inspired by them, the capacity for creating a synthesis of theological thought." Chew on that one for a while. There's a lot of meat.
They then point out that a fundamental point of Orthodoxy is that it "resound[s] in an atmosphere of beauty". They give markers of this beauty: music and iconography.
And I'm not exactly sure whence it came, but I had a bit of a revelation. I believe that chanting in Divine Liturgy and having icons is appropriate. But a mere explanation that "they are beautiful" doesn't appeal to me. Mendelssohn and Bach are beautiful. Michelangelo and Rembrandt are beautiful. But I can't really see those works of art being done in the midst of Divine Liturgy.
Nor do I particularly believe that chanting and iconography are more beautiful than such works as these. I've just seen too many inspiring paintings and heard too many gorgeous masses to believe that they are lesser. But I now have a reason for believing that those works are not appropriate in the setting of the Liturgy.
They're simple.
And let's be honest, Bach, Mendelssohn, Michelangelo, and Rembrandt are so ornate and complex that they can be downright distracting. Far too often, we scan Michelangelo's ceiling so hard to find its meaning that we forget to worship the God it was painted for. These works are complex, and can lead to either a simple or complex truth. But the fact remains: their complexity often distracts us.
But the music of chanting is not complex. Once you get the tune, it's incredibly easy to follow. And icons, at least as I see them, aren't incredibly hard to understand. Sure, they have many different parts, just as chanting choirs have all four choir parts. But they are at heart simple in nature. Icons and chanting don't ask too much of their audience. And thus their beauty is by far the most effective in its environment. When I'm in Divine Liturgy, I don't want paintings so ornately realistic that my mind wanders. I want basic shapes, following specific patterns, which ingrain the true Christian mythology into my nous and at the same time move me outside my own complex and realistic life into a reality beyond myself. When I'm singing, I don't want to be distracted by complex tunes, or by thoughts of what a "cool song" something is. I want something simple, basic to the human anatomy. Something so natural that when I'm singing it, it feels like a natural outpouring, not a special effort.
This is why I believe in icons and chanting. Because their simplicity 1) is a better environment for the Liturgy and 2) encourages Christians to have the simplicity of mind necessary for true theosis.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Do Wizards Use Planes?
With the ability to Apparate, use Floo Power, and fly on broomsticks, wizards don't exactly need to buy plane tickets for a holiday trip.
But the other day, as I was boarding my AirTran flight to Dallas, I saw a peculiar sign. It read:
And an image of No. 10 Grimmauld Place, the home of notorious escapee Sirius Black, rose unbidden to my mind.
And then I subconsciously calculated whether that could fit the Weasley family, all the boys' wives, Ginny's husband (guess who?!), children, Teddy Lupin, Lee Jordan, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Headmistress McGonagall, and Auntie Muriel. Check.
I even threw in Victor Krum for good measure. Ron can't be jealous forever, right?
Could it be a huge Weasley family and friends holiday, I thought?
Perhaps Mr. Weasley was finally achieving his heart's desire: to find out how airplanes stay up.
But the other day, as I was boarding my AirTran flight to Dallas, I saw a peculiar sign. It read:
Row 10 follows Row 3.
There are no Rows 4-9
And then I subconsciously calculated whether that could fit the Weasley family, all the boys' wives, Ginny's husband (guess who?!), children, Teddy Lupin, Lee Jordan, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Headmistress McGonagall, and Auntie Muriel. Check.
I even threw in Victor Krum for good measure. Ron can't be jealous forever, right?
Could it be a huge Weasley family and friends holiday, I thought?
Perhaps Mr. Weasley was finally achieving his heart's desire: to find out how airplanes stay up.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Arete's Need for Unity
While I was plodding through part of my Greek bibliography reading today, I came across a quote that was truly beautiful. It succinctly expressed why I believe Plato was really on the something in his dialogues. I know he was far from perfect, but he made many true discoveries about the soul and the good life.
"I think it is very reasonable to impute to Plato the belief, in this sense, that the moral life is a unity, and that the point of entry into the understanding of it is a grasp of what things are truly rewarding to the man whose spiritual constitution approximates, as closely as that of an embodied soul can approximate, to the true nature of the soul. In that case it will be the pursuit of those things that will deserve the title 'living well', and no more concrete account of living well, can, in face of the variation and complexity of the human predicament, be given; that pursuit, and nothing but that pursuit will be arete."
"I think it is very reasonable to impute to Plato the belief, in this sense, that the moral life is a unity, and that the point of entry into the understanding of it is a grasp of what things are truly rewarding to the man whose spiritual constitution approximates, as closely as that of an embodied soul can approximate, to the true nature of the soul. In that case it will be the pursuit of those things that will deserve the title 'living well', and no more concrete account of living well, can, in face of the variation and complexity of the human predicament, be given; that pursuit, and nothing but that pursuit will be arete."
~I. M. Crombie
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Dark Night of Potter's Soul
Harry Potter is desperate for something, anything about what's going on in the wizarding world. And he's getting angry. Very angry.
Thus J. K. Rowling's multi-billion dollar character begins his fifth adventure as a young wizard. And he's not finding it an easy one - no indeed. In her fifth novel, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Rowling breaks completely new ground for her popular hero. She moves out of the black and white areas she has previously dwelt in and begins to ask questions far beyond the depth of her first four books and of most modern fiction.
This novel is the first where Harry looks inside his own soul and is frightened by what he sees. Harry realizes that Voldemort is not the only person who can be filled with evil; he sees that he himself can be just as destructive as the Dark Lord. In his anger, resentment, and confusion, Harry lashes out at everyone nearest him, whether it results in a detention from Dolores Umbridge or a wounded relationship with Ron and Hermione. Rowling does an excellent job of keeping her plot genuine, though. The tension in Phoenix is very real: has Harry defeated Lord Voldemort multiple times only to succumb to the evil within himself? And though Harry pulls through, it's a close enough call that it sobers readers.
In addition, Rowling throws a curve-ball with her portrayal of Harry's role models, particularly Sirius Black. Up to this point in the novel, they have been upheld unquestioningly. But in Order of the Phoenix, we see faults in all three of Harry's most respected heroes. His father, James Potter, was every bit the bully Severus Snape said. Dumbledore mistakenly distances himself from Harry, trying to help him, but merely weaking Harry's resolve. And Sirius Black acts almost as a mirror to Harry; he too is consumed by discontented anger and frustration. In many ways, he inflames Harry's fury and bitterness with his own. Rowling makes Harry and his faithful readers examine their motivations for doing things. Just because Sirius approves, Hermione warns Harry, doesn't mean it's the right thing to do. In Order of the Phoenix, Harry learns to recognize the flaws in the men loves most and to act in accordance with his discoveries.
In short, despite a tacked-on flirtation between Harry and Cho Chang which was nothing more than an embarrassing waste of precious time, I really enjoyed Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. In it, Rowling moved into deeper waters and, I was a bit surprised to see, swam quite well.
And, as a teaser, I'll tell you now that her backstroke is quite engaging in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. :-)
Thus J. K. Rowling's multi-billion dollar character begins his fifth adventure as a young wizard. And he's not finding it an easy one - no indeed. In her fifth novel, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Rowling breaks completely new ground for her popular hero. She moves out of the black and white areas she has previously dwelt in and begins to ask questions far beyond the depth of her first four books and of most modern fiction.
This novel is the first where Harry looks inside his own soul and is frightened by what he sees. Harry realizes that Voldemort is not the only person who can be filled with evil; he sees that he himself can be just as destructive as the Dark Lord. In his anger, resentment, and confusion, Harry lashes out at everyone nearest him, whether it results in a detention from Dolores Umbridge or a wounded relationship with Ron and Hermione. Rowling does an excellent job of keeping her plot genuine, though. The tension in Phoenix is very real: has Harry defeated Lord Voldemort multiple times only to succumb to the evil within himself? And though Harry pulls through, it's a close enough call that it sobers readers.
In addition, Rowling throws a curve-ball with her portrayal of Harry's role models, particularly Sirius Black. Up to this point in the novel, they have been upheld unquestioningly. But in Order of the Phoenix, we see faults in all three of Harry's most respected heroes. His father, James Potter, was every bit the bully Severus Snape said. Dumbledore mistakenly distances himself from Harry, trying to help him, but merely weaking Harry's resolve. And Sirius Black acts almost as a mirror to Harry; he too is consumed by discontented anger and frustration. In many ways, he inflames Harry's fury and bitterness with his own. Rowling makes Harry and his faithful readers examine their motivations for doing things. Just because Sirius approves, Hermione warns Harry, doesn't mean it's the right thing to do. In Order of the Phoenix, Harry learns to recognize the flaws in the men loves most and to act in accordance with his discoveries.
In short, despite a tacked-on flirtation between Harry and Cho Chang which was nothing more than an embarrassing waste of precious time, I really enjoyed Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. In it, Rowling moved into deeper waters and, I was a bit surprised to see, swam quite well.
And, as a teaser, I'll tell you now that her backstroke is quite engaging in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. :-)
Potter Grows Up: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, the fourth novel in J. K. Rowling's smash hit series, has a task as challenging as the Triwizard Tournament it describes. Up to this point, the books have had a strong episodic flavor. They do show some growth of character, but on the whole each tale tastes of Nancy Drew; mystery, adventure, ultimate success, friendships remain the same, enemies become more hateful, humorous characters stay comical. But in Goblet of Fire, Harry Potter, his friends, and his enemies really begin to develop and mature. The elusive Professor Snape is more perplexing than ever. Most telling of all, Professor Dumbledore no longer seems the perfect wizard he once did - he too makes mistakes which can prove fatal. This is the pubescent novel of the series. And like any other modern young teenager, it has quite a few struggles which it work through with moderate success.
To begin with, the novel definitely drags in spots. Twice the size of its predecessors, Goblet of Fire takes a little too much time to say what it wants to. The plot is definitely more complex, but some things - like Hermione's SPEW - tend to break down the dramatic unity of the story. Like many adolescents I know, Goblet struggles to communicate succinctly the ideas which are beginning to form inside itself.
And Goblet does begin to develop some really important ideas. Harry begins to face the major issue in his friendship with Ron Weasley: Harry's fame. Also, unlike the previous three, it really makes Harry face some of the realities of adult life. A good friend and excellent student at Hogwarts is murdered in front of Harry's own eyes, a traumatic event which drives the plot of the Order of the Phoenix. Lord Voldemort returns in the flesh and nearly kills Harry himself. And though the full weight of these adult cares has not yet fallen upon Harry, Rowling begins to place a more serious and mature burden upon her young hero.
There are, however, definitely some belabored plot threads. For instance, the numerous love triangles waste plot space and feel distinctly out of place. I know many people think my response to such "crushes" - or whatever you want to call them - is hard and unsympathetic. I crave their pardon for thinking it slightly nauseating that a 14 year-old boy can't focus because a girl has entered the room.
On the whole, I thought Rowling did a decent job of leading Harry Potter through adolescence. In the process, she created a book which went through the very same struggles its titular character did. Somewhat awkward, not quite mature but struggling to be so, a bit rambling but good-natured - these are the types of things which best describe Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
To begin with, the novel definitely drags in spots. Twice the size of its predecessors, Goblet of Fire takes a little too much time to say what it wants to. The plot is definitely more complex, but some things - like Hermione's SPEW - tend to break down the dramatic unity of the story. Like many adolescents I know, Goblet struggles to communicate succinctly the ideas which are beginning to form inside itself.
And Goblet does begin to develop some really important ideas. Harry begins to face the major issue in his friendship with Ron Weasley: Harry's fame. Also, unlike the previous three, it really makes Harry face some of the realities of adult life. A good friend and excellent student at Hogwarts is murdered in front of Harry's own eyes, a traumatic event which drives the plot of the Order of the Phoenix. Lord Voldemort returns in the flesh and nearly kills Harry himself. And though the full weight of these adult cares has not yet fallen upon Harry, Rowling begins to place a more serious and mature burden upon her young hero.
There are, however, definitely some belabored plot threads. For instance, the numerous love triangles waste plot space and feel distinctly out of place. I know many people think my response to such "crushes" - or whatever you want to call them - is hard and unsympathetic. I crave their pardon for thinking it slightly nauseating that a 14 year-old boy can't focus because a girl has entered the room.
On the whole, I thought Rowling did a decent job of leading Harry Potter through adolescence. In the process, she created a book which went through the very same struggles its titular character did. Somewhat awkward, not quite mature but struggling to be so, a bit rambling but good-natured - these are the types of things which best describe Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
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