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. M. Crombie

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. :-)

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.

The Importance of Mary

So, I was reading Frederica Matthews-Green's book The Open Door. In the chapter I'm reading, she talks about the icon of the Theotokos and, from that, what Orthodox Christians believe about Mary She says: "[Mary] did in a literal way what we each hope to do spiritually, to be filled with Christ's presence. Often in ancient hymns she is compared to the Burning Bush, wholly on fire with the presence of God and yet unconsumed. Though the power of the Most High has overshadowed her, she is still fully herself, intact and uncompromised."

This terminology - that of the presence of God and being unconsumed - brought the myth of Semele to my mind. The woman Semele, having learned that her lover was in fact the great god Zeus, went to him and demanded that he show her his full glory. When Zeus was forced to comply, however, his glorious radiance destroyed her.

And I thought how much these two stories contrast. Before Christ's miraculous conception, mankind is incapable of enduring the glorious presence of God. But with the Theotokos, all that changes. Men can now bear the glory of God and not be consumed. They can remain intact in His presence. We do not now have the weakness of Semele; the Theotokos has shown that we can bear God and still remain whole. We can touch the divine and not be destroyed.

And that is a blessing beyond anything else we could be given.

Oh, the Belated Humor of it All!

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way." This quote from Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities could be used by Admissions Counselors to describe college. They tell you about the wonderful friends you'll make, the challenges your professors will give you, the maturity you'll gain as you fight through life's struggles. The mix of gravity, joy, and troubles you'll encounter - these every college student will hear about before he enters college.

But nobody tells you how funny college is.

Not how funny your friends or professors are; how funny living at college. Come on, whoever invented the idea of roommates must have been the world's biggest practical joker. I admit, most of the humor cannot be appreciated till after the fact; the hilarity of the ravings of someone late for class can only be recognized after class has been reached in time. But really, when viewed in retrospect, a lot of college isn't profound or earth-shattering. So much of it is just so funny.

Here is an example from my own life.

I have been fighting a bug which really wants to become a full-blown cold. But a great deal of energy and will-power on my part are neutralizing this bug's effect. Yesterday, I was feeling worse than I am now, so my energy levels were low to begin with. And of course, yesterday I had my only midterm for the whole week and I had an additional lecture in the evening.

So after suppressing a freak-out session over my midterm all morning, I run from Greek class (Classics professors have this idea that time has nothing to do with them. Thus, classes never end on time and I always have to run across campus to my next class), no small feat with my energy levels dipping lower and lower.

I get to my midterm, sit down at the table, and begin to write furiously (Once again, two 1 and 1/2 page essays in 50 minutes is not exactly ideal in conditions such as this). 3:55. "Oh Shoot!" I think, "I've got to get over to Lynch for that lecture, NOW!". So, I quickly hand in my exam, grab my bags, and book it to Lynch Auditorium where I slip into a seat up front (Unfortunately, the back seats are always the first to go when young people are involved).

The lecture is really good, but after an hour and a half, I'm feeling really tired. So I grab some cafeteria dinner to go - no meat, since it's a fast day - and sit in my room. I try laying down, but the god of sleep seems to be somewhere else.

Now, being the kind of person of I am, I decide to head back over to the second half of the lecture starting at 7. It is supposed to be one of the Marshalsea's professors responding to the earlier talk. What could go wrong.

Two hours of interminable questions, that's what.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for academic discussion. I find it invigorating and inspiring, provided that I'm not running on empty. I confess, the question of justice in the Iliad has never seemed belabored. By the time I was out of there, I thought my brains had been sucked out by a vacuum cleaner.

So, the conclusion of this rather long anecdote? College can be really belatedly funny. Though none of this felt funny at the time, it retrospect it just cracks me up. I was one of the few students who cared about coming to this lecture, yet I was the one who was too sick to fully enjoy it. 

I mean, what are the odds?

Prayer from a Tired Soul

Holy Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner. Have mercy on me, a weakened and battered soul. The life you have bestowed on me is hard to bear. The love which it requires of me is beyond my capabilities for loving. My soul grows weary. My passion is not strong enough to uphold the ideals you have blessed me with. My abilities are far beneath the life you have accorded me.

So Lord, build up my passion till I can fulfill my duties well. Order my mind so my thoughts are clear and my words are as honey.

Christ is in our midst!

Stultitia

I grew up in very imaginatively practical home. Girls in my home were taught to imagine a life that was good, not a life with a boy. We learned to see ourselves for what we could be, not what we could be with a man. We did not fear men or despise them (well, much :-), we simply didn't think much about them at all, and the thought of actually needing one in order to survive was completely foreign.

And so, I must share a revelation which I daresay most have already experienced but which was shocking to me.

Apparently, some girls flirt with boys (I shall not deign to give them the name of men) by 'playfully' demeaning them. About two hours ago, I was in the company of someone who I know has "a crush", as it is pathetically called, on the boy with her. And for the half hour or so that they were in my company, I heard her call him "stupid", "annoying", and other such unfriendly names every two minutes. It got downright frustrating. What stupidity, or stultitia, as the Romans say!

I hereby make a promise to all men I know and will know. I will not call you stupid or anything else in order to get your attention on me. If I call you stupid, you can be assured that I will really mean it.

I'm just messin' wich ya. :-)

For Those who Care

I haven't time to write a real blog post, as I am currently working on my second of three papers for this next week. But I thought I'd make a quick note and say that if you're in the mood for something absolutely gorgeous, something that is very special to me, read John Keats's poem Sleep and Poetry. It's an incredible poem, and it really encapsulates so much of what I am thinking and feeling right now. If at some point in my life I can find the time, I shall definitely memorize it.

PS. Perhaps a quote or two from said poem will appear on my blog at a time not too distant from the present. Perhaps.

One, well, Two Misconceptions Which can Cost you a Semester of Work

I have many things to to blog about which haven't time at the moment. As it is, I'm just spending a few minutes blogging before I buckle down to a rather large load of homework. So before Socrates starts calling me, I thought I'd blog about a misconception my fellow collegians have which is truly pitiful.

Picture this: Understanding the Bible has just let out on a Wednesday afternoon and two friends, whom we shall call Michael and Jazmine, are walking behind me on the way back to mine and Jazmine's dorm. We three are in two classes, and so see each other every school day; we also have a very good idea of how much homework the others have done and, more often, what they still need to do. Now, I had learned yesterday that they both are several books behind in the Iliad - not such a good idea when there are reading quizzes. And as we're walking, I here them saying, "Yeah, let's turn on [a Disney film] and then go to dinner."

"Wait, what?" I think.

I know for a fact they both have work to do, and not just new homework - back work. Why, then, would they spend an hour and a half watching a film they've both seen many times?

At first, the answer appears easy. But it wasn't that these two just blow school off and don't care that they're here. I know they both worry about keeping up scholarships. And as for Michael, I think he does genuinely care about his work. He's really involved in class and is very faithful in making to class.

So why, then?

Well, the reason is a simple twofold misconception that most of my peers have - one which they have already paid for or they will soon pay for. They have been led to believe that they must divide their time between 1) schoolwork, 2) socialization, and 3) body needs (food and sleep, rest if sick). But there are two problems with this list.

The first is a misunderstanding of socialization. I could write for a while on this subject, but I will content myself with saying that socialization does not parties and events. Socialization occurs whenever you are in contact with other human beings. Thus, class time and dinner time ought to be included in the "socialization" aspect of college, though they do not exhaust it.

The other, deeper, part of the misconception is that there are not merely three categories - there are four. Time must be spread between body needs, socialization, class time, and homework. It is the lumping together of classes and homework into "schoolwork" which I think harms so many of my peers. After spending three hours in class and two hours on homework, they think, "I've just spent five hours of my time on schoolwork." The result: poorly written papers done the night before they're due and reading which doesn't happen.

So, if you're a student, or even a parent preparing a child for college, do not, not, NOT lump classes and homework together in your mind. The two must be thought about separately (at least, when thinking about time management). Don't let that bad thinking habit ruin your first semester at college.

And now back to my own homework. :-)

On the Result of a Classical Education

In jeans a boy stood in the courtyard,

His brow crossed with heroic lines,

His head a whirl with words -

And the pages of the book were real

While Arthur’s voice was calling him

In echoes deafening,

“Flee not, my knight, stay put -

Fulfill thy sacred quest.”

And in Calormen’s hostile sands

Lay rakes for daily gardening,

And mother’s cries were lost

In the ring of running hooves.

‘Twas Sam’s voice dragged him back

To the joy of hoeing weeds,

And cried that folks in stories

Never gave up on quests.

A thing of beauty in debtor’s prison,

A lady, dancing mannerly,

A murderous sinner and an icon -

What Odysseys were these!

Set on a wall the remnants

Of a life not lost but treasured,

But voices cried aloud to come,

To share the fun and glamour.

What harm, to prove, to share?

But icons shook their heads to warn,

And Gandalf pleaded nay

And Arthur’s voice was calling him,

“Flee not, my knight, stay put -

Fulfill thy sacred quest.”

Harry Potter's first internal conflict

This review will be, I grant you, rather short as I do not have a particularly large amount of things to say about the Prisoner of Azkaban. Like the first two books, it was imaginative to the tee and I think, on the whole, it was slightly better writing quality than the previous novels. The heartbreaks were just as heartbreaking, the triumphs just as triumphant. On a tangential note, I have discovered that Quidditch is probably my second favorite sport (sorry, baseball still comes first).

Basically the only thing I wanted to make note of is that the Prisoner of Azkaban is the first novel in which Harry's absolute hero status is shaken. In the first Quidditch match, he doesn't catch the Snitch after falling from his broomstick (through no fault of his own, I must add). It's the first game he has ever lost. In addition, he finds himself struggling with something he has never really felt before: hate. His rivalry with Draco pales in comparison to his absolute hatred of Sirius Black, a hatred so great he would be willing to kill. And though Harry rises to the occasion and doesn't kill Black in the end, the reader is now forced to consider a question. Harry has so far resisted the evil Lord Voldemort's attempts to cause problems in the world, but can he resist blackness in his own soul that will play into Voldemort's hands?

A Picture

Today, I was sitting with my friends at a table during the fellowship hour. We were talking, laughing, and eating; then my friend Caroline leaned over and picked up a very young child who could only speak in monosyllabic nouns. In five minutes, we were all enraptured at her "pictures", doodled lines on Post-It notes. Jared, who had just received a particularly scrambled line, was inquiring what the various symbols were.

"What's this one"

"*gargle* Ummm, tree."

"Oh, a tree, huh? How about this one?"

"Rock."

"I see." He got himself a Post-It note and drew a picture for our new little friend of a house in a field with a tree, cloud, and the sun. "Here, now you've made one for me and I've made one for you, see?"

Her face broke into an enormous smile as she started stammering out the names of the various objects, clearly impressed at her own abilities.

And I thought, thank God for children. They are so precious and innocent, and yet so intelligent and insightful that I find myself in constant awe of their power. A power so great it can captivate the minds of seven college students, who have the cares of homework, relationships, and jobs on their minds. Who can think about Plato's Meno, Tacitus's Histories, or the Enuma Elish when a little miracle from heaven is sitting two feet away, giggling? It was enough for us to see her sweet face, which had no stain of worry or pain upon it. I cannot describe how important an experience like this is to me. Besides my family I have found that what I miss most are little babies, toddlers, children - the ones who depend on us so much yet also make our burdens easier. And at college, you're lucky to ever see anyone younger than 15 years old. You live in a world so dominated by age and pressure, that the heaviness of it all can become painful.

Oh, I thank God for my church!

Rowling's Chamber of Secrets (Spoilers ahead - yes, I mean it)

This, faithful reader, is the story of a pleasant deception.

Last weekend, I read J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Up until the very end, I was skeptical and ready to be scathing if need be, for reasons which I hope will soon become clear. But I'll say right here, I think I jumped to my conclusion a little too soon. To paraphrase Plato, Rowling fooled me with a pleasant foolery.

My first impression of the book was actually one of excitement. The beginning chapters were promising; they had a compelling emotional realism and forceful unity with the previous book that was beyond my expectations. Our first images of Harry are of his intense longings for companionship. His friends seem to have abandoned him, and he is stuck with the despicable Dursleys. In addition, he is warned off from going back to Hogwarts by a mysterious house elf. But as Harry's loneliness gets most despairing, with the suddenness of the rising sun, Ron Weasley and his twin brothers Fred and George fly over in their enchanted car and rescue Harry. I confess that as a college student, away from home, I think I found Harry's overwhelmed joy at the Weasleys' arrival and his appreciation of the very real Weasley home, which had all the trademarks of a well-lived in house, most comforting and heart-warming.

But almost immediately afterward, at about the middle of chapter three, my heart completely sank and my fists went up, prepared to batter Rowling's work to pulp. Having arrived at the Weasley homestead, Harry and his readers discover that young Ginny Weasley can barely be in the same room with Harry, let alone talk to him. Her crush becomes more and more painfully obvious, and as the knowledge of it hit me, I set my jaw.

Good grief, I thought, this is a children's novel; why in the world did Rowling have to fall into that typical "time for the youngsters to fall in love because, well, because that's just normal" pattern followed by just about every book on the young adult fiction library shelves. Pardon the tirade, but I simply don't believe in love at young age - it's cheesy and nauseating. Not only that, but it encourages children in need of guidance to commit such behavior. And so, as I hold such moderate views, I was ready to beat the novel to shreds as corny and anything but special.

As the novel progressed, I found myself in a quandary. The rest of the novel was so enjoyable; if it hadn't been for that one thorn in my side, I would have been completely at home and engrossed. The world of the wizards was more enchanting than ever and the mystery which forms the plot was far more satisfying to me than that in the former. Someone has opened the Chamber of Secrets, from whence a mysterious creature comes into the school and begins petrifying students. In addition, Rowling's humor was funnier than ever before. In one particular scene Ron's mother send him "a Howler", a letter which delivers a yelled message verbatim. In short, had it not been for Ginny's foolishness, I would have enjoyed the whole book immensely.

And then in the next to last chapter (I don't know why, but the last or next to last chapter in Rowling's novels always seems to be the one that shocks and impresses me most) Rowling sprung one of her secrets on me. The final confrontation is between Harry Potter and a memory of Lord Voldemort, back when he was called Tom Riddle, a memory which has come from out of his old diary. On the floor between them is Ginny Weasley, whose life is slowly but surely slipping over into Tom Riddle, making him more and more alive the closer she comes to death. At first, Harry believes he can trust Riddle but almost immediately he grows suspicious. He asks, "How did Ginny get like this?" And Riddle's response, as written by Rowling, knocked me off my feet.

"Well, that's an interesting question," said Riddle pleasantly. "And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to a stranger...The diary," said Riddle. "My diary. Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me her pitiful worries and woes - how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how" - Riddle's eyes glinted - "how she didn't think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her"

"It's very boring, having to listen to the silly troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one's ever understood me like you, Tom...I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in...It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket.....So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted...I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul into her"

Riddle reveals that Ginny has been writing into the diary and that he responded with exactly what she wanted to hear when she was lonely and complaining. And soon, Ginny found herself possessed by the evil soul of Lord Voldemort himself which had slipped over to her, completely unseen. Now, I confess that passage was far deeper than I would have expected from Rowling. In a few pages, Rowling (perhaps unintentionally) completely condemns the idea of a little girl meddling in such an adult matter as eros. She shows that such behavior from a little kid only opens up their soul to evil, and doesn't prepare them for future good things. Ginny's foolish dabbling in adult affairs, and her selfish concern with her own small cares, makes her a prime target for lurking evil. Never before had I read anything remotely like this before in modern young adult fiction. The depth there, though not Dostoevsky, was greater than I had expected.

In a brief conclusion, I'll just say that The Chamber of Secrets had a far greater unity as a novel and was, I felt, much better planned and written. It still wasn't Lewis or Tolkien, but it is built better than the last, I'd say. Of course, all of my previous points remain true; for example, I wouldn't give Harry Potter to a poor reader. But on the whole, I feel like Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was better than the first novel.

Now, I have begun the third novel and it appears young Ginny still fancies Harry, so the reproach on this attitude may have been accidental on Rowling's part. But I'm inclined to think not; at this point, I think I'll trust Rowling to pull another little bit of magic out of her sleeve.

Why I'm Here

My first quizzes are rounding the corner, bringing a host of fears, fears of failure and shame and ineptitude. Along with them ride the other concerns or to quote Catullus, tristis curas, harsh cares. Exams, academic pressure, and late nights to come. I am currently a collegian at the Marshalsea, living in a so-called Snuggery. As much as I like to think of myself as an ancient prophet or hero-king, I have to admit, my cry is far too often, "Behold, here am I. Why, Lord?"

All such trying conditions do, I believe, beg the question. Why go so far away from home, to live off sometimes-decent food and homework. Why endure it all? I've heard many answers. It's for your future career. It's so you grow more independent as a person. It's because everyone needs higher education. And though each of those is true, they can be pretty unconvincing to a tired soul.

But what is most curious, most puzzling to me is that despite the aches I do feel, I'm happy. Every time I am in a class, my heart aches, but not with pain or sorrow. Tears well into my eyes. Why, I asked the Lord? What is it about this place that seems so wrong, and yet so right? And the Lord answered me with a word from Lewis.

Joy.

That feeling in the classes I take is joy. An inexpressible fulfillment and simultaneous desire, something that pulls you, literally, to the edge of your seat. It's impossible to describe; I can only say its effect on me, not what it really is. It makes my heart light, as if I'm being pulled up to God. I personally believe it's not an "as if". I think that every experience of Joy really is pulling me closer to God, contributing to my theosis.

And let me tell you, Joy is worth all the exams and heartaches this school can dish out.

My first adventure with Harry

I can remember when the Harry Potter debate first entered my consciousness. Children gave each other dirty looks, parents worried, and pastors mentioned it in sermons. The fans were obsessed, the adversaries were militant. So far as I could tell, it was a story about a boy wizard, somebody called Voldemort, and perhaps something about a snake. But, being as I was a devoted queen of Narnia and member of the Fellowship of the Ring, I soon blocked out most of the arguments and fan discussions. Honestly, I thought, what's the big deal?

Well, this past year, a certain fan infiltrated my own imagination, where I waited with Anne Eliot and died with Sydney Carton. Only this fan was different. Unlike the others, who were overcome by their emotions for the book, he loved it with good reason. Here was a someone who could best me at Dickens, Dostoevsky, Austen, and Keats, and who could throw in an in-depth discussion of Harry, Hermione, and Ron to boot. So intrigued was I, that I decided to give the books a chance and try to discern their real place on the spectrum of literature. Here are my observations.

I have to admit, my original question remains the same: what exactly IS the big deal? Don't get me wrong, there are several things I found enjoyable and promising, and if the rest of the series is as good as this one then Rowling will probably be in my list of top five current children's writers. But I do wish everyone would quit the hype. First and foremost to keep in mind about Harry Potter is that it is a children's novel. Thus, it ought not to take the place of adult literature in the minds of readers. In fact, this is my biggest gripe with the series, and I'm fair enough to see that it isn't Rowling's fault. Far too many people I have met this past week ask me first if I have read Harry Potter. "What?" I think, "None of the Greats matter to you? The highest you can soar is a modern children's novel?"

I think the greatest danger of Harry Potter is how it is used. People treat it as a substitute to the Great Books, not as a good book whose place is definitely beneath Tolkien and Wodehouse. Thus, I would never give Harry Potter to someone who does not like reading, or has a disease similar to it. Because Harry Potter does have many strengths, that person would far too easily set everything else aside and give the greatest literary prize to one of the seven novels. But if the person involved is a strong reader, who has a proper appreciation for the hierarchy of art, I see great benefit from reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

This benefit will not really come from the quality of the prose. Rowling's writing isn't bad, it's just not the inspirational sort which makes you want to write something immediately because words are running, or more appropriately, flying about in your brain. Her prose is good, just not the level of Lewis's The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. This does not mean we ought never to read the book; it simply means that Rowling's novel can be read in a day or less during a holiday, where a similar section of Tolkien would probably require far more time to digest.

But as to the story itself, I think Rowling can claim to be one of the best imaginative writers of our day. Rowling, whose impressive education includes a BA in Classics and French, has the sort of imagination only a well-trained mind can achieve. Unlike most other modern writers, whose works have the flavor of a very unconvincing plagiarized paper, Rowling does not try to steal the imagination of Lewis and Tolkien, or the myths that they communed with; rather, she participates in it, writing very much in community with her great predecessors. When you read most modern "imaginative" fiction, everything from mythical characters and to the so called "redeeming themes" seems false and ungenuine. In other words, because they do not really believe in those things in their own imaginations, their works remain unconvincing in the well-trained imagination.

But something that struck me when reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was how real everything seemed. From Dumbledore to Hagrid, the centaurs to the unicorns, the game of Quidditch to the mirror of Erised, everything in Rowling's novel was ingeniously convincing. When reading it I found that, despite the rather mediocre writing, the characters and world that Rowling was, not creating, but sharing, was a joy. It is here that Rowling gets closest to the two greatest fantasy writers, Lewis and Tolkien. We love Dumbledore for much the same reason we love Aslan, we cheer for Harry much like we cheer for Frodo: because the author does. We believe that Harry must win because Rowling herself believes in her imagination that good will triumph over evil. With her the same ideas and themes are not cliche; they are convincingly classic. A truly imaginative mind, which sees another aspect of the same fantastical ideas, is irresistible to everyone, both the soul starving for myth and soul who has suckled on the rage of Achilles and the magic of Merlin from infancy.

And so, I shall try to briefly name some themes and ideas which I find promising in Rowling's novel, ones which I hope she continues to develop. Though it was a bit hidden, I definitely felt that Rowling claimed that a knowledge of nature goes hand in hand with a knowledge of supernature. Up until Harry discovers he is a wizard, the world around him is sterile, dead, and thoroughly modern. But once he discovers the world to which he belongs, suddenly descriptions of rolling mountains, rich forests, and very dangerous creatures become available to us. The world "wild" is used many times in admiring terms. These, along with some other smaller things, have led me to believe that one of the claims of Harry Potter is that the two, nature and supernature, somehow belong together. It is no surprise, therefore, that Hogwarts, a place where students become more and more in touch with the supernatural, is in the midst of incredible natural beauty. And, conversely, that Uncle Vernon, who is completely out of touch with nature, has no knowledge or comprehension of the supernatural world around him. This I find a fascinating point to slip in, and I look for more of it with eagerness.

My next observation hinges on my previous example, that of Harry finding out about the world of wizards and magic. Rowling deals with this in a very mature and, I would almost say, sacramental way. The world of the wizards, where magical things happen and where everything ordinary is somehow elevated to a new level of importance, is there all the time. Yet though it would not be to hard to discover it, the Muggles (ordinary humans) block out any trace of it. This idea that there is a world right outside your door which you have only to open your eyes to see is very biblical, true, and refreshing to find in modern literature. Rowling walks the fine line between separated worlds and no difference between the worlds at all quite nicely.

I could probably go on with some more promising/good themes, but I have rambled on long enough. I must, however, take a moment to say that Rowling's characterization is quite good. The three main characters, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, were all unique and realistic. I give that of Hermione honorable mention, since Rowling manages to portray an intelligent girl who cares about her studies, and yet who can be a good friend and fun companion - no simple task in today's climate.

And so, on a parting note, I give something Dumbledore tells Harry at the end which particularly touched me. This is for you, mom:

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort can't understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign...to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give some protection forever. It is in your very skin."

On Power

I was reading Mark 5:24-34 today for devotions. It's the story of the woman with a flow of blood, who reaches out to touch Jesus and is healed the moment her fingertips brush his robe. As I was reading, I was struck by verse 30 which says, "And Jesus, immediately knowing in Himself that power had gone out of him, turned around in the crowd and said, 'Who touched my clothes?'"

I was just very intrigued that Jesus knew that power had gone out of him, as if power was an actual thing. I looked in my Greek lexicon, and the word used (dunamis) appears to have a very concrete meaning.

So, I must ask the question. Could it be that power is not just some theoretical idea, or some vague thing used to describe a state of being, but is in fact an actual thing, capable of being shared and used properly or improperly? And if so, how do we share this thing called power (or alternately, strength or ability)?

The scope of effects this has is mind-boggling.

Some Poetry for the Day

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare? -

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

~William Henry Davies

Oh, for a draught of Keats

Written on the day that Mr. Leigh Hunt left prison

What though, for showing truth to flatter'd state,

    Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet as he,

    In his immortal spirit, been as free

As the sky-searching lark, and as elate.

Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait?

    Think you he naught but prison walls did see,

    Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key?

Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate!

In Spenser's halls he stray'd, and bowers fair,

    Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew

With daring Milton through the fields of air:

    To regions of his own his genius true

Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair

    When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell

O Solitude, if I must with thee dwell,

    Let it not be among the jumbled heap

    Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep, -

Nature's observatory - whence the dell,

Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,

May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep

    'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap

Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.

But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,

    Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,

    Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,

Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be

    Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,

When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

Confessions of a Diehard Classicist

I can hide the truth no longer - I'm a diehard classicist. I have studied Greek three years and Latin two. I am going to major in Classics at my University. I have one (growing) shelf filled with ancient works. Homer and Hesiod, Plato and Aristotle, Euripides and Aristophanes. Caesar and Cicero; Vergil, Horace, and Ovid. Every time I open a Greek or Latin text my hands begin shaking and my heart literally skips a beat.

But I have still more to confess. My Mac is named Isokrates (Socrates for the common man:-); my iPod is named Euterpe (the muse of Music). My car's name is Eurynome (consort of Zeus, goddess of the Ocean, and mother of the three Graces). My hair stylist's name is Diana.


If loving the ancient languages more than life is a crime, then I confess myself to be the greatest criminal I know.

Words Aptly Spoken

18

(113)

Our share of night to bear -

Our share of morning -

Our blank in bliss to fill

Our blank in scorning -

Here a star, and there a star,

Some lose their way!

Here a mist, and there a mist,

Afterwards - Day!

~Emily Dickinson

To Homer

Standing aloof in giant ignorance,

    Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,

As one who sits ashore and longs perchance

    To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.

So thou wast blind; - but then the veil was rent,

    For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live,

And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,

    And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;

Aye on the shores of darkness there is light,

    And precipices show untrodden green,

There is a budding morrow in midnight,

    There is a triple sight in blindness keen;

Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel

To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.

~John Keats

By Emily Dickinson

11

(67)

Success is counted sweetest

By those who ne'er succeed.

To comprehend a Nectar

Requires Sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition

So clear of Victory

As he defeated - dying -

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph

Burst agonized and clear!

14

(76)

Exultation in the going

Of an inland soul to sea,

Past the houses - past the headlands -

Into deep Eternity -

Bred as we, among the mountains,

Can the sailor understand

The divine intoxication

Of the first league out from land?

Some thoughts from Chapter 3 of Norms & Nobility

It is only just to begin this post with David Hicks's chosen epigraph, so with that I shall begin.

Rigorous teachers seized my youth,

And purged its faith and trimmed its fire,

Showed me the high, white star of Truth,

Then bade me gaze and there aspire.

~Matthew Arnold

Now, to David Hicks.

"To begin with, [the Socratic teacher] possesses two outstanding traits. First, his temper and behavior are governed by ideas: his life maintains that perfect balance between thought and action, theory and practice that makes him seem to his students the very incarnation of his lessons. Second, he has a broad and penetrating curiosity and a delightfully dialectical mind, eager to devise and test a hypothesis, quick to challenge ideas and observations, but slow to accept an aitia (a first or final cause, an incontrovertible ground), even though, like Democritus, he would rather discover a first cause than be king of the Persians."

This idealized teacher, Hicks explains, is the opponent of the Sophists, who accepted the world of experiences and taught his students merely what do to do in order to "get along". He shows that, though the Sophists mocks the Socratic teacher for questioning appearances, only the Socratic teacher can save the appearances, who can save those appearances depth. He then goes on to portray the other idealized classical teacher - the Isocratic teacher. 

This teaching method is less dependent on the "idiosyncratic genius of the individual teacher", and it's goals are more practical and positive, but less philosophical. The Isocratic teacher "uses a great tradition of learning in the arts, letters, and sciences to excite in his students a vision of those enduring values and truths that underlie the world of appearances". And as his focus is different from that of the Socratic teacher, the Isocratic teacher has a different battle with different opponents. This opponent is, as Hicks terms it, "the romantic school of child psychology", the school which believes in the perfect child. They argue that childhood is a time for enjoyment, freedom, and entertainment; they do not "concern themselves with an ideal of how children ought to behave because they have no vision of what their students ought to be as adults".

The Isokratic teacher, on the other hand, recognizes "that children want to be brought up...The healthy child wants to become an adult, just as the mature adult wants to be an adult." Hicks goes on:

"Isokrates' avoidance of this romantic fallacy suggests, paradoxically, that he regarded education with the mind of a child. Of towering importance to the child are not the playful, innocent moments remembered by the adult who nears death, but the hard-won progress he makes as a child toward his image of adulthood. He measures his greatest achievements and most agonizing defeats against this image. When his teacher holds out to him only an image of how 12-year-olds ought to think and act, his hope of growth wavers, and he becomes restive and inattentive...Where Isokrates made demands of the child, the modern teacher seeks to make concessions."

Ask yourself, then, what sort of teacher you wish to be. The Sophist, or the Socrates? The Romantic, or the Isokrates?

Four Lines

That's all it took. In four short lines, Emily Dickinson sums up whole philosophies of life and thought, a feat far beyond my own skills.

Poem 8 (59)

By Chivalries as tiny,
A Blossom, or a Book,
The seeds of smiles are planted -
Which blossom in the dark.

~Emily Dickinson

The Word and Existence

God spoke the word, and out of nothing the object came into being. So in the classroom, the simple word valor and the fact that the teacher utters it with reverential passion might enliven the student's mind and through the imagination shape his character.

~Norms&Nobility, David Hicks

A Sampling of Books Every Teacher Should have their Students Read

1. Norms & Nobility - David Hicks

2. Economics in One Lesson - Henry Hazlitt

3. The Intellectual Life - A. G. Sertillanges

4. Climbing Parnassus - Tracy Lee Simmons

5. John Adams - David McCullough

6. Arguing About Slavery - William Lee Miller

7. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoevsky

8. The Divine Comedy - Dante

9. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

10. Persuasion - Jane Austen

11. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

12. A Tale of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

13. Our Mutual Friend - Charles Dickens

14. A History of the Peloponnesian War - Thucydides

15. King Lear - William Shakespeare

A poem by Dickinson

221

(543)

I fear a Man of frugal Speech -

I fear a Silent Man - 

Haranguer - I can overtake - 

Or Babbler - entertain -

But He who weigheth - While the Rest -

Expend their furthest pound - 

Of this Man - I am wary -

I fear that He is Grand - 

~Emily Dickinson

On Myth

Life is full of moral imperatives that defy our reason and our simplistic systems of punishment and reward and our theoretical models of vale-preferences...But myth assures mankind that certain values transcend reason to give human existence meaning within an unchanging frame of reference, while ensuring unity among the members of the community concerning these values. This unity of values is the hallmark of culture. Without this unity regarding the imponderables, civilized actions become impossible, and man is cast upon the shabby mythology of his own random dream-wrolds and is at the mercy of state and natural religions.

~David Hicks, Norms&Nobility

Watch out world....

This blogger has a driver's license.

From the Prologue of The Four Cardinal Virtues

To define the obligations of man is certainly a legitimate, even estimable, and no doubt necessary undertaking. With a doctrine of commandments or duties, however, there is always the danger of arbitrarily drawing up a list of requirements and losing sight of the human person who "ought" to do this or that. The doctrine of virtue, on the other hand, has things to say about this human person; it speaks both of the kind of being which is his when he enters the world, as a consequence of his createdness, and the kind of being he ought to strive toward and attain to - by being prudent, just, brave, and temperate.

~Josef Pieper, The Four Cardinal Virtues

A poem

Or at least, it is meant to be. I do hope this does not come across as excessively uncouth of me, and that is effect is not depressing. It was written in a moment of great internal suffering, but by the end a light shone on my path.

Contemplation of a Personal Sin

My demon passed me by this day,

A blurry face yet presence real;

He paused to laugh a circle round me,

Then disappeared into my mem’ry.

His power I had thought repressed,

His countenance a shadow’s shadow.

But today his pow’r was strongest yet.

He has no raving tongue, nor mouth

Agape with dripping blots; he stood behind 

As if a friend, or harmless bystander. 

But he commands whene’er he wills, 

And is stronger now then e’er before. 

What frightens most is simply this:

My own face wound in his malicious is.

How could a stranger and myself be one?

Yet he combines myself with evil foe.

I am the dreamer who wakes with fright,

And also the nightmare which frightens so.

I am the robbed and robber too.

I am the house divided which cannot stand - 

My demon and myself, both one and separate.

Dear God, the highest one, beyond myself,

Let me suffer pain, let me die at once

That he may pass away forevermore.

My demon’s face is mocking me,

He dares me try to strike him dead.

I tell him I’ll not do the deed,

I cannot, but my Father can.

A Definition of Poetry (if that's even possible)

"[In poetry] there is always the communication of some new experience, or some fresh understanding of the familiar, or the expression of something we have experienced but have no words for, which enlarges our consciousness or refines our sensibility."

~T.S. Eliot, 'The Social Function of Poetry'

Classic

I just finished watching The Sound of Music with my younger sister. It's really incredible how amazing that film is. I haven't the time at present to express its beauty, but I simply couldn't pass by the opportunity to bring it to people's minds. Let's just say that I have confidence that Do-Re-Mi will always be one of people's favorite things.

Also, a goal: learn how to dance the Laendler really well before I die. It's such a beautiful dance.

Long Time, No Post

So, it's been a long, really long time since I've posted. Between final exams and a big research project, I've really been too busy to post on either of my blogs. But hopefully I'll be able to pick blogging back up this summer.

Anyway, enjoy the sunshine, turn on some beautiful music, read a good book, and thank God for life. It's such a beautiful thing, to be alive.

Supreme Katharsis

Is it right to let us see men dying? Yes. Is it a sacrilege? No. If our spirit be purged of curiosity and purified with awe the sight is hallowed. There is no sacrilege if we are fit for the seeing … I say it is regenerative and resurrective for us to see war stripped bare. Heaven knows that we need the supreme katharsis, the ultimate cleansing. We grow indifferent too quickly … These are dreadful sights but their dreadfulness is as wholesome as Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’. It shakes the kaleidoscope of war into human reality … I say that these pictures are good for us.

~ James Douglas, The Star, 25th September 1916

This quote is so powerful. What Douglas is here dealing with is one of the toughest issues man faces. He wrote this after a viewing of the 1916 film The Battle of the Somme, a battle which occurred the same year. Two cinematographers filmed during the war and made a movie out of it which was then released in the British Isles. It was very popular and its effect was enormous. Not until then had the reality of World War 1 hit the British peoples. This quote captures so much of that film, and so much of the issues which surround similar situations today. Why, some would ask, ought we to watch war films or death onscreen. This would be my reply. Not because it is good, but because we are bad and require a jolt to think outside our own reality.

Quotes for Seniors

I finished Dante's Paradise today, and I have many quotes to put on my blog. But these two quotes seemed to relate to my own position as a senior most, so I shall share them first. The first is what I would say to my mother, my teacher. In the second, I felt God speaking to me as one going into a new part of her life.

You are my sire. You give me confidence to speak. You raise my heart so high that I am more than I. My soul is overflowing with the joy that pours from many streams, and it rejoices that it endures and does not burst inside.

~Dante, Paradise, Canto 16

You shall be forced to leave behind those things you love most dearly, and this is the first arrow the bow of your exile will shoot. And you will know how salty is the taste of others' bread, how hard the road that takes you down and up the stairs of others' homes. But what will weigh you down the most will be the despicable, senseless company whom you shall have to bear in that sad vale; and all ungrateful, all completely mad and vicious, they shall turn on you, but soon their cheeks, not yours, will have to blush from shame. Proof of their bestiality will show through their own deeds! It will be to your honor to have become a party of your own.

~Dante, Paradise, Canto 17

I'm telling you...

All of life is a Pixar film.

Where to Begin

If men on earth were to pay greater heed to the foundation Nature has laid down, and build on that, they would build better men.

~Dante, Paradise, Canto 8

Please Note

On my other blog at http://tofindtruthinart.blogspot.com/ is a post I think the men who read this blog ought to take note of.

Another Dante Quote

Once there [heaven] we shall behold what we hold true through faith, not proven but self-evident: a primal truth, incontrovertible.

~Dante, Paradise, Canto 2

Ah, the Classics and Inflected Languages!

What glorious things you learn from them! They are fountains of water on a dry soul, food to nourish a youthful mind. If you study them and really, truly learn them, your mind will be stretched irrevocably for the better and your grasp of language will never be the same.

Since my Greek class has finished Plato's Apology, our teacher, Dr. Bruce McMenomy, has begun doing grammar review. This class period, he shared with us fascinating information about Greek and Latin cases and how they make sense when viewed in correspondence to the original Indo-European cases from which they arose.

For example, many people who study Latin get confused at the difference between the ablative of agent and the ablative of instrument. The only difference between them, they claim, is that the former uses people and the latter things. But our teacher explained to us that the Latin ablative of agent and the Greek genitive of agent both came from the Indo-European "ablative" case used to convey separation, while the Latin ablative of instrument and the Greek dative of instrument both came from the Indo-European "instrument" case used to convey means. Here is the climax of his point:

"But the point here is that in the agent construction — in both Latin and Greek — the sense feeding into it historically — and probably still there in the conscience of those using the language at the time — is separative. The action implicit is action FROM someone. This is very different from action BY MEANS OF something. Once you really understand that, the ablative of agent in Latin, and the genitive of agent in Greek, both become vastly richer connotatively for you. You understand that there's almost a physical sense of motion underlying every transitive verb. Action comes FROM something and goes TO something."

Wow, I thought. In these differences between cases there is embodied the idea that action comes from someone and goes somewhere. The idea there there is no "just happening" and random acting. That all things come from a specific source, and that they all lead to a definite end.

Grammar has never seemed more important to me.

In Search of Angel's Bread

Here is a gorgeous quote from Dante's Paradise. The title is a phrase, which I also love, from the next canto which I thought fit well.

"Among all things, however disparate, there reigns an order, and this gives the form that makes the universe resemble God," she said; "therein God's higher creatures see the imprint of Eternal Excellence - that goal for which the system is created, and in this order all created things, according to their bent, maintain their place, disposed in proper distance from their Source; therefore, they move, all to a different port, across the vast ocean of being, and each endowed with its own instinct as its guide. This is what carries fire toward the moon, this is the moving force in mortal hearts, this is what binds the earth and makes it one. Not only living creatures void of reason prove the impelling strength of instinct's bow, but also those with intellect and love.... But, it is true that just as form sometimes may not reflect the artist's true intent, the matter being deaf to the appeal, just so, God's creature, even though impelled toward the true goal, having the power to serve, may sometimes go astray along his course; and just as fire can be seen as falling down from a cloud, so too man's primal drive, twisted by false desire, may bring him down."

~Dante, Paradise, Canto 1

Here is my prayer today. Lord, help me keep to the order ordained for me at the beginning of time. Help me move when I should move and stay when I should stay. Guard me from the twistings of false desire. Keep me from going astray and being deaf to the appeals of my own artist: yourself. Lord, keep me searching for angel's bread.

Frank Sinatra - Nice "N" Easy

I love this song so much!

Today

I finished Plato's Apology in Greek today. It was wonderful! I must admit, at times in the middle I felt very muddled and inept. But it was so very worthwhile. There really is nothing like reading something in the actual language in which it was written. You bond with the work in a special way, and it will forever be different for you. It's message will sink deeper, and it's words will be set apart from others in your minds.

Here is the very end of the Apology; it's truly beautiful. Though Socrates claimed he wasn't an orator, he is a master of rhetoric.

ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἤδη ὥρα ἀπιέναι, ἐμοὶ μὲνἀποθανουμένῳ, ὑμῖν δὲ βιωσομένοις: ὁπότεροι δὲ ἡμῶνἔρχονται ἐπὶ ἄμεινον πρᾶγμα, ἄδηλον παντὶ πλὴν ἢ τῷ θεῷ.

It means: "But indeed it is already the hour to leave, for me to die, but for you to live; but which of us two goes to a better way of life is unknown to all except the god."

I pray that I will be able to face my own death with such composure, such magnanimity - the kind which comes from knowing I go to a better place.

It's Called a Cruel Irony

So, I was sitting on our library couch tonight, reading Dante's Purgatory. I felt a rumbling in my tummy, so I went into the kitchen, washed an apple, and cut it. As I bit into my first delightful piece, I looked down at my book again.

I was beginning Canto 23, the ring where gluttons are punished.


Go figure.

A Quote to Remember

Just ask yourself how I could keep my eyes dry when, close by, I saw the image of our human form so twisted.

~ Dante, Inferno

New Blog Policy

I've decided to begin a new policy. You know the "New Year's Resolutions" that everyone forms right around December 31? Mine never seem to materialize. So, here's my new deal. I'm going to put in a new resolution each month. I'll then see how well I do each month and report back to cyberspace in the next month's resolution.

So, for May I'm going to try to use British vocabulary like "petrol" and "lovely" which are much more pleasant and elegant than the American "gas" and "pretty" or "nice".

Let's see how I do!

It's Just So......Overrated

Styles differ, it's true. People are unique, so they cannot be expected to agree on everything. Yet there are some trends which can be counted as pretty far-stretching, pretty universal. These opinions and tastes form a sort of cultural majority, defining what it is the culture will be remembered as liking and disliking.

Let's put it this way: I'm a cultural minority. With many popular fads, I'm really at a loss. I find myself wondering, "Ok, so this has its good sides. But why is everyone making such a big deal out of it?" Here's a far from definitive list of things I think are overrated in our culture.

1. Country Music. (One or two songs are cute, but beyond that...)

2. Volunteer Hours. (They really AREN'T as important for your college application as people make it sound, and they don't "teach you leadership skills")

3. Certain Movies (The Matrix, Braveheart, and The Phantom of the Opera among them). 

4. Finding a clique, though it doesn't always go by that name. I mean that "special group of people" everyone is supposed to need so very badly. Though such groups do form, it's the "finding" of them which I think so overrated.
5. Movie Ratings. (Honestly, do they really tell us much?)
6. Computer skills. (Once again, it's useful to know how to use a computer, but people emphasize it WAY too much.)
7. Prom. (Youths should learn how to dance, but prom is now taken way too seriously.)
8. Driving and cars. (I have a neighbor who is this short of putting a tarp around his car every night to ensure its safety. He washes it almost everyday. What can I do but shake my head?)
9. Youth group. (I like John Stonestreet's term for youth groups. He says, "they're Christian junkies, moving from emotional high to emotional high")
10. Self-esteem. (Just pause and look at that word for a minute. Are the words "pride", "arrogance", and "conceit" ringing a bell?)

Here's a Thought from Dante

ma per trattar del ben ch'i' vi trovai,

diro de l'altre cose ch'i' v'ho scorte.

~Inferno

It means: "But if I would show the good that came of it/I must talk about things other than the good."

Perhaps It's Not What We Think

I was sitting here on our creaking couch, when a thought occurred to me. The biggest academic issue in the homeschool world today is English, and to be more specific, writing. Parents fumble around, desperately trying to teach their students coherent thought and expression.

This is reflected in the many homeschool curricula that try to teach students how to write. Go to any homeschool convention. A great many of the talks will be variations of "Teaching Your Student to Write - Guaranteed!" and "The Subject We All Hate Most - How to Teach Writing". Yet though there are lots and lots of people who claim to understand the art of using words, the facts belie their assertions. The inability to write permeates our society, and homeschooled students are on average no better than public schooled students.

If you glance into these numerous curricula and books, you'll find mostly the same material. They tell how to doctor up your sentences. Add conjunctions here, turn this into a gerund, use more adverbs. They show transition strategies and essay organizations. And though this is all very well and good, I have to say, none of the profuse works on writing seem to be making much of a difference. Even when students do all of the doctoring, expanding, and transitioning that is required in their exercises and essays, their work still seems mediocre and out of place. They seem uncomfortable in the words, phrases, and organization they use.

Now, let me ask a question. What if what makes a good writer is not using these components of good writing but thinking them? Could it be that the good writer is the one who thinks grammatically correct sentences, thinks organized essays and flowing thoughts, not the one who simply fixes his composition? That good writing comes from being comfortable in these (for you Strunk & White fans out there) elements of style?

Let me explain. Anyone can doctor up a piece of work. It's like putting a bandage over a wound, like covering a coffee stain on the floor with a desk. But the result is never as satisfactory as if the wound had never been received, as if the coffee had never been spilled. I am here suggesting that it is the writer who thinks stylistically, grammatically and fluently whose work is truly good. It's the difference between who you are and what you wear. What you wear may fit you or not, but it is not your actual self.

Not that this cannot be learned; on the contrary, it must be. No one is born feeling comfortable in great style. It is merely that you must learn to think great style, not just copy it. I believe that it is not enough just to "fix" your writing. Though all writing will always need to be reworked, you must begin to think in terms of the tools you use.

Perhaps, then, all the curricula and guide books are wrong. Maybe we ought not to teach students how to use tools, but how to be them. Quality should not be a mask we put on, something we use to hide who we really are. It ought to become a very part of our being, the very essence of our souls.

Don't be content with cover-up. Have your students become the style that at first they only emulate.

There's Nothing Like a Sassy Greek

This selection is from the Apology of Plato. Socrates has been condemned and he must now, as was Athenian custom at the time, suggest a counter penalty to that suggested by his accuser, death. Socrates says:

εἰ οὖν δεῖ με κατὰ τὸ δίκαιον τῆς ἀξίας τιμᾶσθαι, τούτου τιμῶμαι, ἐν πρυτανείῳ σιτήσεως.

It means, "Therefore if I must propose a penalty according to the justice of my deserts, I propose the penalty of eating at the city hall. "

Essentially, "Going on what I deserve, I suggest you put me on welfare."

Talk about cheeky, huh? :-)

Another Story

But here begins a new account, the account of a man's gradual renewal, the account of his gradual regeneration, his gradual transition from one world to another, his acquaintance with a new, hitherto completely unknown reality. It might make the subject of a new story - but our present story is ended.

~Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

Dostoevsky is brilliant. It's as simple as that.

You've Gotta Love Dean Martin

Good Mornin', Life!

I have always been a girl who shunned things associated with girls. I vehemently avoid anything that scents of perfume, that hints of fashion, that whispers of a perm. Guns and swords, not barbies and mommy's high heels, are the toys of my childhood memories. And though I accept in theory feminine things which are good, I still have a natural aversion to them in practice. With that said, I have a confession to make.

I love this stuff called hairspray.

Who could imagine that a few small sprays of something could raise lifeless hair from the dead? My hair, with the body of spaghetti drenched in olive oil, sighed with relief as these giant's hands upheld it throughout a long day yesterday. With hairspray providing momentum, my hair boldly vanquished the forces of grease, which are the normal victors after a two hour span.

Sweet hairspray, how glorious 'twas to awake with hair still shapely and formed! Be forever present in my life, pungent giver of hope to the despairing!