To reason or not to reason

"In the warmth of the afternoon they went on again, and it came into John's mind to ask the lady the meaning of her second riddle.
'It has two meanings,' said she, 'and in the first the bridge signifies Reasoning. The Spirit of the Age wishes to allow argument and not to allow argument.'
'How is that?'
'You heard what they said. If anyone argues with them they say that he is rationalizing his own desires, and therefore need not be answered. But if anyone listens to them they will argue themselves to show that their own doctrines are true.'
'I see. And what is the cure for this?'
'You must ask them whether any reasoning is valid or not. If they say no, then their own doctrines, being reached by reasoning, fall to the ground. If they say yes, then they will have to examine your arguments and refute them on their merits: for if some reasoning is valid, for all they know, your bit of reasoning may be one of the valid bits.'"
C. S. Lewis, The Pilgrim's Regress, Book 4, Chapter IV

What is the colour of things in the dark?

"'You said that there were two things to say,' said John, 'What was the second?'
'The second was this. Did you think that the things you saw in the dungeon were real: that we really are like that?'
'Of course I did. It is only our skin that hides them.'
'Then I must ask you the same question that I asked the giant. What is the colour of things in the dark?'
'I suppose no color at all.'
'And what of their shape? Have you any notion of it save as what could be seen or touched, or what you could collect from many seeing and touchings?'
'I don't know that I have.'
'Then do you not see how the giant has deceived you?'
'Not quite clearly.'
'He showed you by a trick what our inwards would look like if they were visible. That is, he showed you something that is not, but something that would be if the world were made all other than it is. But in the real world our inwards are invisible. They are not coloured shapes at all, they are feelings. The warmth in your limbs at this moment, the sweetness of your breath as you draw it in, the comfort in your belly because we breakfasted well, and your hunger for the next meal- these are the reality: all the sponges and tubes you saw in the dungeon are the lie.'
'But if I cut a man open I should see them in him.'
'A man cut open is, so far, not a man: and if you did not sew him up speedily you would be seeing not organs, but death. I am not denying that death is ugly: but the giant made you believe that life is ugly.'
'I cannot forget the man with the cancer.'
'What you saw was unreality. The ugly lump was the giant's trick: the reality was pain which has no colour or shape.'
'Is that much better?'
'That depends on the man.'
'I think I begin to see.'
'Is it surprising that things should look strange if you see them as they are not? If you take an organ out of a man's body- or a longing out of the dark part of a man's mind- and give to the one shape and colour, and to the other the self-consciousness, which they never have in reality, would you expect them to be other than monstrous?'
'Is there, then, no truth at all in what I saw under the giant's eyes?'
'Such pictures are useful to physicians.'
'Then I really am clean,' said John. 'I am not- like those.'
Reason smiled, 'There, too,' she said, 'there is truth mixed up with the giant's conjuring tricks. It will do you know harm to remember from time to time the ugly sights inside. You come of a race that cannot afford to be proud.'" C.S. Lewis, The Pilgrim's Regress, Book 4, Chapter III

Scheduled Posts

From henceforward I shall make scheduled posts whenever I feel like it. This way I can save up material instead of dumping it all at once. So I tell blogger when I want it to post a post and it does so.
No, I did not get up at 4:30 to make this post.

Brief Update

On Resident Aliens, I read chapter 2 and it is becoming evident that it's a liberal book, but I still think there are quite a few pearls of wisdom in there. It is somewhat a matter of presuppositions, though; it's the sort of thing where you'll tend to read in your own views when the author is using words quite differently.

My little sister meanwhile is a budding classics scholar, she said something like this the other day, "Aeneas is the slave of duty, just like Frederick from Pirates of Penzance."

Worth noting

``Sir Jasper Finch-Farrowmere?'' said Wilfred.
``ffinch-ffarrowmere,'' corrected the visitor, his sensitive ear detecting the capitals." P.G Wodehouse, A Slice of Life

If you don't know the mistakes of the present you're doomed to...?

The most appalling thing about reading history or at least about reading a good history is that you discover that people don't think the same way now that they used to, and back then they didn't think the same way as their ancestors. It makes you somewhat suspect that perhaps Reason isn't Supreme after all. I mean, the ancients had reason, the medievals had reason, and the enlightenment philosophers had reason, but reason never brought them to the same point.
The frightening thing is that we can't see the past the way those living in it saw it, and we never will. It makes you wonder if you're just a product of your age just as they were products of theirs. Then you say "Nah" and go back to watching the presidential debate.
Postmoderns would say that there's no way out. You're trapped. You can't think differently if you try, and you're not to be blamed, unless you are a white, male, capitalist oppressor. That is your fault.
But if you really know your history, it will do something for you. You may be able to see more than just the mistakes of the past. You may see the mistakes of the present.
Oh, and back to my other point about Reason. A modern examining the past ought to despair because he has been led to believe that it is pure Reason that makes him think what he thinks. He may, if he is honest, discover that it isn't.

Real Christianity

I've been reading bits and pieces of a book we have floating around our house called Resident Aliens, which claims in it's subtitle to be "A provocative Christian assessment of culture and ministry for people who know that something is wrong," and it may well be just that. I've only made it through the first chapter and so far it's been insightful. I know nothing about it's authors, had never heard about it before, but it's first chapter is certainly enough to keep me reading. I'll probably post more about it; it's quite quotable.

Who cares, modern theologians asked, whether or not Jesus walked on water, or Moses split the Red Sea, or Christ bodily rose from the dead? The important matter is not these prescientific thought forms but the existential reality beneath them. Everything must be translated into existentialism in order to be believed. Today, when existentialism has fallen out of fashion, the modern theologian is more likely to translate everything into Whiteheadian process theology, the latest psychoanalytic account, or Marxist analysis to make it believable.

"We have come to see that this project, though well intentioned is misguided. The theology of translation assumes that there is some kernel of real Christianity, some abstract essence that can be preserved even while changing some of the old Near Eastern labels. Yet such a view distorts the nature of Christianity. In Jesus we meet not a presentation of basic ideas about God, worlds, and humanity, but an invitation to join up, to become part of a movement, a people. By the very act of our modern theological attempts at translation, we have unconsciously distorted the gospel and transformed it into something it never claimed to be- ideas abstracted from Jesus, rather than Jesus with his people." Resident Aliens, Stanley Hauerwas and William H. Willimon

Objective Observer, my foot!

I'm reading Winston Churchill's History of the English Speaking Peoples and finding that, regardless of anything, I'm loyal to jolly old England (at least so far-I suppose that'll change when the US comes on the scene.) Anyway, I can't help but wonder at how different the world would look to me if I were raised in France, or Italy, or Russia, or anywhere but here.

I suppose it's the same thing that goes on during the Olympics. I still want the US to win. I don't think I could help it if I tried. I can despise our government, hate our stupidity, look down on most of our citizens, but I couldn't really hate the whole thing if I tried. And if I was in a foreign country for an extended period of time, I don't suppose much would make happier than meeting another American. Funny how that works.

There was certainly a bit of arrogance in the Renaissance that was so quick to dub the years preceding it the "Middle Ages" as if everything was leading up to the time directly following them and there's a similar arrogance in so-called postmodernism. How do we know that this is where things are going? In any case I would be surprised if future generations think the line between modern and postmodern is a bit blurry or perhaps non-existent, since today all the years through the 17th century are often cavalierly lumped together into the Middle Ages.

A Song - Thomas Carew

This is a convenient place for dumping poems I like so I don't forget them.

A Song

ASK me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose ;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day ;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past ;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars 'light,
That downwards fall in dead of night ;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The phoenix builds her spicy nest ;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

"'How wonderful,' says the poet, 'is Death, Death and his brother Sleep!' And having asked whether Ianthe will wake again and being assured that she will, he proceeds to weave many beautiful thoughts about Ianthe's sleep. From this we may fairly deduce that he (like Henry who kneeled in silence by her couch) felt tenderly toward Ianthe. For another person's sleep is the acid test to our own sentiments. Unless we are savages we react kindly to death, whether of friend or enemy. It does not exasperate us; it does not tempt us to throw things at it; we do not find it funny. Death is the ultimate weakness, and we dare not insult it. But sleep is only the illusion of weakness and, unless it appeals to our protective instincts, is likely to arouse in us a nasty, bullying spirit. From a height of conscious superiority we look down on the sleeper, thus exposing himself in all his frailty, and indulge in derisive comment on his appearance, his manners and (if the occasion is a public one) the absurdity of the position in which he has placed his companion, if he has one, and particularly if we are that companion." -Dorothy Sayers, Gaudy Night

Anglicans have more fun

It is often a lot of fun to read a book by an Anglican/Episcopalian author (Dorothy Sayers' books, or even Jan Karon's Mitford series) because liturgy ends up in the mouths of the characters. Occasionally I even recognize it because we sometimes use the same prayers in our church, although I'm sure an actual Anglican would catch more references. Anyway it gives one the feeling of a sort of "in-joke" as well as making one see that, since they have scripture and prayer always on the tip of their tongue (no matter how interesting the application must be) that liturgy cannot be all bad.

A quote from (the fictional) Lord Peter Wimsey: "I have the most ill-regulated memory. It does those things which it ought not to do and leaves undone that which it ought to have done. But it has not yet gone on strike altogether."

The italicized portion is adapted from a prayer of confession. Typing it out, after the last 'done,' I nearly typed 'And there is no health in us.' which is what comes next.

For pondering

I'm currently reading the book Original Sin by P. D. James. It's a mystery novel and a good one at that. James is brilliant really. She brings out human misery so naturally; I'd have to say she's got a very good grasp of the human condition really. Anyway, a paragraph about belief that caught my eye, this from the perspective of a Jewish police officer.

"His mother, of course, would never bring herself to say, 'I don't care whether you believe or disbelieve, I want you to be here with us on the Sabbath. I want you to be seen in the synagogue with your father and brother.' And it wasn't intellectual dishonesty, although he tried to tell himself that it was. You could argue that few adherents of any religion believed all the dogma of their faith except the fundamentalists and, God knew, they were a bloody sight more dangerous than any non-believer. God knew. How natural it was an how universal to slip into the language of faith. And perhaps his mother was right, although she would never bring herself to speak the truth. The outward forms were important. To practice religion wasn't only a matter of intellectual assent. To be seen in synagogue was to proclaim: This is where I stand, these are my people, these are the values by which I try to live, this is what generations of my forebears have made me, this is what I am. He remembered his grandfather's words, spoken to him after his bar mitzvah: 'What is a Jew without his belief? What Hitler could not do to us shall we do to ourselves?' The old resentments welled up. A Jew wasn't even allowed his atheism. Burdened with guilt from childhood, he couldn't reject his faith without feeling the need to apologize to the God he no longer believed in. It was always there at the back of his mind, silent witness of his apostasy, that moving army of naked humanity, the young, the middle-aged, the elderly, flowing like a dark tide into the gas chambers."

One Good Reason to Sing the Psalms

The warnings of Psalm 78 still apply today, but we don't know the warnings of Psalm 78 because we don't know the Psalms. Hmm.

Surprised by Joy

"In reading Chesterton, as in reading MacDonald, I did not know what I was letting myself i for. A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading. There are traps everywhere-- 'Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,' as Herbert says, 'fine nets and stratagems.' God is, if I may say it, very unscrupulous."

I just finished reading Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis's telling of his early life. It's very interesting (and closely related to his book The Pilgrim's Regress). It isn't child friendly actually, because Lewis's life was not G rated. But it's full of insights and quotable quotes like the above. It's definitely worthwhile in helping to understand how the great man thought.

It's NOT (too) girly!

Why should men be interested in dancing? Isn't that a girl thing?

Contra dance gives men a chance to practice leadership skills, which is hard, and it gives girls a chance to practice following, which is possibly even harder. It may not be obvious to a beginning dancer what the differences in the men and woman's parts are and what their effect may be, but have seen a big change in both my ability to take charge and my ability to listen to other people since I started teaching dance. Some of this may be attributed to growing older and maturing, but something has to make us mature and I'll say that dancing has helped me.

I also advocate everyone try dancing both parts, although I guess that'd be awkward for guys.

When you say you love me, do you mean it?

Having been deeply caught up in the work of trying to practice what I preach and put my principles in action, I have been away some time from my accustomed thinking ground: this here blog.

I have been thinking some about love. "Love your neighbor as yourself" and all that. I've come to the same conclusion as I have countless times before, that love isn't a feeling; it's something you do. If you love someone, you take care of them and serve them. Or, rather, not "if;" that can be misconstrued. Instead, when you take care of them and serve them, then you are loving them. This eventually brings up the warm feeling that you expect. When I help my mother with the housework that's when that "warm feeling" towards her is strongest. This is not, I think, merely because I have placed myself in her shoes and understand, but because I have loved her so I feel towards her those feelings which suit love the best.

Marriage and dancing

Well, one of my favorite books is Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey if only for the wit of her hero, one Henry Tilney by name. This is taken from said book, Chapter 10.


[The obnoxious John Thorpe has been obtruding himself on Catherine Morland as she is starting to dance with the much more enticing Henry Tilney:]...This was the last sentence by which he [Thorpe] could weary Catherine's attention, for he was just then borne off by the resistless pressure of a long string of passing ladies.
Her partner [Henry Tilney] now drew near, and said,
"That gentleman would have put me out of patience, had he stayed with you half a minute longer. He has no business to withdraw the attention of my partner from me. We have entered into a contract of mutual agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness belongs solely to each other for that time. Nobody can fasten themselves on the notice of one, without injuring the rights of the other. I consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both; and those men who do not choose to dance or marry themselves, have no business with the partners or wives of their neighbours."
[Catherine Morland:]
"But they are such very different things! --"
[Henry Tilney:]
"-- That you think they cannot be compared together."
[Catherine Morland:]
"To be sure not. People that marry can never part, but must go and keep house together. People that dance only stand opposite each other in a long room for half an hour."
[Henry Tilney:]
"And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing. Taken in that light certainly, their resemblance is not striking; but I think I could place them in such a view. -- You will allow, that in both, man has the advantage of choice, woman only the power of refusal; that in both, it is an engagement between man and woman, formed for the advantage of each; and that when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each other till the moment of its dissolution; that it is their duty, each to endeavour to give the other no cause for wishing that he or she had bestowed themselves elsewhere, and their best interest to keep their own imaginations from wandering towards the perfections of their neighbours, or fancying that they should have been better off with anyone else. You will allow all this?"
[Catherine Morland:]
"Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all this sounds very well; but still they are so very different. -- I cannot look upon them at all in the same light, nor think the same duties belong to them."
[Henry Tilney:]
"In one respect, there certainly is a difference. In marriage, the man is supposed to provide for the support of the woman, the woman to make the home agreeable to the man; he is to purvey, and she is to smile. But in dancing, their duties are exactly changed; the agreeableness, the compliance are expected from him, while she furnishes the fan and the lavender water. That, I suppose, was the difference of duties which struck you, as rendering the conditions incapable of comparison."
[Catherine Morland:]
"No, indeed, I never thought of that."
[Henry Tilney:]
"Then I am quite at a loss. One thing, however, I must observe. This disposition on your side is rather alarming. You totally disallow any similarity in the obligations; and may I not thence infer that your notions of the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as your partner might wish? Have I not reason to fear that if the gentleman who spoke to you just now were to return, or if any other gentleman were to address you, there would be nothing to restrain you from conversing with him as long as you chose?"
[Catherine Morland:]
"Mr. Thorpe is such a very particular friend of my brother's, that if he talks to me, I must talk to him again; but there are hardly three young men in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with."
[Henry Tilney:]
"And is that to be my only security? alas, alas!"
[Catherine Morland:]
"Nay, I am sure you cannot have a better; for if I do not know any body, it is impossible for me to talk to them; and, besides, I do not want to talk to any body."
[Henry Tilney:]
"Now you have given me a security worth having; and I shall proceed with courage."

Racism in Disguise

I just finished reading The Last of the Mohicans. The author's treatment of Indians is terribly confusing. Uncas and Chingachgook (pronounce 'Chicago' I think, to quote Mark Twain) behave in ways that ought to be totally unacceptable, killing and scalping people unecessarily, etc. but Hawkeye (and seemingly the author) seems to think that they worship the same God as 'the white man' does and that they must be going to heaven...but it must be a different heaven because they don't like 'the white man's' ideas about heaven or something. Apparently the same standards cannot be held for white men and red men.

Apparently, salvation is not by Christ alone, 'red men' can come to God another way. Or is it that they, unlike us cannot understand the way? It is implied from time to time that it is beyond their understanding...and that they cannot live any way but the way they had been living. They cannot abandon their sinful ways (true of everyone outside of Grace) . Are Indians incapable of receiving Grace? They can't come to God? They can't stop acting like animals...but white men can? Lower standards must be had for them because they can't do as much as white men? Have they no souls? (Hmm. Maybe Cooper's red men are totally depraved and his white men resemble more of the Arminian idea of man! That makes for weird theology.)

James Fenimore Cooper didn't know it, but he didn't think much of the Indians. Then again, most people don't like logical conclusions and only go halfway with their beliefs so maybe I'm being unfair. Seems to me that his Indians are pathetic creatures. I'll let you in on a little secret: James Fenimore Cooper had a very small understanding on human nature and I don't think much of his writing. Yeah, I read too deeply into it. The Last of the Mohicans was fun but it isn't great literature.

We want YOUR opinion!

If you happen to be reading this and even mildly enjoy contra dance, etc., pop on over to the Galloping Schlock and give us your opinion...if you can even be made to care, dear reader. I thank you.