A Moment of Clarity

At a cross roads the struggle is to cut through the expectations, the prestige, the trappings and decide what we actually want-especially if there are no bad options. We must specialize. No longer is there room for the Renaissance man, jack of all trades—shaping society, enmeshed in the questions of the age, the universal critic and philosopher holding a mirror up to the world. You check a box signing up for a career track, a 9 to 5— a life. Only a few get to break out of the box and the world looks at them askew, labeling—rebel, dropout, nonconformist—worrying that they will be disruptive, or worse, that their actions pass judgment on the masses.

Both choices are outside the mainstream. A Scholar, studying dead languages and ancient texts, so remote that in many cases the original has passed out of existence or an artist dreaming, drawing and creating, working to make a vision for the world—people laugh and shake their heads, “if only they were serious and did useful work. Which of these can be useful? Can shake society and let them know this is not a waste? Which can help me grow and stretch and fly? Both have their norms and rules and own little boxes. Where can I break out? Is it possible to be just me?

Either way, how does it help? How does one change the world? Are there merely two parallel paths, both of which have merit or is there a way? One burning path? Some people spark and blaze, with every word echoing through history? Can you choose that path? Is it something thrust upon you? Other ripple, the effects of small deeds subtly spread without our notice.

Which road is mine?

Cause You gotta be bigger, and be faster, and be stronger
if your gonna survive any longer
in this lifetime it better be the right time the first time
might be your last time
am I a failure if I got nothing to lose
No, I'm not a failure, I've got something to prove

Cause I've lost my innocence and I'm a stranger, A life changer
I'm a man thats not afraid of danger
I walk my own path, and blaze my own trail
because I'm not afraid to derail
I won't get in line or be a middle man
so fuck you I'll make my own plan
and I got respect and I dont neglect
the people that i really care to protect
am I a failure if I got nothing to lose
No, I'm not a failure, I've got something to prove

Music in a word

Music is the vernacular of the human soul.--Geoffry Latham

I will go

Globalization. What is it doing to our world? Is it flattening it, as Thomas Friedman has phrased it? Are all peoples unique and sometimes, frankly ridiculous strands of tread being spun together, to form a color with no meaning, no passion, no life?

There are two main components of culture: language and religion. Together these entities are able to create something magnificently unique within us. They are the two fundamental things which we are taught when we are small. And hopefully, they are something that we will cherish for the eternity of our lives. However, both language and religion are being marred by globalization.

As Robin Hood has pointed out, English has become the world's lingua franca. As such, languages everywhere are dying out. Ethnologue considers 516 languages as nearly extinct. The few older speakers of these languages, who are still living, are not passing on their language to their children. Every time a language crosses the threshold and becomes extinct, we, as people, lose something. I know not what can be done. However, I am puzzled to think of what might happen if we ourselves attempted to preserve a language. A language is considered to be dead when there are no people who speak it as their first language. Therefore, if one was to raise their children speaking a dead language only then, in reality there would be a native speaker, and, as such, the language would no longer be dead. I know that this method of revival would not work for the majority of languages, as it requires, among other things, that the language be written down. I also know that the practicality of doing this is highly debatable. But then again, since when has practicality been a concern of mine.

Religion has also been changed in the face of globalization. It would appear to me that many people are increasingly not believing the beliefs which they proclaim to believe. People are more concerned with the "freedom of religion" than the actual religion which they are a part of. What happened to the time when religion was something to die for?

"MacIan turned upon him with a white face and bitter lip. 'Sir,' he said, 'talk about the principle of love as much as you like. You seem to me colder than a lump of stone; but I am willing to believe that you may at some time have loved a cat, or a dog, or a child. When you were a baby I suppose you loved your mother. Talk about love, then, till the world is sick of the word. But don't you talk about Christianity. Don't you dare say one word, white or black, about it. Christianity is, as far as you are concerned, a horrible mystery. Keep clear of it, keep silent upon it, as you would upon an abomination. It is a thing that has made men slay and torture each other; and you will never know why. It is a thing that has made men do evil so that good may come; and you will never understand the evil, let alone the good. Christianity is a thing that could only make you vomit, till you are other than you are. I would not justify it to you even if I could. Hate it, in God's name, as Turnbull does, who is a man. It is a monstrous thing, for which men die. And if you stand here and talk about love for another ten minutes it is very possible that you will see a man die for it."

I am not advocating that people should kill for religion, (neither was Chesterton) merely that people be willing to die for it. Nor am I claiming that people no longer have faith, that people arenot willing to be martyred. I am, however, advocating that people actually believe.

Gift-nature of art

I have an on going (at this point about 5 year long) discussion about what art is with a friend. My current working definition is that art, at least good art (I know that phrase brings up an entirely new discussion, but for my purposes here I mean art that had the ability to speak to and touch some people beyond their own time), must do three things; it must draw on or respond to art that came before it, it must address or speak to issues of its own time, and it must contain something from the artist, a spark of their own creativity.

This last component however, implies that art is something more, that it transcends mere technical skill. As Tolkien puts it in "A Leaf by Niggle" it is a gift. The nature of the gift however is complex. It is a gift from Niggle to others; in a utilitarian sense his neighbor Parish uses the canvas to patch his roof. However, his painting also touches some people, changes them and how they see the world, and so is a gift to them as well. Yet the picture is a gift to Niggle as well. While he could not fully capture it, what he was painting was a vision of somewhere that touched him, a perfect place that to which he had never been. This place does eventually becomes real and provided healing for Niggle and his neighbor. Discussing the painting Parish says, "But it did not look like this then, not real." "No, it was only a glimpse then," said the man; "but you might have caught the glimpse, if you had ever thought it worth while to try." As a glimpse of somewhere else, of something else that surpasses the human experience, the picture was a gift to Niggle, changing him and how he viewed the world.

In Tolkien's work this sense of gift is not confined to art--the world itself is a gift and the people in it bound by gift giving,/gift receiving relationships. One of the most explicit is Galadriel's parting gifts to the fellowship. Everything she gives to the fellowship was made by her and her household and is something particular to her, things the fellowship could not have found elsewhere. The cloaks were made by her and her weavers, the light caught from her mirror, strands of her own hair--all of these are gifts which contain a bit of herself. Moreover, they were all given freely, they do not put the recipient into debt nor does she ever expect repayment, and by their nature they serve to help and at times free their owner.

So art in some way is meant to serve others and not advantage the artist, for it was a gift to him as well. I am not totally sure where to go with this thought, or exactly how it fits into my overall definition of art. That is part of what makes art so powerful-can can touch and effect us so strongly, yet it is difficult to articulate where this power comes from. As alluded to before, it mirrors the order of the world, which in creation contains something of its Maker and was intended as a free gift to humanity.

Ireland

“For the great Gaels of Ireland /Are the men that God made mad, / For all their wars are merry / And all their songs are sad.” --G. K. Chesterton

The domination of the lingua franca

The is something in a country's language that resonates with the character and ethos of its people. There is something in the sound, the cadence how many synonyms a language has for a word that is indicative of how that people see the world. As Henry Hitchings says in The Secret Life of Words: How English became English:

Every language has a character. Our relationship with our own language can be complacent, but when we speak a foreign tongue we sense more keenly the "characterfulness" of that language, the peculiar way it channels history and culture, its special version of the world, its distinctive textures and codes. Different languages seem suited to different areas of experience. Tradition has it that Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, preferred to speak French to diplomats, Italian to ladies, German to stable boys, and Spanish to God. English he seems to have used sparingly--to talk to geese. Nicholas Ostler, in his Macro-history Empires of the World, sketches 'some of the distinctive traits of the various traditions: Arabic's austere grandeur and egalitarianism; Chinese and Egyptian's unshakable self regard; Sanskrit's luxuriating classifications and hierarchies; Greek's self-confident innovation leading to self-obsession and pedantry; Latin's civic sense; Spanish rigidity, cupidity, and fidelity; French admiration for rationality; and English admiration for business acumen.' This type of generalization is attractive, albeit limiting, and hints at a deeper truth: that our languages hint at the nature of our world, and the history of their development is a history of consciousness.

The Economist published a study this past week about endangered languages. According to their study 34.5% are in some degree of danger of extinction while another 3.7% having gone extinct since 1950. At this point, with the process of globalization so entrenched in modern society and the majority of the Internet and media outlets in English, I am not sure what can be done. Yet the world will be a poorer place without the haunting vowels of Welsh or the sharp consonants of Yiddish and history, character, idiosyncrasies, and peoples the invoke.

A Cider Song

Saint Patrick's Day has become for so many people an excuse to get very drunk, often starting at 10 in the morning. While this looses something of the meaning of the feast (or all of it), here is a different view on drinking from the brilliant Chesterton.

The wine they drink in Paradise
They make in Haute Lorraine;
God brought it burning from the sod
To be a sign and signal rod
That they that drink the blood of God
Shall never thirst again.

The wine they praise in Paradise
They make in Ponterey,
The purple wine of Paradise,
But we have better at the price;
It's wine they praise in Paradise,
It's cider that they pray.

The wine they want in Paradise
They find in Plodder's End,
The apple wine of Herford,
Of Hafod Hill and Herford,
Where woods went down to Herford,
And there I had a friend.

The soft feet of the blessed go
In the soft western vales,
The road of the silent saints accord,
The road from heaven to Herford,
Where the apple wood of Herford
Goes all the way to Wales.

The sound of madness

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars" - Jack Kerouac

Hero Complex

***Do not read this if you have not read or watched Watchmen and are planning on doing so. It contains spoilers.***

Facing down ones doom and performing the job that is in front of you even in the face of inevitable death--as Aloysha pointed out this is truly heroic. Yet, I found the fact that he used Hector in his comparison very interesting. While Hector does die heroic in battle he is from a world where that is not necessarily the norm for heroes. It is so full of gods and demi-gods that death is not necessarily a certainty. Even Hector's adversary, while not invincible, did not have the same vulnerability as a normal man. These heroes though are usually tragically flawed--Ajax tried to slay his comrades, the Greek leaders, and then eventually kills himself, Hercules in a fit of rage and madness killed his wife and sons. This madness is always tied to their superhuman strength or power--the thing that makes them a hero.

It is when heroes are removed from people, when they no longer see themselves as being on the same plane as the rest of humanity that the dark side of heroes emerges. Sometimes, like Ajax and Hercules, in their rage or madness the hero sinks to the level of a villain. However, often times the supposed hero will elevate themselves in their minds to the level of a god. They stop seeing humanity as people, a individuals with their own hopes and fears and desires, and the ingenuity to shape their own destinies. Instead they view humanity as a puzzle, something to fix.

This belief is often pervasive among people in power. As Mal notes in Serenity "Maybe on another world, maybe on this very ground swept clean. A year from now, ten? They'll swing back to the belief that they can make people... better." It seems so simple that "saving" people, the roles of a hero, should mean making all of their problems go away.

When seeing Watchmen this past weekend that was one of the most striking parts. Ozymandias (Adrian Veidt) believes that he and he alone can prevent nuclear Holocaust and that this is his mission. He views this not as pride and arrogance but as a type of martyrdom saying he made himself suffer with every death he caused, to feel their pain. He is above the ranks of men, being "the smartest man alive" and styles himself as a modern Alexander the Great. It is from this belief that he feels justified making the decision to kill millions of people in order to trick them, thus staving off the possibility that billions don't die. The comic does a good job of showing where this logic leads and just how twisted it can be. The movie, however, fails to pass judgement on Adrian. Dr. Manhattan ends up agreeing with his logic while Dan and Laurie never come down strongly on either side, believing instead that the issue is to big for them and so the decision should be left up to someone like Adrian--a hero. Without the "Tales of the Black Freighter" it is only Rorschach who condemns Adrian's actions, and by that time his moral compass has been called into serious question. I think that is was a problem with adapting the comic for a movie and having to cut parts, but it made me really wonder if people viewed it as ok for a "hero" to play god? Or was that assumed in the definition of a hero that the producer/director/writer didn't notice that they were cutting this important discussion out?

The more I see heroes portrayed as bordering on gods, as beings with the power if not the right to decide the futures of those around them, the more amazing the Incarnation seems. Instead of being sent a savior akin to a hero in tights and a cape who would sweep in make a better world, humans were sent someone who was fully human. Instead of being forced or tricked into salvation, or suffering from a hero's madness, or being tempted to the level of heroes our self, fulfilling man's ancient desire to "be like gods," we were met by someone fully human, someone who wept and got tired, and offered us a choice. As JP II said in Redemptor Hominis "Human nature, by the very fact that it was assumed, not absorbed, in him, has been raised in us also to a dignity beyond compare. For by his Incarnation, he, the son of God, in a certain way united himself with each man."

One Blaze of Glory

Some sneer, some snigger, some simper; in the youth where we laughed, and sang. And they may end with a whimper But we will end with a bang. -G.K. Chesterton

Your glory walks hand-in-hand with your doom!

I was playing with the little one the other day and in our game there were two characters which stood above the rest. One was based on the character of Hector, the other of Wolverine. In this game I decided that the character based on Wolverine would be able to heal as Wolverine could. However, what struck me as interesting was that, as our game progressed, it became clear to me that the Wolverine character could not match the valor of the Hector character. I found this to be very thought provoking as I would not normally compare spirits of such might. Yet as I pondered this phenomena I realized that it was due to the fact that Wolverine could not die. When the two both committed deeds worthy of a legend, Hector's was the greater because in it, he died. He gave his life for what he believed. And while Hector failed in what he was attempting and Wolverine succeeded, Hectors deed was so much more beautiful, so much more inspiring. Death, as Tolkien so truly stated, is one of the greatest gifts to man. Oh, how wonderful it can be! How is it that death makes everything more meaningful? Or perhaps it doesn't. Perhaps it only shows us what something is truly worth. It is only in the prospect of death or in the act of dying that true valor, true courage, true life can be reached. There are things within this world which I want to die for! Yet I know that before I can die for them I must live for them.

Self Help vs Self Knowlege

Among all of the confusing messages thrown at people by modern culture is that we won't be happy until we accept our selves just the way we are (along with the messages that we need nose jobs and jeans that cost $500). From comercials to motivational speakers and self-help books, it seems as though everyone is ecouraging people to celebrate their selves just the way they are. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Everyone is unique and and deserves to be celebrated and appreciated, by others as well as their selves.

This celebration of self, however, seems to lack seems to lack any introspection or restraints placed upon them. In fact, we have moved from Socrates dictum, "Know thy self" to one recommending blind acceptance. People relish in being loud, brash and presumptuous; traits they do not see as flaws to be worked on but things to be celebrated. Terms like "bitch" have even become badges that some people wear proudly.

This trend is thrown into even greater contrast at the start of Lent. We are encouraged to look within ourselves and make changes in our lives, adding, omitting, or amending habits in order to make us better people, better Christians. No longer is the goal just blind self acceptance of self, it is a realistic self appraisal. This does achieve Socrates' maxim, for the only way to truly know yourself is to see your faults and to work to change them. That is worth celebrating.

Turning

"Of what does a revolt consist? Of everything and nothing, a spring slowly released, a fire suddenly breaking out, force operating at random, a passing breeze. The breeze stirs the heads that think and minds that dream, spirits that suffer, passions that smolder, wrongs crying out to be righted, and carries them away." Victor Hugo