Tuesday, November 27, 2007

And speaking of C.S. Lewis and postmodernism...

Here's the classic "Men Without Chests" excerpt from Lewis' Abolition of Man:

"We were told it all long ago by Plato. As the king governs by his executive, so Reason in man must rule the mere appetites by means of the 'spirited element'. The head rules the belly through the chest—the seat, as Alanus tells us, of Magnanimity, of emotions organized by trained habit into stable sentiments. The Chest-Magnanimity-Sentiment—these are the indis­pensable liaison officers between cerebral man and visceral man. It may even be said that it is by this mid­dle element that man is man: for by his intellect he is mere spirit and by his appetite mere animal.The operation of The Green Book and its kind is to produce what may be called Men without Chests. It is an outrage that they should be commonly spo­ken of as Intellectuals. This gives them the chance to say that he who attacks them attacks Intelligence. It is not so. They are not distinguished from other men by any unusual skill in finding truth nor any virginal ardour to pursue her. Indeed it would be strange if they were: a persevering devotion to truth, a nice sense of intellectual honour, cannot be long main­tained without the aid of a sentiment which Gaius and Titius could debunk as easily as any other. It is not excess of thought but defect of fertile and gener­ous emotion that marks them out. Their heads are no bigger than the ordinary: it is the atrophy of the chest beneath that makes them seem so.

And all the time—such is the tragi-comedy of our situation—we continue to clamour for those very qualities we are rendering impossible. You can hardly open a periodical without coming across the state­ment that what our civilization needs is more 'drive', or dynamism, or self-sacrifice, or 'creativity'. In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful."

Friday, November 23, 2007

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Abraham Lincoln's Thanksgiving Proclamation

The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle, or the ship; the axe had enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union.

Abraham Lincoln

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving

Once again, Linus gives us the straight scoop on what a holiday is all about. Plus, Snoopy fights a lawn chair. See the video at http://youtube.com/watch?v=770znuTOKlM

Thursday, November 15, 2007

The "Real" Weston

For dyed-in-the-wool C.S. Lewis fans, here's a link to an article on Cambridge science professor J.B.S. Haldane, whose views on interplanetary colonization as a means of ensuring the survival of the human race (though apparently at the expense of much of what makes us human, according to Lewis) served as an inspiration for the character of Dr. Weston in Lewis' space trilogy. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J._B._S._Haldane Haldane wrote a review of the space trilogy titled "Auld Hornie, FRS". (Auld Hornie is an old Scottish name for the devil, and F.R.S. stands for "Fellow of the Royal Society".) Haldane's review can be read at http://www.solcon.nl/arendsmilde/cslewis/reflections/e-haldane.htm . Lewis' fascinating and enlightening "Reply to Professor Haldane", published after his death, can be read in Of This and Other Worlds, a collection of Lewis' shorter essays and literary criticism.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Wodehouse and the Use of Language

There's no substitute for reading a P.G. Wodehouse story, but I hope my readers (all two of you) will enjoy these snippets of his wording. I was pleased to see recently that C.S. Lewis shared my opinion that "Right-Ho Jeeves" was "the funniest thing I've ever read".

The Aberdeen terrier gave me an unpleasant look and said something under his breath in Gaelic.

Sir Roderick Glossop ... is always called a nerve specialist, because it sounds better, but everybody knows that he's really a sort of janitor to the looney-bin.

I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.

...he uttered a stricken woofle, like a bulldog who had been refused cake.

``Man and boy, Jeeves, I have been in some tough spots in my time, but this one takes the mottled oyster.'' ``Certainly a somewhat sharp crisis in your affair would appear to have precipitated, sir.''

Friday, November 9, 2007

The Mind and the Maker

We hear many muddle-headed statements from all sides these days concerning matters of faith and their relation to matters of science and "up-to-date" philosophies. The English philosopher L.T. Hobhouse has the prescription to cure this muddledness:

"All that religion requires of philosophy is a clear field, and no quarter given."

(Thanks to Dallas Willard for the quote.)

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Addison's Talk

After a good bit of work, I accidentally erased my latest post. But in its place I offer this admirable reflection on literary criticism by the British poet, Joseph Addison:

A true critic ought to dwell upon excellencies rather than imperfections, to discover the concealed beauties of a writer, and communicate to the world such things as are worth their observation.

There's a good deal of good sense in that.

"Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked with us...?"

[Theoden:] ‘Now, Gandalf, you said that you had counsel to give, if I would hear it. What is your counsel?’‘You have yourself already taken it,’ answered Gandalf. ‘To put your trust in Eomer, rather than in a man of crooked mind. To cast aside regret and fear. To do the deed at hand.’ (from “The King of the Golden Hall,” The Two Towers.)

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

A Christmas Party

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.
“Know it.” said Scrooge. “Was I apprenticed here.”
They went in. At sight of an old gentleman, Scrooge cried in great excitement: “Why, it's old Fezziwig. Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again.”
Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shows to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice: “Yo ho, there. Ebenezer. Dick.”
Scrooge's former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice.
“Dick Wilkins, to be sure.” said Scrooge to the Ghost. “Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick. Dear, dear.”
“Yo ho, my boys.” said Fezziwig. “No more work to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer. Let's have the shutters up,” cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, “before a man can say Jack Robinson.”
You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it. They charged into the street with the shutters -- one, two, three -- had them up in their places -- four, five, six -- barred them and pinned then -- seven, eight, nine -- and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.
“Hilli-ho!” cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with wonderful agility. “Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here. Hilli-ho, Dick. Chirrup, Ebenezer.”
Clear away. There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.
In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow.
Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, "Well done.” and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest, upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight, or perish.
There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful dog, mind. The sort of man who knew his business better than you or I could have told it him.) struck up Sir Roger de Coverley. Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.
But if they had been twice as many -- ah, four times -- old Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs Fezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that's not high praise, tell me higher, and I'll use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would have become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig cut -- cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.
When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr and Mrs Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop.
During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.
“A small matter,” said the Ghost,” to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”
“Small.” echoed Scrooge.
The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said,
“Why. Is it not. He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise.”
“It isn't that,” said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. “It isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count them up: what then. The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.” He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.
“What is the matter.” asked the Ghost.
“Nothing in particular,” said Scrooge.
“Something, I think.” the Ghost insisted.
“No,” said Scrooge,” No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That's all.”