There must be more then this provincial life

I made a flippant (do I make any other kind?) comment on Claw of the Conciliator's blog in which I said something like "Disney's morality is almost completely incompatible with Christianity". It was a response to an article he was quoting that said something about "Disney-brand “Judeo-Christian morality,”. Claw commented that Disney isn't about Judeo-Christian morality but about believing in yourself, and I meant to agree, but went overboard.

Anactoria asked in the comments "Hey Paul, how are Disney stories incompatible with Christianity exactly?" and rather than hijack Claw's comments completely, I though I would answer her in a blog post of my own.

If you want more background for some reason, check out this post and the comments to it.

Disney's morality tends strongly towards secular-humanism-lite-plus-occasional-new-age.

Beauty and the Beast, to use your example, Anactoria. is drawn from a fairy tale, yes. The version of the fairy tale I'm most familiar with goes like this:

A rich merchant lived in the city, with his daughters, one of whom was Beauty, but he lost his wealth, and he and his daughters (whose suitors no longer wanted to marry them) had to live in the country. One day, he heard that a ship of his had returned. He went back to the city. His other daughters asked for jewelry and dresses, but Beauty wanted only a rose.

Beauty's father, lost in a forest and caught in a storm, finds shelter in the Beast's palace. As he leaves, he plucks a rose to bring back to Beauty, offending his unseen host, who denouncing him as a thief, tells him he must now die. The father begs to be allowed to see his daughters again: the Beast says that he can go if he promises to send the first living thing he meets on his property back to the Beast. The man agrees, assuming that the first thing he sees will be his cat, but Beauty runs to meet him, and he sees her first. Beauty journeys to the Beast's castle convinced she will be killed, but instead she is made mistress of the enchanted palace, and the Beast asks her to be his wife. She says she can be his friend, and will stay with him forever, but not as his wife, asking only to return to her home for a week to say farewell to her father. Her sisters entice her to stay beyond the allotted week, and she returns belatedly to the castle, finding the Beast lying near death from distress at her failure to return. She begs him to live, so that he may be her husband, and by this act the Beast is transformed into a handsome prince. After Beauty returns to the palace, her family comes to live with her. (very slightly altered from the wikipedia on Beauty and the Beast)

Now this pre-Disney version is about all kinds of things. It's a children's story, but it's multi-layered and profound. It's about female sexual maturity (the girl leaves her father for a man who seems beastly at first, but who she eventually becomes attracted to), it's about the redemptive power of love (the beast is becomes human because he is loved), it's about both the importance keeping promises (Beauty breaker her promise to the Beast has disastrous consequences) and the danger of making promises (the father has to sacrifice his daughter because he is bound by a promise), it's about self-sacrifice (Beauty gives of herself to save her father), and it's about deceptive appearances (Beast looks ugly but beneath it is good). I'm probably forgetting some stuff, but you get the idea. This is all just to say that just because it's a children's story doesn't mean the morality has to be watered down.

Disney's version maintains the deceptive-appearances angle (sort of, I'll get into that). Gaston is handsome but evil, the Beast is ugly but good. But let's look closer, and especially let's look at what Disney has added to the story and what they've taken away.

Belle starts the movie by complaining about her provincial life. She's bored. Like Ariel in The Little Mermaid, like Pocahontas, like Mulan, like Aladdin, Belle is unhappy with her life among the commoners. She wants excitement, and (like the other characters) she finds it, because she's special.

In the fairy tale the spell is broken when she agrees to marry him. In the Disney version it's when she says she loves him. What's the difference? In one it's about the redemptive power of love a committed and self-sacrificing love, and in the other it's about the power of love with no strings and no risks.

Christianity is a religion in which sinners are ransomed from the fall. Judaism is a religion in which a just God blesses a people with the Law, so they can live rightly with him and be a light to all nations. "Judeo-Christian" morality emphasises self-sacrifice and the existence of a truth beyond human understanding but which is made access able to us by grace. It emphasises love as an action instead of only a feeling, and it emphasises that what you do matters.

Disney morality emphasises that the truth is found within oneself, that love is like a light switch that fixes things without and risk or sacrifice.

Via Diedre

create your own visited countries map

Now squishied so it can all fit!

Black is so passe

So I've had enough of the blackness of my blog. It's not a dramatic change to move to blue, but it feels like time for it.

Seder

Jan and I hosted a Seder supper on Friday, and (if I say so myself) it was a smashing success.

I wish we could have invited more people, but even as it was our apartment was a little full, our finances were a little strained, and the food was only just enough.

Still, though, it was great to have a party with some of our friends, to spend all week cooking and preparing, to have people in our home, looking through our books. Adding the service of a Seder to the party just made it that much better, in my opinion, and I think this will become a Moffett tradition.

The menu was:
A hot spinich salad with raisins and pine nuts
Chicken soup with homemade matzo/chicken balls
Roast potatoes and carrots
Green beans
Stuffed lamb
Haroset (a fruity, nutty dish kinda like a chutney in concept, more of a condament than a dish)
Matzo bread

Next time I'll double the potatoes, the lamb, and the stuffing, and add more green beans. I don't think anyone went home hungry, but there sure weren't many leftovers.

The liturgy of the Seder involves (among other things) filling your wine glass at four different occasions, and that might be part of why as the supper went on it became progressively less solumn and more joyful, with more jokes and silliness. It seems very appropriate to me, as we celebrate the move from slavery in Egypt to freedom, to become more joyous throughout the night. It also occurred to me that slaves cannot drink four glasses of wine with a meal.

This post is very rambling, but the point is: our seder was great.
Next year in Jerusalem.

What's Up?

So in answer to the questions I get from people who I had no idea read my blog, and also in answer to my friends who are curious:

It turns out I need another part-year of pre-MA studies. It's extremely disappointing and discouraging, but there's nothing I can do about it.

I'm trying to look on the bright side, so here it is:
* This means another year in Winnipeg. We are so involved at St. Margaret's, and so happy with our involvement, that I'm in no hurry to leave the city.
* I don't need to be full time next year, so I might take advantage of this opportunity to take a few courses that always looked interesting but that I didn't have time for. Like etymology, and Chaucer.
* After a year at U of M I don't know very many profs, and those I do know I don't know all that well. One more year gives me more chance to make an informed decision about a faculty advisor.

In other news, Jan and I are hosting a Seder Supper in our home on Friday. If I have any Jewish readers they will no doubt wish to point out that Passover isn't until Tuesday. I know. But try inviting people to a dinner starting at 8pm on Tuesday night that includes four glasses of wine. So we're having it on Friday, demonstrating again that Christians may talk the talk of ritual, but when the rubber meets the road we don't walk the walk.

Okay seriously, it is one of the tenents of Christianity that mercy triumphs over judgement and grace superceeds the law. That means that while we follow the law, we aren't bound to it.

It is a big feast, with as many people (or slightly more) as our apartment can hold. I wish we could have invited more people, but we really are pushing it already. We haven't heard back from everybody yet, but if every invited person comes, it will make 13--the same number as Jesus' last supper.

But I hope ours goes better for us than his did for him.

A sedar supper, for those who don't know, is the ritual meal of passover. It is the meal Jesus was eating in the upper room with his disciples. It is both a feast and a service, and every part of the meal has ritual significance. We've been running ourselves like mad trying to get everything ready--buying groceries (including Kosher Wine), cleaning the house, checking with our invided guests. Now it's Thursday and all Jan and I need to do is finish cleaning, buy some more wine, buy ground almonds (no flour is used during passover), buy more matzah bread, buy the lamb (bone out, but keep the bone), prepare all the food we can ahead of time, run through the liturgy together to make sure we know it, and to get a sense of the timing, figure out seating, find two white candles, clear our home of leaven, and we'll be good to go.

Unless I've forgotten something.

The Problem of Pain in the DC Universe

I've been thinking lately about Superman and the Problem of Pain in the DC Universe.

Since Superman's inception he has gotten progressively more powerful. In his very first incarnation, Superman was able to lift a car over his head, run at great speeds, leap 1/8 of a mile, and had skin so tough it could not be pierced by anything short of an exploding artillery shell.

As time passed, he got stronger, tougher, faster, gained the ability to fly, x-ray vision, heat vision, super hearing, super breath, etc.

Superman's powers expanded as his enemies became more viscious, as his stories became more epic, and as writers got, frankly, a little carried away. But as Superman became more powerful, it forced the DC Universe to cope more and more with the theological problem of pain.

If Superman has super speed and super hearing, then how--within the fictional DC Universe of which Superman is the preeminant hero--can the ordinary citizens explain any suffering? How can Superman justify going on a date with Lois? How, within the DC Universe, does any crime or any natural disaster, or any accident ever hurt anyone? How does anyone die of any cause other than old age?

As Superman becomes more powerful, it becomes more and more difficult for the writers to avoid the problem of pain.

Apparently, writer Kurt Busiek has been thinking along the same lines. Busiek, who made a name for himself with Astro City, is quite simply one of the best writers of superhero stories out there today. He writes superheros as legends, uses their iconic status to tell fables that are often disarmingly moving. In the February issue of Superman he tells a simple story whose predictable ending, does not make it any less powerful. As Gabriel Mckee at sfgospel says "we can pretty much see where the story is headed from the beginning, but this foreknowledge simply fills it with the power of fable and parable. This story does everything that a Superman story should do, using the character's iconic status to tell a moving story about power and faith." An old woman in Metropolis becomes convinced that Superman is an angel, God's agent who comes when she prays. Superman's super hearing means that he can hear her prayers, and can respond. It's a story that needed to be told, and that deals surprisingly well with the theology of suffering. Again, I'll quote Gabriel Mckee: "If you buy only one Superman comic this year, make sure it's this one. "

Thanks to Elliot for pointing it out to me.

America is getting stupider

Remember when "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" debuted, and there was a general cry of dismay that the questions were too easy? No? Maybe that was just me.

Anyway, the newest of the stupid game shows spawned by the abhomination that is Deal or No Deal (I hate Howie Mandel) is Are you Smarter than a Fifth Grader?

As one might expect from the title, the questions are (ostensibly) drawn from grade 1-5 textbooks in various subjects. And the contestants are apparently drawn from the bottom of a lake, where they have been held for just long enough to suffer perminant brain damage.

The biggest problem with it, really, is not even the relative easiness of the questions. The biggest problem is that in a half hour episode, the contestants answer about four questions. The rest of the time is filled with stalling, and transparently manipulative attempts to raise the level of tension.

Bah. Give me Jeopardy!

There's no such THING as coincidence

If Elliot from Claw of the Conciliator shaved off his goatee, he would look a lot like Elliot from Rob and Elliot.

Coincidence?

Bible Quiz

You are 74% Scripture literate!

You are a Pseudo-Bible scholar. Good job, apparently you actually read the good book every once in a while.

The Adult Bible Quiz
Create a Quiz

As Elliot said, it's more about obscure biblical trivia than useful knowledge. Still kinda fun, though.

Self Doubt

So a few weeks ago I applied to the Master's of English program at U of M.

I didn't even apply anywhere else, mainly because Jan and I want to stay at St. Margaret's for at least a few more years, and that would be hard to do if we leave Winnipeg.

Since I was accepted into the pre-master's program, it seems that my chances of being accepted into the Master's program are quite good. I mean, unless my grades last term had plummited (and they haven't, they've significantly improved) why would they reject me now?

But still I'm afraid that somehow they've found out that I'm not really smart enough to be a graduate student. So every day I anxiously check the mail, and so far there has been no response.

...

Do you think that's a bad sign? They would tell me if I was rejected, right?

Time-Wasty

Via Elliot

It works like this: "The bolded books are books I've read (and even enjoyed) ... italicized books I would like to read, books with crosses are on my shelf and asterisked books I've never heard of. The books that are striked out I am unlikely ever to read. The books listed here that haven't felt the touch of my cursor and remain unedited I could care less or more about on any given day.

I imagine the books on this list were selected for their best-seller status or something like that."

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown)
2. †Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
3. †To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
5. †The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien)
6. †The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Tolkien)
7. †The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Tolkien)
8. †Anne of Green Gables (L.M. Montgomery)
9. *Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10. A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11. †Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
13. †Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling)
14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16. †Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Rowling)
17. Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. The Stand (Stephen King)
19. †Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Rowling)
20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
21. †The Hobbit (Tolkien)
22. †The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
23. †Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. †Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. †The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
28. †The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
31. †Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (Orwell)
35. *The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. *The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. †The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. *I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
45. †Bible
46. †Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt)
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. *She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
52. †A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens)
53. †Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. Great Expectations (Dickens)
55. †The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)
56. The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. †Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling)
58. *The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. The Time Traveller’s Wife (Audrew Niffenegger)
61. †Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolstoy)
64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
65. Fifth Business (Robertson Davies) (read it, but HATED it)
66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) (Read parts of it)
67. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. †Les Miserables (Hugo) (also read it in French)
70. †The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery (Own it in French, don't think I've ever read it in English)
71. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Fielding)
72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
73. Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. *The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. *A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. The World According To Garp (John Irving)
79. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. †Charlotte’s Web (E.B. White)
81. *Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (Steinbeck)
83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier)
84. *Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. †Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
88. The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. *Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. *Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
91. In The Skin Of A Lion (Ondaatje)
92. Lord of the Flies (Golding)
93. †The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
94. *The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. *A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. *The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce)

Copycat

Diedre posted about the strange searches that lead to her blog, and I thought I'd do the same. Because I'm a big copycat.

Actual search engine searches that lead actual people to this blog:

"definitely get cured of parkinson"
"racism half breed"
"cassock albs"
"how does vergil in the aenead build on the epic tradition"
"i am the chiefest of sinner"
"lenten clown skits"
... and about a million variations on "god's gonna cut you down"

My Ticket Outta Here!

Myspace Layouts

Make your own.
Via Elliot.

I can set you up with his manager, if you want...

As some of you may know, Cathy's boyfriend Dylan is an artist. Quite a good one, too.

For me, one benefit of this is that Jan and I have original art decorating our apartment.

One of the things I really like about his art is that without being boring he has a distinctive style. His work is recognizably his. It doesn't look like someone trying to copy Monet or Picasso or whoever. It looks like Dylan T. Farrell. Yet each piece really is different.

It also bears looking at for a long time. I feel that it stands up to close examination. He has real talent.

I'm no art critic, and confess that I am woefully uneducated in art history and art appreciation and such. But to use a cliche, I may not know much, but I know what I like.

Forced

Blogger forced me to change to the new blogger. I'm not impressed.

So ... it's been awhile.

I don't know what to tell you.

The Sin of Snobbery

In his work Heretics G.K. Chesterton writes of heresy:

In former days there heretic was proud of not being a heretic. It was the kingdoms of the world and the police and the judges who were heretics. He was orthodox. He had no pride in having rebelled gainst them; they had rebelled against him. ... The man was proud of being orthodox, was proud of being right. If he stood alone in a howling wilderness he was more than a man' he was a church. He was the centre of the universe; it was round him that the stars swung. All the tortures torn out of forgotten hells could not make him admit that he was heretical . But a few modern phrases have made him boast of it. He says, with a conscious laugh, 'I suppose I am very heretical,' and looks round for applause.

Heresy is still, in our own age, far too often considered something to be proud of—when to anyone who really knows the meaning of the word is should be something to be vehemently denied. But perhaps worse today is the attitude toward snobbery.

Snobbery was once understood as a manifestation of pride. Pride—which C.S. Lewis considered the most demonic (rather than animal) of sins. Sneering, dismissive pride, which considers other people as insignificant. Pride, which demeans and dismisses God's image, and God himself.

Yet I've heard many people admit to snobbery with a tone of boasting rather than of confession. I've done it myself, and far more often I've privately congratulated myself on my snobbery. Too often we consider snobbery to be evidence of good taste. Especially when it comes to art—literature, visual arts, music—snobbery is touted as evidence of refinement and judgment.

It is debatable whether aesthetic judgments are objective or subjective. I personally am inclined to believe that there really is a difference between good literature and bad literature, good music and bad music, and that the difference is more than my own taste. However, the snobbish wholesale dismissal of certain kinds of art will necessarily impoverish a person's experience. Worse, snobbery is more than dismissing bad art, it is contempt for the producers and consumers of bad art. It is an implicit denial of the value, of the humanity of some people. It is blasphemy, for it is contempt for the image of God.

I am not immune to the sin of snobbery. I don't think anyone is. But it is a sin, and when we are clearsighted enough to recognize it in ourselves we should struggle against it, ask God for help to conquer it, seek forgiveness, not boast of our sin as if it were proof of our enlightenment or our quality. It is evil, and when I succumb to it is indeed proof of my quality.

God have mercy on me, a sinner.

Scorpions on a Plane!!

Life mirrors art.

How I spent my Christmas Vacation

It was a good Christmas.

No, scratch that, it was a great Christmas.

Niagara Falls was warm, and kinda rainy, and weather-wise, a little depressing. There was no snow. When we arrived, my sister Cathy, her boyfriend Dylan and their daughter Freda were already there, so we got to spend some time with them. Freda has grown a whole lot since we saw her last—she looks like a small person instead of a muppet.

My brother James, his wife Janine and their three children Zara, Caleb, and Elijah, live in St. Catharine's just 10 minutes from Niagara Falls, so we got to spend quite a bit of time with them too.

Finally, my oldest sister Jill and her partner India arrived on Christmas Eve, and we spent one evening hanging out with them, playing spades, chess and boggle.

It's been a while since my whole family has been together, and even longer since we were all together while all getting along.

A few highlights of the trip:

India suggested a game of basketball, and she, Jill, James, Janine, Cathy, Dylan, Jan and I ended up playing a few three-on-three games, which was a lot more fun that I expected it to be.

Teaching both Jan and India to play chess. Jan had no trouble remembering how the pieces moved, but had trouble with the strategy. India was very strategic, but couldn't remember which piece was which. I'm sure that should tell me something about their respective characters, but I'm not sure what.

We went on a big ferris wheel with my dad, who was very nervous. It's not kind to mock him, but it is fun.

Spending New Years' Eve with Zara, Caleb and Elijah, and—after they all went to bed—with Cathy and Dylan.

We got to spend some real time with everyone, and it was, all in all, a fabulous trip. Check out Jan's Musings for more.

Return of the Moffetts

We're back from Niagara. Tired but happy. Will write more soon re: adventures.

Parsnips Aplenty

Jan and I are in Niagara visiting my family this Christmas. We've been here since the 21st, and we're leaving on New Years' day.

We're having a good time, with lots of great food. It's nice to see family, and so far we've spent time with my parents, with my brother James and Janine and their kids Zara, Caleb, and Elijah, and with my sister Cathy and Dylan and their daughter Freda.

Although it has all been good, one of the highlights has been Freda, who has grown an awful lot since we saw her last. She smiles and giggles, and is a cutie.

She's about to grow teeth, and instead of a teething ring, Cathy and Dylan give her a hard vegetable to bite on. She spends many a happy moment holding a parsnip and waving it about in joy.

A Day in the Life

Today being Sunday, I spent much of the day at church, and much of my time not actually at church walking to and from.

This morning we taught the youth about the book of Acts, about Ethiopia, about the meaning of the word disciple and the word apostle, about St. Paul and St. Patrick, about the manner of Judas Iscariot's death, about the entymological roots of "Theophilos", and about the end of the world.

In the afternoon I spoke to my mother on the phone and watched the newest episode of Battlestar Galactica.

Then it was back to church for the evening service. I was very tired, and sadly paid not nearly enough attention to the sermon on why Santa Claus is a heretic.

My dress shoes have very little grip and the sidewalks are quite slippery, so on the walk home I got to slide a lot. The only difficult part is picking up the necesary speed without falling over. And, of cource, a rough patch can make a sudden and unexpected stop.

And now I'm home, and Jan and I are watching Pride and Prejudice (the BBC version of course, which was a Christmas gift to Jan from her sister Lorinda). Mr. Darcy will soon propose to Lizzie for the first time, so I'm going to go watch it properly, instead of only half paying attention.

Weffriddles

WOOHOO!

I'm done weffriddles. Some of those were very tough, and most of them I would NEVER have gotten without Jan.

Evil Elliot

I've noticed this before, but in light of Annemarie's recent layout overhaul my attention is once more drawn to blog layouts.

My blog looks a lot like Elliot's, except he is pure and good and I am dark and sinister.

Except, I suppose, in China where he is morbid, and I am clinging to my youth.

And in conclusion I wish to conclude that this is the conclusion

I suck at conclusions. I've realised lately that both in academic papers and on this blog, I tend to just stop instead of coming to any logically or asthetically pleasing conclusion.

Curses!

I'm on level 54 of weffriddles and I don't know what to do now. I MUST SOLVE IT!

This is all Annemarie's fault.

Sad Life

I was out for a few drinks with some friends from class, and I overheard the following conversation.

English Guy:... yeah, in England Sunday is a day for family.
Shaggy Mennonite: Oh yeah. I grew up in Winkler, and it's the same there. It's a day for, like, family and for church and stuff.
EG: Not for me though. For me Sunday is just like any other day.
SM: I know what you mean. What makes Sunday different from any other day of the week?
EG: I know, yeah. It's just like any other day. Even Christmas is just like any other day.
SM: Totally. It's just like any other day.
EG: Yeah, I spent Christmas alone last year, and I'm spending it alone this year, and I don't care, because it's just another day...

And I thought to myself: What a sad existance.

Imagine a life with nothing to look forward to, when every day is just like every other. I feel more sorry for EG than I would if he said he was alone and wishing he had someone to spend Christmas with. He doesn't even know what he's missing.

And I realized how glad I am to be a Christian: to have festivals and holidays to look forward to—festivals that mean something. And I realized how glad I am that I have a small festival every single week—that every Sunday is like Christmas in miniature. And I feel very, very sorry for EG and SM.

Report

Medieval Lit paper-of-doom? Check
History of Critical Theory paper? Check
History of Critical Theory Exam? Check
Hybridity and Literary Imagination paper-of-doom? Done and to be handed in today
Hybridity Exam? Two hours away
Medieval Lit Exam? Saturday the 16th
American Lit paper? Saturday the 16th
Advent ornaments made? Check
People-of-Israel poem rehearsed? Not yet
Advent Pagent? This Sunday
Various parties? All on the same day. I'm going to miss the St. Margaret's Young Adults night and and invitation to Amanda and Kinsey's place in favour of Melissa's party.

Busy-ness

It's crunch time.

I have a three-page paper due on Monday, a 15 page paper due on Thursday, a five page paper due the next Tuesday, and another 15 page paper due the Wednesday. Plus a few quizzes, and once that's all done exams begin. Add to that the various youth events of December, plus teaching Sunday School, plus the several Christmas parties I have been invited to and want to attend if I can.

No blogging for a bit.

Soup II

My soup turned out absolutely delicious, if I say so myself.

It turns out we didn't actually have any vegetable broth, so I made my own, by frying carrots, onion, celery and garlic in the bacon fat, then boiling the whole thing with some sage until it was tasty. Add the squash, and it's done. Simple and delicious.

We finished off all my rye bread already, so I ate it with corn chips instead (leftover from a party we went to). Bread would have been better.

Johnny Cash—God's Gonna Cut You Down

Via Chris (via Youtube).

I wonder whether the various celebrities who appear in this video were actually listening to the lyrics.

Morning Confusion

Our apartment is heated by hot water radiators. As anyone who has ever lived in a radiator-heated dwelling will know, sometimes they make strange noises.

Our radiators are not as bad as the radiators at CMU, but they do sometimes sound like running water.

A few days ago, our cat Perelandra peed on our floor. It was mostly our own fault—we hadn't cleaned her litter box in a few days, and there were some clothes on our floor which were obviously more appealing for her purposes. Needless to say, we now clean her litter box at least once a day, and we no longer leave any clothes on our floor. Talk about learning the hard way.

Anyway, I woke up recently to what sounded to me like someone or something peeing on the floor. Bleary-eyed and fluffy-headed, I rose, caught the cat where she was standing in our (empty) laundry hamper, and carried her out of the bedroom. Then I inspected the hamper. Dry. I smelled the floor. Nothing. I listened, and heard the peeing sound continuing, coming from our heater. I looked at the clock (5:47). I looked at the still-sleeping Jan. I went back to bed.

Soup

Supper tonight will be Bacon-Squash Soup. I'm planning to basically cook a bunch of bacon, add onion, carrot, butternut squash, sage, and vegetable broth, blend and serve. I'll let you know how it turns out.

I admit it

I judge celebrities based on the charity they endorse on Celebrity Jeopardy.

Bread

Those of you who aren't from Winnipeg may possibly are unfamiliar with Winnipeg-style rye, but trust me when I say that Winnipeg-style is the best rye bread in the world.

Foolishly, I took my expedition to buy rye flour without first looking at a recipe for rye bread. My hope had been to make Winnipeg-style rye bread, but apparently Winnipeg rye is not made with rye flour but with white flour and rye meal. So I was forced to make a different kind of light rye bread.

It was pretty good. Next time I will do better though.

That is all.

No YOU'RE a luddite.

As those of you who also use it will no doubt be aware, blogger has released a new version, and really wants us all to switch over.

The new improvements include drag-and-drop templates and labels for each blog post, the necessity of signing in with a gmail account (Jan and I share a gmail account but not blogs. What do we do?), the annoying way that clicking on "comments" now leads you to the bottom of the comments instead of the top, security "improvements", so that now everytime I read blog comments, explorer tells me that the site includes both secure and unsecure items, and am I sure I really want to proceed?

Bah. Humbug. It worked fine before.

[edit to add] One of the big theoretical improvements of the new blogger is "it's a lot more reliable". Right after I made this post, all the blogs I check which were updated to the new version were inaccessable. The non-updated blogs were still accessable. Hah.

Bread

Braided poppyseed egg loaf was a great success.

I made a dough that was essentially white bread plus eggs, formed it into ropes, braided the ropes and let the whole thing rise in a bread pan, so that the result fits easily into a toaster, but still has the pretty, bubbled top of a braided loaf. I brushed the loaves with more egg, then sprinkled generously with poppyseeds.

The finished product is heavier than regular white bread—but still quite fluffy and light—slightly yellow from the eggs, and tastes like poppyseeds. Good for sandwiches.

Next, an expedition to get rye flour.

It's Not Fair!

The Helsinki Complaints Choir, via Neil Gaiman's blog.

The Fiction of Pastoral Care

Care is a complicated thing.

Idiomatically, we talk about taking care of people—and it means meeting their particular needs. Taking care of someone physically means doing for them the things that they cannot do for themselves—whether that means bringing them chicken soup, changing their diapers, or anything in between. Emotionally or spiritually taking care of people is a little more complicated, but in general it's the same concept.

But by the definition of the word, care implies attitude as well as action. Even with physical care, it's worth asking whether care is really always the right word to use. Changing someone's bed dressings if you aren't fond of and/or concerned about them might not actually be care. Spiritually, the question seems to me even more pointed.

I don't know if you can care for someone just because it's your job. Is it actually possible to care for someone you don't know? Is it possible to provide pastoral care for someone you don't actually care about? It seems to me that genuine care requires trust that can only be built up over time—and that the attempt in many churches of institutionalising care is, in practice, a denial of care.

I have been on both the giving and the receiving end of pastoral care. In the 15 months I have worked with youth ministry, I have attempted to care for people I'd never met before. I have felt their distrust in the face of past abandonment. One former member of our youth group no longer attends because he is frustrated with getting to know new leaders every year—with new leaders who claim to care about him but who don't actually know him, didn't care for him before they were on the payroll and stop caring for him when the payroll stops. He feels that this care is insincere—that it is false. And he is right.

I don't say this to impugn the work of my predecessors. I am sure that each of them did truly try to care for the youth while they were working with them. But I know from my own experience that it isn't easy and it isn't automatic. I've often said—because I believe it is true—that last year with St. Margaret's youth was mostly prep-work, that now I'm ready to actually begin, because now I actually know them well enough that I can genuinely care about them.

And now the challenge for me is not to let them down, not to disappoint the trust I've built. Now that I can care about them, I need act out that care.

And care is a complicated thing.

Hauerwas and Do No Harm

The medical concept of Do No Harm is clearly false. Doctors do harm all the time, and if they were really obligated to hold to "do no harm" they would not do anything. Even something as seemingly benign as giving someone aspirin has the potential to cause harm. Everything doctors do might harm us, and in the end it's mostly a matter of playing the odds.

Drinking from the Fire Hose

In his introduction of Hauerwas on Monday night, David Widdicombe (the rector of St. Margaret's) quoted somebody I can't find now who said that listening to Hauerwas is like taking a drink from a fire hose.

It's true. Trying to summarize his lecture, I found myself writing a longer and longer post, until I finally decided to just write about one point.

In addition to stem cell research and abortion, during his two days with St. Margaret's Hauerwas also touched on the ethics of research posing as therapy, on "mercy killing", on the theological basis of excommunication, on heretical communities, on the problem of modernity, on plastic surgery, on the concept of do no harm, on the problem of medical ethics as a concept, on medical schools as ethical training grounds, on aging, on the five stages of coping with death, on "the quiet atheism of our lives", on being held responsible for what we do when we do not know what we are doing, and I'm sure on many other subjects I've forgotten.

My pal Stanley

As you can read in a few other places, Stanley Hauerwas gave the annual Slater-Maguire lecture at St. Margaret's this year (last year's lecture was given by CBC musicologist Howard Dyck, and next year it will be Ian Hutchinson, head of the Department of Nuclear Science and Engineering at MIT).

I heard Hauerwas speak at CMU a few years ago, and was excited to hear him again. I wasn't disappointed. He's nothing if not an interesting speaker. He has a heavy Texas accent and a surprisingly high and nasal voice. In conversation, his speech is peppered with profanities and enthusiastic, contageous guffaws.

He spoke a few times—once on Sunday evening, preaching on the lectionary texts (the Gospel was the resurrection of Lazurus), then there was a reception of sorts, where he answered questions, then on Monday evening he delivered a lecture entitled "Why Nobody in North America Wants to Die", followed by a question period.

He argued that in our modern world we have forgotten how to die. Medical science tries to convince us that we will get out of this alive—but it's not true. We're all going to die. It's just a matter of time. So the question is: how do you want to die?

We are taught that there is nothing worse than death. We fear death more than anything else. If we may but live another month, it is worth anything to us. And when we finally do die, we typically want to die suddenly. In our sleep. With no pain. We want to die without ever knowing that we are dead. In the Middle Ages, they prayed God to save them from a sudden death. They wanted to prepare for death—prepare their souls, say goodbye to their loved ones.

His lecture ranged over a variety of subjects connected to death, and I may summarise some of them in future posts, but one of the most controversial and interesting things he said was a response to a question about stem-cell research.

For Hauerwas, the issue of stem-cell research is directly connected to abortion and adoption issues. Stem-cell research is justified on the grounds that the embryos being destroyed for the research are extra and would be destroyed anyway. But the only reason there are extra embryos floating around is that fertility clinics produce them. But Hauerwas thinks that fertility clinics have no moral reason to exist. In a world where abortion clinics exist, why do fertility clinics also exist? In a world where fertility clinics exist, why do abortion clinics also exist? Fertility clinics exist because people want THEIR child, not someone else's. But that is pagan bullshit. Christians know that even biological children are adopted. So there shouldn't BE extra embryos whose destruction nobody cares about. Fertility clinics are already a moral issue.

And stem-cell research has been seriously oversold. We get told that if they are allowed to do stem-cell research then Parkinson's (for example) will be cured. But the truth is firstly that we (they) have absolutlely no idea what problems will arise. It is possible that a year of concentrated stem-cell research will lead to a cure for Parkinson's. But it is also possible that twenty years of sustained research will lead to no breakthrough. It is possibly that there is no cure. Secondly, the argument is based on a flawed conception of death—as if all doctors have to do is solve all of the diseases, and no one will die anymore. What do you want to die from? Because you will die. That doesn't mean that we shouldn't try to care for people, but it does mean that every single one of us is terminally ill, and there is no cure. The ends can never justify the means—because ultimately the ends are always the same. Thirdly, the principal reason medical researchers want to use embryonic stem cells instead of adult stem cells is that embryonic stem cells grow faster. But adult stem cells offer the same potential research benefits, without the same moral issues. Stem cell research is a moral perversion based on a moral perversion based on a moral perversion (based on a moral perversion?).

Bread

My bread in general has never been as bad as my pizza dough once was, and I've had successes in the past, but still. It could definitely be better.

The last few times especially I've been making overly dense bread, and I've been tending toward undercooking it. I think my problem is that most seminal of cooking problems. I'm rushing it.

So, in the tradition of my attempt to perfect pizza dough, I'm going to try to learn to make good bread.

Today was my first attempt in my new culinary undertaking. I made two loaves of plain homestyle white bread for sandwiches. In spite of all temptation, I refused to bake it until it was properly risen, and the result is unquestionably the best bread I've made in years.

Next—Braided poppyseed egg loaf.

Something from the Comments

In a comment on this post, an anonymous person asks: "Have you ever read a book by someone who is NOT a white European man?? (just wondering). "

I answered that comment, but I think it's a good enough question that I should answer it as a real blog post.

My formal education has certainly been disproportionately heavy on the white European (or North American) male writers. One part explanation of this is that I study English literature, (not world literature) which has all been written in English—which accounts for the mostly European and North American part of that. But that really isn't any excuse. Plenty has been written in English in India and throughout Africa and the Carribean, and there are notable examples in Asia and South America. And there there are translations. And I've studied some of it, but only some.

I'm taking a course this year on Hybridity in Literary Imagination designed to partly fill the gaps in my formal education, but it is a pretty thin start. My English prof from CMU once told me that when he finished his Master's degree he felt like his education in literature had just begun. He felt like his BA and his MA were both just the necessary groundwork for actual study. I'm getting something of the same feeling, but not only has my education so far not been deep enough, it hasn't been broad enough either.

And maybe one defense is that I can't study everything. The choice between depth and breadth (in literature studies) is an excruciatingly difficult one. I could spend the next 50 years reading nothing but Beowulf and I would still miss something. Or I could spend the next 50 years and never re-read anything I've read already—and still only read white European men who are worth reading. Or I could spend the next 50 years and never read anything by another white person or another European or another man.

Fortunately, I don't have to choose between those options. But I am sure that in my life—no matter how long it ends up being—I will miss out on great literature that I either didn't read, didn't understand, or didn't give a fair chance to because I was too busy with something I already knew and loved. I'm sure it's happened already.

Outside of school I have read and enjoyed a handful of non-Europeans (incidentally, does Russian literature count as European? Neither Tolstoy nor Dostoyovsky seem to have thought of themselves as European), a handful of non-white writers (Maya Angelou, Booker T. Washington and Sojourner Truth are three who come to mind), and definitely more than a handful of woman writers (Connie Willis, J.K. Rowling, The Brontes, Jane Austin, Mary Shelley, Mary Wolstonecraft, Virginia Wolfe, H.D., Edith Warton being the first few that come to my head).

I would ask for suggestions to broaden my horizons, but honestly I won't read them at least until the summer—unless they happen to be assigned texts for one of my classes.

SEX!

Most Christians know that in Sunday School the answer to any question is either Jesus, God or The Bible.

Q: What's a small furry animal that likes to hide nuts?
A: I know the answer is Jesus... but I think it's a squirrel!

In Victorian Literature, the same general principal applies, except that in Vic Lit the answer is always sex.

Q: What is this passage about?
A: Sex

Q: True. But what is symbolised by the...
A. Sex

Q: Okay... but what is the subtle subtext of...
A: SEX!!!

Clearly a Canadian

You can tell
By the wind
By fresh cut wood all stacked to dry
That autumn's here
And it makes you sad
About the crummy
Summer we had
With pine trees creeking
The raven's screeching
Just like the story my grandma tells
About when a bird
Hits your window
And someone you know
Is about to die

Autumn's here, autumn's here
It's ok if you want to cry 'cause autumn's here

So find a sweater
And you'll be better
Until the kindling is tinder dry
We can be quiet
As we walk down
To see the graveyard
Where they are now
I wonder how
They brought their piano
To holdene hill
From old berlin
Be hard to keep it
That well in tune
With winters like the one
That's coming soon

Cause auntumn's here
It's time to cry now
That autumn's here
It's ok if you want to cry
Because autumn's here

I think that ghosts like
The cooler weather
When leaves turn colour
They get together
And walk along ways
These old back roads
Where no one lives
And no one goes
With all their hopes set
On the railway
That never came and that no one stayed
I guess that autumn
Gets you remembering
And the smallest things
Just make you cry

Autumn's here
It's time to cry
Cause autumn's here
Autumn's here
It's ok now, cause autumn's here
Hawksley Workman

I think he's on to something

Elliot has a theory that militant fundamentalist atheists are actually a part of a conspiracy by fundamentalist Christians to make atheism look stupid.

Soy is Also Murder

So that way, you always feel guilty.

Possible Focus

One of the good things about my current position is that while I am pressured to pick a focus, I still have quite a bit of freedom to change my mind. So here's my tentative focus:

Over the next 3 years (that's not including this one) I want to study the hero in literature, with particular focus on the epic, on mythology, on communal writing and the oral tradition, and on the contemporary incarnations of the above.

I want to use Superman as a particular instance of a contemporary hero without a single creator, and research whether Joseph Campbell's Hero with 1000 Faces is an accurate model of Superman's story, whether as time has passed and Superman's character and story have evolved his conformity to Campbell's model has changed—if so, in which direction? What are the implications of that? If his conformity to Campbell's model has not changed, what are the implications of that? Does a communally created hero like Superman conform more or less closely to Campbell's model than a hero created by a single author?

I will explore various ideas of hero, from Plato’s notion of heroic virtue, including Aristotle’s conception of the tragic hero, to Jungian ideas of the psychologically significant universal hero. I will research both the social and literary function of the hero historically in both popular mythology and in literary epics such as Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey and Virgil’s Aenead, Beowulf, Milton’s Paradise Lost, etc. and with special focus on the contemporary heroic character of Superman.

Will my research lead me to support Campbell's idea of a universal myth? What about non-western heroes? How has Christianity affected the development of Western mythology and particularly the Western idea of the hero? To what degree is Superman a product of Western culture, and to what degree is he a universal hero, and to what degree does he fail to be either?

Master's Thesis

You can't just do a Master's degree. You need to have a focus. When I tell people in the departement of English that I'm pursuing my Master's, they invariably ask: "What's your area?" And I have to say, "Well... I like Medieval Lit, and 15th and 16th century, and some Victorians, and Modern Irish Lit, and Milton and Gerard Manly-Hopkins, and G.K. Chesterton, and I've always been interested in King Arthur, and I like classical mythologies and epic poetry, and I'm a big fan of W.C. Williams, and..."

This is called "lack of focus".

On Wednesday, I have a grant proposal due. Apparently, the chances of my actually receiving the grant are quite slim, but I need to have at least submitted a proposal in order to qualify for a Fellowship next year, and blah blah blah.

I have a deadline. By Wednesday I need to hand in two pages saying what I want to do for the next three years, why I'm a good person to do it, and why it requires money. And if I write it well enough, they will GIVE me the money I ask for.

This is called "strong motivation".

The question is—will strong motivation overcome lack of focus?

Just me then?

Have you ever noticed how spaghetti squash smells like chocolate chip cookies?

Ayn Rand

I recently heard Ayn Rand placed next to Hemmingway as one of the two greatest novelists of the 20th century. I've never read anything by her, but I find this claim ... somewhat difficult to believe.

Has anyone read Ayn Rand? Can anyone either confirm or discredit this claim?

Perogies

This week I had my very first and very second attempts at home-made perogies.

Yes, it's true. Despite four years among the Mennonites at CMU, I've never attempted to make my own perogies before. But this week we were between grocery trips, low on many kinds of food and on even the elements of food, but we did have flour, potatoes, cheese and sauerkraut. The building block of perogies.

I made two types of perogies: chedder cheese, and sauerkraut. If I say so myself, they were delicious. I made them again for lunch today, and added feta cheese to the sauerkraut ones, and it was an excellent addition.

Here, kitty

There's a wild animal living in our house.

For some reason, we allow this wild animal to continue its residence in our apartment. We even provide it with food. It wanders around our apartment, freely. It attacks our feet while we sleep, and jumps out at us from under the couch with no warning.

Sometimes, it's true, it pretends to be domesticated in order to gain our confidence and lull us into complacency. She curls up on my lap, growling friendly-like. She disarms my suspicions with her cuteness. But I am not disarmed. I am not complacent.

Be afraid.

What happens on a Circuit night?

On Friday the St. Margaret's youth had an event, which was a smashing success.

The youth group is growing; which is a good thing but poses a few problems. In order to get to the main attraction of our event (go-karting) we had to squish a few more people into the cars than would be ideal. Kevin (one of our leaders) even stayed home, because there was no room for him.

Go-karting was lots of fun. We went to the same place last year, and they were very nice to us both times. They agreed to keep the place open until we left, so we stayed about 45 minutes past their official closing time. Go-kart racing + trampoline basketball + minigolf + video games = good times.

We got back to the church by about 10:00, for ice cream, pop, rice-krispie squares and a talk. Our theme for the year is Running the Amazing Race and our theme verse is "Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us." (Heb 12:1) Last time, Jan talked about what comes immediately before this passage—the "Therefore, since we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses..." I had planned to talk about the race marked out for us, but they kept asking questions that made me refer back to Jan's talk the week before. So they heard about the great cloud of witnesses again. Maybe next time We'll really talk about the race marked out.

After the lesson we tried to sing some songs, but it ended in disaster. For one thing, the younger youth (who aren't allowed to stay for the sleepover) kept leaving. For another, I kept interrupting the song to change guitarists or for other stupid reasons. I don't know what was wrong with me. Next time—no interruptions.

Everyone who wasn't staying for the sleepover left, leaving only one boy and six girls. We played a few more games, ran around like maniacs, one of the girls and the last boy also left and the five remaining girls either went to bed, watched Whale Rider, or sat in the youth room talking and playing theater games. Finally they all went to bed, and I curled up in the youth room to sleep alone. No talking, no giggling, no snoring. I slept well.

The next morning we awoke to the smell of fresh (pilsbury) cinnamon buns made by Jan. After breakfast we kicked them all out, and that was that for another month.

Agnosticism

In response to this post, Anactoria writes:

I can understand your opinion on atheism. But agnosticism is intellectually cowardly? You're taking away all of my choices! :P How is it "intellectually cowardly" in your opinion?

First, I should say that it's not a coincidence that I think theism is the only tenable choice. I'm a theist. I don't think atheism is philosophically tenable and I don't think agnosticism is intellectually courageous enough, but that shouldn't surprise anyone. I believe that what I believe is the best thing to believe. That's why I believe it. If I thought atheism was tenable I'd be an atheist. If I thought agnosticism was a valid position, I'd be an agnostic.

My problem with agnosticism is this: Agnosticism is the position that we can never know with certainty whether there is a God or not. Which is fair. But we can also never know with certainty whether there is a spoon or not. We can never know for sure if our senses are trustworthy, we can never know for sure if reason is reliable. When it really comes down to it, we can never know anything for sure. But if we want to do anything in this world we need to decide to believe in something. If we want to have any intellectual life at all we need to decide to trust our senses or our reason or tradition or something.

Skepticism is philosophically valid, but it seems paralyzing to me. And at the root of that paralysis I find cowardice. I feel like that kind of skepticism is grounded on a fear of being wrong. But any intellectual work has the danger of being wrong. Intellectual honestly means that we need to be open to being corrected if our error is pointed out to us, but—to me—intellectual courage means that we can't just remain positionless in the mean time. Eventually, you need to believe something.

Old Friends

This week I got an unexpected communication from my best friend through high-school. Although Jon was my Best Man at my wedding, and I still think of him as a best friend, we rarely see each other, and anyone who knows me knows how bad I am at keeping in touch, even with the people I really care about.

Jon, it seems, has been secretly reading Jan's and my blog without leaving comments. So he knows (roughly) what I've been up to even if I didn't know what he has been up to.

And what he has been up to, apparently, is a trip to Europe (again). Lucky bugger.

I also checked an old-and-rarely-used e-mail address and found a newsletter from another friend of the slightly less old variety. My former room-mate Zachary and his wife Robin are living in Texas. The last time I spoke to Zachary about his plans for the future he was hoping to go back to Africa and pursue self-sustainable farming. It seems that they are starting the journey to Africa in Texas, doing an internship with WHR and gaining some experience that will help them live out their dream. Awesome!

Meanwhile I'm still in Winnipeg and I'm surprised how happy I am about that. I'd love to tour Europe and I really admire Zachary and Robin for their dreams, but I like where I am today. Working with the youth at St. Margaret's is unbelievably rewarding—repeatedly surprisingly rewarding. And I'm loving my life as a graduate student. I'm taking nothing but English classes, and I couldn't be happier about it.

Heehee

The Edge to Bono: I don't want to be on the news. YOU want to be on the news.

Via Chris

Harry Potter and It Was All a Dream

The seventh Harry Potter book is rumoured to be completed, except for editing and a title. Here's the text in its entirety:

Harry Potter woke up.

"I had the strangest dream!" he said. "I dreamed that I was a wizard, and the world was full of magic!"

"Oh sweetie" said his mother. "There's no such thing as magic.

OR IS THERE!?!?!?"

The End.

Classy

I'm taking five courses this semester:

History of Critical Theory
Should prove to be very interesting. So far we've talked about Plato's and Aristotle's thoughts on literature, its purpose and its use. The prof is the kind of atheist whose opinion is based on ignorance, but he does know what he's talking about with critical theory, so that's good.

Medieval Lit: Heroes and Heroines
Really good class. It starts with Bede and ends with Malory. Some of the texts I've already read, but it's still a great experience. The prof is hilarious, and really knows his stuff, and likes correcting the translation in our text. He is prone to randomly breaking into Latin or Greek or Old English or French.

Victorian Lit
A pretty good course, but I think it's the dud of the year. The material is interesting, and the prof is pretty good, but it's aimed a little low (I think it's actually a second-year course). Regardless, I'm reading stuff like Tennyson and Browning, which is cool.

American Literature since 1900
I've never really studied American literature, so this is mostly new for me. Which is cool. All kind of people I've heard of but never read. The prof is a very nice fellow (I haven't yet heard him tell anyone that they are wrong), very enthusiastic about his subject, and very likable.

Hybridity and Literary Imagination
An honors seminar that is proving very interesting. The prof is a published author and poet, who teaches creative writing courses and is very interested in the Metis. The course is focused on hybrid race culture and language. We're reading novels, books of poetry, memoirs, essays, rants and reflections. I mentioned it here.

I don't believe in Atheists

I don't believe in atheists.

Sure, I know there are plenty of people who claim to have had a personal experience with atheism, but I just don't buy it. I think they're just expressing their own personal need to disbelieve in something.

Scientifically, it is impossible to prove non-existence. That means that, from a scientific perspective, you actually can't prove that there aren't elves living in my apartment. All you can do is offer counter-examples—you've never found any elves. At the best, a scientific enquiry can convince us that it is very unlikely that there are elves in my apartment.

The logical reason for this rule against proving a nonexistence is simple. Just because you haven't seen it doesn't mean its not there. To use a slightly less fantastic example: Herman Melville was convinced that the "Blue Whale" was a myth, and that the sperm whale was undoubtedly the largest creature on earth. He had never seen a blue whale. Many scientists of his day agreed with him. Yet blue whales do exist. Likewise, logically, scientifically, the fact that I have never seen an elf does not mean that they aren't here. Even if there was absolutely no evidence for the existence of elves, it is not logically possible to rule out the existence completely.

As for God, the same applies. Even if there were no evidence whatsoever for the existence of God, the basic rules of logic say that it is not possible to rule out his existence completely. But there is evidence for God's existence. People may debate the interpretation or the validity of that evidence, but it does exist. The testamony of multitudes beyond counting is evidence. The existence of this world is evidence. The concepts of good and evil, and the fact that human beings understand them, are evidence. There is evidence scattered throughout the universe.

I can accept that this evidence is unconvincing to some people. I can accept agnosticism as a philosophical position. I happen to think that it is an intellectually cowardly position, but I believe it. But atheism is simply not tenable. To say with certainty that no God exists displays either arrogance or ignorance.

And I just don't buy it.

Hybrids, Mongrels and Half-Breeds: Racism in Language

Language carries with it more complexity than many of its speaker are consciously aware of. Those who have devoted themselves to a scholarly study of English are, it may be hoped, more conscious of this than most, but even so tend to underestimate the depth of meaning and the varied emotional associations with the words we use.
We cannot simply accept the term “hybrid” to refer to human beings without some acknowledgement of the history and what we may call the emotional baggage of the word.

Thomas Huxley preferred the term “mongrel” to “hybrid” because he believed that hybrid implied a cross of two different species, but that mongrel was more accurate to refer to mixed types of a single species. In light of the history of the polygenist/monogenist debate on human origins we would perhaps do well to avoid using terms which imply a specific difference among humans. However, to us, “mongrel” is a far more offensive term than “hybrid”, since it firstly is now used almost exclusively to describe dogs and secondly is associated with an idea of unknown, unknowable and therefore somehow disreputable heritage.

It is significant that the second of these negative associations with the term “mongrel” itself reveals some assumed value judgements. Darwin’s legacy is, in part, a conviction of the importance of “good breeding”, and a belief that unknown or unreliable ancestry is itself a negative commentary on a person. In Annette, the Métis Spy, Joseph Collins, describing Little Poplar, comments offhand that he “would not have a dog unless [he] was sure about his pedigree” (Collins, 109). This attitude toward breeding and its application in a description of a human being’s worth is a legacy of Darwin which still remains for us today.
To return to the idea of language and its implied meanings, consider the use of language and the value judgements implicit within the words used to describe racial categories. In Annette, Collins employs a kind of animal nomenclature to the native population, which was common in his time and continues to present itself today.

Terms like “brave” and particularly “squaw”, while within their literal etymology carry no negative connotations (just as “wench” simply means woman, and even “nigger” just comes from the Spanish for “black”) carry associations based on the way they are used. Squaw comes almost directly from the Algonquin word for “woman”, yet as it is used by Collins it carries a particular meaning. “Squaw” is used as “cow” or “sow” or “hen”, it is an animal nomenclature that fundamentally reinforces the otherness and ultimately the inhumanity of native peoples. The native women are not called “women”, because the word “woman” means “white woman”.

The term “half-breed” —used almost exclusively to refer to the Métis in Annette— also carries with it to us —and almost certainly to Collins— a whole series of value judgements. In zoological nomenclature, a breed is a subspecies with viably distinct population. Referring to the Métis as “half-breed” implies that the decomposition thesis (as advanced by Edwards, Thierry, Arnold, Nott and Gliddon) is accurate—that “French” and “Indian” are permanent races, but that the mix of these two races is destined to eventually die out or revert back to one of the original sources. “Half-breed”, as a term, denies any permanence to the Métis.

Language isn't neutral, and it absorbs the associations we bring to it. So words for groups we distain in society come to be insulting words, and are eventually deemed inappropriate for their original use (words like "dumb" and "retard") for example. The problem, then, is twofold. First we must use words that do not carry implied mockery or condemnation, and secondly we must not attach mockery or condemnation to the new words we use.

And in relation to the issue currently at hand, I still wonder. Is my course on "hybridity" poorly named?

Hybridity and Darwin

Conventional wisdom tends to be that Charles Darwin was a clearsighted scientist who overcame the superstitious prejudices of Fundamentalist Creationists. But there were some pretty good reasons why many Christians disliked Darwin and his theories, and history has shown that some bad things have come from Darwinism. But more on that later.

In this post I gave some history of hybridity and European approaches to the idea of human race and how that relates to the definition species.

The central issue between polygenists, who argued that human races were in fact different species with different origins and monogenists, who argued that human races were all a single species with a single origin, became the definition of species. The traditional definition of a species was a group that produced fertile offspring.

Charles Darwin changed that, and one of the results of his theories was to eventually end the polgenist/monogenist debate. Darwin argued that the definition of species was a permiable and mutable. He gave examples of plants and animals traditionally classified as different species which nevertheless produced fertile offspring. It is crucial to Darwin's theory that animals can in fact, through generations, produce a new species. Darwin argued that the polygenist/monogenist argument was insoluble, but essentially irrelevant, since whether different ethnic human groups were classified as species or varieties or races, there was no essential difference between them.

Darwin did, however, beleive that eventually the "lower" forms of man would become extinct, saying that "when civilised nations come into contact wiht barbarians the struggle is short".

Through all this time, the strongest opponant to a polygenist theory of human origins was a Biblical one, the Biblical account of the creation of man (ie Adam and Eve) was (and is) clearly monogenist, and in undermining a Biblical account of creation, Darwinism also undermined a thoery of human racial and ethnic differences that asserted a single origin of human races.

After Darwin, many people chose one of two positions to support their racism: either Darwin's own position that humans shared a common ancestor, and whites were the furthest evolved, while blacks were least removed from apes, or the position that despite their ability to produce fertile offspring this was not sufficient to prove a specific unity (and there was no particular reason under Darwinism why all human being should necessarily gave a common ancestry). Darwin's theories lent scientific credibilty to both of these perspectives.

Darwin did effectively end the debate of poly/monogenists, but only by sidestepping the issue. Eugenics and Nazi race policies were a direct result of Darwinism, and a logical extension of his ideas.

A literal Biblical worldview, carried out with integrity to its completion leaves no room for racism, while Darwinism carried out with integrity to its completion necessitates an idea of racial superiority, as well as all the other evils of eugenics.

Storage Space

The human brain is like a computer. This is not a new insight.

We have long-term memory storage and short-term memory storage, and removable memory storage.

Since the development of writing, much of our information is stored in books, but even before this, the oral tradition functioned as a sort of removable storage. Information was stored inside the heads of poets. The tradition of storing information inside the heads of other people didn't end with the development of literature. To paraphrase my former professor Paul Dyck, new technology doesn't replace old technology, it just makes things more complicated.

I, for example, store a good deal of information inside Jan's brain. Things like what time do we have to be there, and how do we get there, and even what episode of Buffy is that from. And Jan, in exchange, stores information in my head. I ... can't think of what exactly, but I'm sure she does.

Hybridity

The term "hybridity", where it relates to race relations, is a very shaky one.

As some of you may be aware (but until this week I was not) as recently as 1974 there existed a debate as to the natural history of humanity and the origins of race. Simply put, it was suggested that different races were actually different species. Eighteenth century Europeans, when making a hierarchical scale of the animal kingdom separated different races as different species (and predictably placed themselves at the top). There was even some discussion as to whether Africans should be catogorized as being a species of ape.

Hopefully this is absurd enough to be surprising to most of us. The debate between monogenists and polygenists has, as Darwin predicted "die[d] a silent and unobserved death". Yet it did not do so before the end of this century.

"Hybrid", as a word, has a long and complex history. Originally a latin term for the offspring of a wild boar and a tame sow, for most of its history in English it has meant a mix of two different species. The 1828 Webster definition of hybrid was "an animal or plant produced from the mixing of two species". The use of the term hybrid to refer to humans, then, was originally a support of the idea that different races were in fact different species.

Thomas Huxley argued that instead of "hybrid", mixed-race humans should be called "mongrels", since "'mongrels' ... are crosses between distinct races, and 'hybrids' ... are crosses between distinct species." But "mongrel" to us (and frankly, probably to Huxley) has such a strong association with dogs, and such a connotation of unknown and unreputable breeding—as a word it is so loaded with value judgement—that it is a much too insulting term to apply to human beings.

What gradually became significant was the definition of "species". For many, the definition of a species was a group that produced fertile offspring. A mule is infertile, and thus we know that a horse and a donkey, despite their similarities, are indeed different species. So the question was asked, can the races of humanity produce fertile children?

To my modern eyes, this seems an absolutely absurd question, but it was in fact debated with seriousness. Some, like Edward Long attempted the evidentially indefinsable position that different races could not, in fact, produce fertile offspring. Some, like Charles White, denied that fertile offspring was the best definition of species.

Next, Darwin attempts to shed some light on the subject.

Call for Comments

For one of my classes this semester, I have to produce a few short response papers on readings about "hybridity". The course in called "Hybridity and the Literary Imagination", and it focuses on mixed race, mixed culture and mixed languages. The most familiar example of this in Canada is the Metis. The course focues on literature by and about all kinds of neither-one-nor-the-other situations, racial, cultural or linguistic.

I propose to write my first thoughts for this course on this blog. I want to use this blog as something of a sounding board. And that will work best if I get a lot of comments, pointing out flaws in my reasoning, holes in my logic and occasionally points I've made well.

Of course, I always like comments anyway, but when my post concerns "hybridity", I hope the comments will be many.

That is all.

God and Ethics

Periodically, Elliot posts a link to one of the dozens of blogs he reads. To be honest, I usually ignore him.

But sometimes I follow those links. And sometimes I find that the blogger he's linked to is eminently worth reading. So I've been reading Real Live Preacher lately, and I sporadically check in on a few of the other people linked in Elliot's sidebar.

And very recently I've been reading Eve. For those who don't know, Eve is a Catholic and a lesbian who has chosen to be celibate as her way of reconciling her sexuality with her Catholicism. And I like Eve's post here enough that I think I'm going to add her to my sidebar.

Here's a excerpt (with bold added by me):

In order to figure out if something is okay to do, you can't just ask whether people who seem like good upstanding citizens (according to some culture or subculture's definition of "good"!) want to do it. I mean... I know a lot of good upstanding citizens who wouldn't bat an eye if somebody shoved bamboo sticks up Khalid Sheikh Mohammed's fingernails. Doesn't make it right to do. Culture can't be the final word on moral truth; nor can individual inclination be the final word. This actually strikes me as one of the stronger arguments that if there is a distinction between right and wrong, it requires a Creator God.

I think she's dead-on.

You Decide

I need to choose between two classes.

At first, I planned to list pros and cons, but I will let you my gentle readers decide what is a pro and what is a con.

Medieval Lit: Heroes and Heroines

The prof is hilarious

The prof is excellent (he won a prestegious teaching award this year)

I really like Medieval lit

I get to read Beowulf

I get to read the Dream of the Rood

I get to read Gawaine and the Green Knight

I've already studied medieval literature, and have previously read many of the required readings

It means my Tuesdays and Thursdays are pretty much solid class from 11:30 until 3:45

The Memoir

I've never taken a course on the memoir, and all of the readings are new to me

The readings look really good

I get to read Maus II

I get to read Miriam Toews' memoir of her father

I have another course with the same prof

It will be more of a discussion course than the other one

It means my Fridays are hell, solid class from 9:30 until 3:20.

First Day

Today I had my first offical day as a graduate student. Some highlights:

My American Lit. Prof: "Don't plagiarize. It's not worth it. It's not worth it. Seriously, it's not worth it. It's... it's just not worth it. You'll get caught, and it's not worth it."

My Medieval Lit. Prof (who speaks with an English accent but is from New Jersey): "You must recongnize the excerpt, so for example if on your exam there is the excerpt 'ALAS!', you will have to tell me where it is from, and who said it..."

Party for new grad. students, with free wine!

There was a debate, and I sided with a Medievalist against a Victorian.

I talked to a woman who's doing her Ph.d on "Japanese animation and cross-cultural influences". Her favourite author is Neil Gaiman. I like these people.

I have an owie

I got stung by a wasp on the tip of my finger.

Stream of Consciousness

Had lunch at CMU today with Steph, Kinsey and Amanda.

It was great seeing Steph again (and K+A, who I don't see nearly as much as I should—considering we live in the same city). She lives in Ontario, and was in Winnipeg very briefly for a working retreat with the MB conference of Canada, for whom she works about quarter time.

What we really need is for her other job to have a conference in Winnipeg. That way she and Laura could BOTH come. And they should stay longer.

Oh well, a lunch was better than nothing.

It sucks that so many of my friends are now scattered to the four winds, and that I sincerely suck at keeping in touch (see above, re: Kinsey and Amanda). To my friends who don't live in Winnipeg: I miss you all and hope to see you all soon.

Jan and I will be in Niagara for Christmas, so perhaps we can manage to see some Ontarians then.

Paul out.

Sniffles

Perelandra, it seems is a sickly sickly cat. Currently, she is suffering from the sniffles.

One of her eyes is watery, and she is sneezing a lot.

According to our dear and glorious leader Google this could be a hereditary disease involving a misformed tear duct, or it could be glaucoma, or it could be an alergy (to food, or to us, or to her own fur). Or it could just be a cold.

We've decided to wait and see if she gets better all by herself.

In the mean time, she is much more affectionate and cuddly than usual. Like any of us, she wants to be held and loved when she is sick. She snuggles up to me when I am sitting down, but instead of trying to play fetch or headbutt me, she just curls up and cuddles. It's actually rather nice. Maybe we should always keep her sick.

Oops

I had a post here a few hours ago talking about my sister's boyfriend, who is an artist. I posted a few of his paintings, but it was pointed out to me that this is copyright infringement, so I took them down. I'm going to ask his permission, and if it is given I'll put them up yet again.

Two Men in a Boat (to say nothing of the two boys, two girls and one woman)

Jan wrote about this, so I'm going to be brief. But...

We went on a canoe trip with the St. Margaret's Youth last weekend. There were seven of us: Jan and myself and Kevin as leaders and four youth, two girls and two boys (names withheld to protect the innocent).

It was a very enjoyable trip. Seven (as those of you with mathematics training will be able to calculate) does not divide evenly into two, so one canoe had an extra person in it. This turned out to be a very good thing, as it gave the tired and weak a chance to rest.

Lowlights:
I brought my camera, but forgot to bring film. No pictures.
The Assiniboine river has NO landmarks. We never knew where we were.
The coyote incident.
I got home tired and kinda burnt.

Highlights:
All four of the youth were awesome.
I think they all bonded a little more with each other.
A fire on the beach.
Swimming in the Assiniboine river.
Everyone listened to the campfire talks.
Everyone participated in the devotions (especially the second day).
Seeing herons and cranes and hawks and (I think) a golden eagle.
Saying "somebody clean these dishes" and watching it actually get done!

Bandaged

Jan's parents gave me a Cutco French Chef Knife for my birthday. It's great, but I have cut myself twice already. They should come with some kind of warning.

Worldwide(web) Search

Check out the St. Margaret's Youth webpage for an ongoing contest. I've been searching the web for good church webpages. That includes everything from anglican.ca to a specific church's youth group webpage. I need help from people throughout the web, so spread the word and contribute your nominations!

Poor little rich kids

Geez magazine has a parody of Make Poverty History—Make Affluence History. I will admit out front that I have a few issues with Geez magazine, with their approach, their philosophy and their mission. This parody exemplifies some of what I think is wrong with Geez and their ilk.

Make affluence history is a clever parody of make poverty history. It raises some important points succesfully shifts my perspective and shatters some assumptions. It is indeed true that the children of wealth need prayer by virtue of their wealth. There is an intention here that I admire. However, the practical result is to allow self-satisfied people to smugly stop supporting the poor in favour of mocking the rich. A parody like this belittles the efforts of people who are doing the work of God--supporting the needy. A parody like this encourages people to stop supporting the poor. It makes the rich—and let's face it, the people writing this parody, the people producing Geez magazine, for all their talk about simplicity are rich in comparison to most of the world simply by virtue of living in Canada and the people viewing the parody are rich in that they have access to the internet; those who practice voluntary simplicity are still rich in that their simplicity is voluntary—feel better about themselves and do less to help the poor.

Bad News

I'm completely out of things to say.

So here's what happened...

After much soul-searching, I decided a while back not to go back to the U of M's faculty of Education. Instead, I applied to the Pre-Master's program with the intention of getting a Master's, and later a PhD in English.

It was Monday June 12th that I decided this, and the deadline for application was Thursday June 15th. My application package needed to include my academic transcripts, two letters of recommendation from previous English professors, a sample of my academic writing, as well as the completed application forms. Jan and I were leaving for a road trip on Tuesday morning. Yikes.

I searched my hard drive frantically for a suitable piece of writing. It's been three years since I was taking undergraduate English classes, and our computer has undergone some drastic internal surgery since then. I didn't have anything I was proud to attach my name to. I contemplated writing a new piece. Then it occured to me that one of my former professors, Sue Sorensen, from whom I took a class on British and Irish Literature, had liked an essay I wrote on T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland so much that she had saved it. Maybe she could forward a copy to the U of M on my behalf?

I called another of my previous English professors, Paul Dyck, and begged for a letter of reference. He told me I could pick it up from his house on Tuesday morning. So Jan and I would stop by the U of M on our way out of town, drop off the letter, pick up the application forms. I could fill them out on the road, and could fax it on Tuesday evening from Jan's parents' place in Saskatoon.

I wrote an e-mail to Sue, begging for a letter of reference from her, and begging her to forward a copy of my T.S. Eliot essay. And finally, to hedge my bets I sent an e-mail to the only other English prof I've ever had, Mark Fortier, from whom I took a class on John Milton. I wasn't even sure if he would even remember me, as I was only one student in a class of 30 four years ago, but I had very much enjoyed the class, and I figured it was worth a try.

We headed west, stopping by the Dyck household and U of M on our way. At casa de Oatway I faxed in my application and faxed U of M and CMU a request to send my transcripts and to put a rush on it. It was Tuesday night, they were due by Thursday, and they claimed it took 2-4 days. If it was 2, I would be fine. If it was 4, I would be too late.

On Wednesday we moved further west, and it was out of my hands.

When we got back in Winnipeg there was a message on my answering machine saying that the English department had received my application and all related materials except my transcripts. They would give me a few days' grace, they said.

And then I heard nothing.

According to the U of M website, graduate students needed to be registered by mid-July.

It was July and I heard nothing.

July came near its end, and still I heard nothing. No rejection letter, but no acceptance letter either.

I called the English chair and asked "Yo! What's the deal?"

They were a little behind on notifying people this year, I was informed. But when I received my acceptance letter I should call to set up an appointment.

August rolled around. Still I heard nothing.

Then, this Thursday I got a letter from the University of Manitoba informing me that I had been accepted into the pre-Master's program.

I'M IN! YAHOO!

No YOU watch too much tv

Chocolate milk doesn't come from brown cows.

A&W doesn't have waiters. And charred tomato coolee sounds good to me.

"Head-On! Apply directly to the BITE ME"

For the rest of my life, I will never ever purchase Gold Bond. That is how annoying their "get the quick fix" commercials are.

United Furnature CRAP HOUSE (bum bum)