A Little Everyday Magic

“Words — so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.”
–Nathaniel Hawthorne

There is a special place in my heart for words and writing, books and reading. At the risk of sounding unforgivably trite, reading provides an escape from stress and worries, allowing one to escape into a world where the rules are different and the problems are gone, where even the Post Office can become romantic* and exciting… worlds of magic, and honor, rage, passion, and fire.

A simple piece of text can revive long-dead heroes, ancient traditions, and lost cultures; a few words can stir the hearts of simple men into overthrowing governments, and a simple piece of paper broke the power of the greatest religious institution on Earth. Books have sparked revolutions and ushered in peace, thrown down politicians and uncovered atrocities.

There’s really no other way to put it: words and books are magical.

Now, I’m not referring to the cheap illusions used by magicians and tricksters, all flash and spectacle with no substance designed to deceive and win your wallet; nor any sort of mystical superstition or occult foolishness.

No, what I refer to is the simple, everyday magic; that which runs through our everyday lives; what powers love, hope, faith.

If we could take the whole of the World, this wondrous machine of God’s creation, and flip it upside down to see the invisible mechanisms that keep it running, then we would see this simple, everyday magic: the divine underpinnings of our universe, the remnants of the creative Word fueling all that is. This is the simple, everyday magic: nothing flashy or ostentatious,

It would seem to me that this everyday magic is present to a greater or lesser extent in every aspect of our world. Lesser or not at all in things like carpet or llamas (let’s admit it, folks… fun name and good clothes but not much else), moreso in things of importance like scriptures, holy items, music, and (of course, reaching the point…) books.

I believe we can feel this simple, everyday magic when we read a good book; the emotions and feelings roused by these stories are the touch of their spell. The effect is felt in libraries, used bookstores. The romance associated with such buildings is an offshoot of this. For myself, in fact, one of the most soothing things I can do is visit my local used bookstore, and just take in the atmosphere. I think it may have something to do with all the paper packed into one place, absorbing things out of the air. Or maybe it is another manifestation of this everyday sort of magic, this simple enchantment that is not at all magical or enchanted… but yet is. I believe Terry Pratchett says it well:

The truth is that even big collections of ordinary books distort space, as can readily be proved by anyone who has been around a really old-fashioned secondhand bookshop, one of those that look as though they were designed by M Escher on a bad day and has more staircases than storys and those rows of shelves which end in little doors that are surely too small for a full-sized human to enter. The relevant equation is: Knowledge = power = energy = matter = mass; a good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read.

And it’s not just books; every word we write has power. Some words have more than others; the name of G-d is extremely powerful, and thus we are commanded not to use it lightly; but even mundane words have this power, to impact and alter the very fabric of the universe. How else have Shakespeare and Chaucer stayed with us for so long, or Tolkien’s and Lewis’ magical worlds altered the very direction of our societies, in multitudes of ways, however unnoticed? Words have power. Holy words, mundane words, curse words…

They are all imbued with this simple, everyday magic.

Let me give an example that I feel illustrates my point rather well. It is from a fictional novel, but I think it sums my feelings up rather well. Again, borrowing from Terry Pratchett, this time from his book “Going Postal.” The backstory is that a man has been assigned the position of Postmaster of the city’s long-defunct Post Office, a cavernous and ancient building filled literally to the brim with decades of undelivered mail and pigeon poo. This vast accumulation of letters has led to some strange effects upon reality in the Post Office, and the letters begin to cry out for Delivery. As Terry states:

“Every undelivered letter is a piece of space-time that lacks another end, a little bundle of emotion and effort floating freely. Pack millions of them together and they do what they are meant to do: communicate, and change the nature of events. When there’s enough of them, they distort the universe around them.”

The book talks about the tiny little events that every single letter causes, and how when a letter isn’t delivered those events can’t happen, and remain tied up within the letter as potentiality. Pack so much potentiality into one place and it all acts in some way or another. I think this really hits on the crux of want I feel on this topic. Words, books, writings… they are powerful, and in a much more literal way than maybe we realize. The entire sensory experience of reading a book, the weight and feel of the pages; the smell of the ink and paper and old crackly, musty binding; the sound of each page turning, revealing another fraction of the story, another intellectual revelation; the sight of the words and the little imperfections in the paper; and (for the really insane… and the publishers) the taste of the paper, the cover…

…maybe not so much that last one, but still, my point is (rather rambling-ly) made. Now, as usual I’ve more or less wandered my way through this entire post, coming up with what I wanted to say as I went along, so it’s pretty disconnected and doesn’t make much of point; with that in mind, let me wrap up with this little summation:

Reading, writing… it’s a sort of magic; it’s as close as we can get to magic in our world. It is a vestige of the Creative Word imbued on us by our Creator, with it’s command to go forth and do likewise. It is the single most powerful force that a human being can harness. It is a way for us to draw closer to G-d by sharing in the joy of creation and inviting others to join us.

And it all began…

And it all begins…

…with a Word.

In the begining was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.

Now go, and do likewise.

שלם

New Channel, Same Time

Well, ladies and gentlemen, it is with much joy I announce that Distant Window has officially changed it’s name to Four Things and a Lizard. That’s right, I will no longer be updating my blog Distant Window, but will from now on post my what-nots here at Four Things and a Lizard. After watching an absolutely inspired episode of Doctor Who, I decided to reserve the name Distant Window exclusively to my photographic work and provide a new name for my musings and ramblings. Don’t worry, you’ll still get all of the same great (if sparsely posted) reviews, commentaries, opinions, and jibber-jabber as always. But now, you’ll get on a page with a darn catchy name. But now I must run. There’s a… thing. Well… four things. Well…

Four Things and a Lizard.

שלם

What Have We Become?

I just read this article published by Bungie, makers of the Halo series of video games. According to this article, the total amount of on-line playtime on Halo 3 (just Halo 3, not including the first two games, and just online multiplayer, not including the single-player campaigns) in man-hours equates to over 64,000 years of playtime. Sixty-four. Thousand. Years. YEARS. That’s more than ten times the total span of recorded history. In 64,000 years, every major human empire has risen and fallen. Every invention has been dreamed and realized. Over 100,000,000,000 (that’s one hundred billion, kids) human beings have been born, lived, and died.
Now, imagine all of that time, all of that history and progress and accomplishment… and replace it all with Halo 3. Nothing but Halo 3. Over. And over. And over.

That.
Is.
Sad.

How is there any surprise that American society is witnessing it’s highest-ever rates of suicide and depression? How can we be surprised when millions of American teenagers spend their lives, literally, playing video games?
Obesity at historical levels.
Diabetes so common that testing supplies get full-page ads in Wal-Mart flyers.

When immeasurable lifetimes are spent on a fantasy-world? And this is just one game, people! Factor in the dozens of other games with similar degrees of playtime (Guitar Hero, World of Warcraft, Call of Duty, etc) and the amount of life that has been wasted on mindless video games is simply staggering. Imagine if all the time spent playing Halo 3 had instead been spent on worthwhile pursuits: 64,000 years of advancement to medicine, alternative fuels, social equality, poverty reduction.

To be fair, I play video games. I spend maybe 6 hours, ten if I’m feeling especially lazy, on video games every week; and I’m not saying that video games should be shunned as horrible devil-spawn single-handedly causing the downfall of Western civilization. They are a worthwhile entertainment, but only when used in moderation as with anything.

I feel I am beginning to ramble, so I’ll wrap up my comments now. It’s time to live people! Our generation is living longer than any previous generation… but our lives are so much smaller. Let’s do something about this. Let us rage:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

שלם

Barack Obama: The Dream… Redefined

I saw a magazine cover the other day, with a picture of Barack Obama and Martin Luther King, Jr. on the cover, with the words “The Dream Realized.” This got me thinking. While I understand the significance of Barack Obama being our nation’s first African-American president, his race has been the sole (or at least primary) point of discussion every time I have heard his presidency discussed. Not his radical positions on abortion, gay marriage, and economics, all of which are major hot-button topics in our nation today, not his glaring lack of leadership experience or even his voting history in the Senate. These issues may be touched upon or mentioned in passing, but all anyone really wants to talk about is “he’s the first African-American President of the United States.”

My question, though, is… so what?

Bear with me, drop those torches and pitchforks.

Yes, it’s a major milestone.

Yes, it means a lot for our country.

But, why should it matter so much? If this is truly a milestone for racial equality and fairness, shouldn’t his race not matter? We should be able to judge his presidential capability independent of his race. It seems to me that we should be at a point for our country where race doesn’t matter. We should say, “Oh, Barack Obama. He seems to be a capable, level-headed, fair-minded individual who will look to the best interests of our nation and ensure we remain safe and prosperous during his term. And, oh look, he’s black; he’ll be our first African-American president. Neat.” Rather, we switch those sentences, and it instead becomes a matter of race rather than of ability.

Now, politics is a dirty game at best, and I personally am very unimpressed with our system of electing officials. In fact I more or less hate politics and distrust everything and everyone involved in them. And while that is a very lengthy and unnecessary argument for another time (or perhaps, best of all, never), I will simply say that I personally think elections should be blind. We should be presented with the relevant details of a candidate, his positions on key issues, voting record, credentials, expertise, etc. That should be the basis of our choice rather than silver-tongued wordplay and flashy MTV and late-night appearances.

But as I said, that’s for another time.

What really concerns me is the way Obama has been accepted by the public and media. I have heard him called “The New Messiah,” and he had already been titled by many as the greatest President of our country’s history before he even took office. He can do no wrong by the media; I remember the beating Presient Bush took every time he made a slip of the tongue or said something less-than-eloquent, and the way he was raked over the coals for every unpopular decision he made while the great things he did went almost totally unpublicized (heard of Darfur? Or his 80% approval ratings in sub-Saharan Africa, according to the Pew Institute and the Boston Globe?) And on another, small, nitpicky note of journalistic properness, I can’t even count the number of times I heard President Bush addressed in the media as “Mr. Bush,” a slight at best over their negative opinions of him. However, President Obama has made his fair share of linguistic slipups (spend five minutes on YouTube, you’ll have fun) and I have yet to see one on the news (just as a minor example.)

Now, I understand that many will think I am simply ‘hating’ and simply doing that which I accuse others of doing in the past. That is not the case. I didn’t vote for Obama, but that’s not the point here. President Obama is now the Man in the Oval Office, and as the holder of the highest office in the Land I will respect him as such. I hope his term goes well, and I pray he will be a wise and level-headed ruler. And while I believe the Presidency to be a far less powerful position than many believe (The Senate and Court have the real power, kids) I understand the significance of his position and his power to affect the much-touted “Change” in our nation.  These next few weeks will be a proving time for Obama; we will see what he is truly made of once his Office gets rolling.

America's New Superboy

What I ask is that the people be willing to step back and examine Obama for what he is: a man. A human being, an American, who is the President of our country. Period. He is not a God, he is not Abraham Lincoln, he is not Martin Luther King, Jr. He is Barack Obama, and whatever happens I can guarantee he will not make everything better, and could even make some things worse. He should be, as every other President in the history of our nation, carefully observed and criticized. Remember that he is, first and foremost, a politician and should not be prejudged on flashy campaign promises and a big smile. Nobody should be afraid of speaking out against his policies or practices.

And, thus, after writing far more than I intended to, we come back to the magazine cover I mentioned above: Obama and MLK Jr. with the words “The Dream Realized.” We have to ask ourselves: Is this MLK’s dream? He spoke of a day when color would not matter, when judgement would be made independent of race. Blindly following a politician (and I am not saying everyone does this, but many, many do) because of his race is not Dr. King’s dream. That is the opposite of his dream.

So.

We have a new president.

He happens to be black.

Neat.

Now, let’s get down to business.

Genetics

So I have these two cousins who are identical twins and have red hair.

The odds seem to be against that.

שלם

Utensils

I was in Campus Center today and tried to make myself a salad.

The only utensils available were tongs.

Tongs are not a good choice for sunflower seeds.

שלם

There’s Growth… and then there are Growths

Growth.

You probably hear this word tumbling down from the pulpit a lot. Preachers seem to toss ‘growth’ out there almost as often as ‘grace’ and ‘tithe.’ It’s especially popular if you go to a small or struggling church:

“How can we encourage growth?”

“We need growth in this church!”

But… what do they mean by growth? Usually, the term refers to simple attendance. How do we get more people into the pews on each Sunday? How do we hit the “top score” and out-do the Methodists down the street?

Growth is defined as “development from a lower or simpler to a higher or more complex form; evolution.” Also, “an increase, as in size, number, value, or strength; extension or expansion.”

Another definition is “an abnormal mass of tissue, such as a tumor, growing in or on a living organism.”

So.

Growth.

We’re presented with three types of growth: Empirical growth, or growth to numbers; essential growth, growth to essence or spiritual growth; and finally cancerous growth, the destructive sort.

I was visiting family a few weeks ago, and after church on Sunday the topic of conversation turned to their home church and how they have been trying to “encourage growth.”

They tossed around all the things they’d been trying.

Youth activities.

Games.

Outings.

As I sat and listened to this, I began thinking. Their definition of growth is increased attendance, not based on a healthy Christian environment, but on getting young people to come for the games. It seems to be what most churches are after. They want a bigger congregation, so they’ll get bigger tithes, so they can move to a bigger building and say they’re ‘reaching more people.’

This where we get Super Churches, congregations so bloated with ‘growth’ they need to purchase arenas to meet in and sustain operations budgets larger than the military expenditures of small countries. This model is quite contrary to the first “churches” were groups of friends who met in houses, fellowshipped together, prayed together, and went out into their community to share the gospel and minister to those in need. When the group got larger, they broke off a new small group to reach a new area.

Super Churches often exemplify cancerous growth, especially when the only focus becomes numbers, numbers. The only way to sustain such a large congregation is to keep them all happy. The only way to keep them all happy is to weed out the parts of the message that will make the casual constituents uncomfortable. So, all those bits about ‘dying to self’ and self-sacrifice and ‘crucified with Christ’ and ‘to live is Christ and to die is gain’ get left on the wayside for the Prayer of Jabez and ‘fasts from wrong thinking’ and the whole ‘health and happiness’ set.

This Super-Mega-Vente-Colloso McChurch then becomes the role model for smaller, struggling churches. They want to have those sorts of crowds, that sort of witness. But, isn’t that the opposite of the mission Christ set for the church? My memory may be failing me, but it seems the command was “go and make disciples,” not “Go and host a potluck and hope to experience ‘church growth.’”

The church is not an inward-focused organization. Our purpose is to get Christians out among the lost, not draw more Christians in to the church building on Sunday. I mentioned to them that maybe expanding their ministry base would be an effective way to grow as a church. Get involved in the community, and more people will want to be a part of what you’re doing as a vibrant living-out of the mission of Christ.

I was told, “Well, we do that… we have a food pantry. It’s unadvertised, though, or else we wouldn’t be able to keep people away.”

So… you don’t tell anybody about your food pantry…

…because people would come to it?

I believe I am beginning to see the problem.

You are afraid to let the needy know you have a program to help them, because they would come and take advantage of it. And you don’t know if you could (or don’t want to) support them. But, if you are doing God’s work, don’t you have faith that he will ensure his people are taken care of? So, if the demand begins to stretch your means, God will expand your means. He will bring you more supplies, more donors. But, you’re afraid- you don’t think it would happen. You’re afraid that you will be left with a line of hungry people who you cannot help, and then you will be disappointed in God. And you’re afraid of that most of all, because your faith is not strong enough for such a disappointment.

Or, perhaps, you just don’t want all ‘those’ people coming to the church, because there is always a chance they might like ‘your’ church, and come again… and then become a regular… and that just wouldn’t be good for the image.

Growth is obviously needed in many churches. But, not the increased attendance they look for; without first experiencing spiritual discipleship and having a foundation for a larger congregation to live on, that congregation will become cancerous, a body of death that exists only to preen and feed itself on it’s own existence.

Mars Hill Bible Church is one “super-church” that has got it right. The main congregation only meets on Sunday for a shared message, but then meets in small, intimate “house churches” throughout the week to disciple one another, build on Sunday’s sermon, and reach out to the community. The church has a powerful presence in the community of Grand Rapids with ambitious programs like the XYZ Initiatives to end childhood poverty first in their city, then their state, and finally the world. This is the sort of ‘growth’ that the Church should strive for.

Rather than keeping an unadvertised food pantry for a few needy friends, throw the floodgates open. Let your faith run wild, and trust that God will reward impossible faith with impossible faithfulness. Invite every man, woman, and child in need to come and get some food. When those in the community see your generosity, they will want to help. You will find people you never imagined would help, giving donation upon donation. But don’t settle for just this!

Church buildings are such a waste of money. Congregations raise money for years to build a $50.23 million complex with classrooms, basketball gyms, fellowship halls, ‘multi-purpose rooms,’ coffee bars, and maybe a sanctuary. This building… is used two days a week. Members only. Occasionally we’ll sell tickets to a chili supper for Thursday night. In my mind, the perfect Church building would never be closed. Every single day, the doors are open. The homeless, the hungry, the poor, the lost, the drug addicts, if they are walking down the street at 9:34 pm on Tuesday, they can see this building that represents the presence of God in their community, and go in for prayer, a change of clothes, a sandwich.

The church building is not the “clubhouse of the saved.” It is the sanctuary for the lost. It is the jumping-off point for the Lovers of God to grow the Church out of the building and into the streets. Churches complain about ‘growth,’ but… what have you planted? If you plant it, it will grow. If you build it, yadda yadda yadda. If your church is more than a fancy building for saved people, if you reach out to people that you may not want in ‘your church,’ God will be able to plant the seeds of real, essential, spiritual growth in that Church, that body of believers. You will grow so far and so fast, so in-touch with the heart of God, that you’ll need to buy an abandoned shopping mall just to hold all the people that want to hear your message.

When “Church Growth” stops being about getting more people in, and more about giving more of yourselves out, you will notice a wonderful attribute of God in action. God loves to flip the world upside-down. If we are in the world, He is in the ‘bizzaro world.’ The first shall be last, the lowest is highest, and those that break themselves open and pour themselves out, will be filled and whole and flourishing. The church that reaches out and empties itself into the lost and hungry and hurting, will grow so much they won’t know what to do with themselves.

Stop looking in, because that is not where we are called. Don’t strive to grow your numbers, because God only asks for two or more to be gathered together. Simply open your heart, test your faith, and let God do a great work in you so that you can truly grow.

I’ll leave with the words to a song from The Man of La Mancha, the tale of a man called ‘crazy’ because he dared to do what was thought impossible and live a life of honor and selflessness:

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go

To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far

To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause

And I know if I’ll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I’m laid to my rest

And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star.

שלם

The Count of Monte Cristo

Blogger General’s Warning: This product may contain spoilers as well as peanuts and other assorted tree nuts. Spoilers have been proven by the Department for Public Broadcasting, the Postmaster General, and Suzie that sits behind you in third-period English to significantly lessen the impact of books, stories, movies, and other narrative medium. And also to cause warts. Do not consume products that may contain peanuts and other assorted tree nuts if you are allergic to them, as this may cause a severe allergic reaction. You have been warned.

The year is 1814. Napoleon has been removed from the throne of France and exiled to the Isle of Elba, and a young sailor named Edmond Dantès has just returned home to Marseilles after months at sea aboard the merchant vessel Pharaon. Everything is looking up for young Dantès: he has been promised the captaincy of his ship, he is set to marry his true love, and his aging father is there to be proud of his son. However, not everyone is so proud of young monsieur’s success. A conspiracy is hatched to defame Dantès and he is arrested and imprisoned on false charges.

For fourteen years, the once-hopeful man rots in the deepest dungeon of the island prison, the Château d’If . He befriends a peaceful abbè in the neighboring cell, and they adopt one another as father and son. The priest educates Edmond, and tells him of a fabulous treasure: the inheritance of a great family, hidden on an island and forgotten by time. With this fortune, a man would be able to unleash great blessings on his friends… or powerful retribution on his malefactors.

At long last, this tortured man escapes from prison. With his new-found wealth and education, he casts away Edmond Dantès and returns to France as the Count of Monte Cristo, to visit his wrath upon those responsible for his suffering:

“I wish to be Providence myself, for I feel that the most beautiful, noblest, most sublime thing in the world, is to recompense and punish.” –Edmond Dantès

Alexandre Dumas wrote these words in 1844, basing his tale (more loosely than a Hollywood adaptation) on the true story of a shoemaker named François Picaud from the archives of the Paris police. This absolutely gut-wrenching tale of revenge, egotism, and impatient despair has climbed to a well-deserved position as one of my favorite stories of all time. Dumas writes with incredible feeling, bringing the reader to care passionately for the Count and his quest, so that we begin to feel, as the Count does, the horrible cost to those he once loved that must be exacted for him to complete his vengeance.

The Count of Monte Cristo contains many colorful and memorable characters. There is Edmond Dantès, embodying innocence, naivety, and bright-eyed cheeriness. Edmond has nothing but hope for his future. He is sharply contrasted by The Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond Dantès’ persona embittered by fourteen years of imprisonment. Monte Cristo is calculating, brilliant, and capable of both extreme generosity and startling violence.

The conspirators of Dantès misfortune, and the targets of his quest, are the Pharaon’s one-time purser, Danglars; the cousin of his fiancée Mercedes, Fernand; and his neighbor Caderhousse. Both Fernand and Danglars have become very wealthy during Dantès’ time in prison. Monsieur Danglars is now a Baron, having made his fortune through cunning speculation and banking maneuvers. Fernand is now the Count de Morcerf, a renowned General and military mind. Danglars and Fernand represent the Financial and Military arms of the aristocracy, respectively. Caderhousse, who was an unwilling participant of the conspiracy and strove to prevent the slander of Dantès, is the poor owner of a failing Inn. He represents the virtuous common man, falling on hard times despite his merit:

“It is thus that God rewards virtue, monsieur. Just look at me: I have never done a wrong action apart from the one I related to you a moment ago, yet I live in poverty while Fernand and Danglars are rolling in wealth.” – Caderhousse

These archetypes, the Military Nobility, the Corrupt Financier, and the Suffering Everyman, are social roles important to Alexandre Dumas. His father was the son of a Marquis of Normandy, and his mother an innkeeper’s daughter. This family background gave Dumas a unique first-hand perspective on both the peasantry and the nobility. The story can also be seen as a picture of “class struggle” of a sort, with the vengeful Count representing the empowered populace attacking the corrupt aristocracy and war-machine.

Revenge is the primary motif of The Count of Monte Cristo. Dumas explores how a blind desire for retribution, when that is all one lives for, is a poisoning influence that drives one to be willing to sacrifice all that one holds dear merely for the satisfaction of watching one’s foes fall. In fact, as the story concludes with Dantès’ vengeance completed, he comes to the realization that he has “gone beyond the limits of rightful vengeance and that he could no longer say ‘God is for and with me.’” Leaving his two remaining friends on the isle of Monte Cristo and bestowing all his wealth unto them as a wedding gift, Edmond Dantès now sheds the Count of Monte Cristo as the Count buried Edmond Dantès. Taking only his loving slave Haydee, Dantes sets forth on a journey of redemption for his soul. He leaves his friends with these words:

“There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness…Tell the angel who will watch over your life to pray now and then for a man who, like Satan, believed himself for an instant to be equal to God, but who realized in all humility that supreme power and wisdom are in the hands of God alone.”

…

…okay.

Page-and-a-half semi-intellectually rant? Check. Jibber-jabber completed, it is now time to set that aside to talk about how I felt about the book.

The Lord of the Rings aside as my permanent unimpeachable favorite of all time, The Count of Monte Cristo is my new favorite book. The passion of Dantès is sweeping, soul-stirring even. You can’t help but empathize with his lust for retribution, his desire to see those who have destroyed his life crushed like grapes in the winepress of vengeance (ooh, I’m feeling poetic.) I felt the pangs of regret as the Count began to realize that to satisfy his wrath, he must sacrifice both himself and all those he holds dear. He must wrap himself in darkness, bury his heart beneath a cloak of hatred. As Dumas writes:

“And now, farewell to kindness, humanity and gratitude. Farewell to all sentiments which rejoice the heart. I have substituted myself for Providence in rewarding the good; may the God of vengeance now yield me His place to punish the wicked.”

The bottom line of the sordid tale of Edmond Dantès is this: be wary of feeling empowered to deal death in judgment. Edmond’s quest for vengeance did not bring him the closure he sought, and in fact cost him much that he had hoped to reclaim. Only at the last line, when Edmond discovers that true value is found in charity, love, and brotherhood, does he realize this truth, one of the most meaningful lines ever written:

Until the day when God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these two words,—‘Wait and hope.’

שלם

Set My Coffee Free!

So, today I’m going to throw a perfectly good rant about nothing. Nothing new there (well, actually this is my first post other than the book review, so, I guess it is new… but it’s a sign of things to come so get used to it.), nor is the fact that it will probably cheese off a healthy portion of the internet… and probably 90% of the blogosphere.

And a good number of my friends.

And my mom.

So, I hear the question reverberating across the ether: What, good blogger, is this topic that vexes you so? Ah, I say. Well, good patrons, let me tell you in a vague and roundabout manner.

I, in point of fact, despise Starbucks.

You gasp.

How, you say in breathless indignation, can any self-professed coffee lover dare to breathe such sacrilege? Starbucks (bowing and scraping here) is the quintessence of coffee! And that… is the reason I hate Starbucks. They have ruined the entire concept of coffee and the coffee house with their mass-produced, ‘overroasted,’ ill-prepared beverages masterfully served by under-trained, ill-informed, trendy high schoolers who care as much about preparing coffee as they do cleaning behind their ears.

To be sure, I could tolerate even that.

The real shame lies in the fact that due to nothing more than mere mindshare nearly every American coffee consumer believes Starbucks to be the truest and most sublime form of the Arabian brew on simple merit of it’s being Starbucks.

Well, the hard truth is, nothing could be further from reality.

Okay. Some things could. Such as orange elephants or perhaps John Cougar Mellencamp winning an Oscar. But, I digress.

Starbucks uses only the finest bargain-basement beans, scrupulously avoiding Fair Trade sources, carefully burnt (they prefer the term “over-roasted”) in huge batches and shipped across the country to be generically brewed and dispensed into your highly over-specified semi-coffee beverage.

Now, this may come as a shock to Starbucks regulars, or those whose primary experience with coffee comes from vacuum-packed bricks of pre-ground coffee bean substitute, but coffee is, when prepared properly, a naturally sweet beverage. The flavor of fresh coffee is more complex than wine, with over 900 flavor compounds. And this… is why I hate Starbucks. Not only have they tarnished the American consumer’s concept of a good cup of coffee, but they have made it very difficult for those that provide decent coffee to succeed. Why, the coffee at Intelligentsia can’t be all that good… it doesn’t taste like Starbucks!

Ugh.

Rant finished. Begin flame war…

…now.

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Crime and Punishment

So, in an effort to improve my standing amongst the judgmental literati in my brain, I have decided to read some ‘classics’ this summer. I started the quest with Fyodor Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment,” a tale of the young Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov (those fiendish Russians and their names), a mentally unstable ex-student who commits a murder in an attempt to prove his theory that great men are exempt from being labeled “criminals,” since by their ‘crimes’ they contribute to the greater good of society.

This is a difficult book. The story is very intriguing, the characters are colorful and unique. However, it takes a lot of sheer willpower to get through; there are stretches of anywhere from five to ten pages of dialog at a time, and since Raskolnikov doesn’t talk much, it’s more like that much monologue, which is very difficult to wade through at a stretch. It’s worth it, however, as you get inside of Raskolnikov’s psyche and witness his growing insanity. In fact, his internal dialog becomes increasingly convoluted and illogical as the book progresses, causing the reader to grow increasingly frustrated with Raskolnikov’s obvious (to us) stupidity, but at the same time allowing one to sympathize with his feelings.

Dostoevsky uses this book to explore the psychology of a criminal. The title, “Crime and Punishment,” denotes the two end points of the story. The crime occurs in the first few pages, and the punishment does not arrive until the epilogue. The intervening several hundred pages delve into Raskolnikov’s brain as he tries to reconcile his repressed feelings of guilt with the theory that led him to commit the murder: that “supermen(such as Napoleon and as he believed himself to be)” are above the law and able to commit ‘crimes’ without guilt or regret as they are benefiting society as a whole. However, he disproves his own theory with his guilt, but his inability to admit that he is on the same level as the rest of the world drives him into delirium.

Taken in the context of which the novel was written, the story can be reduced to an examination of nihilism and utilitarianism, two areas of philosophy gaining rapid ground in Russia at the time Crime and Punishment was released. Raskolnikov commits his crime on the grounds of utilitarianism, that his victim the Pawnbroker was a useless wretch who leeched off of those in poverty, and her death will ease their lives. However, he then sinks into nihilism to deny his guilt and the feelings of those around him; however, it is this nihilism that leads to his insanity and inability to function outside of total isolation. At the very last, he is able to break out of nihilism by admitting that he truly loves another human being, and finds redemption of a sort for himself through this realization. What Dostoevsky (who experienced a religious conversion several years before Crime and Punishment’s release) is seeming to say to his fellow Russians embroiled in the Nihilist movement is that Nihilism is an ultimately destructive intellectual philosophy which imprisons it’s adherents into a cycle of Self at the cost of their fellow man, and care and respect for one’s brothers and sisters is the foundation for a soul at peace. I find this a very fitting concept; as I’ve said several times to friends, “The most important thing anyone can have in this world is something to care about more than they care about themselves.”

So, I greatly recommend picking up this book. You can find copies on Amazon or Half-Price Books for a few dollars, and Barnes & Noble Classics have released a cheap edition as well. It’s a tough read, but well-worth a look or two. If you’ve read it, share your thoughts and we can all act intellectual together.

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