Yay!
I just got an email from Brad. He's doing really well. It was awesome to hear from him.
For any of you who can't immediately place the name, Brad was the "bad boy" in the boy band that was Daniel, Brad, and me, for all of high school.
Okay, now you want to know the rest. Daniel was the "ladykiller," and I was the "one who's not really in the band, but always hangs around."
Glad to hear from him. Life is good, even through a hangover. Latah!
There's this proposition that...err...proposes... that all Men are created equal. I am dedicated to this proposition. Now, when, in the course of human events....
Beh. Whatever. Here's the point: every person has within him the ability to become anything any other person can become. Yes, that includes Wolverine, but if you really think about it, really, would you actually want to be Wolverine?
But that's beside the point. Every person has within him the ability to become anything any other person can become. And, as we have seen in history and legend, a person can become some pretty damn impressive things.
More importantly, people become pretty impressive, over the course of time. Here's a thing: two people can do more than one person can. Again, more importantly, two people working together can do more than two persons working individually can. That's an important distinction. The very foundation of all Society, all Community, all Civilization, is that a group of people banding together becomes more than just the sum of its parts.
There's a reason for this. While every person has within him the ability to become anything any other person can become, most don't. That is, we all take our beginning, our infinite possibility, and through environment, education, training, and choices, we all tend to become somethings unique. When we pool our resources, then, those who have trained for physical strength can offer their physical strength to the community. Those who have trained for mental prowess can offer their mental prowess to the community. And lazy bastards with a knack for spelling can get a surprisingly high GPA pursuing an English Major. Har har.
But I'm working my way toward a point, here. Gar, and it's going to sacharrine, so there's your fair warning. It's the differences between people that make communities stronger than collections. It's the diversity of a community's membership that provides the community's strength.
I think this is one of the reasons families work so well. Bruce and I have discussed the...unfairness of the way families work. That is, without choice, without apparent reason, by an accident of genetics you are irrevocably tied to a particular group of people. Nothing you can do in your life can change who your family is. However, families remain an incredibly successful and powerful social structure. I think the "accident of genetics" is a very important reason for this.
Friendship communities, and even professional communities, will tend to bind together because of shared traits. Naturally, there is a significant degree of deviation from person to person even within a similarity-based community, but within a family you're going to get a significantly greater degree of divergence of interests and specializations. The family bond itself binds these divergent elements together, and allows them to become the sort of successful, greater-than-the-sum-of-its-parts community I'm talking about.
So. That explains families, but we really do have little control over the shape and membership of our family, so through life we create other communities around us -- we bind ourselves to other folks, adding our resources to theirs (and theirs to ours) and all of us growing together.
And here's how relationships work (from a pragmatic standpoint): Similarities create the bond that keeps a community together. Differences create the strengths that make a community effective.
Remember what I said earlier, that two people working together are stronger than the same two people working individually? This is only true inasmuch as there are differences between them. Two people, perfectly identical in ability and disposition, would work as well apart as together. There are some flaws with that claim, but on close consideration I think it really holds. The significance of a relationship comes from its diversity.
What, then, is a marriage, but a constructed family bond? That is, the whole point of a marriage, as far as I can see, is to create a community of two bound together for the sake of becoming greater-than-the-sum-of-its-parts. There's the strong force and the weak force, though. The very thing that lends significance to the relationship (difference) creates a constant pressure forcing the people apart. It takes something stronger than that to bind them together, so that the individuals can act as a community. In blood-relationships, it's the genetic bond that overcomes the repulsive force. In made friendships, it's similarities (and often these similarities have to be so overwhelming as to practically smother the differences, limiting the ultimate effectiveness of the relationship).
I can't quite seem to get to my punchline here. It sounds something like this: "irreconcilable differences are what make a marriage worth having." I'm not trying to be trite. Sincerely, if a couple could reconcile its differences, it would cease to matter as a couple. It is the difference between who you are, and who I am, that makes us, as a couple better than just a couple of people.
That goes beyond marriage, obviously, but marriage is the most powerful illustration of this basic core of all human relationship. Marriage is the idea that a custom, a ritual, and a vow can create a strong enough tie to overwhelm that repulsive force. There are, naturally, other elements at play, but in the end, it is staying together that makes a marriage work. Every relationship is constantly under pressure to fly apart. Always. All the time. Staying together is the ultimate, constant challenge of any relationship, and it's the only thing that makes the relationship matter at all.
This is a bit of a puzzler....
Y'see, I'm a fantasy writer. I write fiction. Not, y'know, professionally, because apparently it's not good enough. Pah. But deep down, that's who I am. A storyteller. That's quite apparent to all of you, of course.
And in the course of becoming that, you have to confront the possibility that making up stories is the same thing as lying. In fact, that's a popular way of describing little children who tell lies -- "he's telling stories again."
But at the heart of all good art is a lie. Every piece says, "The world is this way." And the world is not that way. The world is more complex, or uglier or, in some cases, much prettier. Art is not reality -- it's an expression of reality.
And unless you're growing up in an extremely fundamentalist household (which I wasn't), it's pretty easy to realize that our culture recognizes the value of a story as literature. So that little moral qualm quickly passes.
(Note that this hasn't always been so. You may be aware that theater still has a lingering reputation of being a little skanky, for some reason. There was a time when the Church -- and, for reference, this was a time when the phrase "the Church" could only refer to one institution -- made it very clear that telling fictional tales was the equivalent of bearing false witness, and pretending to be someone you weren't was nearly as bad. Morality plays got by, because they were a method of teaching Bible stories to the illiterate masses, but drama was strictly forbidden.)
Anyway, the point I'm getting at is this: from a very early age, I've been wrestling with the difference between truth and honesty. And I've generally been losing that match, too. When I was in middle school, I told some laughably ludicrous lies about my own past, about who I was. It made sense to me -- I had just moved to a new state, and a new school, and none of these people knew my story, so when they started asking about it, why tell them a boring tale? Y'know? So I made up something with some flash and dazzle.
My whole life I've lied, to be perfectly honest.
(Yeah, that line made me smile.)
And this post comes from several discussions I've had with all of you, and those with Daniel and Toby particularly. There are clearly times when telling not-truth is okay. There are times, at least according to social convention, when it's actually good. But, clearly, there are times when telling not-truth is quite destructive.
What's the line? When is honesty right, and when is it just anti-social? Daniel and Toby have both, at some point, come to the conclusion that our society is far too comfortable with untruth -- that what we need in our lives is a great deal more honesty. Instinctively and intellectually, I disagree.
There's a thing I know. I'm not quite sure where or when I learned it, except that it would've been sometime before high school. See, the Ten Commandments include that one rule, "Do not murder." Well, in Aramaic (that's right, isn't it?), there are several different verbs for "to kill." There is a generic word that means to end another person's life. There is a word that refers to killing in battle, and another that refers to a judicial execution. And, finally, there is the word that we would translate "murder." It doesn't necessarily imply specific circumstances, but it states that this killing is socially and legally forbidden, and therefor a criminal act.
The commandment against murdering is precisely that. I know people who are against the death penalty on the grounds that the Ten Commandments forbid killing. That's what I'm getting at. The commandment specifically doesn't forbid execution, it forbids the act that the person is getting executed for. (And, since I'm here, I should pretty much state that I don't think the Ten Commandments should be considered the primary deciding factor in decisions concerning present-day American judicial policy. Just that I know people who do.)
But, back on topic, I wish that I knew the relevant Aramaic to let myself off the hook for the lying thing. That is, I kinda wish I could appeal to some higher source, and get those boundaries of what's wrong, what's okay, and what's right.
I guess since we're at the Ten Commandments, I'll glance at them real fast. The phrase there is, "bear false witness," and I get that the phrase is not just referring to witnesses in criminal proceedings. However, it does imply a certain degree of specificity that I'm comfortable with. Telling a story for entertainment purposes is not the same as claiming, "and because Superman did that, you have to vote Republican." That is, claiming that the implications of a fictional story impact the hearer's (or reader's) life in a compelling way.
Hmm...I think I'm back to Christian Leadership here, in a way. I guess I feel that the difference between a story and a lie is that a lie is forced upon the hearer (or, presented in such a way that it will be taken as forced), whereas a story is presented as an opportunity for the hearer, to take or not at his discretion.
That's a fairly vague line, though, and it doesn't cover nearly enough of the ground I need to cover. What about self-image? People have this amazing tendency to become what they believe they are. Tell a child that he's a genius, and you'll be surprised how smart he turns out. Tell a child he's an athlete, and he'll be incredibly apt. Tell a kid he's an idiot and a bum, and he will be. There are limits, naturally, but a person's self-image clearly and consistently guides his future development.
Given that, there is value in telling un-truth for the sake of growth. It's what our myths are all about. We say, "a man can be like Hercules," not because anyone ever particularly was like Hercules, but because focusing on that potential encourages us to grow toward it. That's the beautiful value of ideals. Ideals are not real (and therefore not true). They are better than true. They are honest.
Then again, a dishonest person could use that very line of reasoning to destructively conceal his own failings -- to justify a lie, in fact. Sure, I'm an alcoholic (not me -- this is just an example), but I don't want to be an alcoholic, I know I shouldn't be an alcoholic, and so I will claim not to be in the hopes of growing into that potential. I will sneak and hide what I am, telling a lie for the greater good.
How is that different from telling your child that he's a genius, in the expectation of him becoming one? To bring it into closer parallel, let's talk about playing along with someone who's pretending not to be an alcoholic. Believing that he can become sober, you pretend, with him, that he already is. How is that different from encouraging your child toward a potential he has not yet indicated? How is it, fundamentally, different from saying, "No, honey, that outfit does not make your butt look big"?
Honestly, I don't know. I recognize that it's a real problem, because a broken person's best hope of getting fixed, is in his recognizing the break. However, I also believe that a person's best chance of becoming something incredible, is in convincing himself that it is perfectly credible.
Hmm...I've come to no conclusion here -- just raised some issues. Please feel free to carry on the argument. I look forward to the discussion.
I've got two words for you: "oxymoron."
Now, admittedly, that comment is going to get me a lot of flak ("flack"? whatever) from everyone who read Christian Leadership and thought about those retreats we went to in youth group and the really eloquent speakers you've heard at a workshop or lectureship. That's not really what I'm thinking about here -- I'm thinking about Christianity in government -- but some of the same ideas apply.
Listen, before Jesus died, he spent a lot of time talking. A lot of people miss out on that, especially because, later, Paul spent a lot of time writing, so he kind of eclipses a lot of what Jesus had to say.
But Jesus had a lot to say about leadership and authority. He said most of it (that is, the most important bit) when he wrapped a towel around his waist, got down on his knees, and washed his apostles' feet. We all know that story so well, and what it represents, y'know, metaphorically, that we kinda disregard what he was saying there. That is, we focus on the theological aspect of an act that is, first and foremost, a political one. Whereas, in Christ's teaching, he chose instead to put forth the political lesson, and let us derive the theological.
Hmm...that might sound like I'm saying the same thing. The problem here is that we, as Christians, are reading the New Testament in exactly the same way we get so frustrated at scientists for telling us to read the Old Testament. (That sentence might be grammatically correct....) The thing is, something can be metaphorical or figurative and still hold literal meaning. In fact, a good metaphor ought to be wholly accurate on both levels of perception: the literal and the figurative.
So when Jesus said we ought to wash each other's feet, and what he meant by that was that we ought to serve one another's physical comforts, and what he really meant by that was that we ought to serve one another's spiritual comforts...we follow that line of reasoning, and teach our kids that Christians should look out for each other's spiritual comfort. And how can you tell? Why, because Jesus himself said that we should look out for each other's physical comfort.
Now, if you're one of those trying to rush ahead of what I'm saying, then you're probably getting annoyed at my choice of passage, because this isn't a perfect one for what I'm trying to say. It's an excellent illustration of how we misuse Jesus' metaphors, though. Now that we've seen that, though, let's focus on another passage. There's a story in the New Testament where a couple of the apostles (I'm going to take a wild guess and say "James and John," rather than actually looking it up) ask Jesus if they can be first in the Kingdom of Heaven -- following him, of course. Jesus rebukes them, and the other apostles get in on the rebuking because, y'know, they should probably have asked, but Jesus calls them all down. Here's the passage:
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When the ten other disciples heard what James and John had asked, they were indignant. But Jesus called them together and said, "You know that in this world kings are tyrants, and officials lord it over the people beneath them. But among you it should be quite different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must become your slave. For even I, the Son of Man, came here not to be served but to serve others, and to give my life as a ransom for many."
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Okay, we've all heard that, and we understand that this means Christians shouldn't be tyrannical. That's not the point, though. The point is that Christianity cannot be achieved through authority. It's earlier in that paragraph that Jesus talks about the Vineyard Workers (a parable I wrote on in an earlier post), and that parable ends with these words:
"And so it is, that many who are first now will be last then; and those who are last now will be first then."
We also have the passage where some trickster challenges Jesus on paying taxes, and Jesus talks about giving unto Caesar what is Caesar's. In that passage, Jesus clearly recognizes the temporal authority structure without participating within it.
And that wasn't a new attitude, when we saw it there. We'd already seen it in the desert, when the Tempter offered Jesus dominion over all the world. Jesus turned it down.
He turned it down, and then he didn't go to the politicians, to change the world. When he was brought before Pilate, he answered him in silence. In fact, we have no record of Jesus deliberately seeking out politicians or trying in any way to change world or national politics.
Jesus' message is one of a personal relationship with God. The lifestyle he teaches is a self-sacrificing one. It is not a message that makes for good government -- it's one that makes for good people. If people were good, we wouldn't need government. Got it?
I know my dad thinks there ought to be more Christians in government -- he'll vote for one any chance he gets. The problem is, a good Christian has to be ready to forgive every offense against him. A good Christian has to be ready to give more than he is asked for, to respond to violence with submission. These things will make a good person.
But they will only make a good governor when all the rest of the world's governors are prepared to respect like that. Or, alternately, when every one of the governed is precisely as devoted to the governor's Christianity as he is. In the first case, none will take advantage of the governor or the state he represents. In the second case, although others will take advantage of his state, the people of the state will accept it, as they accept the same within their personal lives.
Show me a world where all of the powers are Christians, and I will vote for a Christian leader. Show me a state where all of the citizens are Christians, and I will vote for a Christian leader. Otherwise, in any other circumstances, you are either willfully sending sheep among the wolves, without any sort of defender (note that we are talking temporal authority, which Paul claims God has put in place to serve its purposes, even as the Pharaoh who enslaved the Jews served God's purposes), or you are placing a Christian in a position that will force him to curb his own faith in order to fulfill his job. That is, a good Christian placed in a position of authority must, within that authority, be a worse Christian to properly fulfill his responsibility.
If you, as a Christian, decide to take on a leadership position -- perhaps you think that, by acting to protect the weak, you can do enough good to offset the evil of not turning the other cheek, for instance -- then you have made that choice for yourself, and power to you. However, I will not (or, to be more accurate, would not) advocate voting for you on the sole grounds that you are a Christian. That is because, inasmuch as you are a good leader, you become less of a good Christian. And inasmuch as you are a good Christian, you become less of a good leader.
Now, to perfectly clarify, I am talking about temporal authority. There are other forms of leadership than temporal authority, clearly. The foremost, with regard to this conversation, being that of a role model. Christ was clearly a leader, and his Christianity made him a better leader, clearly. That's the whole point of the washing of his apostles' feet. Jesus was not one to say "Go and do," and have others obey him on his authority. Rather, he was one who said, "This is what I do." And others could choose to be like him because they saw the effect Jesus' actions had in his life and in theirs.
And this all speaks directly to my opinion concerning elders within the church. I flatly stand against the idea of elders who meet, decide what the church should do, state their opinions, and then the church does it. Which is to say: elders.
That is not what eldership has represented for the bulk of human history, and it is not what Christ called for. "Elder" is a name we use (not one the elders themselves use) to indicate someone who, by the evidence of his life, has established himself as a role-model and source of information, who we would like to follow. It is the very heart of Jesus' method of leadership and it is (this is the most important part) an entirely optional authority. That is, it is one that you can approach and say, "I choose to live like you." And if you do, so much the better, and if you don't, it in no way detracts from the leader's authority.
Ehff. I've gone on too long, and I'm onto another topic altogether now, but it shows what I'm getting at. In fact, it highlights it well. The very best I think we could hope for, in electing Christian leaders, would be to achieve something like the elderships we're all so familiar with. Imagine the board of elders from your congregation as the House and Senate of the U. S. That's the ideal of that system. That is the best that it could achieve and, honestly, it's not much different from what we already have. You could probably name nine key political decisions that would be decided, once for all, if that were the case. Other than that, replacing the Senate with your church's eldership would pretty much be the same as electing a bunch of Republicans.
And, no, that's not utopia. Honestly, it's not much better than everyday. It might be more comfortable -- that is, your personal opinions on some topics would be more accessible within the community -- but you can achieve that with a political action committee. And, if you think about it, that really just means someone down the street is less comfortable.
And none of that sounds like the kind of authority Jesus promoted. No, Jesus' solution to the world problems takes place inside individual folks, not in halls all made of marble. That's what it boils down to.
Those being the Julies and their sisters, inasmuch as they have sisters.
I noticed some discussion among you concerning "I Heart Huckabees." I wrote a post on May 22, after I watched it the first time. The post is mostly about my take on the relevant philosophies, not the movie itself, but if you think you might like to reply, I'd love any comments.
Now, back to business....
Okay, for several of you, about three paragraphs into this post, you're going to think, "He's talking about me!" And that "me," in case you didn't catch it, is shrill and outraged. Honestly, though, this is something everyone needs to hear, often. It's not directed at or wholly inspired by any one of you. (No, not even you.) But, if it happens to speak to your own life, now, take it to heart and be glad at the coincidence that placed words into your life right where they belonged.
I'm just sayin', is all.
But here's the thing: everyone you encounter in your life is a person.
I need some snappier way of saying that, a clever phrase that will stick in your head and pop into your thoughts right when it's needed. Maybe before this post is through I'll come up with one. For now, though, we've gotta settle with the boring, apparently obvious "everyone you encounter in your life is a person."
That's a big deal, though. We live our lives inside the first-person point-of-view that so many authors have discarded as being too limited in scope. Each of us sees his life as his own story, and all the people he encounters along the way are just characters, just plot developments that push his story this way or that. Some of them we love for the impact they have on our lives. Some of them we hate, for the same reason. And the named characters keep coming back, keep affecting our lives in different ways, so maybe our feelings about that person change, shift, over the course of the story.
Even so, making another human being into a dynamic character in your story isn't enough.
Because, behind his eyes, he's living his own story. He's got a whole world, a whole life of his own to live. He's conscious and aware and trying to live his life well. Where it intersects with yours, there is conflict. In writing, we refer to all of these intersections as conflict. It could be a fistfight or an embrace, but it's still conflict. It's two stories trying to come to terms enough for each of them to move on, in their own directions.
This post isn't about the story metaphor, though. In fact, my main point is that the story metaphor completely defines most of our lives, and it's totally wrong. Or, rather, dangerously limited in scope.
Everyone you encounter -- whether it's a friend, a loved one, or a perfect stranger -- everyone you encounter is living a whole life, is a person encountering you at the same time. And every one of us (I'm convinced of this) is trying to live a good life. What exactly that means changes from day to day, but every one of us is trying to live a good life.
I know you are. Right now, you are.
And yet, even so, you make mistakes. You say something offhand to someone you really care about, and it's just devastating to them. You've done that, without ever meaning to offend, and you've seen the impact it had on their lives.
You act, trying to do something good (or at least something pleasant), and years later you see how your own actions are impacting the lives of people you've met, people you care about. Sometimes in good ways, sometimes in bad ways, and you never really know which will be which.
Sometimes you just act like a jerk. I'm not accusing you, I'm just reminding you of something you know is true. Sometimes you're in a bad mood, and something touches you off, and you just act like a total jerk. It's a short-lived thing (because you're not a jerk), and next moment you're back to trying to live a good life.
And that's okay. Life is a learning experience. You try to get better as you go along, which is the same as saying that, all the time, you're trying to live a good life.
Now...change perspectives. Think of someone you encountered yesterday. It can be a stranger, or it can be your spouse. But think of someone specific. Think of someone you encountered yesterday, and realize that that person was trying to live a good life. That person was an awareness behind his eyes, looking out on the world and making decisions about it. Maybe he said something that hurt your feelings. Maybe he acted, in a way that will impact your life down the line (for good or bad). Maybe he was just a complete jerk.
But he wasn't doing any of those things to you, y'see? He's living his life, just like you're living yours. He was making decisions, and maybe floundering and maybe just shining like the sun. We do that, sometimes, too. You do that, more often than you realize. You're just going along, trying to live a good life, and out of nowhere, BAM!, you actually do. You flare up like a nova, and shed beautiful light on the lives of everyone around you.
I've seen you do it. Otherwise I wouldn't have invited you to read my blog.
And think about your own life. Sometimes you're awesome. Sometimes you're horrible. Through it all, though, remember that you're a Child of God. You are this amazing thing, this beautiful, boundless potential, and you're living a life learning how to live up to that potential. Remember that you are everything that you could one day be. You are the brilliant, shining moments, and the cost of becoming that, the very process of becoming that, necessarily includes the sleazy, cruel, selfish moments, along with all the rest.
And that stranger who just cut you off in traffic? He's the same thing. That's one of his bad moments, but he's a Child of God, and you had better believe that there's times he glows in radiant beauty. The same is true of everyone you meet. Every person, every single person, is a little bit of divine spark trying to learn how to shine. And all of them are seeing the world through their own faulty eyes, trying to guess what it all really means (just like you do), and making decisions, and making bad choices, and stumbling through today because, please, maybe tomorrow will be better.
That includes people close to you. That includes your Mom or your Dad. It includes boyfriends and girlfriends and spouses and siblings and children who just won't treat you like you deserve. They're looking at a world they can't quite get, they're fending off frustrations and trying to find their purpose and wrestling with the injustice of it all, and when you cross their path, when you enter their life, they make a decision that will impact you.
And it may be good, and it may be bad. Switch perspectives again. You encounter someone in your life, someone important to you, someone you care about, and you make a decision that will impact that person's life. It may be good, it may be bad. You want it to be good, but you know from long, long experience, that there's equal chances something will go wrong.
All of us, every one of us, is trying to live a good life. It's fair to be hurt when someone hurts you. It's fair to be annoyed at someone acting like a jerk. But remember, always remember, every single one of those people is a little bit of divine spark, trying to learn how to shine.
I challenge you, personally, to try to see that in people. Try to see people as people, wherever you encounter them, not just as characters in the story of your life. Try to remember who they are.
And, in a very specific application of this, here's your homework. Think of someone you care about, and who you know cares about you. Someone who has hurt you so bad that you almost discarded them from the list when I said, "and who you know cares about you." Think about that person, and the thing he or she did to hurt you.
And think about a time when you made a choice about someone important to you, and you hurt them. Whether you meant to hurt them or not, you made a choice that hurt their lives.
Dwell upon these two things, and find the space behind this person's eyes. Find the space inside his or her own mind, where the offense happened. And try to recognize it for what it was, rather than what it became within your life.
Please? For me?
On the drive in to work this morning, the fog was incredible. Glancing out the window, even now, it still is.
Actually, while I was on the highway, I was thinking, "This fog isn't that impressive. It couldn't even cause an accident at 75 mph." Well, actually I thought, "at seventy-five miles per hour," because that's me.
But once I got off the highway, and down onto the streets, it was incredible. Maybe forty feet of visibility, probably closer to twenty. After that, a blank wall of white.
Driving through it, it felt like I was building a world around me as I went, forging a path through nothing, forcing memory and imagination into the shape of reality.
Too bad all that exercise led me back to work, but it was worth it for the drive. Beautiful.
As an aside: someone once said, "No autobiography is worth reading." And he meant it. Cynical as I am, I'd be tempted to agree and go around quoting him all the time, except that Benvenuto Cellini's Vita is one of the most interesting pieces of literature I've ever read.
Go get a copy. Read it. Now.
Anyway, my story.
When I was about twelve I got a video game based on a really cheesy series of Fantasy novels (the Forgotten Realms, for those of you who know enough to know). No, Daniel, this isn't "Pool of Radiance," this is "Secret of the Silver Blades." Believe it or not, my interest in "Secret of the Silver Blades" was worse than the "Pool of Radiance."
Yeah. Just the names convey the cheese factor. Of course, I was twelve, and it's not like I was hanging out with G. I. Joes or transformers or something....
Loved this game. It was awesome. I found out later it was fourth in a series (the aforementioned "Pool of Radiance" being the first). I'm certain that I invested hundreds of hours into those four games. Conceivably thousands. "Secret of the Silver Blades," alone, certainly accounted for hundreds. It had probably been out for two or three years when I got it (which is to say, antique), and I kept playing it for at least four or five years more.
And, here's the thing, it wasn't a great game. Even then, I knew it wasn't a great game. There are games that are that good, that are worth going back to. Every iteration of "Civilization" has been that good. For Toby, it's "Sacrifice." I understand great games. This was not one of them.
I kinda liked the story, though. And I really liked that I had figured out most of the map, and I could get anywhere, and I could get really powerful weapons.
And then I figured out how to manipulate saved games so that I could pass really awesome equipment from the end of the game, back to new characters just starting the game. Or, say I got a really awesome ring that would make a character super cool. I could duplicate it so every one of my characters (you could have five characters in the party) got two copies of it.
Then I figured out how to save a game where all the monsters were already dead, but certain events that gave huge experience rewards were untriggered. That meant you could create a new character, load him into this save game, run through the map and trigger all of these events, and gain several levels (the equivalent of, say, ten hours of actual gameplay) in a couple minutes. You could even remove the character from the party, reload that save game, add the character back in, and do it again for another several levels.
Okay, okay, I was a kid, everybody does a little bit of that. In FPS games it's called God Mode, and basically all of them come with God Mode as an option. It's a little bit fun.
But did I mention I did this for four or five years?
Not only that...okay, here's where some of those hundreds of hours come from. "Secret of the Silver Blades" had this huge sprawling map, with dozens of levels, and they were all laid out on an evenly-spaced square grid, which is a way of saying it would be really easy to map out the entire game on graph paper, if you had the time and patience.
And you're all already rolling your eyes, but there you have it. I did that. Some levels of the map are four pages across, taped together, and two pages longwise. Filled with corridors and sprawling rooms, and notes indicating key fights and triggered events and treasure caches. I did all of that. I would charge my party into a room, kill of all the monsters, then pace it out, from end to end, counting tiles so I could get the map exactly right.
I did it in pen. If I made a mistake, I started that page over, recopying what I'd already gotten down, then moving on.
Yeah, you're with me so far.
So, when I was sixteenish, I took this whole monstrosity I'd created: the maps, the pages and pages of notes, the save game that gives you millions of free experience points, the save game with full sets of end-game equipment set for each of the different classes, the save game with nothing but tons and tons of gems, jewels, and precious metals....
And I gave it to a friend of mine as a birthday present.
Also: I really like to listen to hip-hop music and just giggle at the scope of the obscenity of it. But, I mean, not as an occasional lark. That's basically the only music I listen to.
So, there. Between those two things, you know almost everything there is to know about me. Marvel.
On the drive to work this morning, I was listening to NPR and there was a brief discussion of the current scandal wherein the Pentagon has paid Iraqi journalists to publish pro-American stories in Iraqi newspapers.
Meh.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: Freedom of the Press, like the right to vote, is a liberty that is inherently most likely to be used by those most likely to abuse it.
The thoughtful, the careful, the mature and concerned citizens are going to have a degree of self-control and reasonable restraint that will prevent them from ever remotely competing with the arrogant, brash, impulsive twits who rush out to impose their worldview on an undeserving public because it is their right.
Honestly, anyone who refers to his right in that tone of voice is probably insisting on his liberty to abuse a generous system.
I guess this gets back to the Active Way versus the Contemplative Way that I established in the KJW excerpt. I'm talking about the difference between Larry King and ... I don't even know any opinionators who I would hold up as a thoughtful and educated example. And this has nothing to do with Right of Left. Even the ones I agree with in principle, express their opinions in ways I could not condone and do so with the full protection of the State behind them.
But that's what gets to me. I'm embarrassed to hear Hannity or Limbaugh say things that I basically believe about our government, because of the way they say them. But, as a student of history, it just burns me up to hear the sea of voices decrying our government and demanding that the same government protect their right to say it.
Why? Why should a government protect the power of its opponents? Admittedly, sometimes we do. We trained bin Laden, to fight the Russians. We armed Hussein, to fight Iran. These were short-sighted mistakes, and all of us now regret that we made them, but somehow we expect the State to provide its domestic enemies with the weapons necessary to wage a war against it? It's absurd.
It's guaranteed by the Constitution. Yeah, I get that. I understand why the American government protects freedom of speech now. I just stand opposed to the initial promise. It is wrong to protect speech, particularly politically-motivated slander.
There should be some level of oversight, some extent of control, and I accept the loss of liberty that goes with it, because (and listen closely here) living in a Governed Society means the sacrifice of some individual comforts for the sake of a strong (and, in theory, supporting) community.
It makes sense that individuals would want Freedom of Speech. And, moreover, it makes a lot of sense that a community founded entirely on scandal and slander (that is, journalists) would want Freedom of the Press, specifically. It also makes sense that a man would want his neighbor's possessions, and human law is about subverting that individual desire for the sake of a community that offers security and order. We do not let men do whatever they wish -- why would we dare let them say whatever they wish, especially since saying is so much easier than doing.
Free speech is the strongest weapon against established government -- it is the foundation of Anarchy.
Now, Toby challenged me on this in one of my recent posts (for a given value of "recent"), and the same issue still stands: societies must choose the extent to which they are willing to sacrifice personal liberties for the sake of strong government. And, naturally, the government has as much capacity to abuse its powers as citizens have to abuse their liberties. These are real problems, and a totalitarian government like Hussein's Iraq can use a State-run press in abominable ways.
But that is not the inevitable result of government oversight. I think that's part of the problem with the American cultural conception of Strong Government -- we believe any government power must necessarily end in totalitarian control.
Did you know England does not have a protected Freedom of Speech? Certainly the country has been affected by the pervasive American culture, but the government today does not recognize Free Speech as an inherent right of its citizens. Of course, this isn't a huge surprise, since it was England's totalitarianism we were rejecting when we penned the Bill of Rights.
Yeah. England. Not Iraq, not North Korea, but England. And you can see any day of the week that the English population still expresses dissent, that the government is not an iron-clad structure of favoritism and nepotism. It's a free nation, a democratic nation even, but with a measure of reasonable restraint.
I've just read "V for Vendetta," a graphic novel that Daniel got me for my birthday, and it mostly focuses on the collapse of British society into a police state following World War 4. So these topics are very much on my mind, and I'm seeing in graphic detail the objections some of you would raise, but I want to make it clear: all government is a sacrifice of individual liberties for the sake of security and order. And, as I said at the top of this post, Freedom of the Press, like the right to vote, is a liberty that is inherently most likely to be used by those most likely to abuse it.
I have my doubts that I will get across everything that needs gotten, but there is a base concept of Adoption which I really need to establish.
I may have mentioned this to some extent in my earlier posts on Goverment (Monarchy specifically), but I couldn't find it if so, which means I didn't go into enough detail.
First, I'd like you to read a passage from Romans 7. It's verses 13-19, 22-23. The two verses I omitted do not significantly change the meaning of the text, so I've cut them for clarity. By all means, feel free to read the entire passage in context -- I'm just not quoting it all here.
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For if you live according to the sinful nature, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live, because those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed....
We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.
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This is not, of course, the only place we see reference to God-the-Father or, by extension, the members of the church as his sons and daughters. In the book of Romans, though, Paul is able to draw upon that concept more fully and powerfully because of the Roman cultural practice of Adoption.
Our culture has established its own ideas concerning adoption, specifically the conception of a second-class status for adopted children. It's silly, it's an easily-dispelled idea, but it's one that persists in our culture and, honestly, that's how we feel in relation to God. When Paul says that we're the adopted sons and daughters of God, that makes perfect sense to the American mind. We're not his REAL kids, but he was generous enough to adopt us.
That's not how Adoption worked in the Roman empire.
(I referenced Goverment in my tagline, and that's about to come into play, too.)
Y'see, when we think of old-timey inheritance, we generally think of a system called "primogeniture" whereby the first-born son inherits the entire wealth (including titles) of the father. This is one of the huge stumbling blocks of monarchy as we imagine it -- that terrible corruption of passing the throne from Louis I down the line to Louis XVI.
The Romans had a system in place to prevent that, to some extent. Adoption. It was the responsibility of a Roman man to choose his own heir. It could be his first-born son, but a first-born son was not actually born with any inheritance rights. In order to pass his estate on to his first-born son, the Roman gentleman would have to adopt his son as his heir. He could just as easily adopt a nephew or a brother-in-law or, more likely, an apprentice or assistant. It was his responsibility to choose an heir who could effectively maintain the estate he would inherit.
Obviously this system was open to abuse of its own. I'm pretty sure most of you are already thinking of Nero and Caligula, and after all, who is going to try to hold an Emperor accountable for living up to his social responsibility? The Emperors did hold their followers responsible, though, and there were dozens (hundreds?) of kings within the Roman empire who were compelled to choose fitting heirs, and bound to that decision by the process of Adoption.
Adoption, then, was not an act of mercy or compassion, but one of investiture. When a Roman adopted a son, he proclaimed to the world, "I approve of this one. He deserves to one day own all the wealth and power that I possess."
And that is what God has done with us. That's the entire point of this passage in Romans. God has Adopted us into his sovereignty -- not just into the comfort of his home, but into the position of wielding his great might. We have been proclaimed worthy of becoming like God himself.
Here's the important bit "we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory."
We have been made Sons of God. We have been given all the power Christ bore when he walked the earth, but more than that. We have been promised the full power of God. This is the confidence he has shown in us. This is his expectation of us. Because adoption is a responsibility as well. We must live like Princes, in training to someday assume the throne. That's the "sharing in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory" bit. And that's an amazing position to be caught in.
And -- this is what irks me -- it's a role that we are not taught! My dad taught me about Roman adoption, and what it means to be a son of God. Other than that, I heard not a word. Have any of you heard of this before, from anyone other than me? We're taught that every one of us is a foot soldier in God's army. We're taught that we're prey the lion is stalking. We're taught to think like the Israelites, for whom God provides manna. We're taught that we're like the lillies, and God will clothe us in beauty, or that we're like the birds of the air, and God will fill our needs.
But that's not even the point of that passage. Jesus cries out, "how much more, then, will he do for you?" We are not just soldiers, we are not just cute little animals and pretty flowers. We're not even like the trackless Israelites, but like Moses who led them, all radiant from the Glory of God. We're Princes. We're Kings and Queens, arrayed before our Emperor. Stand up! Be proud, ye heavenly powers. The armies of angels are our armies.
Remember the parable of the prodigal son? Remember how he went away and sinned, and because he had squandered his wealth, he lived among the pigs, and lived like a pig. That's what we're doing, and the whole point of the story was that it was never necessary. Stand up! Go back to the wealth and the power that is your due -- not on your own merits, but because you have been adopted by the most powerful benefactor reality has ever known.
Live like it. That's your responsibility.
This is an excerpt from King Jason's War, that I enjoy. It is, here, entirely out of context, but I'm hopeful that it will still make some sense. It describes, I think, some of what's going on between the radical Liberals and the radical Conservatives, in these days.
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"It's amazing, really." Jason sighed. "They have their expectations of the world, of how it works, and the world just seems to shape itself around them."
"That is generally the way of it, with noblemen."
Jason growled, "It's not just the people. Sure, you'd expect it to be that way with people. All the commoners know that the nobles are in charge, so they conform to the world as the nobles see it. But…I mean…everything. The Eskiem certainly don't credit our Peers any authority, but look what has happened. The Peers want a war, and the events of the last few hours seem to guarantee one! Reality shaping itself around their expectations."
"There is more to it than that, Jason—"
"But the worst part is," Jason took a deep breath, eyebrows furrowing, "the worst of it is being me, living in this world of my own that doesn't conform to their expectations, but watching their world move right along in spite of me. They see a war as right and necessary, and my little objections—"
"You have not been entirely sure of your objections, Jason." Robert interrupted, softly, but Jason stopped speaking and listened closely. "Are you suddenly sure that you stand against this war?"
"Not…well, yes, but…. No, I see your point, but even so—"
"They believe, and stand by their beliefs. You doubt, you take time to consider, and your search for real understanding makes you hesitate, makes you wait for more information. Meanwhile, they act in their quick confidence, and the world has left you behind."
"It's not fair, Robert. It's not right that recklessness should have the upper hand."
Robert started to answer, but then stopped, thinking. Finally, he said, "It's not necessarily recklessness, Jason. Their path, their whole worldview, is one of confidence and action. Yours is one of contemplation and philosophy. Yours requires patience, and care, and long years to attain its end."
"But what do I do about this war? This decision must be made today, no matter my own patience."
Robert looked over and met his friend's eye. "Are you truly asking my advice? Do you want my answer to that question?" Without hesitation, Jason nodded. "Then here it is: your path has nothing to do with this war, or any one war. Your philosophy is not one that shapes decisions, but worldviews. If you stand against this war, the war will happen anyway. If you become king, you will have a lifetime to change the way this nation views the world around it. My advice, good and true, is to say your piece, and then let the Council make its decision in this matter. Then commit your reign to crafting a world where we will never have to face this decision again."
Eww. Ew.
Ew.
I read an article about a Chinese cosmetics firm using the flesh of executed prisoners in the formation of their makeup.
Ewwwww!
From Teresa Nielsen Hayden's infuriating (read: liberal) weblog. To all my reading public: do not read the rest of the website. Just this one post, with associated comments. I emailed most of you the recipe, but once I got to the comments, I realized those needed to be preserved, too, so here's your link.
http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/006812.html#006812
Daniel...you're an exception. You're allowed to read the rest of her website. None of the rest of you! Seriously. On pain of I'm-not-going-to-listen-to-you-complaining-about-their-extremism.
That is all.
HaHA! I have fooled you all. You expect me to spend a page and a half talking about how, technically, it's a Republic. To that I say "Pshaw!"
America is a very polite, Practical Anarchy.
We are a nation so founded on hatred of tyranny that we established a non-government government. Our greatest political pride comes from our Bill of Rights -- protecting the citizens of the country from any actual government -- and our Checks and Balances -- protecting our government from the terrible responsibility of actually being able to accomplish anything.
Seriously, consider your education in the nature of our government. How much focus was given to checks and balances? You know what "checks" are, in this sense? They're things that stop forward motion. We have a system in place to prevent the government from going anywhere. We have "balances" to make sure that these checks are equally restrictive on all branches of our government.
We are the first nation (at least to my knowledge) to wholly gloat in the deliberate and successful construction of an impotent government.
We've done okay, though, haven't we? I'm not denying that. When I claim that the U.S. is an Anarchy, I do so in the terminology of political philosophy, not popular media. We have constructed a system that politely tells the American government to stay out of the lives of the American people, and everything will be fine.
What amuses me most is that our Founding Fathers recognized Government as an inevitable aspect of human society so, instead of trying to establish a nation free from Government entirely, they quarantined it.
We provide our government with just enough power, just enough resources, and just enough attention to keep them concentrated on their nonsense, while we go about our lives. Our corporations act, our entrepreneurs act, our charitable organizations and special interest groups and legal teams and community organizations all act, while our government blusters and talks.
We don't have a representative government at all -- instead we have direct representation, in that we have built a society to enable the citizens to express themselves without the interference of a Government.
No, it's not a perfect Anarchy, and I didn't claim it was. I called it polite Anarchy, and then I went on to acknowledge that we do have an established government structure. My point is that, practically, the main political concern of most Americans is to keep the government out of their lives. We're still the Colonialists, who built their own cities, who managed their own affairs, and who were willing to pay taxes to keep the king on the other side of the sea, but willing to fight a war when he actually tried to control their lives.
It's worked, because of the massive amount of resources available to everyone in our society. When our poor are better off than most of the world's middle class, we don't need government in the way so many nations do. We have, in Practical Anarchy, what most nations need rigorous Socialism to achieve.
We have Corporations so wealthy they don't need tarriffs. We have Charitable Organizations with sufficient volunteer funding to dwarf the public works projects of many developed countries. We have, in our individuals, what most societies only have through the organization and administration of a careful government.
In other words, we're spoiled. Furthermore, as all spoiled children do, we're squandering. Governments develop in order to help a society make the most of its resources. Governments organize and control independent elements so that the productivity of the whole can be greater than the sum of their parts. That's what Governments do.
It's also what we call tyranny. The importance of the individual must be placed below the importance of the society for the society to fully attain its potential. We as a nation dread that pragmatism, and so we designed a self-contained, cannibalistic system of Government, encased it in a fancy marble shell, and got on with our lives.
Listen to the outcry right now against the Federal government's response to the Katrina disaster. It's too slow, it's unproductive. When it should be rushing in to save people's lives, something has stopped its forward motion. When the Government should be acting, it is instead quibbling, attempting to assign blame to all of its balanced members.
Look: that's the way the system was designed to work. That's what we're so proud of, in our civics classes. We chose to hamstring our Government and that's why, right now, the volunteers and the aid organizations and the independent assitance groups have so much more to offer than the Federal response. It's not a matter of resources, but of structure, and the philosophy that designed our nation in the first place.
Read this link, too. It's funny.
http://www.newyorker.com/talk/content/articles/050829ta_talk_alford
http://www.endicott-studio.com/cofhs/cofinstr.html
Okay, perhaps I wasn't perfectly clear, but everyone needs to READ this link.
I got this passage from someone else's blog, which I clicked through to from a blog that makes me entirely furious, every time I glance at it. So, instead of following proper etiquette and linking you to the other blog, I'll just paste the relevant bit here:
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"Usually, even a non-Christian knows something about the earth, the heavens, and the other elements of this world, about the motion and orbit of the stars and even their size and relative positions, about the predictable eclipses of the sun and moon, the cycles of the years and the seasons, about the kinds of animals, shrubs, stones, and so forth, and this knowledge he hold to as being certain from reason and experience. Now, it is a disgraceful and dangerous thing for an infidel to hear a Christian, presumably giving the meaning of Holy Scripture, talking nonsense on these topics; and we should take all means to prevent such an embarrassing situation, in which people show up vast ignorance in a Christian and laugh it to scorn. The shame is not so much that an ignorant individual is derided, but that people outside the household of faith think our sacred writers held such opinions, and, to the great loss of those for whose salvation we toil, the writers of our Scripture are criticized and rejected as unlearned men. If they find a Christian mistaken in a field which they themselves know well and hear him maintaining his foolish opinions about our books, how are they going to believe those books in matters concerning the resurrection of the dead, the hope of eternal life, and the kingdom of heaven, when they think their pages are full of falsehoods and on facts which they themselves have learnt from experience and the light of reason? Reckless and incompetent expounders of Holy Scripture bring untold trouble and sorrow on their wiser brethren when they are caught in one of their mischievous false opinions and are taken to task by those who are not bound by the authority of our sacred books. For then, to defend their utterly foolish and obviously untrue statements, they will try to call upon Holy Scripture for proof and even recite from memory many passages which they think support their position, although they understand neither what they say nor the things about which they make assertion. [1 Timothy 1.7]''
-- Saint Augustine of Hippo, De Genesi ad Litteram Libri Duodecim (The Literal Meaning of Genesis), AD 401-415, translated by John Hammond Taylor
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See? That's a passage from some ancient dude. Credit goes to him, not the chick that brought him up in the first place. If you'd LIKE to read a bunch of people bash on Christians, though, here's the link to the source blog: http://www.livejournal.com/users/ajhalluk/145379.html
I like the points this Augustine makes, though. I strongly agree with what he's saying here. Then again, as a Social Constructionist, I'm more readily able to surrender discussions of the nature of reality than many Christians, because I'm basing my faith on something bigger, behind the scenes. Know what I mean?
Quick question, for every single one of you who might possibly have an answer: in what way is What We Do as Communion (and by "We," there, I mean the group you belong to -- Catholic, Methodist, whatever) anything close to the circumstance of the Last Supper?
Consider this very carefully before you completely disregard it: How would our version be any different, if after each of the prayers we injected a single molecule of carbon?
Honestly, I see no other deviation (although a greater degree, but none fundamentally DIFFERENT) from the Biblical account in that extreme than in our own practice.
What is the point? More importantly, why hold up as a fundamental rite something that we have so completely alienated from its origin and stripped of all meaning?
I know those who take comfort from knowing that Christians, everywhere, are doing the same thing at the same time (for a given value of "Christians" and, of course, "same"). I understand that -- I understand the value of an inclusive ritual to the maintenance of a distinctive community -- however, for that purpose a secret handshake would be exactly as effective.
I suppose a huge portion of what bothers me is...not the name, but implicit in the name. Communion. I ALWAYS thought, growing up, that the name referred to the Communion of the Saints (that inclusivity I just mentioned). It's the thing that we, as a community, do together. Arguing the topic with friends in college, I discovered for the first time that a lot of people (most of 'em?) think of it as Communion with God. That makes a LOT more sense given our extremely antisocial, library-quiet performance of the rite. It reminds me of a thing we did at church camp one year, when I was younger. "Time Alone With God." We had fifteen minutes set aside every couple of hours for precisely that purpose. There were no refreshments, though....
Y'see, here's where it really gets to me. The origin of the ritual is a meal. A highly social meal, where a community forms its inclusive bonds, not through the simple fact of a shared ritual, but through the social experience created by the very acts of the ritual. We use the term "breaking of bread" today to refer to this proper, stylized event, but we get that very wording from a Greek phrase that was practically slang -- a very casual phrase meaning, "to get together to eat." The root of "breaking of bread" practically means "hanging out at Braums."
I mean, to start, to see the way God operates in his establishing of ritual (at least this particular vein), look at the Passover. It was a family's dinner. The ritual (that is, the maintenance of the experience beyond the first, actual event) was structured as a conversation the family would have over dinner. "Hey, papa, why are we eating unleavened bread and strangely-cooked lamb?" And his answer incorporated the whole history of the Passover, and God's redemption of the Israelite slaves.
That exchange became very ritual. The exact wording became important (as far as I understand it), and the whole dinner became something of a script. That's not a big surprise to me, given what we read in the New Testament of the legalization of the Israelite religion. What does surprise me is that, in our religion based significantly on Jesus' negative response to that legalization, we have turned our version of the Passover into a more strictly stylized rite than even the Pharisees had done with theirs.
Here are my arguing points: the Lord's Supper is meant to be a SUPPER. And I'm not focusing on the meal aspect necessarily (on the food, the nourishment), but on the social aspect of eating together. Think of the monthly (or semi-monthly or...occasional) fellowship meals at your church. Think of the socializing. Think of the sense of inclusivity THAT generates.
You're right. It's not as poignant as the practice of the rigorous ritual. That's no surprise to me. That's WHY we create legalistic rites. It's to capture as much of the feel of the thing as we can, without having to do the long-term work. We don't have to build RELATIONSHIPS with all these other Christians, we just have to know that we're taking the same brand of crackers and the same thimbleful of grape juice at the same time and, boy howdy, we are ONE.
There's another argument to it. You might point out that Jesus established the Lord's Supper as a memorial of what he did. He said, "This do in remembrance of me." You KNOW that's true, because it's carved on our...whatever-you-call-it-that's-not-exactly-an-altar-because-y'know-we're-protestants. Jesus ESTABLISHED the Lord's Supper as a ritual to remember him.
But even there.... First of all, in at least one version of that passage, his wording was, "As often as you do this," which, again, strikes me as more a redirecting of the sentiment of the Passover meal than as the establishment of a new Thing. That aside, he WAS clearly drawing on the basis of the Passover meal (as they were actively participating in the Passover meal when he established his procedure), and the Passover meal was, in the manner of a meal, a memorial. In other words, the memorial was there, within the social experience. It is NOT a private experience, taken concurrently with the rest of a community. It wasn't in Jewish practice, and there's no reason to imagine Jesus intended it to be one in Christian practice. We as a COMMUNITY are supposed to share this ritual together, socially, as a reminder of Christ's gift to us.
As a matter of fact, that's the whole POINT. The Passover meal, taken in silence, would be nothing other than...gross food. The ritual, the meaning, the POWER of the Passover meal was in the conversation. God established it in that way. It's the whole point.
Take note. I've been accused (and will be forever) of arguing theology toward my own comforts. Y'know, if I'm right about not having to go to church all the time then, hey, I can relax at home during those hours I would've had to spend in the grueling environs of a church building. I can't tell you how much accusations like that offend me, but I don't generally feel compelled to respond to them. I still won't.
But look at this one. Reread everything I wrote. The entire point of the Communion, I hold, is to bring us together socially, to bind us in INTERACTION (not observance of the one or two appointed men who speaks a short statement and a prayer). Any one of you who knows me well enough to be reading this, knows how incredibly uncomfortable such a thing would make me.
I'm shuddering at the thought, even now.
But I'm almost certain that's the whole point of the process. I'm not calling you all to make an ages-old religion more comfortable for me. I'm asking you to look at your Saltine and your Welches and tell me exactly how that process binds you to God. I'm asking you recognize the vast distance between the Communion as we practice it, and the Communion as Christ designed it, and dare to imagine what it COULD be.
He lived in the Ardain, a great land of rolling hills and fertile plains, and the biggest, darkest forest in the world. His home was a little town called Gath-upon-Brennes, which straddled the mighty Brennes river. It was a beautiful land.
For all his life, though, Jason had never had the freedom to explore the Ardain. It was occupied from coast to coast by cruel enemy soldiers. The Ardain made up half of what had once been the FirstKing’s mighty kingdom, but now the whole of the Ardain belonged to the enemy, except for one tiny town, that remained loyal to the king: Gath-upon-Brennes.
One day, in the summer of Jason’s eighth year, a hunting party from Gath-upon-Brennes stumbled across a weary band of the king’s scouts. The hunters were amazed to discover king’s soldiers so deep in enemy-controlled territory. The soldiers were equally surprised, to find people still loyal to the king. Enemy soldiers had chased the scouts for days, and now the king’s men gratefully took refuge in the city of Gath-upon-Brennes to rest and heal.
The enemy came for them, though, and attacked the town. The king’s scouts were impressed by the courage of the townsfolk, but they knew these farmers and merchants couldn’t stand for long against the enemy army. They decided to help, and they taught the people of Gath how to fight. They organized them, and helped them to build barricades and strong bridges, to help defend the town.
These soldiers spent more than a year in Gath, but the time came when they had to return, to report to the king on what they had found. The mayor of Gath, Jason’s father, begged the soldiers to take Jason with them. He was afraid for his son, afraid that the town of Gath could not stand forever, and he wanted his son to live to remind the world to fight. The scouts were reluctant, thinking a young boy would hinder them as they tried to escape back to safety, but they finally agreed.
The journey back to the king was a difficult one, through land firmly in the grasp of the enemy. Many times the soldiers were attacked and had to flee. More than once they were forced to stand and fight. Jason had been raised in a time of war, though, and he knew how to survive. After many weeks of hard journey, the band of scouts found their way to a port held by the king’s men, and caught a ship north, to safety.
When Jason met the king, the king was amazed by his story. Of course, the scouts had sent word ahead of what they had found, and the captain of the scouts had issued a full report concerning Gath-upon-Brennes. But the king was most impressed by little Jason’s words, as he told the simple story of his life in a lone town standing against the occupation. Listening to the boy, the king was struck with an idea.
The king sent Jason through all the lands he still ruled. He had Jason tell his story to all the lords and barons throughout the nation. Now, the enemy had owned the Ardain for many years, since before the death of the FirstKing, and many of the king’s subjects had given up hope of ever winning it back. Young Jason won the hearts of all he met, though, and his story lit a fire in their hearts. He reminded them of the courage, the sense of valor that had established the FirstKing’s mighty kingdom years before.
Jason’s message renewed the desire of the people to fight, and volunteers from all across the land came to the capitol to become soldiers. Suddenly the king had an army again, after years and years of dwindling forces. Suddenly he had the support of the nation, the will of the people to fight a war to reclaim their land. The king began making many plans for the future.
Even as the passion for war swept the nation, though, young Jason was losing his hope. In every lord he spoke with, in every baron he convinced to go to war, he saw first the desperation and the hopelessness that he had been sent to counter. When Jason met these men, they knew that the war could not be won. When they heard his story every one of them gained hope, but Jason remembered the despair in their eyes. He was just a boy, but he remembered the men he met, and the things that they had seen. He remembered their fear, and it became his own, even as he taught them courage. He couldn’t help realizing that Gath probably couldn’t stand for long – that his mother and his father were probably already captured or killed.
After two years of traveling the country, Jason was called back to the capitol. For the first time in decades the king had enough volunteers to fill his army. The whole country was behind the king, dedicated to reclaiming the Ardain. Now Jason was no longer needed, so the king called him back to the capitol to enjoy some rest. He spoke with Jason again, and saw how much the boy had changed, and it made him sad.
Now, the king had no son, and he had established his friend and councilor, Gaihran, to be his heir. When the king saw how much Jason’s message had hurt the boy, the king spoke with Gaihran and asked him to take the boy in, to take care of him and somehow teach him to be happy and hopeful once more.
Not long after that, the king went off to war, pursuing his plans. His campaign was successful, and his army took back several cities along the coast, but before they could move inland the king was taken in battle. The king’s army suffered a grave loss there, and had to fall back to the positions they had already captured.
The king’s forces tried again and again to rescue the king from enemy captivity, but it was no use. When news reached the capitol, Gaihran was greatly grieved. The council of lords insisted that the land needed a leader, so Gaihran assumed the throne with a heavy heart, for he was not a military man. He feared he could never finish the plans that the old king had set in motion. Instead he devoted himself to strengthening the land still under his control, and very much to the education of Jason.
Gaihran was not a young man, and he also had no son. He knew that the old king had intended Jason for his heir, so the new king sent Jason to the most impressive of schools in the capitol. He personally taught the boy how to read official edicts and laws, and the subtleties of politics. He brought Jason with him to banquets and state dinners, to mingle with the lords of the land. And, sometime in between the parties and the schooling and the etiquette lessons, the two found time to sit and talk for hours about the needs of the people and the role of the king.
A strange thing happened, then. Even as Jason was growing up at court, he was becoming a legend out in the world. The people of the kingdom, suddenly seized with a passion for war, had all heard the story of the boy from Gath, who brought word of resistance. Jason’s name was on everyone’s lips, and the people of the nation fell in love with his legend.
Not everyone was a fan, though. There were noblemen at court greedy for power, and they recognized Gaihran’s intent. They began to whisper among themselves that someone older, more powerful and more deserving, ought to assume the throne after Gaihran. They were afraid to make this claim openly, though, because of the boy’s popularity. Instead, they decided to use the church.
During the FirstKing’s reign, he established a single church throughout his lands. After the FirstKing’s death, the church quickly became quite powerful, for all the people of the land were faithfully devoted to the church. Many of the church’s leaders became politicians, and many noblemen sought to ally themselves to influential priests for the power that it granted.
So now, when the wicked noblemen wished to be rid of this boy who would be king, they turned to the church for help. The old king had granted the church the authority to counsel him on matters of faith concerning the nation, and Gaihran had likewise welcomed their advice. When they came to him concerning Jason, he had little choice but to listen.
Several very powerful leaders of the church met with the king and cautioned him concerning Jason. They said that he was from a peasant family, not one established in nobility, like those of the other lords. After all, hadn’t God established the ranks of nobility to demonstrate the fitness of some men to govern? Gaihran argued that Jason’s father had established himself as a lord of the land, when he became mayor of Gath-upon-Brennes, and that by all accounts he had proven himself worthy of the title.
But the priests were not satisfied. Jason had grown up in enemy-controlled territory, far from the church, and he was separate from his faith. Gaihran argued this point, too, relating how Jason’s family had sought to keep to the tenets of the church, even in the absence of ordained priests. He also reminded them that the boy had been schooled in the ways of the church since his return to the capitol, worshiping in good grace at the very cathedral of the men who were challenging him.
The men of the church would not be put off, but they also could not convince Gaihran to forsake the boy. Finally, they both agreed that Jason should have a private tutor assigned to him, a priest of the church, who could guide and advise him – and keep the church informed on the boy’s attitude and disposition.
The priest they assigned was Robert deMont, the son of a very powerful bishop. Robert had long spoken against war, preaching pacifism, and he was granted charge of Jason in order to thwart his call to war. The church and the noblemen who were against Jason hoped that they could hurt his popularity by distancing him from the war movement that had made him powerful in the first place. They could not have known that Jason himself had already lost all hope for a successful war.
Nor could they have known Robert and Jason would become such close friends. Robert was only a few years older than Jason then, and the two of them began to spend more and more time together. The two of them would go for rides in the royal parks, or sit for hours in the royal library discussing some piece of literature or history, or some philosophical idea that Jason had recently encountered. Always their discussion came back to war, and the rights and responsibilities of kings.
Life went on like this for several years, and Jason grew up. He fell in love with a girl named Myriam, and stole her away from a powerful young lord (making an enemy for life). He learned about the world from Robert, who had traveled even farther than Jason, and been at liberty the whole time. He began to enjoy the luxuries of life at court, and to some extent he forgot the horrors of his childhood.
Then one day Jason heard the news. The kingdom was rising to war again. There had been no real change in the state of things for years – ever since the day the old king was taken in battle. Now, all of a sudden, the call to war went out across the land. It caught Jason by surprise, and he went to Gaihran to protest.
Poor old King Gaihran could do nothing. He told Jason that these were ancient plans of the old king’s, set in motion long ago, and that the council of lords had decided to act on them. Public sentiment was still strong for war, and the army had been growing ever since Jason’s tour of the land many years ago. Now they had a mighty army (mightier than it had been since the Crusades, centuries ago). The noblemen cried for blood.
Jason went before the council in protest, demanding that they reconsider. He regretted the thought of the lives lost. He challenged the call to war in the central square, eloquently recalling the death of the old king, and of the FirstKing before him – great men who had died needlessly for the sake of war.
Gaihran watched this protest sadly, for he knew the young man could not win this fight. He did not try to convince Jason – he only warned him once, that the men with whom he struggled were powerful men, and when Jason would not listen, Gaihran relented. He understood the boy’s passion, and his devotion to ideals. He also understood the politics, and his heart grieved for Jason.
It was in those days, as the council prepared for war and Jason contested them, that Gaihran grew very ill. He had been sickly for years, and he’d seemed too feeble for his age ever since the old king had gone, but now his situation rapidly worsened. He had a sudden fever, and within two days he had died. Some whispered that he had been poisoned, that corrupt noblemen had conspired to kill him. Others said it must be some plot by the enemy.
Jason was crushed by the death of the king, who had been as a father to him for many years. He listened to the rumors – perhaps listened too closely, and too readily believed them – and he immediately began searching for some evidence of misdeed. What he found was far worse.
Traitors within the city were conspiring with the enemy, providing information on troop movements and plans. Even as the king’s great army sailed east, to prepare for an assault on the Ardain, the enemy soldiers were secretly amassing a force on the capitol isle itself. Jason learned too late that several towns had been captured, their citizens slain to protect the secret. The enemy knew that the army was away, knew the weakest points of the city, knew when and where and how to attack….
And Jason learned that one of his friends was among the traitors. In his search, Jason had gathered some of the king’s personal guards, and as they raided the traitors’ haunts, they came across a meeting of them, and there was a scuffle. Most of the traitors were slain, his friend Kevin threw himself at Jason’s feet, and begged for mercy. Jason ordered him imprisoned, and the young man was led away, still begging for pardon.
The traitors seemed to be dealt with, then, but the real threat remained. It was a terrible day for Jason, as he tried to prepare the city for the attack that he knew would come with nightfall. While he was trying to find soldiers to defend the town, Jason was summoned to a meeting of the council of lords. He reluctantly agreed to go, intending only to stay long enough to warn them of the attack, but at the council he learned that he had been named Gaihran’s heir, according to the will.
Immediately the wicked noblemen on the council began speeches on his inability to rule, but Jason silenced them all. In a terrible rage, he called them down for their petty politics. He told them of the threat to the city, of the attack yet to come, and of the role of the traitors in Gaihran’s death. Many among the council sat stunned, but Jason gathered the wiser and more experienced of them and took them off to prepare for the attack.
The enemy came by night, in a fight reminiscent of the defense of Gath-upon-Brennes, many years ago. Then, the king’s scouts had stood by the courageous citizens of Gath that the legend might live. Now Jason rallied the Royal Guard to the city’s defense, and he fought beside them. He protected the city he had come to love, and that night they were victorious. The enemy retreated with the coming of the dawn.
But cruel justice came on the heels of victory. The people of the city had heard of the conspiracy, and called for a judgment on the traitors. The council spoke with Jason, warning him not to upset the people, and with a heavy heart Jason pronounced Kevin guilty of treason. The king watched as his friend was hanged in the central square.
The council of lords gave him no time to grieve, not even time to think. Immediately they summoned him once more to a meeting, hoping to deliberate his fitness for rule (as he had thwarted them before with news of an attack on the city). They demanded that he meet with them and he consented, asking only that they grant him a few hours to rest. He asked time to go for a hunt with his friend Robert, and the council consented.
The two friends went to the king’s retreat, far away from inquisitive ears, and spent the whole of the day walking its fields and forests, discussing Jason’s situation. They spoke of the horrors of war, and of its inevitability. They spoke of the glorious dream of nationalism, and the ugly reality of wars of conquest. They spoke of kingship, and the responsibilities of lords. They spoke of abdication, and of usurpation. They spoke of old times, of their long years of friendship, and they laughed much, in between the serious talks.
At sunset, Jason sent word to the council that he was ready, and by the time he arrived in the city, the whole council was gathered. Those who sought to overthrow him were waiting for his claim to weakness, his insistence on peace – they intended to use his pacifism as an excuse to remove him from power.
But Jason showed no weakness. He stepped before the council of lords and told them his firm decision: for the sake of the nation, they would go to war. For the memory of the land the FirstKing had forged, they would go to war. To reclaim what was theirs, they would go to war.
King Jason’s war was glorious. He sailed east and rode with his army into battle. He led his men into the fray, calling orders and executing the old king’s clever plans, and within a year the whole of the northern coast was in the king’s possession once more. They moved inland, and sometime late in the second year of his campaign, Jason rode with a contingent of guards over the rolling hills to look down upon the little village of Gath-upon-Brennes.
The pretty hamlet was menacing now, a fearsome fortification, and Jason could see patrols roaming the walls even as the king’s army moved to surround the town, securing the land for miles in all directions. The town still stood, after all these years, and now Jason could see the FirstKing’s banner flying over the town. No secret resistance, but a true bastion of loyalty.
And Jason crossed the fortified bridges into the town, remembering their first construction in his childhood. He walked through the massive iron gates that had held enemy soldiers at bay. He walked onto the village green, where he had spent so many hours playing as a boy, and he remembered his mother and father walking across the green toward him, arms out, smiling and laughing….
And there they were, walking out to meet him. They were older – far too thin, but clearly still strong. Jason’s father shook his hand like a stranger, then knelt before him. Jason raised him up, laughing, and caught his father in an embrace. He hugged his mother tight, and he could not stop smiling. He had found his home again.
It's easier to initiate change on objects in motion than on those that are sitting still. Once change happens (for good or ill), you have a special opportunity to initiate a little change of your own.
It's complicated, though. Sometimes you want to make a change in a particular directions, other times it's toward a particular destination. Chaos is GREAT for initiating a change in direction. It's too random to target a precise destination, though.
Every now and then, for precisely this reason, it's good to spread a little chaos of your own. Mix things up (harmlessly, of course, if you can manage it), and then bend the world in the direction you want to go.
But the other aspect is the real point of this post. Sometimes the world changes violently, against your will. Lemons and lemonade, my friend. You can mope once things have settled down (you won't REALLY know how bad the change was until it's over ANYway). Meanwhile, spend your energy making what good you can.
That's my advice, anyway. Also, live well.
THIS is why you never take a woman's word for it that a war movie is good.
Did you ever see "Enemy at the Gates"? Same sorta story (without quite as much skanky), but that was a good war flick. This one sucks.I ended it with a line that seemed right to the email, without really thinking it through before writing it. I DID think that line through after I'd read it, and it's more profound than I meant it to be and more accurate than I would have expected it to be, too.
Thought I'd share it with you. I give you credit for helping make it true, anyway.
"Been thinking of you, and good ol' times, and wanted to drop you a line and let you know I'm still alive, and life is (while not yet what I dreamed it would be) pretty damn good, and looking to get a little better, even.
"Hope you're well."
And that goes for all of you.
