Femina contra mundum

So I indulged in a bit of narcissism and was reading through my posts, and I realized that I've kind of become that person I said I hated back in July. All I talk about is school. Granted, it takes up the majority of my time and almost all of my mental capacities at the moment, but it's still not the only relevant thing going on in my life.

For what will probably be the only time I will ever do this, on my blog, in public, and which I might delete at any given post-publication moment, I think I'm going to talk about one of my most hated subjects: my relationship status. It's only come up twice in the nearly-eight years I've been writing here, and I've worked hard to keep it that way. This blog is not a kumbaya care-and-share extravaganza. In nicer words, it just feels unprofessional and unproductive. Yeah, I already hate myself for posting this.

I'm making this exception, though, because of a sobering conversation I had with one of my most trusted friends. We were talking about our generation of Reformed Baptists, and how we've both encountered a disturbing amount of peers who say they are committed to our confession, but don't really live it out. My friend remarked that if you're a genuinely confessional female, and you're interested in marriage, the chances are you will end up being the spiritual leader in the relationship. That really bothers me.

I guess I'm writing this post as a kind of defiance. For several years, I struggled with contentment and finding my place in the sociology of the church. I learned that in most of the times I dealt with anxiety, the root of my unhappiness didn't lie in the circumstances of my life at the moment, but in the fear of losing the happiness I currently enjoyed. The Bible talks about how singles have it really good. I can finally attest to this in my own life: I'm in grad school with promising research opportunities, I'm surrounded by a close circle of family and friends, I'm involved in a solid church, and I have the ability to do reckless stuff like last minute trips or impromptu social events during the week. Why on earth would I give up this freedom for a relationship in which I'd never be able to shake the feeling that I've betrayed the essence of who I am? If that is the reality of marriage for a Reformed Baptist young woman, it is not worth it to me. I could never truly love someone I don't respect; it doesn't work.

I know the readership of this blog is minuscule, to say the least. But if for some reason, some young girl is out there and finds this: Please, don't throw away your spiritual and intellectual integrity for love. It sounds lovely and romantic and fearless, but it's only capitulation. Hold out for someone you love and respect.

The Reformed Baptist movement is still fragile in many ways. On a human level, our future depends upon the faithfulness of the young men and women emerging in its churches today. We rightly pray for future pastors, but we need to pray for committed laity as well. We need boys who man up and live disciplined lives, and girls who recognize the vital role women play in the church. To my fellow young adults: The Christian life is about glorifying God and serving his kingdom. Some of you will be fortunate enough to find spouses who share your commitment. But, for others, this is going to mean choosing between marriage and our beliefs. Are we willing to make that decision?

Further thoughts on feminism

Teenage Jane Grey reading Plato...in the original Greek

"'...as I was saying we shall never agree, I suppose, upon this point. No man and woman, would, probably. But let me observe that all histories are against you--all stories, prose and verse. If I had such a memory as Benwick, I could bring you fifty quotations in a moment on my side the argument, and I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.'

'Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything.'" 

(Persuasion, ch. 23)

A while ago, reeling from my first exposure to literary theory, I wrote this post.

For the most part, I stand by the spirit of my arguments. Without rejecting the merit of diversity itself, it does have a potential dark side: division. I believe my fears of toxic disunity have been justified in the elections that recently took place both in the U.S. and the U.K.; they reveal that none of the special interest groups (and I do include the white establishment) have done a particularly admirable job of working together, listening to one another, or finding common ground. This is what happens to society when everyone fixates on his or her own personal interests, with little plan for how to implement proposed changes in a sustainable way.

At the same time, I was recently reminded of a conversation I had with a friend I met in Cambridge. He was a fellow international Reformed Baptist, but unlike me, he hailed from the Czech Republic. We were discussing the current landscape of Christian publishing, and he made an observation that struck me: Much of what gets published is written by Americans and is directed toward an American audience. It's as if the U.S. is the "center" of the Christian world. However, the cultural climate in places like Eastern Europe is a lot different than that of the U.S., and so for someone in my friend's position, there's a good portion of these books that simply is irrelevant, while key issues facing non-Western society are left untouched; it leaves these individuals on the outer circles. This doesn't mean the books being published are useless to non-Americans, because there's a lot of insight that can be relevant to anyone; this insight is simply lacking the potential to be enriched by other perspectives than that of America.

I realized that this easily translates into the world of literary theory, and as a result, I believe my views have become more nuanced. Yes, the goal is harmony. But it's also true that there historically has been a "center" (male-dominated publishing) that often did leave women feeling disenfranchised. There's nothing wrong about having books written with men or Americans in mind, per se. What becomes problematic is when passages that contain male/American-specifc perspectives are assumed to be the default or universal experience; when outside voices are actively excluded (take the Jane Austen quote above).

I still wouldn't consider myself a radical feminist or anything approaching that. I continue reading and loving books written by men, sometimes containing male bias, because I believe they do have important things to say, regardless of gender or passages that are askew. Oftentimes, male authors are able to quite successfully portray experiences I have gone through as a woman. I would consider myself more pragmatic than those who argue that the only person allowed to write on an issue is one who has experienced it firsthand. However, I have a deeper appreciation now for the limits of literature. Authors are not divinely inspired, and our attempts at describing universal human experiences are inevitably flawed. For those who are driven to add more female voices to the literary canon, or even to point out where male authors could do better, I say bravo. But I ask that such work be done graciously. I'm learning that accepting that these literary efforts will be imperfect is a kind of humility, one that frees us from unrealistic expectations of human ability.

Psalm 27

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the defense of my life;
Whom shall I dread?
When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh,
My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell.
Though a host encamp against me,
My heart will not fear;
Though war arise against me,
In spite of this I shall be confident.
 

One thing I have asked from the Lord, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord
And to meditate in His temple.
For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.
And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me,
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord.

Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice,
And be gracious to me and answer me.
When You said, “Seek My face,” my heart said to You,
“Your face, O Lord, I shall seek.”
Do not hide Your face from me,
Do not turn Your servant away in anger;
You have been my help;
Do not abandon me nor forsake me,
O God of my salvation!
For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
But the Lord will take me up.

Teach me Your way, O Lord,
And lead me in a level path
Because of my foes.
Do not deliver me over to the desire of my adversaries,
For false witnesses have risen against me,
And such as breathe out violence.
I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the Lord.

Several notes to self

A few items loosely tied together by a similar theme that passed through my mind today:

We had a guest speaker at church, and one of the Scripture readings from the evening service struck me as jarringly beautiful.

For you have not come to a mountain that can be touched and to a blazing fire, and to darkness and gloom and whirlwind, and to the blast of a trumpet and the sound of words which sound was such that those who heard begged that no further word be spoken to them. For they could not bear the command, “If even a beast touches the mountain, it will be stoned.” And so terrible was the sight, that Moses said, “I am full of fear and trembling.” But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to myriads of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the Judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood, which speaks better than the blood of Abel.

Hebrews 12.18-24

Hebrews is my favorite book of the Bible, partly because of how artistically-rich it is (the typology, metaphors and illustrations, and heavy use of Old Testament texts make it very familiar to the stuff I study every day in English), but most importantly because it does such a sophisticated job of showing us how all of history acts as a pointer to the glory of God. It's so layered: The theology we confess and the good works we practice are all signposts to the work God has done in the past and promises to do in the future. I love the above passage because it provides a glimpse of God's awe-inspiring, yet also terrifying, holiness in harmony with His unprecedented mercy, made possible in Christ. The Old Testament narratives both pale in comparison to the story of redemption, yet gain incredible significance from it.

---

I'm reading a Puritan booklet appropriately titled Stop Loving the World. Purposefully picked it up because I have been very aware of temptation surrounding me lately. It's easy to want to blend into the people around you, or put undo hope in the flattering feedback you receive on work. I've never been so aware of how easily subtle shifts in thought can undermine an entire worldview. (I've also been surprised by how effective consistent prayer is for restoring the Christian state of mind: despite being one of the most mentally-challenging semesters I've experienced, it's probably been my most peaceful one yet....there's definitely a direct relationship.) Anyway, William Greenhill lists four reasons it is foolish to invest yourself in worldly concerns, and I think I need this reminder right now:

1. "It will direct you to things that are merely probable, and make you leave things that are certain." (16)
2. "Supposing we do get the world with our endeavors, we cannot keep it without fear of losing it." (17)
3. "Supposing we do get the things of the world and are able to keep them, they will not satisfy our souls." (17)
4. "Loving the world directs us toward the worst things. All the things of the world are perishing, but the things of God are durable." (19)

It's a bit of a throwback to Boethius and his similar caution against setting your hope in things that will inevitably let you down (i.e. everything not God). Just like Hebrews, we are confronted with what is here now, and what is better, later.

Grad school Stockholm syndrome

too good to keep on fb

I seem to be unable to shake the habit of writing here when I have imminent term paper deadlines. Going to keep justifying the practice as a "warm-up writing exercise." That sounds good. Anyways, in the past few months, I've had all kinds of profound thoughts on such topics as feminist literary theory, privilege, and the horror movie election that just took place. Most likely, they are offensive to both sides of their respective debates, which I find highly entertaining but nevertheless will only discuss in such backwater locations as this blog. That moderate lifestyle though. Going to save those for later and just do a quick school update for now.

---

The particular paper I'm avoiding at the moment (as much as I love it) is on Chaucer's Knight's Tale and what appears to be its semi-allegorical narrative of love and salvation. Basically, I was desperate for a topic, so I fell back on my old standby, of rereading the story and hoping for some thread of an idea to jump out at me. Bingo, I wasn't disappointed. There's this interesting moment where Chaucer hints that the conflict between the two knights ultimately comes down to love: they both love the same woman, but for different reasons. It reminded me of a popular idea in Medieval theology, originating in St. Augustine, where all of morality comes down to love: it's a good thing in itself, but it becomes bad when you either love the wrong object, or fail to recognize how a good object ultimately points you back to God. This is huge in Dante's Divine Comedy, especially in Purgatorio, which is about loving earthly things more than God. So my paper will talk about how these ideas show up in Chaucer, and how he seems to advocate a view of salvation as a phenomenon that reorients your love back to God Himself.

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In other research-related news, I had an exciting epiphany late the other night regarding potential PhDs. I've long been contemplating taking the plunge (and I'm still very undecided), but I think I've moved a step forward in finding a potential subject. Both of my college senior thesis projects explored facets of early Baptist literature. In spring, I discovered Benjamin Keach, aka the "it guy" of early Baptist culture. I hadn't been able to do much research on him since, but in procrastinating my current project this past week, I delved a little deeper into some of his collected works. I was shocked to find out he was a bit of a prolific poet.

Being a non-conformist Puritan, Keach would have taken a strongly conservative stance on theological and cultural issues. However, he produced a treasure trove of poetry, especially of the epic genre. This is slightly huge, because the epic was considered the highest form of art in pre-modern culture; in other words, it was the most cosmopolitan, sophisticated, elite type of poetry. With its conventions of florid language, prominent Greek mythology, and humanist themes, it would seem to be the ultimate form of the "worldliness" the Puritans vehemently rejected. But here Keach, one of the leading Baptist theologians, is using it to talk about his faith. Fascinating. He also produced a lot of lyric poetry (much of which was hymn material) that connects him to another of my 17th Century heroes, George Herbert.

A lot of the church scholarship on the early Baptists focuses on their doctrinal treatises, which is understandable, given the fact that today's form of our denomination is still new (50 years or so); we're still in the process of rediscovering the theology of our forefathers. At the same time, I think that it would be a mistake to overlook Keach's penchant for literary experiments; being a representative figure of his contemporary Baptists, his interest in literary theology has a lot to say about early Baptist culture in general.

---

That got really long, but writing always helps me sort out my thoughts. Sometimes I think I'm in too deep now - as if, having discovered this gap in scholarship, I have a moral responsibility to address it. I've had professors describe it as a type of calling: you can run from it as much as you want, but it always manages to find you. Maybe I'm not that far yet. But maybe I am.

And now this post has come full circle.

One more for the road

Randomly came across this passage tonight. I've been reminded during the past few weeks of how often Apollyon likes to show up as soon as we exit the Palace Beautiful; it's when I've been most vulnerable lately. Glad for the reminder that I need to keep in the Scriptures especially after I leave church on Sunday.

Then Apollyon espying his opportunity, began to gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall; and with that Christian's Sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now; and with that he had almost prest him to death; so that Christian began to despair of life. But as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good Man, Christian nimbly reached out his hand for his Sword, and caught it, saying, Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy! when I fall, I shall arise; and with that, gave him a deadly thrust, which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound: Christian perceiving that, made at him again, saying, Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors, through him that loved us. And with that, Apollyon spread forth his Dragons wings, and sped him away, that Christian saw him no more.

In this Combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen and heard as I did, what yelling, and hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of the night, he spake like a Dragon: and on the other side, what sighs and groans burst from Christians heart. I never saw him all the while give so much as one pleasant look, till he perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edg'd Sword, then indeed did he smile, and look upward: but 'twas the dreadfullest sight that ever I saw.

(Pilgrim's Progress, 94-96)

A reminder to self of why I do what I do

One of the perks of being at a big (to me) research university is that we have access to a lot of English-related databases. There's stuff I've never heard of before, and it seems like each week I find out about some new place that sounds fun to aimlessly browse helpful for grown-up research. One of my friends mentioned that  EEBO (Early English Books Online) has some pretty crazy theological stuff, so naturally I had to check it out. Anyway, somehow I ended up looking up first-ish editions of the King James and Geneva Bibles. HOLY MOLY THESE ARE COOL! Even though the days of Catholic manuscripts are gone, these Bibles are still way prettier than anything we have today. Woodblock prints and design-y stuff all over the place, right next to the text. They're also straight up study Bibles. Maps, explanatory notes, summaries, cross-references, read-the-Bible-in-a-year-calendars.

 

There's also this. Might have to click on it to see it more clearly, but I loved the pastoral care behind the decision to include advice on how to get the most out of your reading:

CHARTS FOR THE WIN!

That is all.

(Maybe a life update later.....the past few weeks have been nutty)

Loss & hope

When literary criticism suddenly hits home:

It is not conflicted for Virgil to see betterment in history and yet be haunted by the sorrows of the world; rather, it is the mark of a mature and many-sided mind. Certainly, the view that a voice of doubt and sadness is the 'real' voice and that the paeans to Roman achievement should be discounted misses one of the poem's dimensions. In the underworld Aeneas wants to spend more time with a dead comrade, but the Sybil tells him that night is hastening on and 'we squander the hours in weeping'. That is the Aeneid in a nutshell: the impulse to linger compassionately and lament, but also the stern pressing on towards a greater purpose.

(Richard Jenkyns, Classical Literature, p. 169)

Disinterested virtue

During the past few weeks, a combination of personal reading, life experiences, and academic discussions has left me mulling over the idea of integrity.

It's easy to do the right thing when its consequences are in your favor. It's a lot harder when you know there's nothing in it for you. Or even worse, when there's a direct certainty that taking the moral high ground is going to detract from your private happiness/security/satisfaction. How many of us have the nerve to go ahead anyway?

As our culture hurtles toward narcissism acute individualism, it's bringing along a shift in our code of ethics. I'm not overly-fond of the trendy bashing on Millennials that goes on,* but I am disturbed by this pervasive attitude amongst those of my generation, that the ultimate rule of morality is personal fulfillment. We seriously consider moral dilemmas like: "I want X, but it belongs to Y. Is it less moral for me to take X from Y or for me to be forced to go the rest of my life without having X?" This scenario alone is thinly-veiled theft. Our ethical code is teetering on the edge of chaos; how can you have a functional society where we all are out, first and foremost, for our own interests?

The very core of virtue is its selflessness. It places the needs of others above those of the self. It does not feel entitled to anything. It recognizes that good transcends immediate happiness. It is humility and hope.

One of my deepest regrets, as an English person, is that the word "charity" has fallen out of use. There aren't any other terms that encapsulate the kind of love motivating true virtue. It's the caritas of Latin and the agape of Greek. It's old Christian theology. Which, for me, will always be a point in its favor.

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*Beyond the hastily-broad generalizations, I believe that most of the time, the legitimate problems cited are universal issues associated with coming-of-age, not just with those born between 1985 and 2000.

Week 2 and still alive

Titus Andronicus living the dream

So I think I discovered my dream job.

Only half of my work as an MA student is the actual coursework - the usual stuff like attending class, reading/annotating homework, writing. For those of us who were fortunate enough to get into the program with full funding, however, the other half takes the shape of a (bottom-of-the-totem-pole) department job. Most people work as TAs, teaching freshmen English; I'll let you imagine what it's like to teach a curriculum you had no hand in developing to people who don't want to be there. I have the utmost respect for my fellow grad students, because they are down in the trenches.

There are a handful of us, however, who do other things. I have no idea how I lucked out on this, but I wound up being an RA ("research assistant," not dorm supervisor). RAs have a less clearly-defined set of duties. When I got the official job description, there was everything from proofreading faculty manuscripts to actual research on authors or bibliographies. I have a hard time thinking of this as a job, because it is so much fun to do. Currently, I work for three different professors. For one, I hunt around for a very specific type of poetry for use in an upcoming paper; another has me transcribing correspondence of a 20th century political activist for a book project; and for the third, I'm gathering sources for the bibliography of yet another upcoming book.

Along the way, I find myself learning a lot about topics that wouldn't normally have captured my attention; I'm surprised by how intellectually invested I'm getting in other people's projects! The icing on the cake came today, when I handed one of the professors the files of my work from last week - I have never seen such joy come over a person. I am not exaggerating when I say that "giddy" is a relevant keyword. How can that kind of enthusiasm not rub off? So in a first-world kind of way, I feel like I'm helping people, which is a very satisfying thought. As far as I know, no such thing exists, but if there was any way to do this kind of job full-time, this would be my first choice in careers.

On the academic front:

Medieval Literature: We read books 1 & 2 of Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy this week, which pleased me, because this marks the third time I've studied this book: highschool, college, and now grad school. I think that of all the choices to follow me through each stage of my education, this is one of the most appropriate. We touched on allegory today, which I hear will be developed further in subsequent weeks. I'm excited about that, since it dovetails nicely with my own research interests (Pilgrim's Progress and The Divine Comedy come to mind).

Shakespeare: This week focused on Revenge Tragedy. Titus Andronicus was the focal point. Good heavens. This has to be - by far - the darkest of any of Shakespeare's plays, at least that I've read. There is so much gore happening onstage that I had to wonder exactly how they depicted somebody's hand getting chopped off back in the 16th Century. A lot of the class discussion had to do with the impact of revenge on the character executing it. Does it strengthen or weaken them? It could be read as a glorious assertion of self or as a descent into caricature. I tend toward the latter. Watching Titus or Hieronimo (Spanish Tragedy) go on their quests for vengeance, I saw them gradually lose touch with the world around them; they were no longer able to constructively interact with society, which I believe is a crucial virtue in Shakespeare. I also read Harold Bloom's analysis of Titus, and he commented that the over-the-top melodrama of the play is too bad to be taken seriously; he's of the opinion that it was a parody. That was illuminating, and helped explain why I felt like I was reading something straight out of gothic Romanticism.

Roughly 1/70th finished with my masters...or, Grad School: Week 1

16th century rebound

I'm still kind of in shock that I'm actually a grad student. It feels like this unattainable plane of existence, like it's up there with the land of the Beautiful People. But here I am, student ID and all, with a week of classes under my belt. I walk around campus, with old buildings nearby and giant edition of Shakespeare in hand, and feel like the people in The Theory of Everything or Gaudy Night. AND DID I MENTION I HAVE AN OFFICE? Well, I share it with two (lovely) people, but......still.

My college (which I like referring to as Mayberry) was very conservative, so the transition to my new gig has been fascinating and entertaining and occasionally bewildering. I'm now in the world of trigger warnings and fluid gender identity. The religious skepticism isn't unfamiliar though, from the Cambridge-University-divinity-lectures days. So for the time being, I'm trying to figure out the nuances of this new environment and how I can fit into it, with the strongly conservative theology of my research interests.

My experience in starting grad school has been very different from starting college. The latter sometimes felt like a continuation of highschool: Constant social activities and low probability that more than 1-2 close friends share the same major. Now, the only people I have met have been in my department. Since academics is the focus, I haven't really felt the need to "find" friends, because we're all down in the basement together and it's happening organically throughout the day.

The tower of my building reminds me of Ely Cathedral AND IT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY

Also, a point of existential struggle: I have no idea what to make of the homework. The workload, per class, is rather astonishing (Monday: read two Elizabethan plays by Wednesday, k thanks bye), but I only have 2 classes. So I think I'm living out what I dreamed of in the trenches of senior year; gone are the days of being distracted by 6 competing classes (=trains of thought). If this keeps up, grad school is looking to be easier than college. (I anticipate future me laughing/crying at this statement)

This may be a failed experiment a month from now, but I've been thinking of writing more about my academics here, both to have something to look back on, and also as a way to think through some of our class discussions more thoroughly. We'll see.

• My first class deals with romance, war, and classical reception in Medieval literature. Not too much to report on yet, except the beginning of what could become a very incendiary discussion on the ethics of writing about experiences that are not personal or first-hand. On of my classmates was vehemently opposed to the idea of monetary gain for writing someone else's story. There are several assumptions in that statement that make me inclined to take the other side: first, that the end of writing is financial or social limelight; second, that the only people qualified to accurately depict an experience are those who lived through it (as opposed to careful research, including consultation with witnesses, by an outsider); third, that people can "own" experiences; fourth, that it is better to leave some stories untold (for lack of a witness's willingness or ability to write it down) than to have them written by someone else. It seems like a very low view of the relationship between imagination and truth.
• My other class is on Shakespeare. A big point of discussion is the theme of greatness. I have a seminar-length (20-25pp) term paper for this one, so I'm already brainstorming potential theses (I think I've narrowed it down to the relationship between greatness and altruism/public good). Anyway, this past week, we compared Henry VI.3 and Kyd's Spanish Tragedy. I think I'm a little fixated on Margaret in 3H6. She has Lady-Macbeth capacity for ruthlessness, but isn't motivated by personal ambition or devoid of human feeling. I can't figure out if she's sympathetic or not.

To be continued.

Righteousness and peace

"For this Melchizedek, king of Salem, priest of the Most High God, who met Abraham as he was returning from the slaughter of the kings and blessed him, to whom also Abraham apportioned a tenth part of all the spoils, was first of all, by the translation of his name, king of righteousness, and then also king of Salem, which is king of peace.Without father, without mother, without genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, but made like the Son of God, he remains a priest perpetually." (Hebrews 7.1-3)

"I will hear what God the Lordwill say;

For He will speak peace to His people, to His godly ones;

But let them not turn back to folly.

Surely His salvation is near to those who fear Him,

That glory may dwell in our land.

Lovingkindness and truth have met together;

Righteousness and peace have kissed each other.

Truth springs from the earth,

And righteousness looks down from heaven.

Indeed, the Lord will give what is good,

And our land will yield its produce.

Righteousness will go before Him

And will make His footsteps into a way." (Psalm 85.8-13)

Academia

Magdalen College, Oxford

Grad school starts a week from today. Leaving this idealized vision of university life here to settle the butterflies:

"Mornings in Bodley, drowsing among the worn browns and tarnished gilding of Duke Humphrey, snuffing the faint, musty odor of slowly perishing leather, hearing only the discreet tippety-tap of Agag-feet along the padded floor; long afternoons, taking an outrigger up the Cher, feeling the rough kiss of the sculls on unaccustomed palms, listening to the rhythmical and satisfying ker-lunk of the rowlocks, watching the play of muscle on the Bursar's sturdy shoulders at stroke, as the sharp spring wind flattened the thin silk shirt against them; or, if the days were warmer, flicking swiftly in a canoe under Magdalen walls and so by the twisting race at King's Mill by Mesopotamia to Parson's Pleasure; then back, with mind relaxed and body stretched and vigorous, to make toast by the fire; and then, at night, the lit lamp and the drawn curtain, with the flutter of the turned page and soft scrape of pen on paper the only sounds to break the utter silence between quarter and quarter chime." 

(Gaudy Night, 242)

Faithful Father

#1: Q. What is your only comfort
in life and in death?

A. That I am not my own,
but belong—
body and soul,
in life and in death—
to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,
and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.
He also watches over me in such a way
that not a hair can fall from my head
without the will of my Father in heaven;
in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.

Because I belong to him,
Christ, by his Holy Spirit,
assures me of eternal life
and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready
from now on to live for him.

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#26: Q. What do you believe when you say,
“I believe in God, the Father almighty,
creator of heaven and earth”?

A. That the eternal Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who out of nothing created heaven and earth
and everything in them,
who still upholds and rules them
by his eternal counsel and providence,
is my God and Father
because of Christ the Son.
I trust God so much that I do not doubt
he will provide
whatever I need
for body and soul,
and will turn to my good
whatever adversity he sends upon me
in this sad world.

God is able to do this because he is almighty God
and desires to do this because he is a faithful Father.

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#27: Q. What do you understand
by the providence of God?

A. The almighty and ever present power of God
by which God upholds, as with his hand,
heaven
and earth
and all creatures,
and so rules them that
leaf and blade,
rain and drought,
fruitful and lean years,
food and drink,
health and sickness,
prosperity and poverty—
all things, in fact,
come to us
not by chance
but by his fatherly hand.

-----

#28: Q. How does the knowledge
of God’s creation and providence help us?

A. We can be patient when things go against us,

thankful when things go well,
and for the future we can have
good confidence in our faithful God and Father
that nothing in creation will separate us from his love.
For all creatures are so completely in God’s hand

that without his will
they can neither move nor be moved.

 -----

#129: Q. What does that little word “Amen” express?

A. “Amen” means:

This shall truly and surely be!

It is even more sure

that God listens to my prayer

than that I really desire
what I pray for.

 (Heidelberg Catechism)

Summer 2016

The past 2 months:

Finished the never-ending year of thesis projects

We had forgotten what a coffee table devoid
of research paraphernalia looked like

Graduated

Processional Selfie

Went to Arizona (BTC 2.0)

Driving through the Sonoran Desert

May or may not have gone on a joyride around the NAU campus in this at night

Braved the hordes of stoners and overpriced concessions of Summerfest to see one of my favorite bands play

Young the Giant put on a delightful performance

Got some good views of Milwaukee as we walked along the lakefront

I kind of love my city

The other day, I realized I'd go mad if I didn't do something academic soon, so I pulled out some of my best papers from college in order to start revising them. I'm hoping I can get them to be high quality enough to be potential journal articles. We will see. Also finally doing the edits for my English thesis.

This year, I've been reading Dorothy Sayers' mysteries, and I'm about 100 pages into Gaudy Night. Pretty much from the first page, I knew this would become one of my favorite books. Besides the mystery narrative, I love how it explores women's place in academia, and what I think a lot of us struggle with in feeling like there has to be a choice between pursuing what feels like two competing callings (research and relationships). Reading the book has illuminated many of the issues I've begun to think about post-graduation. My thought processes about my future tend toward an either-or, all-or-nothing attitude that results in two equally-unsettling pictures of me 15 years from now: Reformed-Nun-Devoted-to-Academia or Overwrought-Mother-Mourning-Missed-Opportunities. Both are kind of terrifying.

Grad school will be over before I know it, and.....then what? I hate the type of person who defines him/her-self by their schooling (I've listened to them talk and their humble bragginess is slightly insufferable), which makes me all the more anxious to make sure I'm actively involved in the church. But to cast a glance in the direction of the feminist soapbox, it's very difficult to establish yourself as a single woman in the family-dominated culture of the church. Not being male, it's easy to feel that my potential contribution is marginal at best. (For the record, I stand in firm agreement with the biblical teaching on the church officers being exclusively male).

Based on conversations I've had with other single people, I think that sense of displacement is pretty common; things are great when you have a community of likeminded, similarly-placed people around you, but being the only one can be incredibly alienating (and when you're a confessional Reformed Baptist, the latter is often the case). There is much to be said for learning from the wisdom of those around you who are not in your demographic, but how do you replace the unique kind of fellowship, accountability, and encouragement that comes from having Christian peers? What does it mean to embrace biblical femininity when half the descriptions of virtuous womanhood do not apply to you? I've been asking myself these questions a lot lately. Ultimately, we will only find happiness and contentment in submission to the will of God. Furthermore, God never puts us in a position where there are no opportunities to serve the church in some way or another. Amidst all my questions, these truths have been invaluable in not going crazy.

That got way heavier than I intended, but I suppose a lot of those thoughts were bound to come out here eventually. Living the dream.

In which I fall further in love with typology

“For I will be like a lion to Ephraim
And like a young lion to the house of Judah.
I, even I, will tear to pieces and go away,
I will carry away, and there will be none to deliver.
I will go away and return to My place
Until they acknowledge their guilt and seek My face;
In their affliction they will earnestly seek Me.”

“Come, let us return to the Lord.
For He has torn us, but He will heal us;
He has wounded us, but He will bandage us.
“He will revive us after two days;
He will raise us up on the third day,
That we may live before Him.
“So let us know, let us press on to know the Lord.
His going forth is as certain as the dawn;
And He will come to us like the rain,
Like the spring rain watering the earth.”

 Hosea 5.14-6.3

I'm reading Hosea today, and it occurred to me that its story is a lot like a dark counterpart to the Song of Solomon. Both focus on "romances" between two human individuals which in turn act as pictures of God and the Church. The Song of Solomon tells the narrative of redemption from the standpoint of our union with Christ having already been established, and it's much nicer to read than Hosea. The latter, though less pretty, is just as important. It's like following the events of our salvation in real time: We the readers watch in horror as we witness ourselves, in Gomer and Israel, abandon Christ and defile ourselves in sin. We find ourselves facing the chilling wrath of God - "Since you have forgotten the law of your God,/I also will forget your children" (won't find 4:6 on a Christmas card any time soon). But finally, as He always does, God promises us hope in redemption. I love the Christological undertones of 6:2: "He will raise us up on the third day."

"But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places with Jesus Christ, so that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus." (Ephesians 2.4-7)

John 15.12-17

“This is My commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends. You are My friends if you do what I command you. No longer do I call you slaves, for the slave does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I have heard from My Father I have made known to you. You did not choose Me but I chose you, and appointed you that you would go and bear fruit, and that your fruit would remain, so that whatever you ask of the Father in My name He may give to you. This I command you, that you love one another.

Friends with God. What an incredible thing.

History thesis update #2: Wherein I don't want Bunyan to feel left out

I continue writing. It's been going at a snail's pace, but the end is in sight.....down to the last four pages. Yesterday was a Keach party, and tonight it's Bunyan. I just read through his "Apology" for Pilgrim's Progress for the first time (an embarrassing confession made even more so by the fact that it's less than 240 lines long), and I absolutely loved his concluding stanza. It's both a shameless plug for his own novel and also a daydreamy tribute to the pleasures of reading literature in a Christian context. Leaving it here for further enjoyment.

 This Book is writ in such a Dialect   
As may the minds of listless men affect:
It seems a novelty, and yet contains   
Nothing but sound and honest Gospel strains.   
  Would’st thou divert thyself from Melancholy?   
Would’st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?   
Would’st thou read Riddles, and their Explanation?
Or else be drowned in thy Contemplation?   
Dost thou love picking meat? Or would’st thou see   
A man i’ th’ Clouds, and hear him speak to thee?   
Would’st thou be in a Dream, and yet not sleep?   
Or would’st thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Wouldest thou lose thyself, and catch no harm,   
And find thyself again without a charm?   
Would’st read thyself, and read thou know’st not what,   
And yet know whether thou art blest or not,   
By reading the same lines? O then come hither,
And lay my Book, thy Head, and Heart together.

Uncanny research

So, for my history thesis, I'm tracing the connection between the prominence of metaphors in (Reformed) Baptist theology and the seventeenth century Baptists' involvement in the rise of the novel in England. John Bunyan, I'm looking at you. Anyways, researching this topic, which I might add is a wild goose chase because apparently nobody else has thought to write about Baptist literature, has led me to the figure of Benjamin Keach, otherwise known as the Reformed Baptist star of the late 1600's. He casually helped write the 1689 in addition to scandalizing everyone by saying we should sing hymns (in addition to psalms) in worship. He also had a crazy son, whose story will never cease to entertain me. You just can't make some of this stuff up.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you've just met someone, and after five minutes of talking, you realize you have everything in common? I'm kind of going through this with Keach. Not so much biographically, because, well, I'm not a male pastor-theologian from the 17th century. It's more that his collected works basically deal with all the big things I'm interested in studying: literature as a means of discussing theology, typology, covenant theology, poetry & worship.....I could go on, but I think that conveys the general idea. It's slightly weird to come across someone born 350 years before you who seems to have been on the same wavelength. Like you're playing a game of chess, and they're always one step ahead of you, but you're actually both on the same side anyways. He is now on my list of people I wish I could have a dinner party with. But since I can't have that any time soon, I kind of just want to go read everything he's written. You know, basic stuff.

The struggle is real. But really, it actually is, because I'm supposed to be writing my thesis right now, and I'm procrastinating by blogging. So the struggle is really real, and, well, you can see how that's going. 15 days before I walk....not that I'm counting or anything.

Psalm 85

To the choirmaster. A Psalm of the Sons of Korah. 

Lord, you were favorable to your land;
    you restored the fortunes of Jacob.
You forgave the iniquity of your people;
    you covered all their sin. Selah
You withdrew all your wrath;
    you turned from your hot anger.

Restore us again, O God of our salvation,
    and put away your indignation toward us!
Will you be angry with us forever?
    Will you prolong your anger to all generations?
Will you not revive us again,
    that your people may rejoice in you?
Show us your steadfast love, O Lord,
    and grant us your salvation.

Let me hear what God the Lord will speak,
    for he will speak peace to his people, to his saints;
    but let them not turn back to folly.
Surely his salvation is near to those who fear him,
    that glory may dwell in our land.

Steadfast love and faithfulness meet;
    righteousness and peace kiss each other.
Faithfulness springs up from the ground,
    and righteousness looks down from the sky.
Yes, the Lord will give what is good,
    and our land will yield its increase.
Righteousness will go before him
    and make his footsteps a way.

"Steadfast love and faithfulness meet;/righteousness and peace kiss one another." I dare you to find a more beautiful, poetic description of the Gospel.

Shakespeare 400

I know it's a little cheesy, but this seems like one of the most appropriate of his quotes to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the death of the Bard:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

(As You Like It 2.7.146-173)

Why I love Shakespeare's comedies

BEATRICE   I beseech your Grace pardon me. I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.
PRINCE   Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you, for out o’ question you were born in a merry hour.
BEATRICE   No, sure, my lord, my mother cried, but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.

(Much Ado About Nothing II.i.322-329)

Of the Bard's works, Shakespeare's tragedies are usually the plays that are recognized as his most thoughtful. Nothing like an existential crisis or two to get you thinking about the deep philosophical realities of life.

As much as I love his tragedies, the comedies have always been my favorite. They have  resonated with me more deeply than their melancholy cousins. While the plot of A Midsummer Night's Dream seems to be lighter fare than the overt seriousness of Romeo and Juliet, the two plays (like the others they represent) are more similar than they appear. Hermia & Lysander and Helena & Demetrius are just a ruling-from-Theseus away from becoming Juliet & Romeo. Both genres deal with the same issues, but arrive at different conclusions.

I love the quote from Much Ado About Nothing above. In the last sentence, Beatrice hits on the nature of truly good comedy: Joy and despair often walk hand in hand. Peter Leithart (to reference a scandalous author) calls this phenomenon "deep comedy." Throughout the course of the story, the characters must undergo all kinds of loss before they finally reach happiness in the end: Heartbreak, betrayal, and horror are all present in both Shakespeare's comedies and tragedies. From a purely artistic standpoint, this juxtaposition makes the whole piece more effective; the contrast between the two extremes raises the stakes for both of them, rendering their qualities more dramatic.

What sets the comedies apart from the tragedies, however, is their endings. I believe that ultimately, the comedies are most realistic. None of this makes sense at first - we all live in a fallen world, and if you're a good Amillenial (cough), you don't foresee anything improving any time soon. It would appear that our earthly destiny falls rather on the bleak end of the spectrum. But here's the thing: Our story doesn't end with death. The Christian worldview is a hopeful one, because Christ has already conquered death. The happy ending is guaranteed for us. This eschatological reality embodies the tension in the comedies between temporary defeat and permanent victory, present suffering and future peace, earthly chaos and heavenly perfection. The lighthearted tone of the comedies reminds us that our hope in Christ makes the suffering in this world bearable. For the Christian, deep comedy is the truest form of realism.

Every Shakespeare scholar has written about his ability to create relatable, lifelike characters. His comic genius is similar. His characters mirror us in such a way that makes us first laugh, then think. It is when we see ourselves in the struggles of his characters that his plays are successful.

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

Romans 8.18-25

On galleries

Cole: "The Arcadian or Pastoral State"

Recently, I went to the Milwaukee Art Museum to check out its (AMAZING!!) temporary exhibition "Nature and the American Vision." The collection focuses on the Hudson River School and features several early paintings of Niagara Falls, upstate New York, and - my favorite - Thomas Cole's 5-part series, The Course of an Empire. Highly recommended.

Anyways, since the museum's completed renovation this past November, I've acquired a much deeper appreciation for both gallery-visiting in general and the museum itself. On our breakneck joyride around Europe's greatest galleries, my friends and I often hurried from one famous painting/sculpture/building to another, in a frantic effort to see as many masterpieces as possible. Given the time restraints, I don't necessarily regret such a decision, yet I find myself wistfully remembering what it was like to stand in the presence of such workmanship. I wish I could have taken in more of each piece.

I returned to Milwaukee with a bit of a cynical attitude toward American art collections (and to be fair, it is hard to top the decadent concentration of art in places like the Vatican Museums or the Louvre); however, in the past several months, I've had the happy realization that this mindset wasn't fully justified, especially in Milwaukee. Weaving between the temporary exhibit and the permanent collection, I was struck by an awareness of the richness of every single piece. Of course, you have your mediocre ones, or those that fail to capture your interest; for every one of those, though, there is another that is quite good.

In the end, it actually began to be overwhelming. It made me realize that I have played the tourist even at my own, "home" art museum. Rushing from one painting to another, blazing through entire rooms in 3 minutes, I never stopped to cultivate a meaningful encounter with the pieces.

While I love the diverse gallery opportunities presented by large art museums, the sheer volume of art they offer can be dangerous. Living out one of the classic American stereotypes, we can easily fall into the trap of valuing quantity over quality. In focusing on the whole, we take each particular piece for granted.

The reality is that you could easily spend several hours - a whole visit - on just a room or two. It's an experiment I would like to try the next time I go. Instead of doing what I usually do - make value judgments based on my taste/mood, I want to pay closer attention to what the artist is telling me. To borrow a page from Shakespeare and his strategically-placed plays-within-plays, I'm learning that there needs to be a sense of humility, a willingness for art to change you. It isn't there just to look pretty (well, unless you're fond of Oscar Wilde & co. But I think I'd challenge even that).

Thesis tangents

Any day I get to reference the Divine Comedy in a paper is a good day. Initially, I was interested in the passages surrounding this for their discussion of Dante's treatment of the Christian life. But then Beatrice came up and I had to repeat it here and everything happened so quickly:

When Dante and his poem venture, as best they may, into the world of Reality, his guide is Beatrice, who represents his own personal experience of the immanence of the Creator in the creature. In her he had seen, in those moments of revelation which he describes in the Vita Nuova, the eternal Beauty shining through the created beauty, the reality of Beatrice as God knew her.

(From Barbara Reynolds' introduction to Paradise, p. 20)

This is why I love Dante.

On O'Connor (on Easter weekend)

"O'Connor's stories are about people struggling with one another, trying to wrest victories from the recalcitrance of love and fate. They are about the triumph and failure of the will, the divine and the human, and about the tragic consequences of our flawed perceptivity, which quietly stalk us all, like age and death. In spite of the brutal fates that so often befall her characters, O'Connor possesses a genuine sympathy for them, even as she modelled the majority after the secular humanists and materialists she so vehemently decried. This sympathy is born from a common humanity, the awareness on O'Connor's part that all of us share in concert the fundamental condition of sin and the possibility for spiritual advancement once we recognize the devil's hand within our own.

Flannery O'Connor remains one of the most difficult writers of the modern period, not because her tales are necessarily more complex than another's, but because her sensibilities and values are so foreign to her era. O'Connor's literary vision comes burning out of a distant time and place; it slashes like a demon's talon, repudiating modernity's complacent conviction that God had died a Victorian. To appreciate fully O'Connor's art, we must accept it in the religious context from which it was written. To do so requires the type of struggle that virtually forces the reader to identify with her own children - Francis Tarwater or, better still, her uncle Rayber. The secular reader wrestles with O'Connor in a manner similar to a willful child who is forever testing his parents' authority. The child may well become an adult with his own values that differ greatly from those of his parents, but in the end he will somehow show the influence of his parents' vision. He has to: it is in his blood."

Tony Magistrale, "'I'm Alien to a Great Deal': Flannery O'Connor and the Modernist Ethic" (97-98)

The penultimate book in my 20th Century class is Flannery O'Connor's Wise Blood. Up till this point, the only other piece I had read was A Good Man is Hard to Find, but her reputation for strong Christian themes had left me interested in reading more. I'm about 3/4 the way through, and it has been one of the most difficult books I've yet read. Very dark, very bleak, very off-putting.

Bosch, "The Garden of Earthly Delights"

Even though I don't enjoy reading the novel, it's a fantastic piece of literature. I think the above quote is key to "getting" O'Connor. The characters/stories are distasteful on purpose; O'Connor is demonstrating for us the horror of a godless, thoroughly-secular life. I admire her for her willingness to stand alone amid the dogmatism of mid-century modernism.

I like the last few sentences of the quote's first paragraph as well. As a great supporter of the liberal arts as a way to unite - rather than divide - humanity, I have often struggled to reconcile the humanism of such a worldview with the reality of Christian theology. The talk about "celebrating the human experience" etc. makes me nervous, because while humanity does have great potential (we are image-bearers of God) it will never be able to fulfill this potential on earth. I appreciated the alternative perspective O'Connor brings to the conversation: We do indeed share many qualities in common, but rather than puff us up, this knowledge ought to lead to humility, because ultimately, we are all united in our fallen need for a Savior. Our common humanity is both beautiful and broken. O'Connor demonstrates the world's vital need for the promise of Redemption.