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.

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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.

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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.

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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)