Pactum Serva

Dog Observes Chicken

2009-06-02T13:51:00.001-07:00

2009-06-02T13:49:00.000-07:00

Thursday Morning

2009-05-22T14:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I woke after too little sleep. More than I had been getting, perhaps, but too little nonetheless. It is during mornings such as these where I hit a sort of autopilot, and proceed about my chores with little thought. The puppy was let out to pee and I set about closing the windows. The house had got down to 73F, though it would have been cooler if the box fan had not fallen out of the window, it was a good enough start to the day.

As is my custom, I walked out back to be greeted by the now relieved Diggery. For a while I stared out into the pasture, taking in the cool morning air and allowing my eyes to adjust to the day. Five or ten minutes is what it takes, and then I am back in action. The flake pulled nicely off the bale, and the hay filled my nostrils and coated my shirt. Diggery and I set off to the pasture together - him jumping around my feet, me balancing the flake in one hand as I opened the gate. It is during this time that the puppy fears missing something exciting, so he takes only short pees, every minute or two.

When I found a suitable spot, I tossed the hay to the ground and brushed what I could off me. By that time the sheep voiced displeasure at having to wait for breakfast, so I trudged on over to their night pen to let them out - Diggery still bouncing around and under my feet. Then came that wonderful moment, which happens most every morning when I let the sheep loose. Diggery set to work immediately. First he valiantly, but ultimately in vain, attempted to bring the sheep back to me. The poor dog is still too small to completely enforce his demands. Then, once the sheep broke past him, he chased them mightily across the field, towards and then past the hay. At this point, as usual, hunger took over and the sheep quit giving heed to the dog. So, full of pride, Diggery rushed back to me for praise. "Good job. That's a good puppy." He will make a good sheepdog.

By that time the sun had begun to warm and I was glad I had closed the windows. With the warmth on my back, we strode off to turn on the water. The closest working waterline is, of course, almost a football field's distance from the animals. We do a lot of walking in the morning.

Half way across the field, I noticed that I was being followed; not only by Diggery, which is normal, but by two hens. "Cluck, cluck." Cocked heads looked at me as if I was the one up to no good. "What the… How did you get out?" How long had they been following me?

Back to the chicken coop. I suppose it is a general rule that things should not go smoothly when you are the least rested to handle it. It turned out that the sheep had been using the chicken yard to scratch their itching shedding wool. Busted a whole straight through the side. "Sigh… I guess you guys will be free-range today." Not that I did not want them to free-range, I just was not planning it until next week.

Off again to the water. I walked a little more quickly after that. My chores had just increased.

Just after I had walked passed the back door I heard the desperate mournful cry of one who felt rejected. As if the world had turned its back on the love and adoration of a nineteen month old boy. As if that poor lonesome boy had awoken and sought out his father, only to have him walk briskly by without so much as a glance. As if… Well, I suppose that is it.

So, the water was turned on and I soon found myself walking back through the field, Brenden in one arm, chicken feed in hand, Diggery bouncing about my feet and eight hens following behind. The gate to the pasture and the gate to the chicken yard were deftly opened with the sort of agility known only to parents, and the occasional gymnast.

Taking great care, I was near enough able to water the sheep and chickens without allowing the puppy to get himself wet - which was an endeavor I failed in today. I proceed back through the field, past the gate and succeed in preventing the puppy from ingesting copious amounts of sheep manure. The boy was returned to bed and the dog was fed.

Finally I was able get ready and on to work. Down I sat at my desk.

Text Message
Valerie:
The sheep are in the chicken coop. They ate the feed.

I smiled.

Just Another Day

2009-05-08T08:10:00.000-07:00

Television

2009-04-28T16:10:00.001-07:00

Though I have heard fine arguments against the use of television for various reasons - ranging from its mind numbing effects, to its immoral and materialistic propaganda, to its creation of mass culture - it seems to me that perhaps the most damning of all is the fact that television is an incredibly dull way of wasting time. It can be said that the purpose of television is to avoid doing something worth talking about, in order to watch someone pretend to do something not worth talking about. And though the demise of regular conversation may be an effect of television, I suspect it may in fact be a benefit, given that the only thing more frightfully dull than watching a television show is talking about a television show. In fact, when I find myself cornered in a conversation about television - perhaps who got immunity on last night's show of choice - I find myself desperately wishing for someone to turn on the television, so that the inane drone of dullness can cease and I can escape unnoticed.

Farm Update

2009-04-22T12:53:00.000-07:00

Our two remaining sheep seem to have recovered (though the younger still has a limp), and seem to be showing signs of pregnancy. If they are, that would be fortunate.

Through some friends, we now have a connection to a man who runs an exotic meats website, so when our flock is up to snuff we will have an outlet.

I will be picking up my Border Collie pup tomorrow or Friday. Hopefully by the time he is old enough to start training for herding, we will have a flock big enough for him to be useful.

Brutus - our giant loveable sheep-chasing mutt - is now starting to understand that the sheep should be left alone, and has been doing his job. Unfortunately he has been picking up ticks from the brush, which means I will have to spray, unless I can find an acceptable (and cheap) "organic" option.

The neighbors have lost another goat to the coyotes, and yet another to a rattlesnake. The rattlers are coming out of the ground, and seem to be rather aggressive this year. The toads are coming out as well, but fortunately they are harmless. In fact, they provide some amusing entertainment for the mentally challenged kids next door.

The sheep have shed most of their wool, and the apple trees began to bloom on Saturday (perhaps they are celebrating Pascha as well). The tangerine, lemon, peach and apricot trees are now full of fruit, with some lemons ripe and the tangerines close behind them.

Unfortunately the sheep emergency put me behind in my construction of the chicken coop, so the chickens are now in the garage waiting for me to finish.

Yesterday the Press Enterprise came to take pictures of us and our house (and our sheep). If you get the paper, we will be in it on Sunday. Why us, I cannot figure out.

I will try to post pictures soon.

The People, the Media, Ideologues, and Democratic Non-Engagement

2009-03-31T16:54:00.001-07:00

It comes to my attention that in general "the people" - who ever that nebulous entity may be - or perhaps more accurately, "the media" and those who associate themselves with it, care not what the actions are of ideological figures, so long as they self-identify with said figures espoused ideology. So it is, for example, that two presidential figures can initiate and execute nearly identical policies, and yet one garners criticism and identification as the abomination of desolation, whilst the other is worshipped as a new messiah (of course, who is which depends upon the ideological identification of said "people"/"media"/identifites). Though, I find it difficult to question the validity of the former identification, the later steadfastly demonstrates the veracity of a certain Dane's aversion to "the media" and "the people", i.e., Crowds. As such, it brings a little shame to me that I sullied my unbroken record of democratic non-engagement by voting in the last election, though perhaps there was some virtue in the act of voting for someone who was not running for office

Luxury

2009-03-26T16:21:00.000-07:00

It now seems to me that the greatest luxury in life is that little time when the work is done and a degree of silence descends upon the house. At that moment one can find me sitting on the porch with a pipe, a beer and a book. The dog will be lying at my feet and the sheep will be chewing their cud, giving sounds of contentment from time to time, which will be answered in due course by the bellicose bleating of the neighboring goats. Then one can take in a deep breath of air, filled to the brim with the smells of grass, hay, livestock and good English tobacco, and if the breeze is just right the faint sweet smell of blossoming citrus will tickle that fortunate one's nose. One will be greeted with a nod to pull up an old camping chair, rest his bones and stare at the stars, unobscured by the city lights.

Lessons From This Week on the Farm

2009-03-10T21:48:00.000-07:00

#1 - Even if your 120 pound German Shepherd is afraid of goats, and most other things larger than a cat, tie him up before releasing the sheep.

#2 - Once said 120 pound dog decides that sheep are food on hooves, it is best for the wife not to jump between him and the sheep whilst the dog is running full speed. That is unless the wife enjoys being sacked in replay worthy fashion.

#3 - Do not banish said dog to the in-law's home, pending construction of a kennel, as 120 pound German Shepherds look intimidating (or at least not worth the trouble) to local bobcats, mountain lions and coyotes.

#4 - Coyotes can scale an 8 foot fence. The 6.5 foot fence that keeps the dogs out might as well not exist as far as coyotes are concerned.

#5 - While a pack of coyotes may make a racket in the process of dispatching a cat or dog, they are silent while doing the same to sheep - which are inexplicably silent themselves.

#6 - A neighbor who wakes the sound of a rattling gate, and has the good sense to go to the window and yell, "Hey!" may make the difference between a flock lost and half a flock lost.

#7 - The best way to put down a sheep is a .22 shell to the back of the head, parallel to the top of the skull.

#8 - Do not bother calling a vet, as they will charge at least 4 times the sheep's worth. Having friends who know what they are doing is indispensable.

#9 - You can safely quadruple the recommended dosage of antibiotics to your surviving, but slightly maimed, sheep.

#10 - A butcher cannot legally butcher a bitten sheep; even for personal use as dog food.

Conclusions:
#1 - Night time enclosures for the sheep cannot wait until lambing season, and must be completely enclosed with a roof.

#2 - The dog is coming back and undergoing intensive "leave the sheep alone" training.

#3 - We may acquire a donkey to protect the sheep, as they do the job as well as a trained livestock guard dog, for a fraction of the price.

#4 - Acquiring a shotgun is in order, as I doubt either my wife or I could hit a moving coyote with a .22. It is a good thing that discharging a firearm is legal outside city limits.

Home

2009-02-20T17:01:00.001-08:00

Tears

2009-02-17T21:32:00.000-08:00

On Friday a friend and I discussed our weekend plans - St Valentine's day and such. We have worked together much over the years, bonding over shoveling mud from stream beds, hiking across fields of hay in the sun and rain, sharing stories from the past and hopes and dreams for the future. This morning I learned that my good friend and co-worker died Monday, at the age of 36. He was a good man, he will be missed.

Bloggers

2009-02-06T17:06:00.000-08:00

It comes to my attention that the vast majority of those who choose to blog do so out of an unfounded sense of self-importance. It also comes to my attention that irony knows no bounds.

In Other News - And Three Becomes Four

2009-02-05T13:42:00.000-08:00

But what can a decent man speak of with most pleasure?
Answer: Of himself.
Well, so I will talk about myself.
-Dostoevsky, Notes From the Underground

If anyone, for some odd reason, has wondered why I have been so neglectful towards my blog, the answer has to do with a freak accident involving water, mold, and a sensitive wife and child; which ends with us living with family for the past six months whilst looking for a home. The good news is that we have finally moved into our first home - or perhaps in better words - we have moved into our first homestead.

Going well beyond our expectations, we were able to purchase a home on an acre and a half, zoned light agricultural. We have a badly neglected orchard and chicken coop, which I am currently renovating, and enough space for our planned garden and pasture for a small flock of sheep, which I hope to acquire soon. As time permits, I will post pictures and news on happenings at the homestead. Perhaps I will even convince my wife to post a little on bread making and canning.

As if that was not enough news to bring about, I have saved the best for last: We are now expecting our second child, who should be born a month shy of our son's second birthday.

Crowds

2009-02-02T15:06:00.001-08:00

We warn young people against going to dens of iniquity, even out of curiosity, because no one knows what might happen. Still more terrible, however, is the danger of going along with the crowd. In truth, there is no place, not even one most disgustingly dedicated to lust and vice, where a human being is more easily corrupted – than in the crowd.

Even though every individual possesses the truth, when he gets together in a crowd, untruth will be present at once, for the crowd is untruth. It either produces impenitence and irresponsibility or it weakens the individual’s sense of responsibility by placing it in a fractional category. For instance, imagine an individual walking up to Christ and spitting on him. No human being would ever have the courage or the audacity to do that. But as part of a crowd, well then they somehow have the “courage” to do it – dreadful untruth!

The crowd is indeed untruth. Christ was crucified because he would have nothing to do with the crowd (even though he addressed himself to all). He did not want to form a party, an interest group, a mass movement, but wanted to be what he was, the truth, which is related to the single individual. Therefore everyone who will genuinely serve the truth is by that very fact a martyr. To win a crowd is no art; for that only untruth is needed, nonsense, and a little knowledge of human passions. But no witness to the truth dares to get involved with the crowd. His work is to be involved with all people, if possible, but always individually, speaking with each and every person on the sidewalk and on the streets – in order to split apart. He avoids the crowd, especially when it is treated as authoritative in matters of the truth or when its applause, or hissing, or balloting are regarded as judges. He avoids the crowd with its herd mentality more than a decent young girl avoids the bars on the harbor. Those who speak to the crowd, coveting its approval, those who deferentially bow and scrape before it must be regarded as being worse than prostitutes. They are instruments of untruth.

For this reason, I could weep, even want to die, when I think about how the public, with its daily press and anonymity, make things so crazy. That an anonymous person, by means of the press, day in and day out can say whatever he wants to say, what he perhaps would never have the courage to say face-to-face as an individual to another individual, and can get thousands to repeat it, is nothing less than a crime – and no one has responsibility! What untruth! Such is the way of the crowd.

-Søren Kierkegaard

May His Memory Be Eternal - Patriarch Alexy II

2008-12-05T17:14:00.000-08:00

http://orthodoxeurope.org/#19-2-638

The Virtues of Wealth and Usury

2008-11-26T12:43:00.000-08:00

If prosperity is regarded as the reward of virtue it will be regarded as the symptom of virtue.
-G. K. Chesterton

Perhaps because on some level I am a masochist at heart, I find myself listening to Ancient Faith Radio from time to time. Every once in a while there is a gem, usually from Fr. Steven Freeman. More often I find myself listening in a sort of awful fascination, as in last months series by The Illumined Heart on "Managing Mammon".

One often has to wonder about that peculiar development within American Christianity that has led nearly all of its varied parts to subscribe to some form of the "health and wealth gospel". In reality, it should be no surprise that a show based out of an Evangelical convert parish in Orange County, California would do a two part series on how to get rich, or more fittingly, how it is a Christian's obligation to get as rich as he possibly can, even if the show is supposedly "Orthodox". It contained, of course, the usual twisting of the parable of the talents and other such oddities, such as the "tithing will make you rich" routine and the wonderful justification of "get rich so you can give more to the Church". One is left wondering why Christ did not tell the rich man to make more money, so that he could give more, or why so many Saints gave up the entirety of the wealth, instead of using it to make more so that they could give more.

Sadly, this is the state of American Christianity, by and large. Let me emphasize further that it is not merely an Evangelical or Charismatic problem, or even just a Protestant problem, even if they perhaps display it to a greater degree. American Christianity in general has merged with the bourgeois capitalist virtues of wealth as virtue. I, for one, have sat in Mega-churches and heard sermons on how Christ did not really mean what he said about the rich man and the camel, and I have sat in Orthodox parishes and heard homilies on how one should fulfill pledge card obligations before feeding the family and material blessings will come of it. What I have rarely heard are homilies on the virtue of suffering and poverty. It seems that we want all of the Old Testament "do as I command and you shall have", and none of the New Testament "do as I command and you will be persecuted."

Truly, what place does the pursuit for wealth have in the Christian life? I think it more fitting for us to seek the opposite, to give up our money hording. St. John Chrysostom once said in a homily, "if we are to tell the truth, the rich man is not the one who has collected many possessions but the one who needs few possessions; and the poor man is not the one who has no possessions but the one who desires many."

The worse thing still is that the virtue of wealth is no longer linked to such things as hard work, the production of goods or other such natural virtues, but rather through "making your money work for you." Which, to be certain, is nothing more that what the Church has always called "usury." It is a rather strange proposition, that money can somehow do work. What this really means is that we are to earn interest with our money by the labor of another. Theft really, or as St. Leo the Great ever more eloquently put it:
A man's possessions are indeed multiplied by these unrighteous and sorry means, but the mind's wealth decays because usury of money is the death of the soul. For what God thinks of such men the most holy Prophet David makes clear, for when he asks, "Lord, who shall dwell in thy tabernacle, or who shall rest upon thy holy hill?" he receives the Divine utterance in reply, from which he learns that that man attains to eternal rest who among other rules of holy living "hath not given his money upon usury" and thus he who gets deceitful gain from lending his money on usury is shown to be both an alien from God's tabernacle and an exile from his holy hill, and in seeking to enrich himself by other's losses, he deserves to be punished with eternal neediness.

Still, how pervasive this perversion is. It has touched and infected everything. I have but to look no further than my own parish putting its building fund into a money market account. Yet, at one time participating in usury could get a priest defrocked. I look at my own 401K and I am ashamed to have it, though the money put in it is not by my choice.

Cold

2008-09-11T13:39:00.001-07:00

I have a cold. Sneezing, coughing, running mucus. It is still summer, yet somehow I have a cold.

It has been a while since I have updated my blog. This has been do to a summer full of colds, or rather, strange nuisances, coincidences and untimely aggravations.

Some months ago my garden grew and then began to produce fruit, but a rat came and stole these fruits, and now the garden lies dead. Fittingly so, as our home sits vacant - except for the mold growing gleefully in dark dank living room carpet.

Ah, but soon, oh please let it be soon, we will find a home again. Perhaps a nice garden too, with fruits and vegetables and wonderful delightful things.

This time, most certainly, most definitely, it will be ours to keep and make our own. If such menacing fungal presence should grow and threaten my family, oh sweet family, I can stop it, banish it, kill it.

No longer will we listen to the empty promises of lying landlords: "tomorrow, most certainly tomorrow, it will all be fixed."

Alas, for now I have no such place, no home, no garden. Yet I have a family, a wonderful family, and I have my prayers, though too often left unsaid.

For now I have a cold, but soon I will have a home.

A Place Worth Caring About: New Urbanism

2008-07-22T17:07:00.000-07:00

At some point I will have to write an extended post on this subject, but at this time I will point you to a couple links on this "movement" back to traditional architecture. Once again it is an example of the practical failure of modernist and post-modernist philosophy, brought about by their nihilistic and dehumanizing consequences.

The first is an interesting article on a major new urbanist architect, and the second is a short lecture on the subject. Be warned that the lecturer uses some rather crass language to get a few of his points across - though one can make the argument that such crass architecture deserves nothing other than crass descriptions.

An aside: Given the content of the lecture, the choice of advertising is rather amuzing.

Cities for Living

Experience and Tradition

2008-07-10T07:53:00.000-07:00

Apart from this, the example of Symeon led to a very significant conclusion about the nature of Orthodox tradition itself. His case clearly illustrates that nothing else than the personal mystical experience of the individual Christian constitutes the cornerstone of Tradition: Tradition cannot be truly Orthodox if it is not founded upon a personal encounter with God; those who try to oppose a formal and rationalized “tradition” (held by the majority in the church) to an inspired “mysticism” (of individual enthusiasts) fall into error without understanding the very essence of Tradition. The true mystic is not the one who considers his own personal experience superior to the Tradition of the church, but he whose experience is in agreement with the experience of the church.

-Bishop Hilarion Alfeyev

Children

2008-07-08T15:18:00.000-07:00

Today I happened upon a sight, or rather a lack of a sight, which brought a tinge of sadness to my day. In these crazy days people look to the advance of the Sodomites or the proliferation of abortion, or some other great sign of cultural degradation, and rail against these as the great sources and signs of the collapse of society. I say no. What I have seen this summer, and in particular, today, is beyond such evils. It is subtle, it is insidious, it is profound.

It so happened that a certain project I am working on gave me the opportunity to visit several parks and playgrounds this morning. It was a beautiful sunny morning, nearing noon and warm but not yet hot. I visited little parks with shady trees and green grass, with slides and swings and bike paths. I visited large parks with baseball and soccer fields, basketball and tennis courts, and picnic tables and barbeques. It was a veritable wonderland.

Yet, what I did not see was a single child playing. There were no children playing tag. No little ones laughing and dancing in sprinklers. The swings were empty and the bike paths remained lonely and empty. There was no baseball and no soccer. Not even loitering teenagers lounging upon the picnic tables.

That, my friends, is the great depravity of our culture. On a wondrous day, in the middle of summer break, not a single child found his way to the playgrounds. "Where are they?" you ask. I happen to know.

A few days back a friendly old man asked me if there were any children in our complex, because he had not seen a single one in the community pool. He concluded that there must be none, since the children most assuredly would have been found there. I could not bring myself to tell him the truth. There certainly are children to be found inhabiting our sad little complex, but it is rare that you will see them. When you do, it is usually through a cracked door or an open set of curtains. There you will see those children, when they have not been carted away to daycare. On the couch is where you will most often see them, with a set of video game controllers in hand or some brain numbing Disney 'tween television show forming their undeveloped minds.

I must say that I did happen to see children - other than my own - today, though it was in the distance, through several layers of security fencing that would make many prisons proud. That is, the only time I saw any children on this fine summer day, after walking and driving through numerous streets and tracts and parks, was as I drove past a daycare center, which proudly displayed that it accepts toddlers.

Again - depravity, nauseating, unconscionable. Such a state of society where children are raised in high security lockdown by minimum wage slave labor, and by Grand Theft Auto and Hannah Montana, is a truly depraved society. A culture where the children no longer care to go out and play is a culture that has forgotten God. Sodom's fate is too kind for us, Gomorra's too lax.

For My Dear Uncle Danny, On The Occasion Of His 50th Birthday

2008-06-19T17:02:00.000-07:00

There once was a man. A giant among men. He was merry, he was virile, he was intolerant. He stood eight feet tall and had whiskers of black wire. Some said his father was Dionysus, others said Ares, though his mother was most undoubtedly Psyche. That is to say he was a man of fiery character and handsome countenance. He appreciated beauty, he was a friend of the arts, he could emit smells that would cause rodents to gag and choke. If the Oxford dictionary were to have pictures instead of definitions, his would be next to the word 'manly'. He was half a god. He was a man consummate.

This man sailed the great Californian coasts with none other than Ulysses. They sailed from the great northern cities to the south upon a boat fashioned by their own hands with bamboo and reeds. From the deck of the creaking ship he bellowed out 'O, Christmas Tree' so loud and so true that it nigh sounded German. So pleased were they by the sound, the Sirens dashed themselves against those same rocks that have claimed so many a sailor.

And when the bamboo cracked and the reeds soaked through, he swam the great depths of the ocean. He conversed with Poseidon. He wrestled the Kraken and prevailed. He was met at the shore by his great friends Perseus and Hercules, who are known only in legend to lesser men. They leapt from great heights, lo! even from the roofs of houses, solely to show their propensity towards masculinity. He proclaimed, 'I shall jump higher still!' and leapt without fear. Alas! He broke his leg. But he set the bone back through the skin with his own hands, and became stronger still.

With Achilles he would climb the great mount Olympus and challenge the gods. They would then descend to Hades and wrestle Cerberus. He would bring his nephew treasures wrest from the hands of Zeus and Pluto; even when it would bring to bear the wrath of the daughter of Ares, this man's own dear sister. His nephew would be presented with great sparkling unicorns, giant blue bears and small child sized dragons. He would take the boy to play the games of lesser men and capture loot as has never been seen before or since. The nephew would bring home truckloads of candy, finger puppets and handcuffs. Bilbo was writhing in envy. Solomon himself knew no such riches, nor could Midas have ever conceived them.

By night they would hunt the strange furry people who populated the trees of Ontario, and by day they would frolic in the pools of Riverside. He would toss his nephew in the air eight, ten, a hundred feet! The boy would then crash into the great waters with boyish laughter. He would take the boy, riding on his back, down to the great depths of the pools, to dance with the sea nymphs and speak with the mermaids. And so it came to be said that this man was among "the strongest men that the Earth has bred".

What is that you ask me… who is this man and where might he be found? Alas! I tell you, for his youth has left him. "No matter," you implore me, "I must find this man and seek his aid." But I tell you, his wiry whiskers have gone gray and his back is bent with age. "Surely there must be one adventure left in him," you continue, "like Arthur or Beowulf of old. He must still have one great feat left, if only one, as all great men do. Perhaps he shall slay the dragon that dwells below Lake Mathews, or battle the degenerate legions of Palm Springs…"

So be it. I relent. Argue no further. He is known by the name of Daniel Singer and he can be found in Riverside.

Contra Khouria FMG

2008-06-12T17:14:00.000-07:00

In response to Kr. Mathewes-Green's 'When The Movie Trumps The Book' podcast.

I must raise my objections to the declaration that the movie adaptation of The Lord of the Rings is in fact "better" than the books themselves. Now, it may most certainly be that one can prefer the movies over the books, just as it is possible to prefer Steven King over Dostoevsky, but it is certainly not possible to say that King is in fact a better author than Dostoevsky. So it is that if someone were to say they prefer Peter Jackson to JRR Tolkien, I would question their taste, but just the same, it is a personal preference. To say that Jackson's story is indeed better that Tolkien's, or an improvement upon it, on the other hand, is outrageous - and not merely so from a purist's point of view.

Firstly, it must be stated that comparisons between the Ring trilogy and the Chronicles of Narnia are not correct. CS Lewis was often too hasty and prolific of an author, so it is quite possible to improve and correct inconsistencies in his work. Tolkien, on the other hand, was slow and obsessive about his art. In fact, the entire Trilogy was originally written as one book and meticulously revised and rewritten over literal decades. It was at the insistence of Tolkien's publisher that the book be split in three. What Jackson did in his movie adaptation was not iron out inconsistencies in the characters but rather he flattened their development. Neither did Jackson build upon the past 50 years, as testified by his admitted ignorance of Tolkien's 'eucatastrophe' theory of fairy-stories.

Furthermore, Lewis' Narnia are children's stories and explicitly Christian allegories. The stories and meanings are rather straight forward, and the movies have so far stayed true to the intent of the author. The Ring trilogy is of a different sort altogether, being that it is an adult fairytale, and as so, not an allegory. It was in many ways an outpouring of Tolkien's deepest beliefs and convictions, and as such, is a much greater piece of art - not to say that I do not find Lewis' work enjoyable. The movie adaptation of this work often unintentionally, and sometimes intentionally, downplays and misinterprets the author.

The Lord of the Rings is a magnus opus of a Christian traditionalist - and I mean traditionalist in the best sense of the word. Religious themes are played out through characters such as Gandalf, Aragorn and Frodo who all at times play Christ figures, and Eowyn who, in her battle with the Witch King, plays a figure of the Mother of God. The veneration of Saints fills the pages, as evil beings often flee from the mere mention of a name. There are themes of fall and redemption, such as in Boromir, and themes of moral struggle, such as in Frodo and Gollum, which, by nature, cannot be properly portrayed on screen. The books deal with sacramental themes in the interaction of grace and the physical, and evil and the physical. Yet nearly all of these themes are eliminated or deemphasized in the films in favor of a quasi-spiritual undertone.

Much of the story is an indictment against the industrialist, nihilist and materialist culture - which was a theme consciously eliminated, where possible, by Jackson. It is so that the power and magic of the evil forces are a parallel to the forces industrialization, which Tolkien saw as the same in intent - the pursuit of power, usually exploitive power: Magic and machinery corrupt and destroy beauty and forests, threaten the simple village life, etcetera. The greed of the dwarves causes them to over-mine Moria, which unleashes the great demon Balrog. The desire of the nine kings to live forever through magic rings enslaves them to forever as wraiths to the One Ring. I could go on.

The point being that the Ring trilogy is profoundly layered with meaning, yet is not an allegory. It is religious, agrarian and traditional. They convey a sense of the "Joyful Sorrow", as we Orthodox would say. The movies are very much more one-dimensional, being a fantasy action/adventure and vaguely "spiritual". They are entertaining, I must admit, but they are no great pieces of art. It would be impossible for Peter Jackson to make an adaptation even close to the original, let alone above it, if for no other reason than he does not share Tolkien's convictions.

Sincerely,
Neal R Watson

PS - It seems to me that only a relatively small portion of the Ring Trilogy is dedicated to the "swinging of axes at monsters' heads". A big piece of the story is that the Hobbits want to get back to the Shire, have a pint and a smoke, and get back to their gardens. Very much adapted from Tolkien's experiences in WWI.

PPS - There is a parody by Harvard Lampoon by the name of Bored of the Rings. I found it quite funny as a teenager, though looking back, the humor is probably aimed at 14 year old boys.

PPPS - Relevant Tolkien quote:

For it I coined the word 'eucatastrophe': the sudden happy turn in a story which pierces you with a joy that brings tears (which I argued it is the highest function of fairy-stories to produce). And I was there led to the view that it produces is peculiar effect because it is a sudden glimpse of Truth, your whole nature…perceives, if the story has literary 'truth' on the second plane - that this is indeed how things really do work in the Great World for which our nature is made…[T]he Resurrection was the greatest 'eucatastrophe' possible in the greatest Fairy Story - and it produces that essential emotion: Christian joy which produces tears because it is qualitatively so like sorrow, because it comes from those places where Joy and Sorrow are at one, reconciled, as selfishness and altruism are lost in Love.

The Story of Stuff

2008-06-05T17:21:00.000-07:00

Check out this neat little video: The Story of Stuff

I have to say that nothing in the video will be news to my readers, but the medium is rather amusing.

A New Blog

2008-05-29T17:07:00.001-07:00

In Other News: Fr Josiah has finally opened up his own blog, called The Arena, and has been added to my list of blogs. Be sure to check it out.

The Destruction of the Californian Family

2008-05-29T17:03:00.001-07:00

How fitting it is that so soon after a Californian judge rules that parents have no right to educate their own children that the State Supreme Court rules that Sodomites have the right to State recognized "marriages". The Californian people have not only denied the natural rights of families, but have forgotten what marriage itself is. It is another step towards the Belloc's Servile State. Slaves we are all becoming - slaves to the corporation, slaves to the state - though few know it yet. We are consumers, we are employees, we are debtors, we are serfs. We have no rights to our children, no responsibility to our parents; indeed, we have no family at all, so why not define family however we please.

Marriage is for the spiritual purpose of our salvation, and the social purpose of bringing forth and raising children. It is not a sentimental social construct through which people express their love for one another. We forgot this long before the judges made these recent decisions. Even the majority of those who call themselves Christians, clergy and theologians have forgotten this. Everything in society seeks to destroy what is left of the family.

What do we expect? Spouses live together as barren as Sodomites - perhaps allowing a child or two, if the mood so strikes - with a little dog (or some type of rodent - I can seldom tell) to help keep the mood from striking again. We define ourselves by our occupation, spend the majority of our waking hours apart from our families, and plug ourselves into amusing diversion machines when we are together.

We work, buy, watch television and die; this is our purpose. If we have a child, we send him off to be trained to work, buy, watch television and not think about dying. We must always remember not to have more than two children (three if you are "religious"), and one is always better, as it is cheaper to import new consumers/employees from poorer nations.

It is important that we know that our marriages are temporary and that our few children will move away after high school or college. Why? It is important that the only thing that is constant and permanent in our lives, our only source of stability, is our role as the consumer/employee. This is also why marriage must be defined as related to the consumer, and not as the basic unit upon which all free and stable societies are formed.

Neal the consumer and employee is a slave. Neal the husband and father is a king in his household, his wife is a queen, and his children princes and princesses. The Oligarchs want neither kings nor queens, they want slaves, so they steel our children, work to destroy the institution and even redefine it, in order to destroy even the language of freedom.

So I give you my small act of rebellion: the above picture is five generations of kings and queens.