Graduate 162: Manalive!
I think I need to start blogging again.
For the good of my soul.
I'll explain, in a moment, what I am talking about.
There may be, in it, a kind of spiritual discipline.
I don't know at this point.
And the temptation to fall into a disjointed, epigrammatic style of composition being particularly expedient and only really suited to the projects of the most eminent British philosophers, else-wise it conveys only the illusion of profundity at best, now seems as good a time as any to stop dropping one-line hints and actually try to compose a few coherent thoughts.
--
I feel like I am waking from a kind of slumber. And it makes me sad and happy at the same time. There is a danger, here, that my description will sound altogether too much larger-than-life. One might get the impression that I am moving between the heights of sheerest ecstasies and the depths of darkest depressions, which description I do not think is strictly accurate. But the mood that I am in is a large one. Yes, moods may be either large or small. This mood is a large one, and so is naturally attended by large modes of speech. And now that I've made these suggestions it will remain to be seen whether my words are actually adequate to express the largeness of my heart.
By the way, if you were perplexed by that "which"-clause in the middle of the preceding paragraph, then I am delighted. Over the last year, I have come to understand why people 'way back when' wrote as they did and so differently from the way we do now. It is because they studied Latin in primary school. So many of the older conventions for writing and speaking in English find their source in Latin grammar. If one were to ask why we, today, write so differently from the way people did 'back then,' I should be inclined to say that it has something to do with 'texting'. My professor is fond of pointing out how the current convention--among English teachers, writing guides, and my word processor's grammar-check--of recommending the avoidance of passive tenses is lacking in sound precedent historically.
At this point, I shall try to make my way back to the main point by way of making a point about diversions, deviations, and divergences. Also detours, I suppose. Although there is some virtue (even great virtue) in being able to maintain a clear line of thought from A to Zed, wherein every pointed is clearly rooted in and directed to the final point and main theme, there is another kind of virtue that exists in the freedom of a mind's eye to rove and be arrested by the various peculiarities that it encounters in the course of doing so.
I think it will amuse a friend of mine if I include a reference to him in this entry. I mention him because of his interesting way of walking. He is, perhaps, the only person that I know of on the planet who has a consistently faster pace of walking than I do. (At first I was going to say, 'consistently longer stride,' but I'm actually not sure that that is the case.) He says that he always walks with a destination in mind, even if that destination is the same as his starting point--as when one just takes a walk around the block. And there is a kind of virtue in the steady and deliberate (often staid) pursuit of a particular goal. But, of course, the danger of traveling always in this way is that one is liable to miss out on everything that stands between one's starting point and destination. After all, all the really good things in this world do not fall solely into the category of 'things being deliberately sought right now.' The most unexpected may often prove to be the most pleasing, if only we are not so fixated on our destination that every deviation appears to us only as a hindrance.
And so, dear reader, I beg your indulgence if I occasionally interrupt the flow to make comments about Latin grammar and such seeming irrelevancies. Indeed, I may never actually get around to making the point that I set out to make. And that may just go to show that it really wasn't so important a point as I thought at the outset. As I said, there is some virtue in being able to hold the line and pursue the goal in question. But wouldn't it be a shame to climb the ladder all the way to the top only to discover that it's leaning up against the wrong wall.
Some will, of course, worry that I am recommending some radically dissipative mode of life. I am certainly not doing that. But, as I said, I do feel that I have been waked from a kind of slumber. These are the first attempts to articulate, or rather--rearticulate--, what I am finding. 'Rearticulate' because I have been here before. And it is very amusing to me to consider the confluence of circumstances that have directed me back to this place. Where I found it most recently was in two blog postings from almost three years ago: Senior 36: New Year's Reflection (Thursday, 04 January 2007) and Senior 37: In Pursuit of Perfection (Friday, 26 January 2007). I was reminded of those entries (especially the former) by a chapter in a book I am reading. The chapter is entitled "The Round Road; or, the Desertion Charge," and the book is entitled, Manalive, and it was written by G. K. Chesterton. I am not yet finished with the book, but I think that it may be the second most important work of fiction that I have ever read. The first book on that list is George MacDonald's At the Back of the North Wind. I made mention of that book almost three years ago in the Senior 36 blog entry. Both books are important to me for the same kinds of reasons and in the same kind of way.
Certainly my manner of presenting myself, here, in this blog entry, is very much conditioned by the manner and description and conduct of the central character of Manalive, Mr. Innocent Smith. And if you should choose to read that book, which I highly recommend that you do, everything that I have said above, I am sure, will become perfectly clear. I was led to that book by the friend of whom I also made mention above (the one with the fast walk), who will probably also be pleased as proverbial punch at my concession that, when in a certain mood, I am quite tempted to draw analogies between his influence in my life of late and the influence of that force of nature, Innocent Smith.
--
At this point, it would seem, I have come quite a ways and still succeeded in dodging the main point. On the other hand, everything that I have written up to this point might just turn out to be the main point--which is a suggestion and maneuver not unworthy of the most absurd and supercilious would-be epigrammatist.
The point, if there is one, is that the little things matter. We often neglect the little things in order to give, what we take to be, due attention to the larger things. But if we neglect the little things, that will only lead to our neglecting the big things also in the long-run. This is not a cute saying or trite truth or the sort of thing you can sort out in a day. A good philosopher might spend a life-time learning how to put it into practice. And a good theologian would find such explorations not at all beneath his dignity. The man who desires to follow this line of thought will find himself constantly tripped up by his own most familiar ways of thinking. The woman whose head has been so-long filled with the big things will doubtless find the task of attending to the little things to be very arduous. He will keep on making the mistake of misidentifying what is really, really important. And she will find her focus constantly drifting back to the old patterns.
And the biggest mistake that people will tend to make, I suspect, is that they will think that the little things are to be valued and appreciated for their own sake. The truth is that nothing in this world exists for itself or of itself. But everything has it's proper place. Even the sparrows of the air and the lilies of the field.
More could be said, and hopefully will be said. I'm just going to wrap up this entry with a few words about what I'm up to. My attention is being pulled in just about every direction under the sun. But (And?) God is faithful. In early September, I presented a paper, entitled: "Intentional Action, Practical Deliberation, and Moral Considerations", at a Student Philosophy conference at the University of North Florida. I'm wrapping up a Bible study series that I've been teaching on discipleship. I'm taking three classes right now: Lain, a graduate philosophy seminar on the writings of David Velleman (living philosopher), and another graduate philosophy seminar on the book, On Certainty, by Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889-1951, eminent British philosopher-epigrammatist). I'm in one reading group that's going through Charles Taylor's A Secular Age, another reading group that's going through Edmund Husserl's Ideas, a Latin sight-reading group, and eventually a group will get started that will be reading Bradley Monton's Seeking God in Science: An Atheist Defends Intelligent Design (intriguingly, a book that has been recommended by Douglas Groothuis, William Dembski, and David Berlinski (Discovery Institute). I'm working, simultaneously, on wrapping up my Master's paper and my Proposition (first phase of dissertation). I just finished watching the anime series, Trigun, which was very enjoyable. I strained my neck last week while weight-lifting. The injury wasn't too serious but I'm not allowed to weight-lift for two more weeks and will probably have to take it easy for a while after that. I think one of my friends will be holding a Halloween party on the 31st. I'll be leading a prayer service in November, attending a Men's Retreat with my dad's church, and generally looking forward to good pumpkin pie. I played Scrabble with another friend last night. I'm delighted that scarf-season has come (even if scarves can only sanely be worn after 7:30 PM). And I'm pleased that I was able to blog just a little about the little things. We'll see whether I can keep it up.
Remember...
--
God is in this place,
And that reality, seen and understood by the grace of God in Christ Jesus through the work of the Holy Spirit, makes all the difference in the world.
For the good of my soul.
I'll explain, in a moment, what I am talking about.
There may be, in it, a kind of spiritual discipline.
I don't know at this point.
And the temptation to fall into a disjointed, epigrammatic style of composition being particularly expedient and only really suited to the projects of the most eminent British philosophers, else-wise it conveys only the illusion of profundity at best, now seems as good a time as any to stop dropping one-line hints and actually try to compose a few coherent thoughts.
--
I feel like I am waking from a kind of slumber. And it makes me sad and happy at the same time. There is a danger, here, that my description will sound altogether too much larger-than-life. One might get the impression that I am moving between the heights of sheerest ecstasies and the depths of darkest depressions, which description I do not think is strictly accurate. But the mood that I am in is a large one. Yes, moods may be either large or small. This mood is a large one, and so is naturally attended by large modes of speech. And now that I've made these suggestions it will remain to be seen whether my words are actually adequate to express the largeness of my heart.
By the way, if you were perplexed by that "which"-clause in the middle of the preceding paragraph, then I am delighted. Over the last year, I have come to understand why people 'way back when' wrote as they did and so differently from the way we do now. It is because they studied Latin in primary school. So many of the older conventions for writing and speaking in English find their source in Latin grammar. If one were to ask why we, today, write so differently from the way people did 'back then,' I should be inclined to say that it has something to do with 'texting'. My professor is fond of pointing out how the current convention--among English teachers, writing guides, and my word processor's grammar-check--of recommending the avoidance of passive tenses is lacking in sound precedent historically.
At this point, I shall try to make my way back to the main point by way of making a point about diversions, deviations, and divergences. Also detours, I suppose. Although there is some virtue (even great virtue) in being able to maintain a clear line of thought from A to Zed, wherein every pointed is clearly rooted in and directed to the final point and main theme, there is another kind of virtue that exists in the freedom of a mind's eye to rove and be arrested by the various peculiarities that it encounters in the course of doing so.
I think it will amuse a friend of mine if I include a reference to him in this entry. I mention him because of his interesting way of walking. He is, perhaps, the only person that I know of on the planet who has a consistently faster pace of walking than I do. (At first I was going to say, 'consistently longer stride,' but I'm actually not sure that that is the case.) He says that he always walks with a destination in mind, even if that destination is the same as his starting point--as when one just takes a walk around the block. And there is a kind of virtue in the steady and deliberate (often staid) pursuit of a particular goal. But, of course, the danger of traveling always in this way is that one is liable to miss out on everything that stands between one's starting point and destination. After all, all the really good things in this world do not fall solely into the category of 'things being deliberately sought right now.' The most unexpected may often prove to be the most pleasing, if only we are not so fixated on our destination that every deviation appears to us only as a hindrance.
And so, dear reader, I beg your indulgence if I occasionally interrupt the flow to make comments about Latin grammar and such seeming irrelevancies. Indeed, I may never actually get around to making the point that I set out to make. And that may just go to show that it really wasn't so important a point as I thought at the outset. As I said, there is some virtue in being able to hold the line and pursue the goal in question. But wouldn't it be a shame to climb the ladder all the way to the top only to discover that it's leaning up against the wrong wall.
Some will, of course, worry that I am recommending some radically dissipative mode of life. I am certainly not doing that. But, as I said, I do feel that I have been waked from a kind of slumber. These are the first attempts to articulate, or rather--rearticulate--, what I am finding. 'Rearticulate' because I have been here before. And it is very amusing to me to consider the confluence of circumstances that have directed me back to this place. Where I found it most recently was in two blog postings from almost three years ago: Senior 36: New Year's Reflection (Thursday, 04 January 2007) and Senior 37: In Pursuit of Perfection (Friday, 26 January 2007). I was reminded of those entries (especially the former) by a chapter in a book I am reading. The chapter is entitled "The Round Road; or, the Desertion Charge," and the book is entitled, Manalive, and it was written by G. K. Chesterton. I am not yet finished with the book, but I think that it may be the second most important work of fiction that I have ever read. The first book on that list is George MacDonald's At the Back of the North Wind. I made mention of that book almost three years ago in the Senior 36 blog entry. Both books are important to me for the same kinds of reasons and in the same kind of way.
Certainly my manner of presenting myself, here, in this blog entry, is very much conditioned by the manner and description and conduct of the central character of Manalive, Mr. Innocent Smith. And if you should choose to read that book, which I highly recommend that you do, everything that I have said above, I am sure, will become perfectly clear. I was led to that book by the friend of whom I also made mention above (the one with the fast walk), who will probably also be pleased as proverbial punch at my concession that, when in a certain mood, I am quite tempted to draw analogies between his influence in my life of late and the influence of that force of nature, Innocent Smith.
--
At this point, it would seem, I have come quite a ways and still succeeded in dodging the main point. On the other hand, everything that I have written up to this point might just turn out to be the main point--which is a suggestion and maneuver not unworthy of the most absurd and supercilious would-be epigrammatist.
The point, if there is one, is that the little things matter. We often neglect the little things in order to give, what we take to be, due attention to the larger things. But if we neglect the little things, that will only lead to our neglecting the big things also in the long-run. This is not a cute saying or trite truth or the sort of thing you can sort out in a day. A good philosopher might spend a life-time learning how to put it into practice. And a good theologian would find such explorations not at all beneath his dignity. The man who desires to follow this line of thought will find himself constantly tripped up by his own most familiar ways of thinking. The woman whose head has been so-long filled with the big things will doubtless find the task of attending to the little things to be very arduous. He will keep on making the mistake of misidentifying what is really, really important. And she will find her focus constantly drifting back to the old patterns.
And the biggest mistake that people will tend to make, I suspect, is that they will think that the little things are to be valued and appreciated for their own sake. The truth is that nothing in this world exists for itself or of itself. But everything has it's proper place. Even the sparrows of the air and the lilies of the field.
More could be said, and hopefully will be said. I'm just going to wrap up this entry with a few words about what I'm up to. My attention is being pulled in just about every direction under the sun. But (And?) God is faithful. In early September, I presented a paper, entitled: "Intentional Action, Practical Deliberation, and Moral Considerations", at a Student Philosophy conference at the University of North Florida. I'm wrapping up a Bible study series that I've been teaching on discipleship. I'm taking three classes right now: Lain, a graduate philosophy seminar on the writings of David Velleman (living philosopher), and another graduate philosophy seminar on the book, On Certainty, by Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889-1951, eminent British philosopher-epigrammatist). I'm in one reading group that's going through Charles Taylor's A Secular Age, another reading group that's going through Edmund Husserl's Ideas, a Latin sight-reading group, and eventually a group will get started that will be reading Bradley Monton's Seeking God in Science: An Atheist Defends Intelligent Design (intriguingly, a book that has been recommended by Douglas Groothuis, William Dembski, and David Berlinski (Discovery Institute). I'm working, simultaneously, on wrapping up my Master's paper and my Proposition (first phase of dissertation). I just finished watching the anime series, Trigun, which was very enjoyable. I strained my neck last week while weight-lifting. The injury wasn't too serious but I'm not allowed to weight-lift for two more weeks and will probably have to take it easy for a while after that. I think one of my friends will be holding a Halloween party on the 31st. I'll be leading a prayer service in November, attending a Men's Retreat with my dad's church, and generally looking forward to good pumpkin pie. I played Scrabble with another friend last night. I'm delighted that scarf-season has come (even if scarves can only sanely be worn after 7:30 PM). And I'm pleased that I was able to blog just a little about the little things. We'll see whether I can keep it up.
Remember...
--
God is in this place,
And that reality, seen and understood by the grace of God in Christ Jesus through the work of the Holy Spirit, makes all the difference in the world.
posted by Metaphysician_delta | 8:28 PM
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