Beginning with the 1961 edition of George Orwell's iconic novel 1984, the Afterward is an essay by the German Social Scientist and Philosopher Dr. Erich Fromm (1900-1980).
Of course, Fromm's analysis is temporally pegged to the time at which he wrote (1961). This was a time when the entire world was obsessed with the Cold War, the Arms Race, and the seeming inevitability of an imminent World War Three and the destruction of life on the planet as we know it. This prevailing spirit of the postwar age dominates literary interpretation of that era, and understandably so. This was the year of the construction of the Berlin Wall, and the year before the Cuban Missile Crisis.
But the fact that history took a different trajectory than the "inevitable" nuclear war between the USSR and the USA exposes some of the blind spots of writers of that time - including Fromm. His Afterward betrays his Socialist and anti-capitalist bias and sense of the "big corporation" as the real contemporary Big Brother, with no input of the State (other than its involvement in the promotion of the Arms Race).
Thus much of the societal and governmental and philosophical warnings of Orwell are drowned out by Fromm's overbearing fear of thermonuclear war.
However, one aspect that Fromm saw coming that was indeed borne out by history is his observation on Orwell's treatment of truth:
Another important aspect is Orwell's description of the nature of truth, which on the surface is a picture of
Stalin's treatment of truth, especially in the thirties. But anyone who sees in Orwell's description only
another denunciation of Stalinism is missing an essential element of Orwell's analysis. He is actually
talking about a development which is taking place in the western industrial countries also, only at a slower
pace than it is taking place in Russia and China. The basic question which Orwell raises is whether there is
any such thing as "truth." "Reality," so the ruling party holds, "is not external. Reality exists in the human
mind and nowhere else ... whatever the Party holds to be truth is truth." If this is so, then by controlling
men's minds, the Party controls truth. In a dramatic conversation between the protagonist of the Party and
the beaten rebel, a conversation which is a worthy analogy to Dostoyevsky's conversation between the
Inquisitor and Jesus, the basic principles of the Party are explained. In contrast to the Inquisitor, however,
the leaders of the Party do not even pretend that their system is intended to make man happier, because
men, being frail and cowardly creatures, want to escape freedom and are unable to face the truth. The
leaders are aware of, the fact that they themselves have only one aim, and that is power. To them "power is
not a means; it is an end. And power means the capacity to inflict unlimited pain and suffering to another
human being" [Cf. this definition of power in Erich Fromm, Escape from Freedom. New York: Rinehart & Co., Inc., 1941. Also Simone Weil's definition that power is the capacity to transform a living person into a corpse, that is to say, into a thing]. Power, then, for them creates reality, it creates truth.
The idea that truth is subjective and malleable, that reality is a state of mind, and that control of the prevailing narrative is the epitome of power: power to create truth - has germinated and blossomed in the form of Postmodernism. Postmodernism has made the transition from an arcane and eccentric literary theory to the dominant philosophy of our time.
And Postmodernism led to the current "Social Justice" malaise and the rise of totalitarian "Intersectionality", following Orwell's trajectory about the control of language - known to us today as "Political Correctness" and expressed by Orwell as "Newspeak."
For a fast forward from Fromm's 1961 to 1984 as it truly exists in the present, I would recommend Dr. Michael Rectenwald's 2018 book Springtime for Snowflakes: 'Social Justice' and Its Postmodern Parentage. Springtime is both a quick primer on Postmodernism (and its related literary theories) and how it led directly to the SJW "snowflake" culture that dominates the university, as well as how its Orwellian stranglehold on modern thought manifested itself in his own life and academic career as an actual Orwellian dystopia.
Dr. Fromm's Afterward is hit and miss - which is easy for me to say with nearly sixty years of hindsight that includes the rise of Postmodernism; the Fall of the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union; the Socialist decimation of Zimbabwe and Venezuela; and the increasing cultural stranglehold of conformity, social and political language-policing, and the rise of Social Media in the enforcement of the Orwellian control of truth as a subjective and malleable tool in the hands of a powered elite rather than a transcendent and objective ideal of the human mind.
George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty Four is one of the most important works of literature in the 20th century.
It has shaped our view of totalitarianism and even provided a vocabulary, or more accurately, a shorthand for recognizing and articulating government overreach and abuse of our liberties.
If you have never read it, now is the time!
I have taught this book to my high school students at Wittenberg Academy since the 2013-2014 school year.
I'm sharing with you three videos: 1) a brief overview by me to my WA students, 2) a background of the alternative world of Orwell's creation (spoiler alert), and 3) a SparkNotes summary of the book (spoiler alert).
If you don't want spoilers, don't watch the latter two videos!
And if you want more information about Wittenberg Academy (a fully-accredited online classical Lutheran junior high and high school), feel free to contact me or WA directly: mrsbenson@wittenbergacademy.org!
“We are dwarfs mounted upon the shoulders of giants,” Bernard of Chartres told his scholars in the eleventh century. The great Schoolman meant that we modern folk incline toward the opinion that wisdom was born with our generation. We see so far only because of the tremendous stature of those giants, our ancestors, upon whose shoulders we stand. Gothic architecture in the eleventh century could not have existed without its foundations in the ninth and tenth centuries—or for that matter, in the architecture of ancient Syria. Atomic physics in our sense could not have come into being without the speculative spirit of the seventeenth century—or for that matter, without the intuitions of the pre-Socratic Greeks. Our civilization is an immense continuity and essence. Bernard, Bishop of Chartres, was right: If we ignore or disdain those ancestral giants who uphold us in our modern vainglory, we tumble down into the ditch of unreason.
"So it was that, after the Deluge, the Fallout, the plagues, the madness, the confusion of tongues, the rage, there began the bloodletting of the Simplification, when remnants of mankind had torn other remnants limb from limb, killing rulers, scientists, leaders, technicians, teachers, and whatever persons the leaders of the maddened mobs said deserved death for having helped make the Earth what it had become. Nothing had been so hateful in the sight of these mobs as the man of learning, at first because they had served the princes, but then later because they refused to join in the bloodletting and opposed the mobs, calling the crowds 'bloodthirsty simpletons.'
"Joyfully the mobs accepted the name, took up the cry: Simpletons! Yes, yes! I'm a simpleton! Are you a simpleton? We'll build a town and we'll name it Simple Town, because by then all the smart bastards that caused all this, they'll be dead! Simpletons! Let's go! This ought to show 'em! Anybody here not a simpleton? Get the bastard, if there is!
"To escape the fury of the simpleton packs, such learned people as still survived fled to any sanctuary that offered itself. When Holy Church received them, she vested them in monks' robes and tried to hide them in such monasteries and convents as had survived and could be reoccupied, for the religious were less despised by the mob except when they openly defied it and accepted martyrdom. Sometimes such sanctuary was effective, but more often it was not. Monasteries were invaded, records and sacred books were burned, refugees were seized and summarily hanged or burned. The Simplification ceased to have plan or purpose soon after it began, and became an insane frenzy of mass murder and destruction such as can occur only when the last traces of social order are gone. The madness was transmitted to the children, taught as they were - not merely to forget - but to hate, and surges of mob fury recurred sporadically even through the fourth generation after the Deluge. By then, the fury was directed not against the learned, for there were none, but against the merely illiterate."
Dr. E. Christian Kopff's paper, presented here at the CCLE's 17th annual conference (Summer 2017) might surprise you! Dr. Kopff analyzes the great knock-down-drag-out scholarly clash between Desiderius Erasmus (Freedom of the Will) and Martin Luther (Bondage of the Will) in their citation and use of classical writers in their famous works on free will and its limits.
I had the privilege of being right up front for this presentation (held as a wonderful restaurant in Cheyanne, Wyoming), and it is always great pleasure to hear Dr. Kopff speak!
A lot of classic works of literature are proving to be prophetic in our day and age. Our 21st century American culture and political life are growing more and more to resemble Orwell's 1984, Huxley's Brave New World, Rand's Atlas Shrugged, Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, and other seminal works of art.
I would also include one that resonates with me as a Christian pastor trying to shepherd people in Christ's Church amid the decay and normalization of the rot, and that is the insightful apocalyptic novel Father Elijah by contemporary Canadian wordsmith and raconteur, the traditionalist Roman Catholic author Michael O'Brien.
And then there is Mike Judge's satirical film Idiocracy, which has become eerily prescient of our own breakneck cultural decay a mere eight years after its release. Things that seemed over-the-top crazy in 2006 have nearly become downright quaint in 2014.
Today's Drudge Report headlines could have stepped right out of many of these works that predicted the unraveling of western civilization into a quivering ball of anti-intellectual animalistic mush.
These current headlines include:
Outrage over LAPD's state-of-the-art spy drone
BRAIN DRAIN: IQ scores decreasing
Mob tackles airline employees as ticket giveaway descends into chaos
Debut 'SPIDER-WOMAN' Cover Slammed as Sexist Due to Butt Shot
'DATING NAKED' sued by cast member -- for showing her naked!
'SEX BOX' Reality Show to Put Couples on Display
HBO defends scenes of violence and rape
'Performance Artist' Vows To Have Sex With Someone New Every Day
Sex-Crazed Narcissist
CHENEY: Obama Would 'Rather Be On Golf Course' Than Situation Room
All Smiles And Fist Bumps
Doctors baffled by rise in penis birth defect
Spanish senator blames national debt on homosexuals
Hook-Up Culture at Harvard, Stanford Wanes Amid Assault Alarm
This is our Brave New World, where ignorance is strength, a sensationalistic (and yet bored) culture of casual orgies and mind-numbing pharmaceuticals and lack of interest in books and in thinking, a society that rewards sloth and mooching, where good is evil and evil is good. We live in that culture in which plants are figuratively believed to crave electrolytes, and to suggest otherwise is to invite ridicule from one's mouth-breathing "superiors."
Having said all of that, I believe I'm going to apply the cure suggested by Mrs. Hollywood: a daily dose of Anthony Esolen. Go here. Read an essay every day. And even if you are not Roman Catholic or not Christian, give Dr. Esolen a shot anyway. Your mind will thank you. He is eloquent, uses our language as an art form, and writes with his mind directed at that which is good, beautiful, true, transcendent, and uplifting. Even in matters of disagreement with him, what a delightful alternative to the incessant pipeline of cultural bilge that flows unabated (and in fact, invited) into our inboxes and news-feeds incessantly. We do not have to yield to the forces of barbarianism. We can choose to be civilized.
The great T.S. Eliot summed it up perfectly in After Strange Gods: A Primer of Modern Heresy (pp. 11-12):
"In such matters, as perhaps in everything, I must depend upon some good-will on the part of the reader. I do not wish to preach only to the converted, but primarily to those who, never having applied moral principles to literature quite explicitly - perhaps even having conscientiously believed that they ought not to apply them in this way to 'works of art' - are possibly convertible. I am not arguing or reasoning, or engaging in controversy with those whose views are radically opposed to such as mine. In our time, controversy seems to me, on really fundamental matters, to be futile. It can only usefully be practised where there is common understanding. It requires common assumptions; and perhaps the assumptions that are only felt are more important than those that can be formulated. The acrimony which accompanies much debate is a symptom of differences so large that there is nothing to argue about. We experience such profound differences with some of our contemporaries, that the nearest parallel is the difference between the mentality of one epoch and another. In a society like ours, worm-eaten with Liberalism, the only thing possible for a person with strong convictions is to state a point of view and leave it at that."
Karen De Coster is a tough-as-nails CPA from Detroit - and is one of those writers who is just plain fun to read. She pens columns for Lew Rockwell, and tackles matters related to liberty, economics, and politics. She is also an advocate for eating "paleo" or "primal." She is also one of the few LRC essayists whom Lew Rockwell has given up on chiding or editing for vulgarity. Karen is Karen. And if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? So if R-rated language offends you, don't say you weren't warned if you go trolling around her columns. I guarantee you this much: you will laugh, you will think, you will get ticked off at the government. It's good for your brain!
Here is Karen in her own words:
I am a Certified Public Accountant and freelance writer who is devoted to the causes of liberty, individualism, and the free market. I embrace the right to keep and bear arms; recognize the superiority of the Articles of Confederation; subscribe to a motley assortment of minor conspiracy theories; and believe that government is evil, immoral, corrupt, and unnecessary in a free society. I am also an ardent lover and student of Austrian economics, the pro-market, anti-statist school of economics. Additionally, I proudly wear the title “Queen of Political Incorrectness”, given to me by my friend Tom DiLorenzo.
Anyway, I enjoyed her article here about the merits of popcorn - which is generally a huge "no no" when it comes to eating primally.
The bottom line? "Who cares?"
I can relate to that! I have not given a Primal Update in a while, and I'll just say this: it is the best thing I have done for my physical health ever! I am still around 145 pounds (thirty pounds of belly-fat and four inches or more of trouser cloth the lesser). I do not count calories, deprive myself, or maintain any rigorous discipline with food. I most certainly do not consume anything "low calorie" or "low fat." There is a very good side to fat! Is it possible that all of this low-fat craze is making everybody fat?
Cured of "Dunlop's Disease" - too bad I didn't take a "before" pic
Having said that, I have completely reordered my eating habits. Stuff I used to absolutely love and imagine I could not live without just doesn't get me too excited any more - things like bread, pizza, cookies, "snack cakes," soft drinks, candy, etc.
My taste buds have changed, and I just don't get wound up about those things any more. I drink bubbly water now - maybe a bit flavored, maybe not - and consequently, Diet Coke tastes harsh to me now - kind of like something you clean mildew off of the shower with. Having said that, if I want a soft drink - even a full-blown sugar drink - I'll have one. And I do every now and then. Sometimes I jones a bit for a root beer or a ginger ale. So I have one. And when we drink coffee (which is often in the Hollywood Residence) - we don't mess around: we use heavy whipping cream - no skim, no chemical powder, no government approved poison. If we had an Amish "dealer" like Karen De Coster, that would be better than the store-bought cream we use - but when it comes to Paleo, it's like mainstream politics: the art of the possible.
But most of the time, I don't drink Cokes or eat sweets. It's not because I'm on a "diet." I simply have retrained my body and taste buds to recognize that this is junk food. Having one won't kill me, but making a habit of it will make me fat, sickly, and tired. And I have no desire to eat industrial waste. If I want a goody, I want it to be a GOODy. I want to savor it, enjoy it - not slurp it like a pig in a trough.
And this is why we do not skimp on antioxidant-rich dark chocolate in the Hollywood Manse. We may even eat enough of it to give a calorie-counter or establishment physician or dietitian the vapors (which is always fun). And on those rare occasions when I feel like some cheap chocolate (we have recently had Halloween, of course), I have one: be it a "fun size" Twix or a Reese's or a Snickers, etc. I just don't really find myself craving it very often at all. I can do without it just fine.
The same goes for cake and ice cream (I used to eat it by the ton). Now, I'm really content with a small goûté. I might even eat a whole piece for someone's birthday. We visit CherryBerry for frozen yogurt fairly often - just not every day like our Baskin Robbins runs in a previous life. Mrs. H. and I had a little taste of gelato a couple days ago, and our reaction was the same: "too sweet!" We used to eat huge helpings, but now, just a couple spoonfuls was enough. Still yummy, just not an obsession or outright gluttony.
And yet I am not "starving." I do miss lunch fairly often, but my system is just fine. I snack on nuts, fruits, and boiled eggs - and frankly, sometimes I'm just not that hungry at lunchtime. And if we go out for fast food (which we are curbing not for health reasons so much as for economic austerity), I load up on burgers, bacon, steak, omelets, etc. Yum! One wonderful benefit is that we do eat at home a lot more, and we pull no punches: grilled steak, grilled chicken, grilled pork chops, and grilled vegetables (by the ton!). I mean, how can that be anything but good?
I am still hoping to work in more physical activity. Time is extremely scarce for me right now. However, I am on my feet a lot at my secular job, and I try to perambulate around as much as possible - scurrying up and down the stairs whenever I can. And when the really busy time of year passes, I hope to work in some simple physical muscle-building exercises. Nevertheless, I wear the same size pants as I did in high school, and my belly is flat - which is not bad for a nearly fifty-something.
So, it's all good! I like not being fat, not being tired, not being on the insulin roller coaster. I like taking charge of my health, not visiting doctors, not following the uncritical advice of the Establishment. I like not being on a diet, not counting calories, not keeping a log of what I eat or how I exercise, and enjoying our God-given freedom to eat and enjoy what I eat!
Bonus: here's a recent Karen De Coster piece on how government has messed up the modern washing machine. And, by the way, you can subscribe to Karen De Coster's facebook here.
A few years ago, I ran across a wonderfully quirky autobiographical book set in New Orleans, written by a New Orleanian, about a side of New Orleans life that can only be experienced from the inside. The book is called Managing Ignatius: The Lunacy of Lucky Dogs and Life in New Orleans by Jerry E. Strahan.
Strahan's reference to "Ignatius" is an oblique nod to a fictional character, the beloved antihero from John Kennedy Toole's Pulitzer-winning A Confederacy of Dunces, the megalomaniac Ignatius J. Reilly. In Confederacy, Ignatius was unable to hold a job, always seeing himself as larger than life and better than everyone around him. He was filled with drama (and insanity). One of Ignatius's jobs was selling hot dogs out of a cart in the French Quarter - making reference to the iconic Lucky Dog carts and their colorful vendors. His mother considered this the height of shame.
In real life, Jerry Strahan began working for Lucky Dogs after dropping out of Tulane's doctoral program in history. It was a temporary job that he has now held for more than 25 years. His book is blunt about the shortcomings of many of the vendors who have worked for him these many years, and yet Strahan's treatment is affectionate and non-judgmental. One gets the impression that if his employees were "normal" he would not really enjoy his job. He finds a way to make things work out as best he can.
The book is funny, touching, and impossible to put down. It received 4.3 stars out of 5 in 23 customer reviews on Amazon.
Now here is the cool part: I met Jerry Strahan Friday night!
I was helping set up for the annual Junior Achievement City Stars Soiree, stirring a pot of crab soup and a pot of gumbo - praying fervently not to screw it up (I am no cook!). I saw two men wheeling a Lucky Dog cart nearby - one dressed in the ubiquitous striped vendor "uniform," the other dressed casually. The latter man looked familiar. I suspected he might be Jerry Strahan, but could not be sure. I walked up and asked him: "Do you know Jerry Strahan?" He replied in a very low key manner, "I'm Jerry Strahan" and kept up with his work. I smiled and pumped his hand, thanking him for his book Managing Ignatius. Strahan was most gracious, taking it in stride, and allowed me take the above picture with him.
We had a wonderful, very brief chat in which we discussed the book - and then I let him get back to work. Although my meeting with him was short, he struck me as a really good guy, genuine and compassionate, with a sense of humor and joie de vivre. And that is exactly the impression I got of him when I read the book.
If you enjoy quirky reads, if you like laughing out loud, if you've read A Confederacy of Dunces, or if you have a place in your heart for the City of New Orleans, pick up a copy of Managing Ignatius.
And if you find yourself in the French Quarter (or anywhere else the hotdog-shaped carts may be found), order up "eight inches of fun on a bun." You might run into Jerry Strahan working with one of the vendors. And if you do, you will also want to shake his hand and thank him for writing the book.
Heroic Soviet dissident and author Vladimir Bukovsky
"We had grasped the great truth that it was not rifles, not tanks, and not atom bombs that created power, nor upon them that power rested. Power depended upon public obedience, upon a willingness to submit. Therefore, each individual who refused to submit to force reduced that force by one two-hundred-and-fifty-millionth of its sum. We had been schooled by our participation in the civil-rights movement, we had received an excellent education in the camps, and we knew of the implacable force of one man's refusal to submit. The authorities knew it too. They had long since abandoned any idea of basing their calculations on Communist dogma. They no longer demanded of people a belief in the radiant future - all they needed was submission. And when they tried to starve us into it in the camps, or threw us into the punishment cells to rot, they were demanding not a belief in communism but simply submission, or at least a willingness to compromise."
One has to wonder if we in the United States are moving toward a political prison state. Is Vladimir Bukovsky's nightmare our future? Just how much do we value our liberty in these United States?
The only thing that will bring this disturbing trend to an end is when a critical mass of the people decide that enough is enough. It will not be through armed revolt or violent resistance, but rather through ideas and peaceful discourse. We need to win people over with our words and with our love for liberty and non-aggression. There is a big difference between withdrawing consent and rebellion. Bukovsky helped overthrow Communism in Russia without firing a single shot. Guns and violence are absolutely useless in this conflict; real power is in ideas and ideals spreading from person to person. The First Amendment trumps the Second - especially in a day and age when the federal government has even nuclear firepower. In the battle for liberty, your iPhone & facebook are many times more powerful than Smith & Wesson. And when the State starts putting people in prison for reading books, that is the beginning of the end of that tyrant. They will eventually lose the consent of even the most brainwashed of the people.
Above is a 2010 John Stossel segment on the controversial novel Atlas Shrugged by author-philosopher Ayn Rand, still a best-seller half a century after its publication.
Rand was a victim of the Bolshevik revolution who managed to emigrate to the states. Her philosophy is known as "Objectivism," and it stresses individualism over collectivism, capitalism over socialism, reason over faith, and personal liberty over government intervention. Atlas caused a firestorm when it was written, and still does today.
Rand's militant atheism, train-wreck of a personal life, abrasive personality, cult-like following, and disdain for altruism made her a controversial figure. And yet her principled defense of the individual against the coercion and violence of the mob - especially the mob of meddlesome government and mooching bureaucrats - most especially when they collude with businesses to limit or eliminate competition - is hard to attack. Graft, corruption, and parasitism are seldom good for economies or individuals.
Her novels are often filled with unrealistic flowery prose (more philosophical manifestos than real-world dialogue), flat characters, and often extend to proportions of a marathon when a 10k would have been a more appropriate pace. And yet, her novels are refreshing over and against the mealy-mouthed postmodern literature so common today: filled with formulaic hand-wringing themes of gender, ethnicity, and predictable political correctness. By contrast, Rand's "good guys" are heroic and unapologetically brilliant, and her "bad guys" are smarmy and loathsome - if not creepy. There is no waffling from Rand as to where she stands, and she is not afraid to tell a story to project her philosophy. And as wooden as her dialogue often is, as one-dimensional as her characters often are, I resonate with this quote from Doug Casey:
I can't count the thousands of times I've seen people act in ways [Ayn] Rand depicted in her novel [Atlas Shrugged]. Heroic people struggling to innovate and create wealth; the intellectually dishonest refusing to question their superstitions; hypocrites who go through mental gymnastics to make excuses for themselves; and just plain dirtballs acting the way they always do.
The novel is in the process of being made into a trilogy of movies. Part one came out last year. Part two is due out this fall. The plan is for the conclusion to be released next year. The trailers for parts 1 and 2 are below.
No Christian is going to agree 100% with Ayn Rand. And yet, based on different premises, Christianity does defend the sanctity of the individual, as well as confessing in the Ten Commandments that it is wrong to take the property of others. Communism and Socialism were defended and championed by many prominent but misguided idealistic Christians in the 19th century. One example is Edward Bellamy, the Baptist Socialist novelist who wrote two remarkable Utopian novels about what the year 2000 would look like in a Socialist America. Rand's writings looked forward to a similar time-frame and concluded that, rather than a Utopia, Socialist America will be a tragic Dystopia.
We 21st century Americans can look back on the great thinkers and storytellers Rand and Bellamy with the 20-20 vision of the entire failed (and bloody) experiment of Soviet Communism, now on full display in mankind's past to be dissected and analyzed. We see where Bellamy's philosophy leads. Planned centralized economies always destroy incentive, punish the productive, line the pockets of "crony capitalists" and government bureaucrats alike, cost mankind in terms of inventions that never happened and lives ruined by Big Government, and inevitably lead to gulags and concentration camps - all under the guise of "equality" and "fairness" and "social justice." Rand exposes the Marxism of the Nanny State and demonstrates how even soft chains only serve to enslave the minds of men.
Though there is much about which to to disagree with Rand in her philosophy, there is also much that commends itself to us today in a world where the United States federal government has nothing to check its own power, and where the brightest and best are beginning to look for other places to call home rather than comply with crippling taxes and regulations here in the "land of the free."
We may not be too far from finding "Who is John Galt?" uttered in whispers and scribbled on walls.
The president of the United States, the champion of "the little guy" and small businesses - who himself smokes cigarettes on the sly and wolfs down all kinds of things his wife tells the rest of us "little guys" we shouldn't eat - (and who also gets campaign funds from Big Tobacco) signs into law (smuggled in a (cough) "transportation bill") an act that puts small cigarette businesses out of business, causing "little guys" to lose their jobs - all at the behest of Big Tobacco, their lobbyists, and their allies in government.
And this was done with the full aid of the "opposition" party that claims to be for economic freedom, "job creation," and personal liberty.
I just voted today right after the polls opened. And I voted twice. As the old saying goes: "Vote early and vote often."
The first time I voted in this election cycle was a few weeks ago. It was at the courthouse. It was very solemn. I think most of us know the ritual. After being checked by a volunteer, I was escorted behind a curtain (adorned in the National Colors). And in total privacy with the serious air of a sacramental confessional, I voted using the computer. This was a "primary" election held under the auspices of the government. Polls were open all day, and people even voted days in advance using "early balloting."
At that time, there was no campaigning close by, nobody seeking my vote. In fact, there are laws against it. Even wearing a candidate's tee shirt or button within so many feet of the polling place during the election is illegal. There is a statue of Thomas Jefferson a few feet away from where this election took place.
And it didn't count!
At most, that "election" was a non-binding referendum. In reality, it as more or less a poll.
Today, I voted for real - more or less, anyway.
This "election" was a "caucus" and was held at a Quality Inn and run by volunteers from a private club. Voters had to be there between 8:30 am and 12:00 noon. And this is the one that supposedly counts. This is the one that will actually select delegates - which is to say, the people who will really vote.
There are two private clubs that run the real elections. You get to join one or the other, but not both. And if you don't join either one, you don't get to vote. The private clubs (which are along the lines of the collegia in the Roman Republic/Empire) have a lot of behind-the-scenes politicking and arm-twisting that are unseen by the voting public. The clubs are usually called "parties" - but they are so similar as to be wings of a common single party. And like the Crips and the Bloods, the main difference between the two is that one is symbolized by red, the other blue. And again, unless you join one of these clubs, you get no vote at all in the "primary" election - which determines the candidates that will appear in the "general" election in the fall.
So today's event was, in fact, the real election (the "caucus"), as opposed to the one from a few weeks back (the "primary").
There was more of a carnival feel to it. Unlike the solemn (non-) election at the courthouse, there were no anti-campaigning laws. People walked about in tee-shirts and carrying campaign material. I approached the volunteer desk and gave my name and driver's license. When I was asked for identification, I produced my Discover card. It was a mistake, but I consider it more of a Freudian slip.
When she handed me my ballot, I reached inside my pocket and pulled out the little case holding my reading classes, and the volunteer gasped and said she thought I was pulling out a knife. What a sad country we have become! Anyway, my wife and I each took the yellow piece of paper, and it was explained to us that we could either choose 25 names on one side of the ballot, or pick a slate on the other side of the ballot.
I took my ballot and looked for a place to fill it out.
I found a window ledge (overlooking the motel parking lot) so I could fill it out. There was no little confessional booth draped in the National Colors. As I was getting ready to vote, an older lady approached me and asked me if I knew who I was going to vote for. I told her that I did. She stuck her tongue out at me. At this point, I was waiting to see if the Queen of Hearts and the Cheshire Cat would be entering stage left. I asked her: "Why did you stick your tongue out at me?" She replied: "I wanted you to vote for me. If you change your mind, I'm on slate..." and she gave me the number.
I went back to the window ledge overlooking the Quality Inn parking lot so I could exercise my sacred franchise. Needless to say, I did not support the Geriatric Lingual Slate, even with her continued yammering at me while I voted.
Afterward, Grace and I looked for where to place our "ballots." There were cardboard boxes with holes cut in the top, kind of like something out of The Little Rascals. A man approached us before we deposited them in the box. He wanted to see our ballots. He was some kind of Party volunteer, and he said he wanted to make sure that we hadn't voted on both sides of the ballot (which would have spoiled the ballot). I found that a little odd. Of course, I have no idea what happens to all of those paper ballots once everyone has left and volunteers from the private club start pulling them out. I can't honestly say that I have much confidence in the process.
And that is how the Party (both of its wings) selects candidates for the "general election." The fate of the republic hangs in those cardboard boxes with such characters that I saw today.
I'm reminded of my friend the history buff, who has a century-old ballot box from Texas that still has the lock on it and the "ballots" inside. I'm also reminded of Communist elections, in which you can vote for any candidate as long as it is the only one on the ballot, and you can belong to any party so long as it is the Communist Party.
A lot of people believe we have a democratic form of government. Fewer still believe we live in a republic. I think we are really operating under some kind of bureaucratic apparatchikocracy (or a political version of the System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether) - though from what I saw today, maybe the best term is idiocracy.
The part that made the most sense was my son Leo with his toy light saber hoping to defend the republic. I guess both of us have a healthy imagination.
Vote early, and vote often! It's an eye-opening experience.
Father Daniel wakes me up at 8:00 am. I'm tired. I get some tea and some Coke. I take a quick shower in the church flat's super high-tech shower stall. It looks like it was made in Japan and includes many sophisticated knobs and settings - not to mention a radio.
Dan offers some cheese and bread - which I am happy to accept. I get on the computer, and have a slow internet connection through Father Sergey's cellphone USB gadget.
I am able to finally IM with Grace. It is still her birthday there. It's kind of like when the day was lengthened for Joshua. Grace's birthday will be about 36 hours this year - not counting our family tradition of extending birthday celebrations over several days.
We are both very happy to "talk" to each other, as our separation is getting very long. We have been married 17 years and have spent only a few nights apart - when I toured with the Concordia Theological Seminary Kantorei as a student about ten years ago. Needless to say, I am greatly homesick.
Fathers Alexey and Sergey arrive about 10:30. Sergey is waiting for technicians to install a wireless router - which has to go through the heating duct of the building. Father Daniel and I join the two of them in the kitchen for tea. We have a long extended discussion about the movie Catholics: A Fable - which Alexey enjoyed very much. There are great parallels to today's liturgical conflicts and pressures for the church to change with the times. It is an intriguing film on many levels.
Sergey announces that we now have wifi. We take it for a spin. I download three free books by Dostoevsky - including Crime and Punishment (the detective character in which is the inspiration for the character Columbo) - which Dan is reading.
Father Alexey shares with us that he has just received an e-mail from a young man who attended one of our summer seminars and now desires to enroll at the seminary in Novosibirsk. He remarked that at the summer seminars, the Gospel was clearly taught, articulated, and proclaimed. Alexey notes that his trip has been fruitful, yielding at least two likely prospects for the seminary.
We hit the road.
At least in my admittedly limited experience, Russians drive far more aggressively than we do - but without the road rage. They do more passing on the highway. It's best not to look. I begin reading Crime and Punishment on my Nook. In the opening paragraphs I run across this poignant quote: "It would be interesting to know what it is that men are most afraid of. Taking a new step, uttering a new word is what they fear most."
Father Sergey, our driver, plays an eclectic mix of music in his car. He and Alexey speak animated Russian in the front seat. We are now 41 km from Chelyabinsk. We begin to see the smokestacks that epitomize this industrial city .
We arrive at the Malachite Hotel, a large Soviet era establishment downtown. There is a lot of English in the lobby as well as the feel of the older Soviet hotels.
We check in, filling out forms and leaving our passports. There are clocks on the wall showing the time in Moscow, Paris, New York, and Chelyabinsk - all in Latin (as opposed to Cyrillic) letters. The lobby has a dated (or perhaps more flatteringly, "retro") feel to it with wood paneling and steel lettering. Customer service is very good, though the staff speaks only Russian. We rely on Father Alexey as translator.
The elevator is a dinosaur, complete with clunky manual push-buttons for the floor numbers (reminiscent of the old-fashioned car radios with the push-buttons) and a button to make the thing go. It lurches and clunks loudly upon reaching the desired floor.
I will be sharing a room with Father Alexey tonight, and Father Daniel will have his own quarters. Our room is small but comfortable.
After checking in, we walk around the corner to the pedestrian mall. The weather is pleasant and a lot of people are out walking. We buy a few souvenirs and take pictures as we head off to eat lunch. Chelyabinsk is often symbolized by camels - though they no longer live here - as a nod to the history of the nomads that used to travel on camelback. Hence the camel on Chelyabinsk's city coat of arms and the frequent statuary depicting camels. The Ural region is also famous for its pelmini - which are like little raviolis stuffed with meat. They are boiled and served hot. It was originally peasant food that sustained the people of the region all winter. They were made after the harvest time and kept outside frozen, to be eaten throughout the winter. We pop in to a popular pelmini restaurant.
After lunch, we drive to the place where Holy Spirit Lutheran Church meets - a community center where many groups rent space. The usual room in which the church meets was rented to the church today for a special service of Vespers and Holy Communion because of our visit. However, the room was double-booked for a party of some sort. So the church was given a beauty salon room for the evening.
We pull in front of the building and Father Vlad (Vladislav Inanov) emerges with a big smile, gives me a large embrace, and says in English: "Hello, my friend!"
We make our way inside past a receptionist at a desk. We wind our way to the beauty salon in which a small desk was placed in the middle of the room and transformed into an altar. A crucifix was hung on the wall between two salon posters advertising beauty products. The room is surrounded in mirrors. Father Vlad quips that the mirrors make it seem like more people are in church. Father Sergey discreetly removes the towels that have been hung over the ledge to dry. A small padded kneeler, just big enough for three, is reverently placed in front of the altar for communion.
Father Vlad leads the service, and Deacon Victor assists. We sing hymns and Psalms a capella. The small congregation sings with gusto. The Mass is dignified in spite of the surroundings. Father Vlad is a capable and devout celebrant. We all take the Holy Supper together.
This is for me one of the many high points of our trip. Only a few weeks before, I had confessed to Vlad that it was a dream of mine to come to Chelyabinsk and take the holy sacrament from his hand. Not only did I make it to Siberia and to Chelyabinsk, we were able to partake of the Lord's Supper together. A short description of this glorious event appeared on page two of the September 2011 newsletter of the Siberian Lutheran Mission Society: "With God, All Things are Possible."
Afterwards, father Daniel and I were invited to make a few remarks. I took the opportunity to present a plaque hand-made by a member of my congregation, Ron Cantrelle, which reads in Russian: "Holy Spirit Congregation" carved into a piece of Mississippi cedar.
The parishioners are very appreciative, and take turns sniffing the cedar. They are a small but faithful parish.
Father Vlad is very personable and friendly. He and Victor are both Ukrainians and I am told that Ukrainians generally smile more than Russians. Vlad's wife Svetlana came to the service a little late with her 6-month old Melissa and her well-behaved 3-year old Sophia.
Afterwards, we move the furniture down the hall to the original room - which has since been vacated. We head off to a park near Vlad and Svetlana's apartment building for a picnic. And was it ever a picnic!
We walk a ways to the woods by way of a path. Finding a suitable spot, Vlad and Victor assemble a small metal portable barbecue pit. They make a charcoal fire and lay out huge chicken shish-kabobs on the flame. It is my understanding that Deacon Victor used to be a chef, and he presides with aplomb over the burnt offering, fanning the flame with a plate and wielding a butcher knife. He smiles, laughs, and cracks jokes - none of which I can understand. The assembled congregation is relaxed and also laughs a great deal. We sit on blankets around the fire in a small clearing. Vlad and Victor are a good team and are obviously comfortable working together. They were actually laymen together in a congregation in Ukraine in the more liberal ELKRAS church - but sought a more faithful expression of the faith among the Siberians.
We sit in a circle around the fire. The weather is beautiful and provides a marvelous view of the birch forest.
The ladies prepare salads and drinks. Sophia plays in the dirt with a stick. Most of the conversation is, of course, in Russian. Sophia is shy around me. She has large precocious brown eyes and an expressive face. I win her over with a gift - a little green, yellow, and purple cat from Mardi Gras. She is also wearing a little Hello Kitty bracelet. The gift is a hit, and she excitedly shows her mother who smiles warmly while thanking me.
We dine and converse, sitting on blankets until nearly sundown.
I distribute a few gifts: tee shirts, flashlights, some pocket knives inscribed with scripture from a member of my congregation who is a retired Navy Seal. I present a little stuffed dog to Melissa - which Sofia also claims unto herself. Afterwards, we say our goodbyes, and Vlad joins Dan, Sergey, Alexey, and myself for a brief tour of the city of Chelyabinsk as the sun begins to set. Father Sergey is our driver. We visit a massive cold-war era monument at the end of Lenin Street in honor of Igor Kurchatov, the father of the Soviet atomic bomb. Serge quips that the monument's purpose is to get foreigners to take pictures. We all have a laugh, and sure enough, Dan and I hustle out to take pictures.
A bunch of young people are hanging out nearby. It's 11:00 pm on a Monday night, and a lot of people are still out and about. The young people are amusing, as the guys are hanging out with each other, looking at one another's cars, while the girls likewise are clustered together, looking bored, dressed as if they are going to a wedding.
In honor of my desire to make a pilgrimage to the Molnija watch factory (I am carrying the watch I puchased on the internet in 2004 that was made by hand in Chelyabinsk at the factory founded by Stalin), father Vlad brings me to a large building aptly named куб (The Cube) - a shopping mall that used to be the Molnija watch factory until it closed in 2007.
We return to the hotel and say goodbye to Father Vlad. He gives me a hat and a t-shirt of Chelyabinsk bearing the camel symbol of the city. He presents Dan with a hand-towel also depicting Chelyabinsk.
Back at the hotel, I use Father Sergey's CD drive to rip my language instruction CDs into MP3s for my mini-computer.
As the year winds down, we are mixing things up at the family breakfast table. In fact, we have invited a rather large and rotund guest to spend the next few days with us - whose mind is even more expansive than his physique: Mr. G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936).
A few days ago, we wrapped up our breakfasts with Dr. Peter Kreeft (1937- ) and M. Blaise Pascal (1623-1662) - and I am sorry to see them have to go! Christianity for Modern Pagans (a collaboration by Pascal and Kreeft) is one of those books that needs to be read again and again. I can't thank Rev. David Petersen enough for sending me the book as a gift, and I am grateful to Dr. Kreeft for reintroducing Pascal to modern readers. Pascal is utterly unique, prescient, brilliant, and yet easy to read - especially with Kreeft's cut-to-the-chase explanations and elucidations. In short "Read this book!" Buy it now. In just a few minutes a day, we had it done over coffee in not much more than a month of readings. If I can put together some time, I will blog a recap/review/reflection or some such. As I said, the book has already become an old friend.
So here is where we are right now, and where we are going for the coming year...
We continue with the ESV One Year Bible as read by the narrator. Mrs. H. follows along in her paperback copy and attends to the computer narration while I prepare the cappuccino during the Old Testament reading. And by the way, our ancient Krups espresso-maker is still carrying out its matinal and quotidian duties as if yet in its prime.
After the Old Testament reading, I bring my offering to the table just in time to join in the New Testament reading. I skim along in Greek as the narrator reads from the ESV (I like using my my sleek leatherbound Reader's Edition - thank you to Rev. Daniel Johnson for introducing me to it).
After the Bible reading, we embark on our lecture (see below)
We conclude with a brief closing meditation and prayer - this past year from St. Augustine. Beginning January 1, we will broaden these meditations to other saints (unfortunately, the latter volume, unlike the former includes prayers to the saints, which we will simply modify as prayer to God).
So, regarding the lecture portion, having said "goodbye" to our good friends Kreeft and Pascal, we decided to invite C.S. Lewis (1898-1963) to the breakfast table, but in looking at schedules, we found that it fit in better with everyone's plans to first invite Mr. Chesterton for a reading of his brilliant Orthodoxy. I've read it twice before myself (with nearly every other sentence highlighted), but this time, we are reading it together thanks to a narrator from LibriVox. (And thanks to Rev. Philip Miller who told me about Librivox - a source of free audio books for works in the public domain). We both follow along with the text in our Nook readers. As of today, we are about a third of the way through Chesterton's witty and rollicking 1908 work defending the traditional Christian faith against both heresies of atheistic materialism (on one side) and pantheistic postmodernism (on the other) - though the word "postmodernism" would not be coined for another 40 years after the publication of Orthodoxy. If you have not read Orthodoxy, it is a must read! It is also free in many formats being out of copyright.
Indeed, we have had to shift around the furniture to make room for Mr. Chesterton.
He is a big man, with a big brain, a big personality, and big ideas! He also has a big heart and a big humility, and we are delighted to have him join us! We are also greatly looking forward to a lengthy visit from Dr. Lewis when we must say goodbye to Chesterton. Our kitchen is simply not big enough to entertain all of our friends at once. We expect to have bigger accommodations in eternity.
Once we complete Orthodoxy, we plan on reading through the works of Lewis as contained in The Complete C.S. Lewis Signature Classics, namely Mere Christianity, The Screwtape Letters, The Great Divorce, The Problem of Pain, Miracles, A Grief Observed, and The Abolition of Man (some, and possibly all, of these are available in audio format). When we get to Screwtape, we will have to scramble to find an extra chair for Mr. John Cleese of Monty Python, whose reading of the letters is beyond perfect. Interestingly, a couple parishioners just gave us another collection of Lewis works for Christmas: The Beloved Works of C.S. Lewis, containing Surprised By Joy, Reflections on the Pslams, The Four Loves, and The Business of Heaven - if we can get Dr. Lewis to commit for a longer stay, maybe we can work through those as well.
Anyway, we are pleased with the depth and direction of our morning routine. It is a good way to get the mind and soul moving in the morning along with the body. We encourage anyone and everyone to turn the breakfast table into a monastery and university. It is the highlight of our day.
[Pascal writes]: Man's greatness comes from knowing he is wretched: a tree does not know it is wretched. Thus it is wretched to know that one is wretched, but there is greatness in knowing one is wretched. (No. 114).
[Kreeft writes]: Thus the greatness and high dignity of Greek drama. It is not only that the wise sufferer is rewarded in the end, like Oedipus (and Job), but that even in the act of suffering well there is dignity, because the suffering is not just a negative event in the physical world but also a positive event in the spiritual world. By the sufferer's understanding and will, his suffering is granted entrance into this second world. It becomes not merely an event in space but an event in consciousness. It is taken up to Heave: the Heaven of thought, even if not the Heaven of bliss.
How utterly low and brutish is the level to which a human mind has to sink before it csn look at an old lady in a nursing home bed suffering some incurable disease and call this life and this suffering "meaningless", lacking in "quality of life". To call this the "quality of life ethic" is like calling a cannibal a chef.
If this sneeringly snobbish judgment is true of the old lady, it is true a fortiori of Christ. If her cross of suffering, her death-bed lacks "quality", then His cross and death-tree also lack "quality".
"Quality" is thus used as a professional euphemism for sex and money. We find this brutish mentality only in the "upper" classes, the professional and "educated" people, especially journalists and professors, not among the poor, not among real people. Such "intellectuals" are as intelligent as radical "feminists" are feminine."
Begin: Novosibirsk Ride the train: Toward Ekaterinburg
We sleep in again. I take a quick shower and read ready for Father Pavel to meet us for another walk through Akademgorodok (Академгородо́к), the beautiful Novosibirsk neighborhood that is the "educational and scientific center of Siberia." We visit the little rustic Orthodox church in the woods where I continue buying small icons for souvenirs for friends and family back home.
A friendly Russian Blue cat greets me in the church yard. We visit the inside of the church, and we are told not to take pictures. I had already snapped one - and the flash was accidentally on. There was no-one inside except for two women who was overseeing things in the absence of the parish priest. Father Pavel explains that this congregation is very strict. It is simple by Orthodox standards.
We leave the sanctuary and enter the kiosk on the church grounds where icons are sold, and I buy a few. We leave, and I am a bit concerned that the cat is going to follow me. He tails us for a good while, but ducks into one of the outbuildings after saying goodbye.
Pavel takes us along a gloriously picturesque path that leads past the houses of some professors and research scientists: nice by American standards, affluent by Russian standards.
We drop into a Chinese restaurant near the shopping center. They take Visa, and so I pick up the tab. It is one way for me to say "thank you" to our gracious hosts. It is a very nice and cozy place, decorated in typical Chinese restaurant style that one sees in the States - except for the Cyrillic lettering (which is stylized to look like Chinese characters). I have a ginger beef dish and a Coke - and I use chopsticks. Pavel is a good sport and takes up his chopsticks as well, but gives up and returns to his fork about halfway through. Dan sticks with western cutlery and enjoys his meal as well.
We stroll to the shopping center, where Father Pavel purchases some chocolate bars for Father Dan to present to an American pastor and his family as a gift. I buy a few bars for Grace as well.
We walk to Pavel's flat for coffee and dessert. He retrieves three varieties of ice cream from the freezer, and makes coffee in the auto-drip. Pavel is very fluent in English and has a quick wit and sharp sense of humor. We take our chairs into the bedroom and set up a small coffee table for our visit. Father Pavel also presents some chocolate chip cookies, and pronounces them to be a great import from America. I reply that we export both good and bad - like chocolate chip cookies over and against Lady Gaga.
We walk back to the seminary as we need to start getting ready to catch our train. With a twinge of sadness, I realize that we will be leaving Novosibirsk not to return this trip.
I pack hastily and drop off the room key for Pavel's office with the guard. I need to return Olga Suhinina's phrase book, and I ask the guard where her mailbox is. The guard does not speak English, but he gestures to indicate that Olga is upstairs.
I find her in the translator's office, say goodbye, and return her book in person.
I meet Dan outside where we wait with our bags packed and ready to go.
Father Pavel and the bishop drive up. Bishop Vsevolod presents us with gifts. Dan is given a genuine Russian Army canteen, and I am presented with a Soviet sports jersey, as the bishop explains that I am now "part of the team." We pose for pictures and say goodbye to Father Pavel.
We pile into the bishop's car and drive to Alexey's.
Father Andrey is there to greet us. He is concerned about his eight-year old daughter Alexandra , who is having heart problems. We say goodbye and take pictures. Father Alexey emerges from his building wearing a New Orleans t-shirt.
The bishop drives aggressively, often driving on the lines instead of between them. Dan and I both check the buckles on our seat belts. The bishop is playing his eclectic collection of favorite Beatles' tunes - which he explains helped him to learn English many years ago.
After driving a ways, we turn back toward Alexey's, as he forgot something back home. I begin to worry that we might miss our train.
Siberians are delightfully phlegmatic about such things.
Well, we actually arrive with plenty of time to spare. We hang out at the Novosibirsk train station. I realize that I have left my camera in the bishop's car - again! Unbelievable! Undaunted, Alexey calls Vsevolod on his cell to check for me.
Dan and I take a little walk around the station. I found a kiosk selling icons. I buy a couple. I check back with Alexey who hands me my camera. I apologize. He shrugs and says: "It happens." Dan and I went upstairs to see the the huge mural of the map of the Trans-Siberian Railway. We take some pictures. A uniformed guard comes over to us and explains that we can't take pictures. We apologize (Извините!), and he is very nice about it.
One of the kiosks is also selling matryoshka dolls. Funny (considering the Transsiberian movie). We board our train - which is nice, new, and has air conditioning. It is nicer than any Amtrak train that I have ridden.
Father Alexey explains some of tyhe history of Novosibirsk as the train lurches from the station. We take pictures. Dan shoots a picture of Alexey and me - he clad in his New Orleans shirt and I in my CCCP (USSR) jersey.
Father Alexey has brought water and delicious sandwiches for us - made by Elena. We are avoiding the dining car as it is expensive. Alexey also has tomatoes, cucumbers, and nuts.
I used Dan's phone to send Grace a text message that I was now on the Transsiberian Railway and that I have matryoshka dolls in my bag. She later tells me that she did not find that too amusing.
This is a very relaxing ride, and I greatly look forward to extended conversations with my clergy brothers. We discuss American and Russian literature, Alexey's time in the U.S., and church matters.
The bathroom on this train is nice - even by American standards - a bio-toilet that can be flushed any time and nice hot water from the sink faucet!
We stop at Barabinsk, between Novosibirsk and Omsk. We step outside in the rainy cool air to buy chips from a vendor. I get a Coke. All that is available is a two liter bottle. It costs 100 rubles (about $3.50).
We fix up our beds - which are really nice - and we call it a night. I journal in my bunk and shut off my light and turn in about 1 a.m. as it gets dark and the train rocks me to sleep.
Here is a link to all of my pictures of Day Seventeen.
While serving in a previous ministerial call, I had to moonlight at the local Hollywood Video to pay for health insurance for the family. It took one of my coworkers a couple weeks before she stopped addressing me as "Father" and started using my first name.
It was a fun job. My co-workers were the best. I got free rentals too. You can click here to see a picture. Now you know the rest of the story...
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