Category Archives: Issue 1

The Mermaid of Christmas Cheer Has Returned to the Sea: Alpha Leader’s Reflections on a Fallen Comrade

Christopher Rush

At the end of the 2006-2007 school year, on the final day of school in fact, I knew it was time to have a little talk with Brian Mouring.  I told him briefly and quietly, simply giving him something to think about for the summer: in sum, I told him that he was one of the more important students in the school during its present incarnation.  Not only did he have a fair amount of influence in his own class (though most of them would still deny it to this day), but his actions and attitudes were noticed and reflected by his brothers, who in turn affected their own classes (and still do to this day).  He took that encouragement about his own importance and influence to heart, to a certain degree, and we can see that influence now.  Believe it or not, Brian Mouring was an important part of Summit Christian Academy, on and off the soccer field.

I do not pretend that I know “the real” Brian Mouring — true, I spent more time with him than most, and we spent much of his Europe trip together (when he wasn’t off exploring with Bradley), and I probably had a higher opinion of him than most while he was here, but I got only the Brian Mouring he wanted me to see.  And that is fine with me.  I was asked earlier this year why I had such a high opinion of him, and I’ve always made it clear that Brian was one of those guys that if you treated him the way God treats him, if you considered him the way God viewed him, he would eventually become the man God wanted him to be, and Mr. Mouring indicated at Brian’s service that he was on the road to achieving that — perhaps he had, in fact, achieved it as much as he needed to.

The most interesting part of Brian’s service, to me, was Mr. Mouring’s list of dangerous, life-threatening activities that had happened to Brian (or in which he actively participated) in the recent years.  My wife made the point after the service about how that was a remarkable example of God’s grace and love, not just for Brian but all of us.  Think of it accurately: it’s not that God took Brian “too soon,” but that God miraculously kept Brian alive long enough for him to become, truly, a born-again Christian.  That is a quintessential example of the love of God if I have ever seen one.  As Mr. Mouring said, we all daily perform “routine” acts that are far more dangerous than what Brian was doing the day he died.  It was, in truth, a demonstration of the love of God.

The title of this tribute indicates that this is my personal reflections on the influence of Brian Mouring in the brief time I knew him; thus, if my recollections so far and continuing are discordant with your impressions of the Brian you knew, that’s okay with me, and hopefully it’s okay with you.  The “Alpha Leader” designation refers to perhaps the highlight of my time with Brian, the Senior Europe trip in the spring of 2009.  I don’t want this to turn in to an advertisement for going on the trip, so the fact that experience is the highlight of our three+ years together is merely coincidental.  On that trip, for a variety of reasons we shan’t go into here, no one else really wanted to hang out with Brian, Bryan, or myself, which was perfectly fine with us, since that gave us the freedom to do what we (i.e., I) wanted to do during free time without having to acquiesce to anyone else’s desires.  That was rather enjoyable, especially when it came time to divide the entire group.  All we’d have to do is call out “Alpha Team,” and we’d gather up and move out to whatever secret things we’d want to see in Rome, Florence, or Paris.  Good times.  True, they didn’t always want to go see what I wanted to see, and Alpha Team broke up once in awhile, but being intelligent men we never took it personally or lost any emotional energy about having our feelings hurt.  Brian was good like that.

During the trip, when the tour guide asked many questions on the bus while we were travelling from place to place, only Brian and Bryan were willing to answer any question — not because I was sitting close to them on the bus, but because they took it upon themselves to simultaneously bring enjoyment to the moment (one of their main purposes in life) and do what was expected of them in that situation (one of their most underrated characteristics).  Don’t misunderstand me — I’m not here to harangue the non-Bri/yan population of the class of 2009; all I’m saying is that while on the Europe trip, they behaved themselves far better than the rest of their classmates, which most people (who knew them even less accurately than I did) would not have believed before, during, or after the trip.

I acknowledge that this is becoming somewhat commonplace, but as soon as Mrs. Lane came into our in-service meeting the morning of August 18 and announced that Brian was missing, I knew on some non-cognitive (perhaps non-rational) level that Brian was gone.  Like the rest of you, I did hold out some hope that he would be found alive out to sea shortly thereafter, but it was not very real.  I had no sense of desperation or despair; in fact I was rather calm about the whole thing, which was in part why I didn’t go to any of the prayer services — I suspected that people would have wanted to see me grieving and mourning, but I wasn’t in that place yet, so I didn’t go.  That probably sounds a great deal more selfish than I meant it, so I hope you didn’t take that the wrong way.  I had heard from various sources earlier in the summer that Brian had become a born-again Christian, so I knew he was much better off than the rest of us, so the sorrow I felt was for his family (and still is).  Shortly thereafter, my equanimity was replaced with anger.  Not anger at God — don’t be ridiculous; anger at the many people who, to be frank, didn’t like/know Brian when he was here and suddenly were acting like they had lost a valued friend and colleague.  Also, the preposterous reactions of various people (mostly through Facebook statuses) about how “life is too short, so we need to squeeze all the happiness out of life while we can,” people who had pretended to believe the Biblical declarations of life and its purpose but now, facing genuine loss and tragedy for the first time, had apparently reverted into hedonists with no eternal perspective.  I spent most of the next couple of weeks being angry.  I didn’t really grieve until we started singing “It is Well With My Soul” during Brian’s memorial service.  With Mr. Mouring’s words and that song (to be honest, I really didn’t listen to whatever Pastor Brian said), I was able to release my anger and finally grieve the temporary loss of Brian and resume the love I had for Brian and even the people who didn’t like him very much the way I should love them — and I’m fairly certain Brian would have wanted that as well.

I wouldn’t want to end on such an emotionally charged note — this is Brian, after all: the guy who painted his chest blue to show his support for a school he only recently started attending, who performed the role of the Mermaid of Christmas Cheer, and who stuck with Babylon 5 to the end.  I don’t want to tell you how you should best remember Brian; you can figure that out in your own way — though C.S. Lewis reminds us in A Grief Observed that the sooner you stop trying so hard to remember him, the better (sharper, more accurate) your memory of him will become.  Instead, let me tell you some of the ways by which I remember him.

During one of those bizarre “all the Drama kids have to take four class periods off each day to finally decide to get ready for their performance” days we used to have a couple of years ago, I found myself in my room with Brian and Bryan and not much to do — they had long since given their senior theses, no final exams for which to study, and not much point in having class considering they were the only ones around.  Thus, they decided to do what any sensible students would do in such a situation: borrow one of the games PCC left sitting around and play it; in this case, Guess Who?.  If you never had the pleasure of watching Brian and Bryan play Guess Who?, you’ve missed out.  It gets rather intense and impressively mature: not the usual sorts of questions more younger players would likely ask when trying to identify which person one’s opponent had.

One of Brian’s (and Bryan’s) main attributes was believing that he had absolute comprehension of the layout of a city, regardless if the time spent in that city did not exceed an hour and a half.  Such was the case when Alpha Team and a couple other friends went to some of the secret places of Florence, Italy.  Despite the fact I knew Florence’s layout rather well, Brian and Bryan knew they could lead us directly from Santa Croce back to our hostel in plenty of time for refreshment before the evening all-group gathering for dinner.  With the rallying cry of “I got this!” echoing in the streets upon which Michelangelo and Dante trod, Brian and Bryan led us around the town.  Literally, around the town.  Three times.  After twenty minutes of walking, we spied once again the unmistakable outline of Santa Croce.  “We’re back where we started, guys.”  “I got this!”  Another half hour of walking, through the outer city gates, back through the outer city gates, and finally the unmistakable outline of Santa Croce.  “Brian, we’re back at Santa Croce.”  “I got this!”  Somehow, Da Gama and Magellan lead us back to the hostel just in time to not go in pretty much but to go straight to the meeting place for dinner, which may explain some of the Facebook photos you may have seen of Brian and Bryan lying on the Florentine grass on a late afternoon — exhausted because their hubris and my munificent willingness to let them fail resulted in a circuitous trek around the Cradle of the Renaissance.  I knew even then it was worth it.

To date I have only seen the regenerate Brian Mouring once, at my birthday party this past June.  I know with utmost certainty he knows how I felt about him, which is in part, I believe, why we got along so well.  When he needed to leave, we said our typical goodbyes in the living room, though I was standing in the entranceway of our home by the time he got around to actually going.  I watched Brian walk out the door but for some inexplicable reason, I had the urge to say goodbye to him one last time, so I opened the door and waved goodbye again.  Brian gave me a quintessential Brian look of “Dude, what?” with his quintessential Brian smile, and he waved goodbye and left, nodding as if to say “I’ll see you later, don’t worry.”  I know I will see him again soon enough, in a place where no shadows fall, as has so often been said.  I’ll think of him whenever I watch NewsRadio, mention “usurpation” as the theme of The Tempest, or eat a tasty cheeseburger — and these experiences will be even better because of these memories.  And I know, in the words of that gospel song:

In a little while

Surely you’ll be mine

In a little while … I’ll be there.

In a little while

This hurt will hurt no more

I’ll be home, love.

Goodbye, my friend.  I will see you soon.

Book Review: Virgil: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Steel Commager. Twentieth Century Views.  Englewood: Prentice Hall, Inc., 1966.

Christopher Rush

Preface

Of the essays in the collection, I found eight to be useful to varying degrees in addition to Mr. Commager’s introduction.  I will briefly highlight the content of each of these eight essays as well as each author’s perspective together (as they are too short to treat well separately), and conclude with a critical evaluation of the essays.  Many of the essays are either abridgements from their original lengths or reductions of chapters from entire books by the authors.  Since I read only what was made available in the collections, I must refer to the essays by the titles given to them by the editor.

Content Summary and Author’s Perspective

Steele Commager’s brief introduction to the collection of essays, unlike Harold Bloom’s introductions to the Modern Critical Interpretations series, is not a précis of what the following essays concern (ironically, what I am doing now), but mostly a brief treatment of Aeneas as an epic hero, and how he through Virgil distinguished himself from Homer’s heroes.

C.M. Bowra’s essay “Some Characteristics of Literary Epic” does exactly what its title implies: he briefly discusses the nature of oral epic, its purposes and forms, and its heroes and representation of a heroic world.  He distinguishes briefly between Homer’s heroic world and Virgil’s heroic world, one key difference being Homer’s heroes live and die for their own glory, while Virgil’s heroes have a higher calling for a social ideal (61).  Bowra’s guiding perspective on the epic is the different purposes for the heroes: whether it be self-centered or others-centered.

C.S. Lewis’s essay “Virgil and the Subject of Secondary Epic” is extracted from his Preface to Paradise Lost.  While the extract does not make much sense by itself — atypical of the Twentieth Century Views series, since most chapters re-forged into short essays make sense as presented — Lewis’s chapter/essay offered some helpful ideas on Virgil’s presentation of the epic, as distinguished from earlier author-less epics.  His fuller discussion on the difference between “primary” and “secondary” epics, while quite trenchant, was not included in this selection, which is odd since it was Lewis’s main purpose in addressing Virgil in a work more devoted to Milton.  Fortunately, that difference is not relevant to our purposes here.

“Odysseus and Aeneas” by Theodore Haecker was a short (roughly the first eight essays in the collection were generally fewer than twelve pages long; the final four were much longer) contrast of the two heroes, though his insights treat Aeneas more than Odysseus.  He, like most of the authors of these early shorter essays, did not have any overt “perspective” in the sense of approaching the poem from psychology, archetypes, feminism, or the like, but instead was more formalist, addressing primarily what was in the poem, not external to it.  At least, that is the impression I got from the essay originally.

Wendell Clausen’s “An Interpretation of the Aeneid” acknowledges the prerequisite of knowing Homer before understanding Virgil: “any response to the Aeneid will depend in good part on an intimate knowledge of the Iliad and the Odyssey” (75).  Most critics of Virgil (that I’ve read recently) reference the connection of the two authors in what ways such knowledge suits their particular foci, but Clausen’s general admission seemed unique, not saying Virgil is a copy or modifier of Homer, but just the idea that the reader’s success with Virgil is in some way determined by the reader’s prior success with Homer.  After that, Clausen focuses mostly on the character of Aeneas, highlighting his burdens and the tragic circumstances he surmounts in his poem.  Clausen’s emphasis on the emotional states of Aeneas borders on psychological interpretation but does not give the reader any overt references to it.

Brooks Otis’s “The Odyssean Aeneid and the Iliadic Aeneid” begins the final third of essays much longer than the previous grouping.  Otis begins with a structural approach to the Aeneid, offering a kind of map with a two-fold purpose: first it lists the general content of each book of the poem in a brief three- or four-word phrase, labeling books one through six as “Odyssean” and books seven through twelve as “Iliadic”; second it draws (literally) connections from one book to another, indicating its mostly chiastic pattern — similar to Cedric H. Whitman’s structural diagram of the Iliad referenced by Peter Leithart in Heroes of the City of Man.  The rest of his essay elaborates on the pattern, how the first half (Aeneas’ Odyssey) is preparation for the “Iliadic Fulfillment” of his quest in the second half of the poem.

The title of Adam Parry’s essay “The Two Voices of Virgil’s Aeneid” is at times akin to J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Two Towers, in that the reader is not always sure to which voices/towers the author is specifically referring.  For Parry, sometimes the two voices are those of Aeneas and his rival Turnus; at times it is what Otis called the two halves of the poem, the Odyssean and Iliadic halves; at other points in the essay Parry seems to be referring to two different moods of the poem itself: the tragedy of Aeneas’ personal losses contrasted with the empowering hope for the future surety of the Roman Empire.  Regardless of the oft-times ambiguous title, the content of the essay provides a distinctive approach to Aeneas’ character in light of Virgil’s authorship and audience: sometimes Aeneas is a Roman version of Homer’s Greek Achilles and Odysseus, sometimes he is a model of his supposed successor Octavius-Augustus; Parry also suggests the possibility that Virgil temporarily casted Aeneas as Octavius’ enemy Mark Antony, when Aeneas entangles himself with Dido, Queen of Carthage (who becomes a type of Cleopatra, in that Egypt and Carthage are both enemies of Rome).  Parry spends much time analyzing Aeneas as a servant of History/Fate/Destiny; because he serves an “impersonal power,” he cannot be a hero (123) — an interesting conclusion.  For Parry, though, Aeneas is saved “as a man” because he is so unrelentingly self-sacrificial and suffers through so much for others.

Bernard M.W. Knox (who, along with Mortimer Adler, would undoubtedly be on the Mt. Rushmore of Influential 20th-century Classicists — using “classicist” as an encomium) contributed “The Serpent and the Flame: The Imagery of the Second Book of the Aeneid” to this collection.  While interesting and excellent, as Knox usually is, it was limited in focus, as its title makes clear.  Unlike other classicists, such as Gilbert Murray, Knox does not assume the reading audience is familiar with Greek and limits his use of it while thoroughly analyzing an intentionally narrow component of Virgil’s epic.

Finally, Viktor Pösch’s “Basic Themes” concludes the collection.  One of the major themes for Pösch is the sea, which for him is “an overture” to the other motifs in the poem (165).  Other themes (at times Pösch seems to use “theme,” “symbol,” and “metaphor” interchangeably, as I am, unfortunately, wont to do in my classroom) include love as the “motivating force in all that Aeneas does” (166), the Aeneid as a “poem of humanity” (173), and Aeneas’ journey to the underworld as a symbol of “a trial of the hero” (176), this last quite aligned with Joseph Campbell’s journey of the hero.

Critical Response and Evaluation

Though my elongated summary connotes some of my responses to the essays, some final evaluations are appropriate here.  On the whole, I have found the older Twentieth Century Views series of essays far superior to Harold Bloom’s Modern Critical Interpretations series.  That is not an attack on Professor Bloom, nor an overt diatribe against recent scholarship contrasted to earlier scholarship (I am a much younger, poorer, and unpublished scholar than those published in either series); it is merely a generalized reaction.  I prefer (and trust) the Twentieth Century Views series so much that I will purchase one whenever I can find one in a used book store, even if I have never read the author in question (such as Proust, though he is on my “someday soon” list).  The series also does not, in my acknowledged limited experience with it, include derisive or vituperative essays on the author or subject, unlike what Bloom’s Modern Critical Interpretations essays occasionally do.  Bloom’s series does offer great essays, certainly, especially the occasional erudite contributions by latter-twentieth-century scholars, so they are not entirely shoddy — I simply prefer the Twentieth Century Views series.

Commager’s introduction, as I mentioned before, aids in the superiority of the series, in that his introduction is a thoughtful contribution to the subject, unlike Bloom’s “introductions” which are synopses of the essays in the collection (I often find Harold Bloom a helpful albeit limited scholar, though in his own books).  Commager sets the tone of analytical appreciation for Virgil and his poems, giving insights I found helpful, such as his remark “… in the Aeneid, duty and inclination are constantly opposed” (11).

C.M. Bowra’s essay provided good generalized descriptions of epic poetry.  His precise comments help introduce the nature of epic poetry before focusing on epic heroes, more so than the typical high school definition of an epic poem as “a long, narrative poem usually focusing on one hero.”  Bowra’s essay emphasizes the differences in values of Homer’s epic and Virgil’s epic, an invaluable insight in the distinction of the heroes.

I knew about C.S. Lewis’s essay (unlike the other “essays” transplanted from their original sources) because I have read Preface to Paradise Lost.  As mentioned above, the extraction of this one chapter does not make too much sense, though I did find some useful comments from Lewis (not a third face with Adler and Knox, since Lewis was more of a medievalist than a classicist).  With the profundity of useful ideas from the other essays in this collection (and other sources), one needs not revisit Lewis’ book, even for his distinction between “primary” and “secondary” epics — unless one wants to read a good work about an even more important work, and thus gain a better understanding of Western Civilization.

A title like “Odysseus and Aeneas” offered great promise, in that comparatively so few of the critical works I’ve read had anything to say about the participants in the content of the Iliad, Odyssey, and Aeneid.  So many other critics want to talk about the poems’ origins or historicity or animal and nature symbology — which is wonderful, but not all there is.  Unfortunately, Haecker’s essay (at least the version presented in this collection) did not provide as much analysis as I had hoped.  I gleaned three tidbits from him — helpful tidbits, but brief tidbits: “How full of paradox, how dialectical is the inner life of Aeneas!  Does he in this resemble any of Homer’s heroes?” (70)  “Like all reticent men, he (Aeneas) can speak only the truth that is in him, and that only occasionally and darkly.  And again, like all reticent men, be they so from necessity or of their own free will, he makes no such brave figure as Achilles or Odysseus” (Ibid.).  And “the true leader is not he who makes himself leader, but he who is called and dedicated to that end by Fate” (74).  I appreciate Haecker’s perspective that Aeneas might be inferior in some ways to Odysseus and Achilles (unlike most other critics who usually see Aeneas as a better-rounded consummation of “the hero” Homer was trying to create), especially his stress on Aeneas as a “reticent hero” out of necessity — I just wished Haecker had more useful things to say (a thoroughly selfish comment, though it is a well-meant selfishness, unlike Achilles’).

Wendell Clausen’s “An Interpretation of the Aeneid” is similar to other essays in the collection in that he highlights the tragedy and suffering Aeneas endures — genuine loss, unlike Odysseus’ temporary abstinence from happiness and contentment or Achilles’ egotistic honor besmirchment (his loss of Patroclus is genuine, though Gilbert Murray cautions us against believing Achilles is completely selfless even in missing/feeling loss at the death of Patroclus).  Of the many helpful ideas from Clausen, two stand out: “Aeneas enters the poem wishing he were dead, the only epic hero to do so” (77); “Aeneas is more burdened by memory than any other ancient hero” (Ibid.).

Certainly Brooks Otis’s structural diagram of the Aeneid’s thematic and chiastic pattern is invaluable.  His explication of that pattern is similarly useful.  Even his summary of the poem is remarkable: “the Aeneid is … the story of death and rebirth by which unworthy love and destructive furor are overcome by the moral activity of a divinized and resurrected hero” (92) — a bit of archetypal criticism added to his structural criticism.  Like other critics, Otis notes Aeneas’ psychological component of his heroic character, though Otis always relates his ideas to the structure of the poem, in that it (Aeneas’ psychology) changes in connection with the structural plot changes: plot and character are intertwined.

I commented above on the elasticity, if not ambiguity, of Adam Parry’s title, “The Two Voices of Virgil’s Aeneid,” though the title was not as important to me as his other insights.  I especially enjoyed his connections to Virgil and Augustus — certainly that is a necessary component to accurately understanding and interpreting this epic poem.  His comparisons of Aeneas to Octavian/Augustus and Mark Antony are enlightening and unique, while completely plausible.  Similarly, his conclusion that Aeneas can’t truly be a “hero” because he is guided/forced/in the service of an impersonal power, but that he is a more complete “man” than the Homeric heroes, offers an interesting perspective.  Yet, Parry’s conclusions are odd, in that he maintains that Aeneas is a fuller man than either Achilles or Odysseus even though he does not have the free will that they have — Aeneas is the plaything of History, which he cannot escape: how does this make him more of a man?  For Parry, the answer is that Aeneas “is man himself; not man as the brilliant free agent of Homer’s world, but man of a later stage in civilization, man in a metropolitan and imperial world, man in a world where the state is supreme.  He cannot resist the forces of history, or even deny them; but he can be capable of human suffering, and this is where the personal voice asserts itself” (121-122).  Possibly: I need to keep pondering these conclusions until I can more readily agree with him.

Obviously I have great respect and admiration for Bernard Knox if I am willing to place him on the Mt. Rushmore of Classicists (along with Mortimer Adler after a fashion, certainly A.E. Housman, and possibly Gilbert Murray — Maynard Mack might be up there, especially if we changed the title to Influential Popularizers of Classics in the 20th century).  Even so, his narrow essay, while stunning in its thoroughness and wealth of knowledge, was mostly extraneous to my personal focus on the heroes of the poems.  He did make some indirectly useful comments on Menelaus and Agamemnon (calling them twins, which no other commentator highlighted — except Gilbert Murray, though also indirectly) as together a force of “merciless destruction” (127), and another interesting comparison of Pyrrhus (Achilles’ son?) to the serpents killing Laocoön as he kills Priam (136).

Victor Pösch’s “Basic Themes” was, like Knox’s essay, interesting, but mostly unsuited for my needs when researching for my Master’s thesis.  His themes quoted above were the themes I found most useful of the many he addressed.  In order to incorporate his dominant sea theme, though, I’d would have had to insert much of his argument, which on the whole is irrelevant to my thesis, so I couldn’t really do that.  However, if one simply wanted to improve one’s ability to understand (and potentially teach) such classical literature, then one of his almost superfluous comments is extraordinarily helpful: “The essence of a symbolic relationship is that the correspondence between the symbol and the thing symbolized is not precise, but flexible, opening up an infinite perspective” (166).  Certainly Pösch’s concise definition is extraordinarily helpful beyond the confines of this article.

As only one example of the many in the history of classical scholarship and inquiry into Virgil’s Aeneid, Commager’s Twentieth Century Views collection is a challenging introduction to one of the most important works in Western Civilization.  The Twentieth Century Views series as a whole is undoubtedly a worthwhile series to investigate, own, and enjoy forever, especially in light of the general and decided decline of scholarship (especially classical scholarship) today — despite the fact my postmodern Master’s professors encouraged me to ignore the older works in favor of the more recent writings on the subject.

Book Review: The Rise of the Greek Epic, 4th Ed., Gilbert Murray. New York: OUP, 1960.

Christopher Rush

Content Summary

In what was once a landmark exploration of Homer and the Iliad (I say that not derogatorily), Gilbert Murray analyzes a vast amount of material related to ancient Greece, the nature of ancient stories and books, the construction and minutiae of the Iliad, and its reception and place in history.  In the four prefaces, one for each edition, Murray has different things to say, mainly about the changing nature of Homeric interpretation during the first half of the twentieth century, when his book was being re-edited and re-released.  Despite the changing nature of the then-current geo-political world, however, Murray’s book did not seem to undergo many revisions.  At best, he seems to have added only some footnotes regarding newer critical works and some appendices.

Murray’s introduction attempts to situate the reader into the nature of the Greece of the Iliad as well as its poetry, commenting on differences in the known Greece with its portrayal in the Iliad, as well as cultural differences between the poem and the world of Murray’s present reader.  His next major section is on “The People,” first the people who became the Greeks (the Achaeans of Homer’s poem and the Greeks of Homer and his followers), secondly some of the major beliefs of the people in the poem and the disintegration caused by wars and migrations.  His second, and longer, major section is “The Literature,” first providing for the reader an understanding of what a book was in Homer’s day and how it is completely unlike what present readers think of as a book.  Next he begins to address the Iliad more specifically (almost one-third of his way into his exploration), highlighting how it fits his earlier definition of a “traditional book,” evidencing it with expurgations, peculiarities, and almost minutiae to support his points.  He then addresses the historical content of the Iliad before assessing whether or not it is a “great poem.”  To close his work, Murray returns to more peripheral arguments such as Homer’s connection to Ionia and Attica, and final comments on what is known and unknown about Homer, the poem, its place, and reception in antiquity.  His appendices are like extended footnotes regarding various issues he addresses throughout the body of his exploration, and he refers the reader to them as needed.

Author’s Perspective and Purpose

Though I referred to “Homer” when summarizing the content of The Rise of the Greek Epic, one of Gilbert Murray’s major points which he makes several times (at least in the first half of the work), is that he believes “Homer” to be almost as fictional as Zeus or Apollo.  Murray believes the Iliad and the Odyssey (though his evidence is mostly concerning the Iliad) to be the work of composite poets and emendators over many years, if not centuries.  That is the essence of his argument in the “nature of the traditional book” section — a traditional book or story was not created to be read, but was kept hidden until the poet could recite it; also, Murray cites several examples of line inconsistencies throughout the Iliad, such as different kinds of armor, to point to multi-generational editorship on the base poem.  The Iliad is too long to be recited as well and must be a composite of different poets/editors over time to produce what we now know as the Iliad.  Much of his support is given in Greek, so those who are not familiar with the language must take his word for it.

Murray’s title is almost the opposite of what his intention seems to be: for most of the work, Murray details what the Iliad is not, almost to the point at which his title should be the fall of the Greek epic — at times it seems he comes to bury Homer, not to praise him.  Murray focuses on many details and incidents whose connection to the poem does not seem readily apparent until much further on, and even then, his purpose is not always clear.  It is evident overall that he wants to accurately ground his audience in what he perceives to be an accurate historical understanding of the nature of the events and culture of the peoples depicted in the Iliad, and the nature and times of the people writing, emending, and receiving the poem — since there are many according to Murray.  Unfortunately for Murray, as he himself must admit toward the end of his exploration, “the argument has rested chiefly on analogies and general considerations, not on documents: it has had to be very cautious, aiming at probability, not certainty, constantly suggesting, not professing to demonstrate” (282): hardly the most persuasive kind of argument, but necessary when dealing with an ill-documented antiquity.

Critical Response and Evaluation

I very much wanted to enjoy Murray’s book more than I did.  His analytic introduction appeared to offer a profundity of Homeric scholarship untouched by the fads and fancies of twentieth-century theory.  Frustratingly, The Rise of the Greek Epic was, for the most part, unsuited to my main purpose for reading them while composing my Master’s thesis in examining the Iliad, Odyssey, and Aeneid: the nature of epic heroes.  Among the issues Murray addresses, the actual characters in the poem are given very little attention.  As mentioned above, Murray spends much more time dissecting apparent historical inconsistencies such as bronze armor, the nature of shields, and what is not in the poem.  Much of Murray’s comments on Homeric expurgations are, as the above quotation admits, mere arguments from absence: because something is not in the copies that exist today, they must have been elided by some editor after the first poets had it in their versions of the poems.  This sort of argumentation was, as I said, frustrating at times, though it was nice to read Murray’s almost-apologetic admission that he was dealing with mostly speculation.

Another disappointing component to Murray’s analysis, similar to my disappointment with Joseph Campbell, is his almost preposterous treatment of various Biblical passages for no useful or accurate reason.  I am not arguing against the possibility that the Bible has had various scribes and translators and editors over the centuries, but Murray’s “analysis” of the Old Testament on pages 107-119, supposedly in an effort to prove what was the nature of “traditional books” — i.e., editors come along and change things to suit the fancies of the day, whether or not they create conflicts with other passages of the text — seemed to be substandard scholarship.  Not only was he not proving his point about traditional books and their connection to the Iliad, but he more readily demonstrated his ignorance about them.  Obviously this is a reaction from my particular worldview, but I am baffled by so many scholars who can argue well when it comes to what they know but then resort to Biblical derision when they want to mask their own ignorance about whatever topic they know they must address but cannot do so well.

With such pervasive reactions against Gilbert Murray’s book, it might seem odd that I am including it in this journal.  I am including it because, more than any other scholarly work on the Iliad I have read recently, it has made me want to be a better Homeric scholar.  As I mentioned above, Murray writes with the supposition that his reading audience is fluent in Greek.  That may have been true a century ago, but I did not have that opportunity growing up in American public schooling in the later-half of the twentieth century.  For years, as I have tried to understand these classical works better, I have had the nagging feeling that the only way I can truly improve in classical scholarship is to understand (read at least, if not write or speak) the classical languages.  The same is true for my Biblical interpretation skills: I can only get so far reading John Nelson Darby or a New American Standard version of what was originally in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek.  Perhaps Murray was not writing for the average reader for The Rise of the Greek Epic, but his linguistic challenge was effective for me.

That is not the only reason I include it, however.  Murray has several good insights into the poems throughout his work, though “throughout” is a generous concision of “scattered throughout.”  It was not exactly “hit and miss” with Murray, but his good offerings were somewhat sporadic — though, once I found them, they were very helpful.  I do not personally agree with his assessment of a multiplicity of Homers, but that might be my classical scholarship nascence (i.e. utter ignorance) talking.  My own argument in my thesis focuses on what the poems say about heroes, not whether or not the poems are a hodge-podge of multiple insertions, deletions, and revisions.  Even so, Murray’s work provides helpful ideas and a challenge that more recent Homeric criticism does not.

Book Review: Heroes of the City of Man: A Christian Guide to Select Ancient Literature, Peter J. Leithart. Moscow, ID: Canon Press, 1999.

Christopher Rush

Content Summary

Heroes of the City of Man addresses eight works of classical Greece, four epics and four dramas: Hesiod’s Theogony, Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, and Virgil’s Aeneid; Aeschylus’ Eumenides, Sophocles’ Oedipus Tyrannus, Euripides’ Bacchae, and Aristophanes’ Clouds.  Peter Leithart gives about equal time to all works, since his overarching premise is not to praise one literary form above the other.  Leithart gives each a working subtitle, each designed to highlight what Leithart supposes is that work’s major theme: the Theogony is the “Pagan Genesis,” Iliad is “Fighters Killing, Fighters Killed, Odysseus is the “Son of Pain,” and the Aeneid is “Patria and Pietas.”  Of the dramas, the Eumenides is a tale of “Blessings of Terror,” Sophocles’ first play in the Oedipus trilogy is “Riddles of One and Many,” the Bacchae is “The Contest of Fetters and Thyrsus,” and Aristophanes’ Clouds is about the “Sophist in the City.”

As a college professor, Peter Leithart always has higher and continued education in mind, in not only this but his other works I’ve read and own.  He divides each work into sections, usually along thematic lines that fit with his overarching subtitle for the work, and after each section gives “review questions” and “thought questions,” to help the reader remember and analyze what he or she has just read.  At the end of the book, Leithart has an “Additional Reading” section, a bibliography (not annotated) of recommended works to continue the reader’s analysis of the classical Greek epics and plays.

Author’s Perspective and Purpose

The subtitle is a clear indicator of Leithart’s religious and philosophical perspective in approaching the works he analyzes in his book.  For the better read reader, however, his very title is an initial indicator of his approach: the “city of man” epithet is obviously taken from Augustine’s City of God, a classic work of Christian thought that categorizes much of life as either part of the city of God or the city of Man — Leithart clearly associates the works of ancient Greece as distinct from the “city of God.”  This is not surprising since Homer, Hesiod, and the rest do not claim to know or associate their stories with the monotheistic God of Augustine.  Unlike other critics, however, (and by “other” my experience so far means “almost all”) Leithart does not treat the members outside his particular religious and philosophical framework as deficient, unworthy, or haphazard.  Instead, Leithart has great respect for the originality, skill, tragedy, humanity, and beauty found within the works of the classical pagan Greeks.  Most (for lack of a better word) secular critics I’ve read in my years of study who approach the works of Homer or Virgil seem to find ways to bring up the Bible (usually for no justifiable reason) as a “straw man” to knock down and disparage in an attempt to distract readers from flaws or perceived shortcomings in the hoped-to-be superior non-Biblical works.

Leithart, however, has no problems in approaching and analyzing the ancient works for what they are, not what he hopes them to be.  Certainly his perspective is “biased,” in that he is approaching them from a Christian worldview — not one in which they were constructed; but this does not mean that critics who approach Homer or Hesiod or Aristophanes from a “secular” worldview are not biased — on the contrary, they have their own secular biases, not the least of which is not being a contemporary of the authors, bringing nineteenth, twentieth, or twenty-first century hermeneutical penchants to the ancient texts.  With the freedom to make no apologies for either what the texts say (or appear to say) or his personal interpretational framework, Leithart does not hesitate to discuss what other critics might timorously deem controversial or ambiguous, such as the moral issues involved with Odysseus’s affairs while claiming to be faithful to his wife.

Critical Response and Evaluation

Leithart’s work has been very influential to me, since, as you know, our classes together often (“always” would be overly generous) focus our analyses of ancient literature from a Christian perspective (which has myriad definitions and sub-interpretations, but a precise designation of what that entails at least at our school is peripheral to the main argument here).  Part of what makes Leithart’s work so useful is that he treats his subjects with overt respect, both analytically and aesthetically.  He is a Christian scholar (not an oxymoron) who noticeably enjoys the works from the “city of man” almost as much as he does from the “city of God.”

It is no accident, either, that Leithart and I appreciate the works from the “city of man,” while approaching them from a Christian perspective.  We both teach at classical schools, which is more than just different curriculum compared to government-mandated knowledge.  He finds great value in the works and ideas of those who believe differently than he does, completely unlike the secular critics I have read who trot in the Bible (or, more accurately, their masqueraded versions of what is supposedly the Bible) to deride and ridicule.  Leithart does none of this, even with passages he does not personally enjoy.  He does not scorn Homer for creating a poem centering on a selfish hero, though he does not hesitate to call Achilles a selfish hero: these are not contradictory statements.

In his introduction, Leithart formulates his reasoning behind his analysis of these classic works in the guise of a response to Tertullian’s question, “What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?”  As the renaissance of Classical Christian schooling can attest, quite a lot.  Fortunately, though, unlike many lesser-skilled critics regarding recent pop culture fads (such as Harry Potter or the Lord of the Rings movie adaptations), Leithart does not blindly embrace everything about these classics as “close enough to Christian” — Odysseus is not a type of Christ (nor are Harry Potter and Gandalf, despite the claims of recent pseudo-intellectuals) to Leithart.  Even with his admiration and appreciation for the classics, Leithart maintains an appropriate distance from them, as he makes clear in the following paragraph:

Heroes of the City of Man is a book about Athens by an author who resides contentedly in Jerusalem.  One of the foundational assumptions of this study is that there is a profound antithesis, a conflict, a chasm, between Christian faith and all other forms of thought and life.  Though I appreciate the sheer aesthetic attraction of classical poetry and drama, I have no interest in helping construct Athrusalem or Jerens; these hybrids are monstrosities whose walls the church should breach rather than build.  Instead, I have attempted to view Athens from a point securely within the walls of Jerusalem (14).

Part of the utility of Leithart’s work is his synthesis of and expounding upon other key critics.  His analysis of Cedric Whitman’s understanding of the Iliad’s chiastic structure has been helpful to me for years, even before I first read Whitman for myself.  Likewise, Leithart’s analysis of Odysseus’s process of revelation at the close of the Odyssey has been a helpful way to maintain the interest of students as we wrap up the great story.

Some critics might conceive of Leithart’s analysis and categorizing of these classical works as too much Christian revisionism, but they would be mistaken.  I have read other authors who try to imprint Christianity too much onto other works (like Tolkien and Harry Potter as mentioned above), but Leithart does not do that.  He unabashedly analyses these classical works from a Christian perspective, but he does not make of them what they are not.  Instead, he provides an excellent companion to these ancient works for anyone, whether he or she resides in either the city of Man or the city of God.

Book Review: The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 2nd Ed., Joseph Campbell. Bollingen Series XVII.  Princeton: Princeton UP, 1968, 1949.

Christopher Rush

Content Summary

Joseph Campbell’s classic work on mythology of various cultures, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, is an important work in the field, if not as extensive as his later four-volume The Masks of God.  The fundamental premise or thesis throughout The Hero with a Thousand Faces is that all cultures and religions create a basic story by which their heroes and origin myths operate, and that the similarity of all world-wide stories is not accidental: he calls it the “monomyth.”

Campbell divides his examination of the monomyth in two parts: first, the adventure of the hero; second, the cosmogonic cycle.  The adventure of the hero section is, perhaps, the more memorable (and useful) of the two.  By comparing diverse religious myths and hero stories from a variety of peoples, Campbell presents a fairly believable picture of the nature of the hero’s quest.  Obviously there are variations from culture to culture and quest to quest, but Campbell accounts for many of them.  The second section, the cosmogonic cycle, is related to the hero, but first begins with ideas about cosmos origins (at its name implies).  Campbell says that all life, like all cultures, is cyclical to a degree; all life has phases, like all heroes’ quests have phases.  Heroes come and go because eventually the people forget what kind of restoration the hero brought.  This section employs longer examples from cultures’ stories, while Campbell’s own critical commentary dwindles.

As hinted at above, Campbell draws on a variety of cultures’ myths and hero tales to generate and support his thesis.  Campbell does not cite any personal contact with these cultures other than their stories, so he has probably used historical research, i.e., reading myths and stories from around the world.

Author’s Perspective and Purpose

Joseph Campbell does not only place the stories of diverse heroes and myths in propinquity to demonstrate their similarities, though demonstrating their similarities is an important purpose for The Hero with a Thousand Faces.  To interpret the stories, Campbell overtly uses psychological analysis, referring to it explicitly in several passages.  Campbell draws connections between dreams and myths & heroes, though he does say that myths and dreams, while similar, are not the same.  The unconscious is important to both, but myths are more conscious expressions of universal ideas — the universality is found when these stories are examined next to each other.  Toward the beginning of the book, Campbell references several dreams cited in various Freudian and Jungian texts on dream analysis.  He extrapolates from those initial ideas on heroes, myths, and quests.  From there here creates his monomyth structure.

In addition to his psychological impetus behind his analyses of dreams and myths, Campbell also seems to favor Buddhist (and possible Hindu) religions and stories.  This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it does at times, seem to taint his interpretations of other cultures and religious stories, especially Christian/Biblical stories.  Campbell often makes remarks about “Christian” believers and historical events that are, undoubtedly, terrible (like the Crusades), yet those are, to be fair, relative aberrations in a two-millennium belief system.  Campbell does not make any disparaging remarks about Buddhist stories, believers, or heroes/characters in myths; the most he says is that the story of the death of Buddha gets a bit comical.

Campbell’s purpose is obvious: he wants to demonstrate that the seemingly-disparate myths, heroes, and quests of stories from around the world are, in fact, similar.  All heroes have the same basic pattern, despite miniscule differences, and all quests can be mapped and diagramed, which Campbell does.  He does this well, providing almost a surfeit of examples to support his analyses.  His second section, the cosmogonic cycle, is weaker than the hero section, though it, too, is well-supported.

Critical Response and Evaluation

I must say that I do not find it intrinsically unfortunate that Campbell favors Eastern beliefs over Western (all authors believe and favor some worldview over every other system); but it does, as mentioned above, disappoint and taint his other interpretations.  It disappoints in that by obviously favoring one belief system over another, Campbell makes his comments on both systems somewhat suspect.  He takes Bible stories and verses out of context to make some of his points, which is academically unsound.  In other places, he enjoins the readers to compare various Bible stories to Hindu or other religions’ stories — which, is not necessary bad (as that is, in part, the entire purpose of the work) — but the stories are often too different, in either content or meaning.  At times it appears as if Campbell wants to level certain belief systems or stories to prove his points, instead of simply analyzing the stories as they are and making his conclusions from them.

Psychological analysis, too, despite a century of criticism and evaluation, is still, to me at least, a tenuous method to interpret not only dreams but also literature.  I do not want to press this point too firmly either, since I understand that literary analysis itself (as separate from particularly psychological analysis) can be a tenuous, subjective activity.  But declaring that an occurrence or character in a dream means something specific simply because the psychologist or interpreter says so doesn’t seem to be a very believable system by which to interpret and understand things.  Perhaps this is my ignorance of the field speaking, and I acknowledge readily my limitations in the psychological realm, but I did not find Campbell’s work and references to psychological interpretations very helpful or credible.

With that said, I found Campbell’s work overall quite helpful.  His analysis and structure of the hero’s quest and journey was the best portion of the work, and it was the most helpful analysis of the hero’s function I’ve read so far.  I had the suspicion when beginning Campbell’s work that that portion would be the most useful, and I was not disappointed in that regard.  At the beginning of part one, the adventure of the hero, I found Campbell’s diversity of examples from several countries interesting — at first.  Toward the end of the work, though, the examples became more tedious as the ratio of Campbell’s analysis to myths reversed.  At the close of the work, in the cosmogonic cycle discussion, Campbell’s own ideas and synthesis diminished to a few scant sentences in each subsection, while his examples increased to multi-page examples.  It seemed like Campbell had two different works in mind, but didn’t have enough ideas for “The Cosmogonic Cycle” so he tacked it on to the end of “The Adventure of the Hero” and padded it with too many examples and stories.  I found Campbell’s map of the hero’s journey through “departure,” “initiation,” and “return” very insightful and helpful.  If you are interested in myths, heroes, comparative literature, psychological analysis, or Star Wars (since George Lucas readily admits Campbell’s work was highly influential in helping him create his space opera), The Hero with a Thousand Faces is a worthwhile read.

Intellectual Culture: Allegiance to Truth

Christopher Rush

Two quotations form the foundation of this lecture:

Cicero:  “Just as a field, even if it is fertile, cannot bear fruit without cultivation, so also a spirit without culture.”

Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”

Before you go running off and influencing culture, (in that totally enthusiastic way you have of doing things people tell you to do) perhaps it would be helpful to understand culture a little better.  The words “cultivation” and “culture” come from the same German and Latin roots of agriculture: what translator Gerald Malsbary calls the “repetitive, persistent, and loving care of the farmer” (Pieper 51, n. 1).  From this origin, “culture” gains a sociological sense, being applied to refining a person’s character, primarily through education.  In the nineteenth century, the term takes a larger scope, forming the basis for understanding a social group as an entity, especially in terms of its potential or ideals.  “Culture” becomes a different idea in the twentieth century with the rise of various anthropological studies, losing its original meaning in favor of a defining attribute of people groups and their ability to understand and communicate symbolically.  Now, “culture” in lay terms is a loose amalgamation of many of these definitions, often used interchangeably for “society” or “value system,” depending on the context.  For our purposes here, I shall use “culture” predominantly (and admittedly loosely) to mean “a group’s unique identity,” especially in the sense of a people grouped together by distinguishing commonalities.  I’ll probably also make some self-serving remarks about the superiority of one kind of culture over another, for the purpose of convincing you that what I am saying is true and worth believing by you.

Cicero’s quotation and Malsbary’s explication remind us that work is fundamental to both the cultivation of agriculture and the proper enculturation of the human spirit.  Tilling a garden and becoming a fuller, better person require effort, time, and practice.  Yet, we must remember that work is not the defining element of these tasks.  It is necessary and important and valuable, but work is not the goal.  The basis for culture is not work, as Josef Pieper reminds us, but leisure.

Pieper’s leisure, as some of you know, is not “leisure time” to sit around watching Thundarr the Barbarian while stuffing yourself full of circus peanuts.  Leisure is not just “down time” so you have more energy to get back to work so you can work long and hard to earn money so you can afford the next season of The Transformers and more circus peanuts.  We, as individuals and members of a culture, do not rest so we can be more productive later.  Work and leisure are integrally connected, but in the opposite way most people think.  Please do not misunderstand me.  We are not just “working for the weekend.”  Work is not something we just “have to do” so we can afford goofing off time.  We work so we can be at leisure.  Genuine leisure, the foundation of every culture, is the freedom to know and understand reality accurately, primarily for the purpose of accurately understanding and worshipping God.

Obviously the world’s culture has no desire to experience leisure accurately.  As Pieper says, “Leisure cannot be realized so long as one understands it to be a means, even as a means to the end of ‘rescuing the culture of [our world].’  The celebration of God’s praises cannot be realized unless it takes place for its own sake.  But this — the most noble form of harmony with the world as a whole — is the deepest source of leisure” (58).  As you can probably tell, my approach today for you in confronting culture is not exactly to go out and do something.  We have heard several messages this year about the various ways that you can make a difference in the world — and those have been great, especially the ones that can be done from the comfort of your own home without requiring too much time and effort out of you.  I’m sure you found those the best and most exciting ways to influence the culture (especially without having to go out and get infected by it.  After all, why be “in and not of” when you can be neither?).

I digress.  My message today for you is that, while doing things are important and indeed, as James says “faith without works is dead” — I certainly agree, we cannot neglect the importance of first knowing and understanding the culture.  It is good to rebuild homes, supply food, and inoculate against diseases.  But, frankly, we must remember that those must be secondary, ultimately.  What better good can we do for people than to help them think accurately about reality?  What is more important than knowing truth?  And that is the main point for today.  Everything we do, both in knowing our culture and in knowing the culture we are going to change, must be aligned with serving truth.

It was good for us to hear the diverse ways it is possible for you to benefit and improve culture, don’t get me wrong, but the cultures that those improvements make are only a part of the totality of the culture at large.  There is a larger, more fundamental component to reality that we have heretofore mostly ignored: intellectual culture.  Do you know the nature of the postmodern intellectual world?  This is the world into which you will be going and living your day-to-day lives.  Many of you are under the erroneous impression that because you are going to be working with your hands all the days of your lives, or because you are going to be singers, engineers, or generous fillers of frypods, that you don’t have to pay any substantial attention to the intellectual culture.  The world of poetry, the world of ideas, that’s fine for some — but that’s not real.  Those of you who believe that are, no offense, “brimming over with wrongability,” as Arnold Rimmer would say.  I say again, most of you will soon be moving body, mind, and soul into a postmodern Western world, a world shaped more by intellectuals than by common day laborers.  The subcultures of advertising and entertainment, in both of which you will be very involved, the subcultures of politics and social institutions (at least, what will be left of them by the time you graduate) are all very much influenced by the postmodern intellectual world.  It doesn’t matter if you are going to a Christian college, a utilitarian college, the workforce, the armed forces, or staying at home: the culture out there has been and is being shaped by the postmodern intellectual culture, a culture you must understand in order to effectively influence it.

English philosopher and intellectual conservative (a redundancy, I know) Roger Scruton reminds us of a handful of the many creators of the intellectual Postmodern culture:

there is the neo-Marxist approach of Fredric Jameson; the structuralism of Roland Barthes; the post-structuralist theory associated with Michel Foucault; there is feminist criticism, either in its staid American version typified by Judith Butler or in the flamboyant and anarchic vision of Luce Iragaray and Julia Kristeva (who also adds a Marxist and a structuralist flavour).  There is the “Deconstruction” of Jacques Derrida, the postmodernism of Jean-François Lyotard, the New Historicism of Stephen Greenblatt, the post-colonialism of Edward Said, the New Pragmatism of Richard Rorty (5).

If you do not know the work of these people, you do not know the nature of the intellectual culture into which you are headed.  We do discuss a fair amount of these thinkers in 12th grade Bible class, to be sure, but not everybody.  (You wouldn’t listen if we did, anyway.)  The point is that culture is shaped by ideas, and the ideas that are shaping the culture out there are as diverse and irrespective of truth more virulently and unabashedly than ever before in the history of the world.  You are not going to effect much change in the culture if you do not know the nature of it.  “A spirit without culture,” said Cicero, “will not bear much fruit,” and that culture is the hard work and effort required to be a Christian intellectual aligned with truth, for only an alliance with the absolute standards of truth, right, and wrong, explained in part through the Word of God and fully indwelt in the character of Our Savior, will the effort of education and intellectual pursuits bear such fruit for which the intellectual Postmodern culture is dying and begging and desperately demanding.

This leads to a somewhat challenging but insightful quotation from English scholar Christopher Dawson, author of several books on cultural history, including this from Religion and Culture:

What then are the conditions which made a fruitful cooperation between religion and culture possible?  On the one hand, the assertion of the absolute transcendent spiritual claims of religion must not be interpreted as a denial of the limited, historically conditioned and temporal values of culture, and on the other the forms of a particular culture, even when they are inspired or consecrated by a religious ideal, must not be regarded as possessing universal religious validity (qtd. in Schall 1).

Father James Schall, professor of government at Georgetown University, provides an excellent explication of Dawson’s idea concerning culture’s dependency on religion:

In the Dawson citation, the great English historian of culture and religion is concerned to show the existence of absolute transcendent religious claims, valid for all cultures.  The denial of such claims risks the very meaning of our common humanity with its destiny.  Yet, the expression of such positions will be made differently from time to time, from place to place.  In acknowledging such different expressions of the same truth, Dawson seeks to preserve the relative “autonomy” or legitimacy of different cultures and languages.  A valid freedom exists but not on the basis of approving everything no matter what is proposes.  Dawson did not deny that universal standards remained.  In these truths, all men share even if, because of a freedom that includes the possibility of rejecting the truth, anyone is capable of rejecting them.  The fact that some or many deny universal propositions does not necessarily argue against their truth, any more than the fact of murder implies its licitness (10).

Essentially, just because the postmodern intellectual culture denies the validity and very existence of truth, let alone absolute truth, does not actually negate the necessity of truth as the only fundamental source of revivification for a failing society.  E. I. Watkin knew this over seventy years ago, when he wrote in his 1932 work Catholic Art and Culture, “Without a living religion a culture perishes and disintegrates like the human body when the soul has departed” (qtd. in Schall 8).  The postmodern intellectual culture needs the religious, i.e., Christian, adherence to truth brought by you — yes, it needs your help in restoring the material infrastructure of buildings, health, and food, but more importantly it needs intellectual and spiritual restoration with reality.

The reason Postmodernism has taken such a hold, unfortunately, is because Christianity has ceded the intellectual, political, and cultural ground.  As Mark Noll states in his work The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind, “the scandal of the evangelical mind is that there is not much of an evangelical mind” (3).  This is, in part, why Summit Christian Academy exists, to counter the recent trend of main-stream American Christianity that has seen the persistent withdrawal from culture.  Pastor Kenney spoke of this at our inaugural chapel.  In his day, organized Christianity ignored kairotic cultural events and intellectual movements, and that dis-association has led us to where we are today.  With the gaping abysm of what intellectual Christianity used to fill in the cultural mentality, denial of absolute truth, relative morality, sexual licentiousness, and self-actualized utilitarian social interaction have taken hold.

Scruton clarifies why the decline of authentic Christian intellect in America has allowed the postmodern usurpation to infect the intellect of society, even to the point of destroying culture:

A common culture is a form of membership, and the high culture that has grown from it perpetuates the memory of that membership and exalts it into something natural, unchangeable and serene.  When religious faith declines it becomes difficult for intellectuals to believe that they really belong to the same community as ordinary people.  Their claims to priesthood have been exploded, and their isolation in academies sets them at an impassable distance from the ordinary church-going people whose idea of adventure is to go out and mow the lawn (16).

Christianity no longer fits in the intellectual culture of Postmodern America because it has given intellectual culture into the hands of the relativistic philosophers; isolationism has bred isolation.  Again, we no longer know the nature of the conflict.  We do well to remember the simple truth: “Knowing is half the battle.”

Schall encourages us in the importance of regaining intellectual domination in the conflict of cultures, the importance of knowing the nature of culture before trying to make it something else.  Work, you recall, is the means to restore culture — work is not the goal or meaning of culture.  Work and leisure must both be sufficient and intrinsically valuable.  Genuine culture is an intellectual enterprise worthy of itself:

There is nothing so abstract about human intelligence that it does not seek some incarnation.  Yet, the tradition of “leisure” as the basis of culture, the Greek idea of things worthy for their own sakes, things of play and of solemnity, are expressions of the abundance, indeed the superabundance of things.  [Yves] Simon puts it well: “What is needed to have the fullness of culture is something more, something that in some way is above necessity, is independent of need, and is fulfilling no laws except perhaps its own.”  Cultures do need to stand the test of philosophy and revelation.

We need, therefore, to know the “form” of what cultures are.  This “knowing” is very demanding intellectual exercise, the “work,” as it were, of intelligence, the effort to know what even “things that can be otherwise” are.  But though we must live, eat, and prepare the land, itself an effort of increasingly practical intelligence and not sheer drudgery, we are open to infinity, even in this world and in this life (21-22).

Schall’s words return us to where we started: that the intellectual problem can best be solved by a renewed Christian culture, a renaissance of intellectualism aligned to truth.

T.S. Eliot defined culture as “what makes life worth living,” says Mark Henrie (12).  The intellectual culture of leisure, the worshipful lifestyle, is why we work, and, in part, makes life worth living as an intrinsically valuable mode of existence.  The aesthetic, artistic, intellectual heritage we have as inheritors of Western Civilization is as rich a cultural investment any being could hope for.  Scruton elaborates on the connection between the Western artistic culture and the Christian intellectual heritage so prevalent until the comparatively recent abnegation of the evangelical mind:

Western art and literature shares the enquiring spirit of the common culture upon which it broods.  It is not a vehicle for religious or political propaganda, and even when presenting a Christian cosmology, like Dante in The Divine Comedy, or a vision of Christian redemption, like Bach in the St. Matthew Passion, it uses a lingua franca that assumes no specific religious belief.  As Santayana once pointed out, the greatest poet in the English language, [Shakespeare] whose plays used to form the core curriculum in English studies, nowhere reveals the colour of his religious beliefs or even whether he has any.  His works are reflections on the human condition which can be understood and enjoyed by anyone.

A curriculum centred on the high culture of Western civilisation will inculcate just the kind of self-critical distance that we associate with the Enlightenment.  This does not mean that it cherishes the open mind or is hostile to religious commitment.  It is a culture that aspires to universality, and to the widest possible understanding of and sympathy with the human condition (13).

We are now starting to find a solution to the problem of the postmodern intellectual culture: the shared intellectual heritage of Western civilization.  This might seem somewhat contradictory, in that most postmodern philosophers (admittedly an oxymoron) deny the validity of “Western Civ.” in favor of multiculturalism.  However, the intrinsically valuable works of art and literature, many of which we study at Summit, do provide a valid entrée into the intellectual discussion, perhaps even more than quoting Bible verses out of context and without sufficient exegesis — if a postmodernist will not converse about Paul and John, perhaps they will at least engage in discourse over Homer and Shakespeare — and if not Homer and Shakespeare, break out your knowledge of Joyce, Eliot, Woolf, Marquez, Mann, Kafka, Borges, and Solzhenitsyn.

You can probably tell where I am going with this.  If you have no idea who Joyce, Eliot, Woolf, Marquez, Mann, Kafka, Borges, and Solzhenitsyn are, you should learn.  Obviously this is after you have become thorough adept at the classics: Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Cicero, Aurelius, Augustine, Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Pascal, Chaucer, Dante, Montaigne, Bacon (Roger, Francis, and Clerval) Shakespeare, etc., etc.  Then become adept at the modern authors: Keats, Pirandello, Yeats, Arnold, Belloc, Dryden, Burgess, Auden, Austen, Lewis, Pieper, Weaver, Kirk, Chesterton, Sayers, Barfield, Postman, Williams, Wise, Newman, etc.  Then read everyone on the summer extra credit reading lists, see my list of 10 books you should read before college, and sign up for the critical reading elective next year.  Also, start reading some recent authors who combat postmodernism: Raymond Tallis, George Grant, Roger Kimball, Michael Polanyi, Christopher Dawson, James Schall, and then read the people they cite throughout their works.  Then, when you need a break from reading, watch the few intellectual shows that will help you think: Lost, Battlestar Galactica, Farscape, Stargate SG-1, Deep Space 9, Mystery Science Theater 3000, Red Dwarf, and, of course, most importantly, Babylon 5, primarily to become familiar with the key thoughts and ideas that make us what we are.

The main way you can prepare to combat the dilapidated intellectual culture is to become, yourself, intellectually cultured.  Schall tells us “Both man and nature, it seems, were designed to be completed by human knowledge and active work” (9).  If you want to be a valuable, worthwhile human being, let alone an effective culture changer, you do have to work hard.  One of Schall’s influences, great Catholic thinker A.G. Sertillanges, makes the systematic approach to becoming a better intellectual almost embarrassingly clear in his outstanding work The Intellectual Life: Its Spirit, Conditions, Methods.

It would take a while to summarize Sertillanges’s book — besides, you should all read it for yourself — but allow me to highlight some of his essential points in how to become an intellectual person.  First, organization: Sertillanges advocates simplification of life and work space, solitude, and silence.  It is difficult to get good at anything surrounded by distractions.  As a brief aside, Sertillanges does not address the postmodern notion of multitaskers, most likely because he could not foresee anyone being so irrational as to think that it would be possible to do more than one thing well at once.  Please don’t take this as a personal attack, but if you are a person who thinks that you are good at multitasking, what that means in reality, is that you are good at doing more than one thing poorly simultaneously.  Don’t be proud of being such a person.  Perhaps, be a little more like Charles Emerson Winchester III: do one thing at a time, do it very well, and then move on.  If your activity is not worth your full time and attention, is it really worth doing at all?  Returning to Sertillanges, he then encourages the proper spirit of intellectual work: including ardor in research, concentration, proper breadth of outlook, and the right sense of mystery, acknowledging that no matter how intellectual one gets, there is always more to be learned.  The longest section of his treatise, preparation for work, is certainly the most practical.  His commentary on reading is instructive and worth examining time and again, but he does make the point of being selective in the reading you do.  Becoming knowledgeable about the diversity of the world of literature and writing is important, he admits, but life is short — to commit to something important enough as becoming an intellectual is requires sacrifice.  You won’t have time to read everything — no one in this room feels the pain of that idea more than I do.  Selectivity is important in order to make what we read and who we become meaningful.  Once you have decided the primary focus of your reading life, make what you read a significant part of who you become.

In addition to wise reading, Sertillanges provides helpful ideas on memorization and the management of memory.  With the recent inventions of the Interweb and personal computadores, more and more people seem to think that, since it is so easy to access information these days, there really isn’t any point in memorizing too much.  I know you recognize immediately the total asininity of such a notion, believing that memorizing things is not necessary because you can just “google it” (what a great adulteration the Internet is doing for our once majestic language) or “look it up” when you need it.  Remember how totally stupid you felt when you realized you didn’t have any of your friends’ or families’ phone numbers memorized the last time you switched cell phones?  This just in: speed of information access is not making people any smarter.  Owning a cell phone and having access to the Internet is not making you a better person.

Sertillanges next talks about the importance of note taking, classifying notes, using notes (you should really check that part out), putting all that preparation into creative output, and, finally, the importance of living.  Just as Telemachus learns that epic heroes are not made in the classroom and must put his newfound heroism into practice, Sertillanges reminds us (and me) that the intellectual must keep in contact with life, its trials and joys, and know how to relax and enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Relaxing and enjoying the fruits of labor returns us to our second foundational quotation for this lecture, Psalm 46: 10 — “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”  Becoming an intellectual is hard work, but it is worth the effort.  But effort, remember, is not the end goal — culture is founded on leisure, leisure done rightly.  The authors and ideas I rattled off moments ago are intrinsically valuable, to be sure, but what most of them have in common (and what the postmodernists are desperately lacking) is their allegiance to truth.  Genuine art is aligned with beauty; genuine philosophy is the love of wisdom, which is also the active search for truth, for what is; Paul instructs us that knowledge without love and truth puffs up, as Proverbs reminds us genuine wisdom begins with the fear of the Lord.

The command “Be still and know that I am God” is not just a palliative for stressful circumstances and busyness, as in “okay, I just need to relax and let God take care of my problems.”  That’s not what this verse is saying.  I could be mistaken, but I am pretty certain that Psalm 46:10a has two injunctive verb parts: 1) be still, 2) know.  “Knowing that God is God” is not permission to “call it a day.”  This is an active knowing, providing Biblical support for the cultivating efforts of intellect leading to the cultivation of the soul.  Leisure, the basis of culture, the command “be still,” is the setting for worship: leisure is not “recharging your batteries” time for more work later, though Sertillanges wisely notes that rest time used effectively is necessary for the intellectual life.  A good night’s rest can be an act of worship, if done rightly and for the right reasons.  Leisure is for worship.  Why else should we “be still”?  What can be more important in this life than an accurate knowledge of who God is leading to a proper worshipful response, followed by an accurate understanding of who we are, the nature of reality, and how we are to live?  As noted above, without restoring the proper intellectual culture of an accurate Biblical mind, all you are doing is cosmetic work — and plastic surgery never does any good for the health of the organism.  Why become an intellectual?  What is the purpose of reading all those authors and more?  To align yourself with truth.  Jesus, the Way, the Truth, and the Life, is the Word made flesh, the logos who pitched his tent and dwelt among us.  Truth has become incarnate.  Truth is intellectual.  Jesus is not the pathos made flesh, though he had feelings and expressed them accurately and appropriately at all times.  The answer to Lorien’s question, which came first the word or the thought behind the word is simple for the Christian — in the beginning, the word and the thought was.  The Incarnate Christ is language, thought, communication, and, essentially, truth.  Why must the intellectual be aligned with truth?  The pessimistic, meaningless postmodern intellectual culture inherited from its Enlightenment forebears demonstrates the alternative, and, frankly, it’s not working.

Truth, Sertillanges reminds us, “steadies and strengthens us; it gives us delight; in its company we are consoled for our own shortcomings and those of others; its discovery is a reward, its manifestation a noble vengeance on days of contradiction.…  Every truth is life, direction, a way leading to the end of man” (250, 13).  Truth is truth, regardless of its packaging: the shepherds knew to look beyond the accoutrement of the stable.  You must read those authors so you know what mankind has to say, then you will have something to say.  You study — study — the Bible so you know what God has to say, then you will have something to say.  All the while, you, as an intellectual, must be aligned with truth.  The reason the postmodernists don’t have much of anything to say is because they are not aligned with truth — they deny its existence then hypocritically expect you to believe them and what they are saying is true.  You, as a Christian intellectual, must be aware of what little they have to say so you can, like Jesus, reach people where they are, and, not being content with that, engage them intellectually, bringing them into the light of Incarnate Truth, to be changed into conformity with Jesus.

“By practicing the truth that we know,” says Sertillanges, “we merit the truth that we do not yet know” (19).  Doesn’t Jesus’ parable of the faithful servants support that?  The first two who lived rightly with what they had were rewarded with more.  The Christian intellectual must submit “to the discipline of truth.  This submission to truth is the binding condition for communion with it,” Sertillanges instructs us (130).  Truth demands uncompromising dedication from you.

Prompt obedience is what invites it to visit us.  To this sacred meeting we must bring a respectful soul.  Truth will not give itself to us unless we are first rid of self and resolved that it shall suffice us.  The intelligence which does not submit is in a state of skepticism, and the skeptic is ill-prepared for truth.  Discovery is the result of sympathy; and sympathy is the gift of self.…

Yielding ourselves up to truth, and formulating it for ourselves as best we can but without any criminal infidelity, we perform an act of worship to which … God will respond by … communing with our soul.  In that, as with everything, self-will is the enemy of God.  This submission implies humility (130, 131)

reminds Sertillanges.  “Intellectually, pride is the father of aberrations and of artificial and pretentious productions” — what better description of the postmodern intellect that says truth (which doesn’t exist) is created by every reader and thinker?  In contrast, says Sertillanges, “humility is the eye which reads in the book of life and in the book of the universe” (131).

“Profound work consists in this,” he continues, “to let the truth sink into one, to be quietly submerged by it, to lose oneself in it, not to think that one is thinking, nor that one exists, nor that anything in the world exists but truth itself” (133) and then one is ready to be still and know that God is God.  “To love truth ardently enough to concentrate on it and so be transported into the universal, into what is, into the heart of abiding truths, is the attitude of contemplation and of fruitful production.…

“Do not then discourage this spirit if it visits you, driving it away in favor of some artificial and external form of work,” he cautions (133).  Don’t you dare say “I don’t have time to think, I must get out there and do something!”  Return instead to the intellectual, contemplative spirit that allows for the proper intellectual worship in leisure.

Sertillanges mirrors the wisdom of Clerval Bacon when he notes that “The more precious an idea is, the less it matters where it comes from.  Train yourself to indifference about sources.  Truth alone has a claim, and it has that claim wherever it appears.  As we must not swear allegiance to anyone, so still less must we disdain anyone; and if it is not expedient to believe everybody neither must we refuse to believe anyone who can show his credentials” (135).  That is why we read Aristotle, Shakespeare, Lewis, and Huxley.  Truth is truth whether it is Miranda’s brave new world or Bernard’s.

That is our great liberty.  This readiness to accept truth brings so rich a reward that it would tempt even avarice itself, if the avaricious thinker did not imagine it wiser to sit guarding his own coffers.  We like to believe that we possess everything, that we are capable of everything, and we give but an inattentive hearing to the voice of others.  We make a few favored exceptions, men or books; they have our ear and afford us inspiration.  Now in reality there is inspiration everywhere; the breath of the Spirit fills the valleys just as it blows upon the mountaintops.  In the meanest intelligence is a reflection of infinite Wisdom, and deep humility is able to recognize it….  Wherever the God of truth has left something of Himself, we must eagerly welcome it, venerate it religiously and utilize it diligently.  Where the eternal Sower has passed, shall we not gather in the harvest (135-36)?

“It is intolerable pride to try to force truth into our personal mold, and it ends in stupidity” (211).  “Seek the approval of God; be intent only on truth, for yourself and others,” (213) and you will be ready to be still and know that God is God.

The measurement of success in the intellectual life is how closely we are aligned to Truth incarnate, Jesus Our Savior, for only in the proper understanding of reality, the reality created by and for Him, can we effectively help the redemption of that creation.  What the postmodern intellectual culture needs, even more than it needs a refurbished infrastructure, is the restoration of intellect from Christians who know God is God because they can be still and can discern truth from folly.  It is time to move beyond “daily devotions.”  I do not want to sound presumptuous or abuse my position from the lectern, but I have serious doubts that God is terribly pleased by casual Christians who read the Bible a few verses at a time, feel good about it, and then move on with their day as if nothing really happened.  Perhaps the reason so many chapel speakers this year have made the point that it is time for Christians to stop having Bible studies and start getting out into the world and doing things is because too many Christians have no idea what real Bible study is.  It is time to take Psalm 46:10 seriously: be still and know that God is God.  Study the Bible, and then read Ryrie, Schaeffer, Lewis, Spurgeon, Chafer, Walvoord, Zuck, Fleming, McCloud, Smith, Catron, Moody, Darby, Thiessen, Ironside, Rushdoony, Stott, etc., etc.  I can give you more specific lists if you really are serious about becoming and being an intellectual Christian who can effectively change culture and, more importantly, worship God.  For that is what this life is truly about.  If you really want to worship God, you have to know who he is.  He is logos — the word, the truth.  Postmodern intellectual culture — more accurately, anti-intellectual culture — can only be combated through the truth of the Christian logos, leading to redemption.

Schall reminds us that this now-alien Christian culture “needs to be expressed and made living on no other basis than it is true.  Leisure is the basis of culture.  So is truth.  So is freedom.  So is work.  So is worship.  We seek to know the things that cannot be ‘otherwise.’  But, on finding them, we strive to express them in ways that are closer to why the birds sing unnecessarily wondrous songs than to our self-creation of a world based on an arbitrary will that sees nothing but itself and sees all things simply as diverse and relative” (22).  We work to be at leisure, we are at leisure so we can worship.  We worship best and most accurately — most meaningfully — when we know who God is.  That knowing takes time and effort, the most rewarding, most important effort you can give in your life.  Then you can be an effective culture changer; then can you be still.

“Just as a field, even if it is fertile, cannot bear fruit without cultivation, so also a soul without culture.”

“Be still and know that he is God.”

Works Cited

Henrie, Mark C. “Culture: High, Low, Middlebrow, and Popular.” Ingersoll Symposium on “The Importance of Culture.” Belmont Abbey College, Belmont, NC. 15 Oct. 2004.  ISI Lectures. 8 Feb. 2009 <http://www.isi.org/lectures/text/pdf/henrie10-15-04.pdf&gt;.

Pieper, Josef.  Leisure: The Basis of Culture. Trans. Gerald Malsbary. South Bend: St. Augustine’s Press, 1998, 1948.

Schall, James V. “Culture is Never Neutral.” Ingersoll Symposium on “The Importance of Culture.” Belmont Abbey College, Belmont, NC. 15 Oct. 2004. ISI Lectures. 8 Feb. 2009 <http://www.isi.org/lectures/text/pdf/schall10-15-04.pdf&gt;.

Scruton, Roger. “Culture Matters.” Ingersoll Symposium on “The Importance of Culture.” Belmont Abbey College, Belmont, NC. 15 Oct. 2004. ISI Lectures. 8 Feb. 2009 <http://www.isi.org/lectures/text/pdf/scruton10-15-04.pdf&gt;.

Sertillanges, A.G. The Intellectual Life: Its Spirit, Conditions, Methods. Trans. Mary Ryan. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1998, 1946.

This essay is adapted from a chapel address given May 15, 2009.

Whatever Happened to the Mini-series?

Christopher Rush

Prologue of Distinction

Where did that great genre of television the mini-series go?  In its heyday, the mini-series brought us some of the best moments, characters, and stories ever to hit the small screen.  From the mid-1970s to the mid-1980s, British and American studios created some of the most memorable programs television has ever produced, many of which are still far superior to the programming of regular episodic television popular today.

It would be helpful to narrow the subject of the argument at hand.  I am decrying the loss of the extended, multiple-part mini-series.  In doing so, I am discounting the presence of otherwise fine but comparatively short two-part broadcasts of what are essentially long made-for-TV movies – thus, respectable but limited productions such as 1996’s Gulliver’s Travels and 1998’s campy but decent Merlin are excluded from the conversation here.  Plenty of networks (too many) have created these 180-minute mega-movies in recent memory (10.5, for example), and they are not worth considering here.  Similarly, we can forget lengthy Bio-pics and serialized adaptations of Stephen King novels.  Stephen King fans may object, but they are not the grand, sweeping mini-series which we are currently exploring.  The kinds of series that fall in-between these broad categories (two-part super-sized movies and multiple-part sweeping epics) such as 5ive to Midnight and the recent remakes of Dune and The Prisoner as well as mini-series that became episodic TV series (V, Battlestar Galactica, The Starter Wife), while more expansive and developed than the two-part productions, still fail to capture the grandeur, impressive narrative, and sustainability of the mini-series of old.  Has the interest level in creating lengthy, quality productions truly soured on the American and British television audience and major networks?

True, Turner Network Television is trying to do its share, with Caesar, Nightmares and Dreamscapes, and Into the West, though they are not very long even for mini-series.  The BBC is doing its best as well, but most of its output lately has been simply remakes (how many Jane Austen and Charles Dickens adaptations does one need? seriously, another Brideshead Revisited?).  Another aspect that makes British mini-series somewhat difficult to assess is that so many of their regular series are only 6 or 8 episodes per season (or fewer), thus differentiating between a regular series and mini-series is challenging.  Even so, they are not the same.

We would be remiss to ignore the handful of lengthy mini-series produced of rather fine quality in the last decade or so: From the Earth to the Moon (1998), The 10th Kingdom (2000), Band of Brothers (2001), Taken (2002), Angels in America (2003), John Adams (2008), and, perhaps, not that any of us have seen them, The Pacific and Pillars of the Earth (2010).  Thus we have eight substantial mini-series in the last twenty years, since the “last of the mini-series” War and Remembrance in 1988-89, and five of them have come from HBO.  In Britain, aside from the Beatles Anthology documentary series, the definitive Pride and Prejudice adaptation in 1995, and the House of Cards trilogy in the early ’90s (though they, too, are still short), as mentioned above, nothing much has come out lately other than previously adapted novel remakes.  Where did the grand mini-series go?  Did War and Remembrance, truly, finish it off?

The Golden Age of British Mini-Series

Ignoring, as we’ve said, the recent trends of brief four-to-six-part BBC novelizations (though the Alec Guinness versions of the John Le Carré novels Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and Smiley’s People are certainly worth seeing when you’re older), let’s look at some of the better British mini-series from the glory days.  This is not intended to be all-inclusive, nor a complete treatise on the history of British mini-series, merely a brief exploration of some of the high points of the genre long ago.

The Golden Age of British mini-series began with The Six Wives of Henry VIII (1970), the multi-BAFTA winning series that focused on, as its name intimates, Henry VIII’s six wives (3 Catherines, 2 Annes, and 1 Jane Seymour – not of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman fame, of course), one per episode.  Relative unknown Australian actor Keith Mitchell got the role of Henry VIII, in part thanks to the patronage of his discoverer Laurence Olivier.  Part of the success of the series came from Mitchell’s ability to span forty years of Henry’s reign, from virile 18-year-old monarch to 56-year-old tyrant, bloated and diseased.  Though some critics panned its thematic portrayal of Henry as the lonely, misunderstood but reasonable man, the series established the BBC’s ability to create “ambitious and historically authentic costume drama,” according to David Pickering.  Real Dr. Who fans (and by that I mean fans of the original series incarnation) will recognize Patrick Troughton, the Second Doctor – possibly the best incarnation – in a supporting role.  The following year saw the successful sequel, Elizabeth R, winning 5 Emmys (not that that is our standard for quality here).  Its remarkable historical accuracy and high quality production values are evinced by eponymous actress Glenda Jackson, who shaved her head for authenticity’s sake instead of wearing a bald cap and wore 200 different dresses in six episodes.  With due respect to Helen Mirren and Jeremy Irons, the 1971 mini-series is far superior to the two-part 2005 version.

The next group of mini-series begins with the joint British-Italian Moses the Lawgiver (1974) starring Burt Lancaster and Irene Papas.  Despite the cast, the series has more or less faded into the forgotten past, unlike its unofficial sequel, 1977’s controversial Jesus of Nazareth.  Featuring the “who’s who” of the ’70s (at least the A- list, plus some “fading stars” of an earlier era), Franco Zeffirelli and Anthony Burgess’s version of the Gospels leave out quite a bit, add in a few things, and, of course, provoked the ire of Bob Jones III in Greenville, South Carolina (who, to be fair, probably should have seen it before he got upset).  It is certainly never acceptable to purposefully modify Biblical truth (it isn’t good to accidentally modify Biblical truth either, of course), but one thing Christianity has been very good at in the 20th and 21st centuries is over-reacting to situations without actually understanding the thing to which it is reacting – not a very impressive way to demonstrate a personal relation with the Logos Who is Agape to a moribund world.  In 1987, before most of you were alive, TV Guide called Jesus of Nazareth “the best miniseries of all time.”  I’m not so sure.  Some might be put-off by the fact the Monty Python troupe used the sets for Life of Brian the following year, but few people probably know that.  The final part of the trilogy, A.D., came out in 1985, featuring another collection of famous actors and actresses – one of the best aspects of these classic mini-series, back when the world actually had real, trained, quality actors and actresses (something sorely lacking today) – perhaps the rest of the A- list (admittedly subjective, and I’m open to correction).  Thematically, A.D. follows Jesus of Nazareth in that it primarily covers Acts and the lives of Peter and Paul.  It, too, was adapted by Anthony Burgess from one of his books.  Alternatively, A.D. is a companion piece to I, Claudius from a decade before, in that they both cover, in part, the reigns of Emperors Tiberius (by James Mason in his final role), Caligula, Claudius, and Nero, though, obviously, from different narrative perspectives.  Featuring music from Lalo Schifrin (of Mission: Impossible fame – the series, not the reboot movies), A.D., like its predecessors, leaves some Biblical elements out and adds subplots and characters in.  Ironically, A.D. won an Emmy for Best Film Editing, ironic because its original 12-hour version (about 9 without commercials) is still not available, only a 6-hour super-edited version is, though not on DVD I believe, and only from local Christian bookstores – if at all.

If pressed to make the ultimate list of all-time mini-series, a sort of “Mount Rushmore” of mini-series, without question I, Claudius would be on it.  Perhaps more impressive than compiling a cast-full of stars, much of I, Claudius’s cast became internationally known stars (though, admittedly, Britain knew most of them from previous work already).  Winning 3 BAFTAs (though not for Best Series) and 1 Emmy for Art Direction, I, Claudius covers, through the frame technique, the beginning of Augustus’s downfall with the death of Marcellus through the death of narrator Emperor Clau-clau-claudius.  For 1976, I, Claudius pulls few punches, and should probably be watched by more mature audiences (and not the video game industry’s definition of “mature”).   This excellent series features one of the greatest, most underappreciated actors of our day: Brian Blessed as Caesar Augustus.  No one does bombast like Brian Blessed, but his final scene is one of the finest, most sublime performances of its kind (don’t take my word for it – watch it yourself, when you are old enough).  Brian Blessed has recently-ish enjoyed a resurgence, thanks to Kenneth Branagh’s Shakespeare Troupe (not that he has ever been out of work).  Another treat is seeing John Rhys-Davies and Patrick Stewart, most beloved for their heroic roles, acting as very un-heroic characters here.  Siân Phillips and John Hurt are frighteningly believable in their roles as Livia and Caligula.  The sensationalism of the subject matter makes for sensationalistic television, which is why I suggest this one be watched later in one’s emotional/spiritual development, but it would still be difficult to under-praise this remarkable mini-series.  Oh, and Derek Jacobi as the eponymous character – need I say more?  Perhaps one final note: neither of the DVD releases is fully uncut and complete (which is odd, considering that is, in part, what DVDs are for), but the most recent release (with photographs of some actors on the cover) is even more edited time-wise than the older DVD set with the mosaic design.  Try to rent the older edition, and be patient for a Blu-ray completely unedited and restored version.

According to the BFI (British Film Institute) TV 100, I, Claudius is the 12th-most popular British program of all time (as of 2006), which is mighty impressive, considering the series aired thirty years before the poll occurred (though the British have longer memories than Americans do, especially when it comes to “all-time” lists – that Fawlty Towers is #1 and Doctor Who #3 only proves their national discernment ability).  What is even more impressive is that one mini-series ranks even higher at #10 – the definitive 1981 Brideshead Revisited.  Winning 7 of its 13 BAFTA nominations, 1 of its 11 Emmy nominations, 2 of its 3 Golden Globe nominations, and the Broadcasting Press Guild award for Best Drama Serial, most people would seem to agree with the very high quality of this mini-series.  Starring Jeremy Irons (nominated for a BAFTA, Emmy, and Golden Globe but won none) and Anthony Andrewes (who won a BAFTA, Golden Globe, and was nominated for an Emmy), who later starred in A.D. and Ivanhoe (as Ivanhoe), with a remarkable supporting cast of Simon Jones, Claire Bloom, Laurence Olivier (the Emmy winner), and John Gielgud (again, need I say more?), Brideshead Revisited is that rare amalgam of talent and patience – talent behind and in front of the screen, and patience from all parties concerned.  Not only did ITV allow itself to be convinced to expand the project from a six-hour serial to a forty-week shooting script that became the 11-part, 11-hour masterpiece, but more patience was needed as Jeremy Irons got the part in French Lieutenant’s Woman, necessitating a long shooting hiatus until Irons eventually had to work on both projects simultaneously.  Like the adaptation of Robert Graves’s I, Claudius and Claudius the God, this mini-series version of Evelyn Waugh’s novel demonstrates exactly what greatness can be accomplished transforming a worthy story from one narrative medium to another.

The end of Britain’s halcyon mini-series days came with 1984’s Jewel in the Crown (though some might argue for The Singing Detective in 1986, which I would be willing to concede if pressed).  Jewel in the Crown took a different tactic from most of the other mentioned mini-series: instead of relying on renowned actors and actresses, Jewel simply cast the right people for the right roles and let the magic happen (though, again, like with I, Claudius, British audiences would recognize more of the performers than we would though not as many from the Roman epic – most likely the only person you’d recognize is Art Malik, the villain from True Lies and James Bond supporter in The Living Daylights).  British audiences placed this series as their 22nd-favorite TV program of all time, which is especially noteworthy considering its cast of mostly unknowns.  Even so, it scored rather well in major awards season: 5 BAFTAs (of 15 nominations), an Emmy for Outstanding Limited Series (5 other nominations), the Golden Globe for Best Mini-Series (another nomination), an International Emmy, and two Television Critics Association awards (Outstanding Achievement in Drama and Program of the Year).  The series was its own “jewel in the crown” in the sense it culminated the early ’80s British renewed interest in its Raj past (highlighted by the films Gandhi in ’82 and A Passage to India in ’84).  The 14-episode series covers the four books of Paul Scott’s Raj Quartet and recently was re-issued for a 25th-anniversary DVD release.  For these mini-series classics, it is important to remember that no matter how advanced Blu-ray players and TV technology gets, only so much can be done with old film prints.  Jewel in the Crown, fortunately, does not need much advanced upscaling or improvements: they knew in 1984 what George Lucas forgot when he decided to make Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace – quality production comes from quality acting, writing, and set/costume decoration, not special effects and technological wizardry.  As World War II ceases and the Raj ends in India, symbolically enough Britain’s mini-series golden age comes to an end, to be replaced, as mentioned so often, mainly by short novelization serials.

Interlude of “Royalty”

One notable aspect of these great British mini-series is that most of the great series starred different main and supporting casts.  This is mostly true in America, though America’s golden age of mini-series were heralded with two “kings” of the mini-series.  By way of transition, a brief word should be said of Britain’s “prince” of the mini-series: Ian McShane.  McShane is perhaps best known to British audiences as Lovejoy, the roguish con artist and antique dealer in the early ’90s TV series Lovejoy (though it began in 1986 before a four-year hiatus, not uncommon in Britain).  McShane is probably best known to parts of America for his Golden Globe-winning turn as Al Swearengen in HBO’s Deadwood a few years ago.  Before his recent serialized popularity, McShane was a “prince” of mini-series, playing supporting roles in several of the best series back in the day: Roots, Jesus of Nazareth, Life of Shakespeare, Disraeli, Marco Polo, A.D., War and Remembrance, and this year’s The Pillars of the Earth, though finally as a star, but not nearly as big of a star as two giants of the genre during its former prime.

I wonder, too, if part of the problem of the defunct genre is that the “kings of the mini-series,” Peter Strauss and Richard Chamberlain, are now old.  Peter Strauss is sixty-three and Richard Chamberlain is, believe it or not ladies, seventy-six as of this writing.  Many of you may not think sixty-three is old, but, frankly, it is – at least for heartthrobs and leading roles in mini-series.  Neither of them have had much work lately, certainly not like they had back in their day.  Strauss starred in the highly-acclaimed mini-series Rich Man, Poor Man (1976), earning an Emmy nomination and a Golden Globe (and winning Spain’s version of an Emmy for Best Foreign Actor); he starred in the longer sequel Rich Man, Poor Man II the following season, an adaptation of Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night in 1985, and Kane and Abel the same year, getting another Golden Globe nomination.  And, of course, Peter Strauss starred opposite the one and only Peter O’Toole in the superb Masada in 1981, getting another Emmy nomination (he had won before for the TV movie The Jericho Mile).  Rich Man, Poor Man was the first American broadcast of a regular serialized adaptation of a novel, and its success inaugurated the American golden age of mini-series, winning 4 of its 23 Emmy nominations and 4 of its 6 Golden Globe nominations.  Like I, Claudius, Masada is both a recreation of a real historical event and an adaptation of a novel (Ernest K. Gann’s The Antagonists).  Filmed on location at the actual ruins of the fortress in the Judean Desert, Masada got David Warner (another of the great underappreciated actors of our day) and composer Jerry Goldsmith Emmys.  With Barbara Carrera (who earlier stared in America’s nonpareil mini-series Centennial), Peter Strauss, and the majestic Peter O’Toole, ABC capitalized on the success of previous mini-series on other stations.

Richard Chamberlain (and if I have to explain who Richard Chamberlain is to you, you haven’t lived) was certainly the king of the late ’70s-early ’80s TV movies and mini-series.  Chamberlain played a starring role in 3 of America’s “Mt. Rushmore” of great mini-series: Centennial (1978-79), Shōgun (1980), and The Thorn Birds (1983, 1996).  Saving a discussion of Centennial for a later time (it needs its own article), let’s examine Shōgun and The Thorn Birds here.  Shōgun, based on James Clavell’s novel of the same name, is the only American mini-series to be filmed entirely in Japan.  The novel is rather frank, especially regarding various natural human processes from a Japanese perspective of decorum, and the mini-series presents a fair amount of that frankness, “breaking new ground” in American television (which isn’t necessarily a good thing, so again, a high amount of personal maturity is a good prerequisite for watching it and reading the book, but it is worth it, especially to see Chamberlain and the rest of the cast – Toshirō Mafune, John Rhys-Davies, with Michael Hordern and George Innes together again?  Unstoppable.).  Not only did Shōgun win 3 of its 3 Golden Globe nominations (including Best TV-series), 3 of its 14 Emmys (including Outstanding Limited Series), but also it won a Peabody Award – and that was back when winning a Peabody Award was difficult and meaningful.  Shōgun was so popular during its initial broadcast a notable decrease in restaurants and movie theaters was documented – so was a rise in interest in sushi and Japanese restaurants after the mini-series.  Aside from the technical achievements, Shōgun’s story is rich and complex, exactly what a great mini-series alone can provide: the struggle of one man alone in a foreign land, unrequited love, several varieties of religious conflict, the beauties of language and culture, epic warfare, political intrigue, and, oh yes, ninjas.  James Clavell’s six-volume Asian Saga (of which Shōgun is the third written but first chronologically) is a great example of the fine quality of writing written in the late 20th century, along with the work of James Michener and Leon Uris.  That these three authors are forgotten today, so close to their popular height, is a genuine shame on American culture.  The fourth-written novel in the series, Noble House, was made into a short mini-series in 1988 starring Pierce Brosnan, fresh off his career-making turn as Remington Steele, and John Rhys-Davies (as a different character than in Shōgun).  With great casts and writer, it is hard to go wrong, and Noble House and Shōgun do not.

In 1983, Richard Chamberlain starred in Colleen McCullough’s The Thorn Birds, Australia’s epic of unrequited love, a sort of Romeo and Juliet meets Great Expectations with a smidge of Gone With the Wind and lots of sheep tossed in the mix.  With another remarkable supporting cast (Christopher Plummer, John de Lancie, Barbara Stanwyck, Jean Simmons and more), The Thorn Birds tells the story of young Roman Catholic priest Ralph de Bricassart and even younger Meggie Cleary (played by the one and only Rachel Ward).  Few of these mini-series are comedies, certainly, but this one is more serious than most, at least it feels more serious, even though its scale is much smaller than others – the time frame it covers is actually longer than most others, strangely enough, but the small-scale focus on these characters makes the drama, the romance, and the heartache much more palpable and intimate.  Sometimes one wonders if these stellar actors are, frankly, decent people – sometimes these “behind the scenes” featurettes tell us things about the actors and their attitudes to their work that we’d rather not know.  Whether Richard Chamberlain is one of those actors is something I do not know, but I do know when the idea of making The Missing Years midquel came along in 1995, Richard Chamberlain was the only actor to reprise his role from the original mini-series.  One’s reaction to The Missing Years will entirely depend on one’s sense of sentimentality, in a good way.  The different cast, slight modification of the original telling, and the ending that has to fit back with the original story might put off some audiences; those that care truly about the characters and their struggles will appreciate more time with them (similar to how fans might react to the third Anne of Green Gables series).  In one positive sense, though, The Missing Years may have helped the “rebirth” of the mighty mini-series, at least in a diminished fashion, coming within that long decade gap of full, epic mini-series between War and Remembrance and From Here to the Moon.

The Golden Age of American Mini-Series

Saving, as we said, the best, Centennial, not for last but for another article entirely, we shall conclude with a brief look at the other great mini-series from America’s golden age so long ago.  Holocaust (1978) is an oddity: it won 4 Emmys including Outstanding Limited Series, starred Meryl Streep, Michael Moriarity, James Woods, David Warner, Ian Holm, and Vernon Dobtcheff (another of those character actors in just about everything, including Masada), but it is, obviously, about the Holocaust, and some consider its presentation wrong.  It tried to present the brutality of the events but in a limited fashion for a television audience.  NBC making money from advertising before and during the mini-series also adds to the distaste some have for it.  Elie Wiesel, not that he is the only authority on the subject, called it “untrue and offensive” in the New York Times.

It is time (if not past time) to discuss the event that started it all: Alex Haley’s Roots.  In January of 1977, by the eighth and final episode, approximately 80% of American homes had seen all or part of the mini-series, an unparalleled feat.  The final episode is the third-most watched episode of television of all time (not including sports events, which shouldn’t count anyway) behind the “Who Shot J.R.?” Dallas episode and, as you hopefully know, the series finale of M*A*S*H, “Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen.”  Roots won a Directors Guild Award, 9 Emmys including Outstanding Limited Series (and 28 more nominations!), a Golden Globe for Best TV-Series Drama, a Humanitas Prize, and a Peabody.  Pretty much everybody is in it, especially the “who’s who” of African-American actors and actresses, so listing the supporting cast would take too long.  LeVar Burton, perhaps the star of the series, is only in half of it, though no one seems to remember that.  It’s hard to add anything to the discussion about this monumental success.  Oddly enough, ABC was filled with trepidation over the series, airing it in eight consecutive days to prevent its interference with the forthcoming “sweeps week,” as well as disproportionately advertising the white cast and creating sympathetic white characters to ameliorate the mainstream ’70s audience.  Haley covered the rest of his book in the 1979 sequel Roots: The Next Generation, though “generation” is a generous term since the series covers approximately 80 years (Roots itself covers about 120).  By the end of the sequel, we actually see Alex Haley (portrayed by James Earl Jones) getting to the point of learning about his roots and his distant ancestor Kunta Kinte, bringing the two series full circle.  It wasn’t too difficult to get stars to appear in this mini-series, thanks to the overwhelming success of the original: Henry Fonda, Olivia de Havilland, Ossie Davis, Andy Griffith, Harry Morgan, and even Marlon Brando wanted to appear in this sequel.  It wasn’t nearly as “successful” as the original (only The Godfather Part II and The Empire Strikes Back were), though it did win another Outstanding Limited Series Emmy and a Supporting Actor Emmy for Brando.  About a decade later, a Christmas-like TV movie Roots: The Gift came out as another midquel between the second and third parts of the original miniseries, with LeVar Burton and Louis Gossett, Jr. reprising their roles.  It also became a kind of Star Trek gathering, with Avery Brooks, Kate Mulgrew, and Tim Russ playing supporting roles.  Though Alex Haley died in 1992, his last book (completed by David Stevens) Queen: The Story of an American Family came out in 1993, with another mini-series adaptation that same year starring a young Halle Berry.  With another star-studded cast (Danny Glover, Tim Daly, Martin Sheen, Ann-Margret), Queen concludes the Roots Saga with a different perspective, this time on the struggles of being a mixed-race woman before, during, and after the American Civil War.  Unquestionably, Roots is the best mini-series of the cycle (though The Next Generation is almost twice as long), but putting all four works together creates a remarkable and unparalleled epic of American life from an authentic African-American perspective.

Riding the crest of the historical drama begun by Roots and continued by Centennial, Masada, and Shōgun, 1985 saw the adaptation of John Jakes’s North and South (book one).  Starring Patrick Swayze in his prime with James Read (another greatly underappreciated actor of our day, though you might recognize him as the dad on Charmed), North and South continued the fine tradition of packing a lot of stars into nine hours or so of antebellum American life.  Part of the series’ success lies in the fact all but two of the twenty-some main cast came back for North and South: Book II the next year, continuing Jakes’s trilogy with the middle book taking place during the Civil War itself.  Nominated for many Emmys, Book One only won for Costuming.  The driving conflict through the story, somewhat typically, is the story of two friends, one from the North, one from the South, who are torn apart by the Civil War.  As trite as that may sound, books one and two are worth checking out for any Civil War buff or anyone who wants to see some of the last good American mini-series in its fading glory.  As with The Thorn Birds: The Missing Years, part of the failure of Heaven and Hell: North and South Book III came from its comparative lateness in production, not until 1993.  Patrick Swayze is not in it, for reasons made clear by reading the third book, though a few of the other main cast reprise their roles (which is good, since the third book takes place right after the second).  For some inexplicable reason, the addition of Billy Dee Williams and the great Peter O’Toole did not help the critical reception of this mini-series.  Perhaps the smaller budget and time frame (three parts instead of the six the first two parts each enjoyed) prevented the development and production that a quality mini-series needs.  Even so, as with all sequels and trilogies, one’s definition of “success” could be in the eye of the beholder.

In 1989, the mini-series effectively came to a close with two final but great events: Lonesome Dove and War and RemembranceLonesome Dove became immensely popular, despite being a Western, and morphed into a franchise in itself with sequel novels spawned by the success of the original mini-series, sequel mini-series, TV movies, and two brief TV series.  The original Lonesome Dove mini-series won a slew of awards (Larry McMurtry’s novel won the Pulitzer Prize in 1985), including a Writers Guild Award, a Western Heritage Award, 2 Golden Globes, a Television Critics Association Award, 7 of 19 Emmys, and more, though War and Remembrance won the Outstanding Limited Series Emmy that year.  Lonesome Dove is one of those rare genre works that appeals to both critic and lay audience.  I’m sure Robert Duvall and Tommy Lee Jones as the main actors didn’t hurt, made all the more impressive since they did all but one of their own stunts.  The sequels and additions add to the mythos of Lonesome Dove much like Roots’s additional chapters, but Lonesome Dove the original mini-series stands alone and appeals to just about anyone, even those who don’t necessarily like the Western genre.

In 1983, Herman Wouk’s nearly 1,000-page Winds of War became a 7-part mini-series.  Wouk, like Clavell and Michener, scrupulously researched his work (he recently presented the Library of Congress with digital copies of his 90-volume diary he’s kept since the 1930s) and so was rather verbose in his writing.  Dealing with the major events of 1939-1941, Winds of War features another all-star mini-series cast and on-location filming around the world.  In November, 1988, the last of the maxi-series began: War and Remembrance (Centennial and Jewel in the Crown are the other two major maxi-series of the great golden age of the mini-series, in descending time length), the conclusion of the WW2 story begun by Winds of War.

War and Remembrance is about 30-hours long; filming took almost all of 1986 and 1987.  The series has 2,070 scenes, 757 sets, 358 speaking parts, and over 41,000 extras in Europe and America combined.  Covering the rest of WW2, War and Remembrance, unlike Holocaust a decade earlier, filmed its Auschwitz scenes in the concentration camp itself, featuring actual Auschwitz-Birkenau survivors in those scenes.  As Schindler’s List was to do later, War and Remembrance broadcast many of its Holocaust scenes uninterrupted by commercial breaks, and its depiction of the Holocaust received great critical praise.  Some negatives were involved in the making of the program, however.  Though some of the actors remained the same, including Robert Mitchum in the lead role (despite being 71 years old by that time and too old for his character), many of the main characters were portrayed by different actors, adding some discontinuity to the series.  Mini-series veterans John Rhys-Davies and Ian McShane played supporting roles this time, and the cast (despite Mitchum’s age and the changes) was the last of the great ensemble casts of stars and renowned supporting actors, so the positives may outweigh the negatives for some audiences.

ABC gave two weeks of its broadcast schedule to the mini-series, surpassing the commitments needed for Roots and all other mini-series to date.  That was feasible at the time, considering in 1989 only ABC, CBS, and NBC were major networks.  After this mini-series, however, the cable revolution occurred, effectively ending any network’s ability (other than HBO later) to create and broadcast such mammoth programs.  Through no fault of its own (except perhaps its extremely monumental size, some considering it the “war that never ends”), War and Remembrance was the last of the mini-series.

Epilogue of Irony

Thus, the appetite for the mini-series genre may have indeed been glutted and surfeited by War and Remembrance’s extreme utilization of the format; additionally, as just noted, the nature of the television industry and networks (as well as sponsorship involvements) changed dramatically shortly after its broadcast.  It was to take almost an entire decade of television programming (with only short, comparatively minor productions in the meantime) before the mini-series as a successful genre was to return, thanks to HBO’s From the Earth to the Moon in 1998.  As noted earlier, however, only a few mini-series of any substance have been created in the same span of time that saw dozens of quality productions in the golden age in the late ’70s and early ’80s.  Has the American and British attention span been so utterly corrupted that it can’t even commit to lengthy, commitment-driven television programming, unless it is accompanied with HBO’s unspoken promise of graphic content possibilities?  The success of John Adams recently should belie that notion.  Even in the digital world, the epic genre is alive and well in various media: Michael Wood is still searching for myths and heroes, the Trojan War is still the subject of movies and novels, the small-screen has produced episodic series requiring the concentration of mini-series such as Lost and Babylon 5.

Perhaps the problem today is that the novels being written do not lend themselves to the majestic possibilities of the small-screen mini-series.  So many of the great series as we’ve seen are adaptations of great works from great authors, all of whom are gone: Evelyn Waugh, James Clavell, Leon Uris, James Michener, Robert Graves, Alex Haley (Herman Wouk is still alive as of this writing but 95).  Authors today seem to be writing for the potential of the big screen, not the small screen.  Perhaps it is the movie adaptation that has killed the mini-series, which is a sad irony, considering only the mini-series and not the movie can do justice to the work.  Perhaps if authors today wrote for the sake of telling a good story with meaningful characters and palpable conflicts and not for the potential movie rights and merchandising bonuses, the mini-series could return to its former greatness.

The Twelve Core Truths That Are Summit Christian Academy

Alice Minium

The 2010 Summit Christian Academy Retreat Variety Show was quite the jewel this year.  We were treated to an exotic buffet of talents performed, obsessions on display, and stereotypical egofests.  The Variety Show is Summit at its finest.  Upon careful examination, one may have realized that each act this year was highly representative of a vital truth that makes up the core of who Summit is, what Summit is good at, what Summit’s strengths are, and what Summit genuinely loves.

The first act was a skit by Mrs. Cochrane’s French classes.  French is inarguably one of the most beautiful, romantic-sounding languages in the world, and the ability to speak French just emanates the impression of enviable amounts of class.  Not only were they speaking French, but they were speaking it well, and the beautiful language brought a classy finish to even trashy things like Jessica Alba.  In the words of J. D. Salinger’s Holden Caulfield, “It’s funny, all you have to do is say something nobody understands and they’ll do practically anything you want them to.”  Summit is a big fan of this.  Even if these students cannot remember most of the French they learned in high school, five or ten years down the road they will most definitely always remember at least one sentence.  All they have to do is say that one sentence, followed by, “Yeah, I took French, no big deal,” and their companions will be deeply impressed, thinking, wow, I wish I was that cool.  This is the first pillar of Summit Christian Academy: Sounding smart and saying things nobody understands.

Our next performance was a real gem.  Eighth-graders Jessica Gromley and Erika Tamayo put their whole hearts into their performance of the song “Paper Heart,” but nature had to interfere as the sound equipment shrieked and faded out within the first 60 seconds of the song.  The poor girls kept smiles on their faces despite the fact that this happened at least four more times throughout the performance.  This act was a beautiful example of the second pillar of Summit Christian Academy: Messing up simple sound equipment.

The Variety Show took a much more laidback direction with a comedic performance by Kenny Moates.  His imitations of various characters from popular culture were punctuated by cleverly calculated silences for him to smile wryly and the audience to applaud for the young buck.  As his act went on, he progressively retreated farther and farther into the right corner of the stage, where he stayed fixed for the rest of his act.  This is something many sects of Summit kids characteristically love, and it is most definitely one of the prized pillars of Summit: Retreating to corners.

The fourth act was an impressive song and dance routine by eighth graders Chalise, Skylar, Schuyler, Amber, and Ellie.  Unlike some acts that evening, it was obvious the girls had practiced.  This is always refreshing.  Their young enthusiasm and unbreakable confidence is something all older students can miss, so these girls were an animated example of another pillar that young Summit loves: Girl Power.

Next was Daniel Blanton.  He refined each joke with his Blantonesque charm, but he was yet another example of a classic pastime Summit students adore, and our fifth pillar: Recycling jokes.

The act of most significance was the Funny Walk.  A tradition originating last year with Seraphim Hamilton, Sarah Haywood, and Alice Minium, it was resurrected at the Variety Show of 2010 and hopefully will return again even in their absence next year.  This year Renard Grice was the central focus of the Walk, as the three experienced seniors Funnywalked around him until the performance crescendoed to a sudden halt.

The Funny Walk is not just one thing.  The Funny Walk is breaking free from social, religious, and political boundaries.  The Funny Walk is forty-nine seconds of your life that you spend without an ounce of shame.  The Funny Walk is immortality.  The Funny Walk is bliss.  The Funny Walk is who you really are, not who you feel like you should be.  The Funny Walk is candy to a hungry soul that has only eaten vegetables for fifteen years.  The Funny Walk is the sixth and most fundamental pillar of Summit Christian Academy: Revolution.

The seventh act involved David Lane, Matthew Mouring, and Samuel Arthur performing some indescribable contortion act….  The seventh pillar of Summit is a key one as well: Socially alienating ourselves by weird behavior.

Sophomores Manny and Connor performed some skit with brooms up their shirts and toothbrushes being thrown across the stage….  Bottom line is, their skit on wily thievery is a glorious example of Summit’s eighth pillar: Kleptomania.

Seniors Devan, Seraphim, and Graham serenaded the crowd with an a cappella rendition of the Star Wars theme.  This act was highly praised by critics abroad and is available on video upon request.  Summit’s ninth pillar is Extensive knowledge of nerdy cinema and literature.

Perhaps the most moving act of the night was the Class of 2011’s performance of Matisyahu’s “One Day.”  Everyone linked arms and the crowd swayed to the music, caught up in the aura of love and unity.  The tenth pillar of Summit Christian Academy is Being Jewish.

Penultimately, the junior boys tripped everybody out with black lights, glow sticks, techno music, and outrageous dancing.  We saw something like this last year with the Class of 2010’s young men’s performance.  Although it will always be hard to measure up to last year’s black light show, the music and flashing lights still almost gave everybody a seizure.  Summit’s eleventh pillar is Idolizing and imitating the alumni.

Brand new ninth-grader Emily Bradfield’s melodic and strikingly strong voice gave chills to the audience.  Her beautiful final act was one of genuine talent.  The twelfth and final pillar of Summit Christian Academy is Child prodigies that materialize out of nowhere.

The talents we pursue say so much about who we are and what we value.  As a school, Summit is many things, but ultimately it is uniform in so many ways.  No matter the differences of our talents, these twelve core truths apply to us all.  Remember these pillars, remember this Variety Show, and remember that there could always be some deeper life truth hidden in the disguise of a squeaky microphone or a child with a toothbrush in his pants.

Special thanks to Mr. Fahringer for not only organizing the Variety Show but also providing this list of acts to the author.  Your extra work is much appreciated.

Soteriology in the Three Chief Christian Traditions

Seraphim Hamilton

My intention in this article is to demonstrate that Roman Catholicism, Orthodoxy, and Protestantism are three fundamentally different religions and cannot be understood as merely three parts of the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church.  In order to do this, I will explain and contrast the soteriologies of each Christian group.

Roman Catholicism teaches that one is saved by the merits of Jesus Christ applied by grace, which subdue the wrath of God and allow one into Heaven.  In addition, there is temporal wrath which one may be saved from.  As for the eternal wrath, in Roman soteriology, God the Father has wrath towards each individual person, for both their original sin imputed to them by Adam, and also for their personal sins.  Their personal sins are divided into mortal and venial sins.  Before baptism, both sins are sufficient to condemn one to eternal damnation.

In baptism, the merits of Christ are applied to the individual, thus eliminating the Father’s wrath towards any sins committed before baptism.  However, after baptism, if one commits a mortal sin, wrath is applied so that one would be damned if they died in that state.  To solve this, one confesses to an ordained priest.  The priest provides the penitent with certain works to do, and after they perform these prescribed works of penance, the merits of Christ are applied to them and they are forgiven.

Temporal wrath is satisfied in a particular time in purgatory.  If one wishes to expunge this, one must perform set good works to have a certain amount of days removed from their term in purgatory.  The removal of eternal punishment is distinct from the removal of temporal punishment.  While mortal sins incur both eternal and temporal punishment, confession only eliminates the eternal punishment, leaving the temporal punishment undealt with.  Venial sins committed after baptism accumulate temporal wrath, without eternal wrath.

Through prayer, fasting, reception of Christ’s body and blood in the Eucharist, and other good works, Christ applies His grace to an individual so that they accumulate grace over time.  This grace leads them to higher and higher states of salvation.  After death, any leftover grace is received into a treasury of merit, where it may be appropriated by individual Roman Catholics through indulgences.

In short, the Roman Catholic doctrine of salvation deals with the accumulation of divine wrath through sin and the reduction of divine wrath by the appropriation of the merits generated by Christ’s work on the Cross.

Protestantism teaches that all men are totally depraved, because the depravity of Adam is inherited by all men.  Therefore, according to Protestantism, all men are utterly unable to do any good in the eyes of God.  God can only receive perfect righteousness and sinlessness into His Heavenly Kingdom.

Therefore, God sent Jesus Christ into the world.  Christ, through His death, suffered the penalty for the sins of the world and provided a righteousness to be imputed to believing Christians.  When one places personal trust in Jesus Christ’s atoning work, one attains a faith-union with Christ.  One’s sins are recognized as punished in His person, and thus all sins, past, present, and future, are immediately forgiven.  Through this faith-union, Christ’s righteousness is immediately imputed to the believing Christian.  Therefore, God receives them into heaven, because they have been counted as righteous by virtue of their union with Jesus Christ.

The Protestant faith includes the doctrine that God’s divine wrath is satisfied on the Cross.  However, it disagrees with Roman Catholicism in that there is no temporal element to salvation.  It also disagrees on the means of the application of the substitution.  Roman Catholics believe that ones sins are continually forgiven through the application of merit through the sacraments and good works.  Protestants teach that all sins are immediately forgiven because of faith alone.  Roman Catholics teach that justification is infused righteousness which develops and grows over time.  Protestants teach that justification is imputed righteousness which is imputed once and does not change.

Orthodoxy is radically different from both of these soteriologies.  Like Protestantism, Orthodoxy teaches that there is no such thing as purgatory, and thus, there is no such thing as temporal salvation.  However, the similarities essentially end there.  Salvation is defined in three words as “life in Christ.”  It is attained by a lifelong journey to union with God through His incarnate Word, Jesus Christ.

The salvation process begins with the mystery of Holy Baptism.  Baptism unites one with the death and resurrection of Christ.  Thus, all of ones sins are united to His person, and are annihilated, not punished, by His death.  This union washes away all sins committed prior to Baptism.  The mystery of Chrismation endows one with the gift of the Holy Spirit.  The Spirit of God indwells the Orthodox Christian, empowering him on his journey to salvation.

Prayer is an essential part of the Orthodox life.  Rather than being a means to appropriate merit, prayer dulls the passions and brings one into communion with God.  Prayer, when done in true repentance, washes one of sin.  It prepares one for the central mystery of the Church of Christ — the Eucharist.  The Eucharist is the true body and blood of the Lord Jesus Christ.  By partaking of it in a spirit of faith and repentance, one is united to Jesus Christ, and thus it is effective unto eternal life and salvation.

Before reception of the Eucharist, one often repents in the presence of an ordained priest.  This mystery, called the mystery of confession, is a healing sacrament rather than a legal process.  Through confession, one is washed and forgiven of confessed sins.  Certain serious sins, called mortal sins by St. Ignatius Brianchaninov, require confession to receive the Eucharist in purity.  Fasting does not apply the merit of Christ to balance the wrath of God, but rather subdues the body to the soul.

The soul is purified of its sin and sickness through prayer, fasting, ascetism, and reception of the Eucharist.  The soul radiates the grace of God the Holy Spirit, and when the body is subdued to the soul, the soul radiates that grace through the body as well.  This is why the bodies of Orthodox saints (as did the body of the Prophet Elijah) are known to have healing powers.  This is why, when living, devout Orthodox ascetics are known to radiate the uncreated light.  This union with Christ is salvation.

The Here and Now

Emily Grant Privett

Have you ever found yourself tapping your fingers impatiently as you wait for your food to finish cooking in the microwave?  Does it feel as if minutes drag on as you wait at a traffic light?  The culture that we currently reside in is sadly obsessed with speed and convenience.  One isn’t happy unless everything passes quickly and accurately.  The short 30 seconds it takes to heat up your chicken nuggets and the one and a half minutes it takes to wait at the light is seemingly too long.  Technology is the main cause of this.  The world we live in has been affected by new advances in technology.

Technology has spoiled this culture and is in turn a major cause of such impatience.  Every day, new items are being invented that make everyday tasks quicker and easier.  People are becoming lazier and lazier.  Not only does the completion of a certain task feel too difficult, but it takes way too long.  Our culture is concerned with practicality.  Everything must work to make our lives easier.  Any little thing that can be bought to improve life will be used, as if in some way ease, happiness, and relaxation can be bought.  This society is a society of lazy people.  If something doesn’t have to be done, then why do it.  In the same way, if one can find an easier way to do something, then why not take that route.

As previously mentioned, cooking one’s food would be an example of this.  You stand at the microwave waiting for your food to cook.  You have just placed your plate of frozen chicken nuggets in the microwave, and it is only a matter of minutes before you are able to enjoy them.  The light comes on, and the turntable begins to spin.  As this happens, you wait and hope that those chicken nuggets are finished when the timer goes off.  The very last thing you want is to have to wait another 30 seconds because the inside of one of them is still frozen.  The original wait felt long enough; extra time added would be horrible.

One must compare this to the past to really deliver the point.  In recent history, microwaves didn’t exist and only a short time before that, ovens weren’t found in the everyday home.  The only practical way to heat things up was over an open fire.  This may sound simple at first, but heating something over a fire wasn’t as simple as just sticking pieces of food over flames.  To begin with, one would have had to gather wood and start the fire.  After waiting for quite some time for the flames to build, the chicken must be prepared.  There were no pre-packaged, pre-cooked, breaded pieces of chicken.  One must bread and cut the chicken himself.  After this was completed, it was time to stick it over the fire, and it would take quite a while to cook after that.  A simple two minute heating experience now would have been a long hour long process in the past.  Because of the invention of the microwave, or even the oven, mankind has become spoiled and expecting everything to happen faster.

Another example of this is waiting in traffic or sitting at a stop light.  Everyone has sat in traffic before.  When this happens, time feels as if it is dragging along.  One would want to be anywhere but there.  Sitting still or going at a slow speed for less than an hour on the way to Williamsburg feels like a terrible feat.  As before, one must look at a comparison to the past.  Before the car was invented, one was required to travel on horseback, by carriage, or even by foot.  The trip from Summit Christian Academy to Williamsburg would have taken hours.  Back then, one would be lucky to make it in an afternoon, depending on one’s mean of transportation, of course.  One would have probably greatly enjoyed being there in an hour, even if it included waiting in traffic for half of the time.  The change in technology hadn’t affected people of those days yet, when it had taken them hours to go such a short distance.  In times like today, with technology such as ours, waiting in traffic seems like one of the worst things to do, causing it to take us an extra 45 minutes to get somewhere.  When they weren’t able to experience such luxuries, one must have thought how much more convenient it would be to make it there in such a short amount of time, instead of several hours of walking or riding on horse.

The definition of convenience has changed.  In the past, getting from one place to another in a good portion of the day was rather convenient, as compared to now, where arriving at your destination without stopping for any reason would be considered convenient.  Another example of this is the sudden shift in reading materials.  In the past, people were lucky to be able to even get their hands on a book, much less know how to read it and study it.  These days, books are not in short supply and are being replaced with items such as the Kindle and the iPad.  Books were in short supply hundreds of years ago, and now, when people have the opportunity to use them, they give up that ability to use electronic versions of the same material.  Paper books apparently aren’t considered convenient anymore, and having electronic books are a much better choice.  It can hold several books on it at once and is transported much easier.  Technology has taken over society and replaced “old” or “outdated” items and methods with “new” and “fresh” ones that will supposedly make life easier, simpler, more convenient, quicker.

The fact that technology has created something “better” doesn’t mean that the “old fashion way” is bad or not worth doing.  An example of this is mops.  Over the past few years, several companies have created cleaning supplies that work better than the traditional dustpan and broom set, and clean deeper than the ordinary mop.  The have cleaning liquid in them.  It takes away the old inconvenience of cleaning one’s floors.  Just because these new mops and brooms have been created says nothing about the original method.  Using a traditional mop is a perfectly acceptable way to clean one’s floor.  As long as it gets the job done, than what does it really matter?  It is not to say that the change in technology is a bad thing, but to stress the idea that our culture isn’t the same as it once was.  This is a result of the rises in technology that have occurred.

In summary, the actions of humanity have become progressively lazier.  Everything is concerned with convenience, practicality, and speed.  If something doesn’t happen fast enough or good enough, then something must be wrong.  The current culture is a “me” obsessed culture.  Everything concerns the individual.  What can make me happy?  How can this make life easier for me?  Technology is one of the biggest causes of this because it provides the motivation for improvement.  Without it, the world would most likely be in a similar state to what it was hundreds of years ago, living the same sort of lifestyles.  The world will never be the same because of the more recent changes in technology and is currently feeding the human addiction to convenience, practicality, and speed.