All posts by Phil

The Chinese Word for Crisis

From our You Have Heard It Said But I Tell You desk, the Chinese word for crisis, wēijī 危机, is not a pictogram of danger plus opportunity. You can see this definition in action in this 2009 book, Crossing the Soul’s River, in which the author says he was given this explanation first-hand.

In fact, very few Chinese letters represent little pictures of their ideas. More importantly, jī alone is not opportunity; it’s only part of several words.

A whole industry of pundits and therapists has grown up around this one grossly inaccurate statement. A casual search of the Web turns up more than a million references to this spurious proverb. It appears, often complete with Chinese characters, on the covers of books, on advertisements for seminars, on expensive courses for “thinking outside of the box,” and practically everywhere one turns in the world of quick-buck business, pop psychology, and orientalist hocus-pocus. This catchy expression (Crisis = Danger + Opportunity) has rapidly become nearly as ubiquitous as The Tao of Pooh and Sun Zi’s Art of War for the Board / Bed / Bath / Whichever Room.

Perhaps it would be worthwhile to offer another example from English that is closer to our Chinese word wēijī (“crisis”). Let’s take the –ity component of “opportunity,” “calamity” (“calamity” has a complicated etymology; see the Oxford English Dictionary, Barnhart, etc.), “felicity,” “cordiality,” “hostility,” and so forth. This –ity is a suffix that is used to form abstract nouns expressing state, quality, or condition. The words that it helps to form have a vast range of meanings, some of which are completely contradictory. Similarly the –jī of wēijī by itself does not mean the same thing as wēijī (“crisis”), jīhuì (“opportunity”), and so forth. The signification of jī changes according to the environment in which it occurs.

Danger + Opportunity ≠ Crisis“, Victor H. Mair, Professor of Chinese Language and Literature, University of Pennsylvania

Herod Heard John the Baptist Gladly

What should Christians do with power?

Years ago, I heard Cal Thomas talk about a book he co-authored with the late Ed Dobson, Blinded by Might. He said Jerry Falwell and others like him believed they were influencing the president and political leaders to take Christian approaches to civil problems, but what Thomas and Dobson saw first-hand was a willingness to compromise any issue for the privilege of remaining in the inner circle.

“Whenever the church cozies up to political power, it loses sight of its all important mission to change the world from the inside out,” Thomas writes in the book.

I thought of that Saturday while listening to the Gospel of Mark. In chapter 6 we read that John the Baptist had been put to death by King Herod, but verse 20 states, “Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he kept him safe. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed, and yet he heard him gladly.”

How often had John preached or spoken to Herod? What did he say? Did John think he could be in a relationship with Herod that would be similar to Daniel and Nebuchadnezzar? He was in prison because he angered Herod’s wife, but while in prison he had the king’s ear on occasion. And the king heard him gladly.

But then Herod made a vow in front of his peers, “the leading men of Galilee,” to give his wife’s daughter anything she asked for, and she asked John’s head. Where did his gladness go then? He was sorry to do it, but he would not admit to a mistake by implying, if not actually stating, that this prisoner’s life was more valuable than his oath. Nothing was more valuable than the king.

How many believers think they are making progress with political leaders because they seem to listen to them gladly, never suspecting that Christ’s call to put God’s kingdom first will never work for them. To them, God must serve their political kingdom, and humility would be great if earned votes.

While the king is in power, he may hear a preacher gladly, but when his power is threatened, then his priorities will become clear.

Friday Singing: Windsor, All About the Bass

Here’s a whole set from a female quartet Windsor from the 2016 Sweet Adelines International competition. They joke about intending to sing Andrews Sisters trios and that Jenny, the bass, won’t fit in. They sing Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, When I Fall in Love, Daddy, and an adaptation of Johnny One Note.

Ratings Distort Content: How the News Isn’t Just News

Television producer Ariana Pekary left her job at MSNBC recently, saying it’s a bad time to leave, but she can no longer stay. Her criticism touches more than this particular network.

It’s possible that I’m more sensitive to the editorial process due to my background in public radio, where no decision I ever witnessed was predicated on how a topic or guest would “rate.” The longer I was at MSNBC, the more I saw such choices — it’s practically baked in to the editorial process – and those decisions affect news content every day. Likewise, it’s taboo to discuss how the ratings scheme distorts content, or it’s simply taken for granted, because everyone in the commercial broadcast news industry is doing the exact same thing.

But behind closed doors, industry leaders will admit the damage that’s being done. “We are a cancer and there is no cure” . . .

I’ve even heard producers deny their role as journalists. A very capable senior producer once said: “Our viewers don’t really consider us the news. They come to us for comfort.”

Heir to the Raven, by J. Wesley Bush

She approached the gate. God must be on the other side. She pushed it open, but did not find paradise, but rather a void filled only with noise and shifting colors that made her mind hurt. Amid the tumult, she felt something moving. No moving, really, but coming.

What pact are you seeking, child?

Larissa knew about pacts. They were dangerous if you used the wrong kind of faie. Whoever this was didn’t have a body, but she could feel it close by, as if it filled her very bones. It sounded like a woman.

“Vyr are trying to kill us all. We need to kill them instead.”

Heir to the Raven by J. Wesley Bush is a thrilling read, an original story well told.

The story begins with young Larissa, one of the few magical characters in this fantasy of kingdom politics. She stumbles into saving her village in the scene quoted above, but that raises everyone’s fears that she’s a witch. They summon the duke’s men to take her away to be examined by the king’s magician. She eventually learns she has taken the greatest risk of her life.

Heir to the Raven by J. Wesley Bush

Next we meet Selwyn, the duke’s fourth son who wants very much to kill a wild boar-like animal so that he can become a scholastic knight. If his hopes pan out (meaning he doesn’t die), the hunt will be the most warfare he ever sees. His father won’t like it, but he hasn’t liked anything about him for years. As a knight, he can escape his family and do something interesting, if not worthwhile.

All of that comes to an end when Selwyn suddenly becomes the new duke of the Jandarian savanna, moving this novel into the coming-of-age category. That would be true for both Selwyn and Larissa, but with so many characters, political mysteries, suspicions and deceit, the young stars don’t get much time to stand around and watch their feet grow.

In this light-handed fantasy we hear of a few unusual beasts and a bit about greater and lesser faie, both light and dark. Securing an agreement with an outer faie is called pactmaking. The uses and dangers of it color most of Larissa’s story. But most of what we see of it comes from the bad guys, shamans ushering barbarous throngs into battle as an act of worship to a dark faie. At times I wondered if someone could throw out some good magic, but that probably doesn’t fit the scope of the story.

Somewhere I read Bush describing his tale as a strong PG-13; it definitely is that. There are some nasty deaths, plenty of natural vulgarity, and some sexual subject matter only lightly described.

The meat of it is in realistic characters with many diverse perspectives. A conniving villain doesn’t stare out a window, twirling his mustache; instead he professes loyalty to the king as he works quietly to undermine him. The brash soldier is not a bumbling rebel, but a loyal subject. Even the petulant king, which is a character type I dislike, is handled skillfully.

And this being book one of a series, it wraps up nicely while leaving many ends loose. You really should go buy this book, if only to support the creation of the sequels. I look forward seeing what happens next.

Friday Singing: What’ll I Do in Apple Blossom Time

The Main Street Quartet reminds us of love when spring comes again.

In this vein, South Florida’s Signature Quartet asks what they will do without their lovers nearby.

Mountain Retreat

This has been a tough year on everyone, but not equally tough. When we first got fitted with a tailored lockdown, several people were saying, “Looking for ideas on how to pass all this extra time you’ll have? Here’s a list of books, studies, and movies.” Nice thoughts, but the people in my party were wondering where they could get some of this extra time.

Our days had only gotten more intense. Our work had been growing more earnest, maybe more hectic, since February, I think. Everyone began working from home March 20, and until early May everyday felt like a crossway. Would we continue this direction or turn?

Even after the intensity lessened, I worried we couldn’t take a vacation, because taking time off could be a problem, and if we did, would the right things be open? But I got approval for time off, and the kids were also feeling the stress of their work and school responsibilities, so we rented a cabin on the edge of Helen in the Northeast Georgia mountains.

The picture above is from the city park, facing one of the main shopping areas and the town clock tower, I think. (I heard a clock chiming the hour several times but never identified the source.) The town took on a Bavarian style in 1969 and has leaned into it as much as it can with European food stores, German restaurants (I had a brat with kraut for lunch), and a few nice stores, like Lindenhaus and Wildewood, mixed among the regular tourist fair. It will celebrate its 50th Oktoberfest in a couple months (in a subdued fashion). The town has a bit of a beer-drinking feel, but we found enough to hold our interest, such as the Hansel and Gretel Candy Kitchen. I finished my chocolate and caramel-coated pear tonight.

We didn’t entirely avoid crowds. On Tuesday we went to Alpine Mini Golf and Ice Cream Parlor, where there were 17 groups on 18 holes. I’m glad the whole day wasn’t that crowded; people tended to emerge as the day burned. On Monday we floated down the Chattahoochee River and enjoyed it so much we returned the next day. I must have thought I was an experienced seaman the second time down, because I fell in the river three times trying to negotiate the rapids. Didn’t lose my glasses though.

We avoided the crowd our first day by visiting the marvelous Hardman Farm historic site. They open at 10:00; we took the 10:00 tour and had the run of the place. We also visited a couple art centers and the nearby folk pottery museum before heading home. I hope the year will go much smoother now that we’ve laid back for a bit.

Friday Singing: Saints and Summer Quartets

I know I just shared some music with you, but it occurred to me today that summertime is for happy music. This year has been tough, so I’ll see if I can find some good barbershop quartets to post for the next several Fridays. Here are two.

Victor Hugo, Classic Bestseller

An anecdote about a telegram from exile leads to this observation from Luke Harrington:

That story is almost definitely apocryphal (not that that stopped the Guinness Book of  Records from once including it as the record for “shortest correspondence,” because, well, Guinness gonna Guinness), but it illustrates something we too often forget about the authors of “classic” books: Most of them weren’t tormented geniuses languishing in obscurity to create “great art”; they were just normal people working hard and trying to make bank. Sure, in the pantheon of literature, you’ll find a few weirdo recluses like Kafka, but for the most part, classic authors were the Michael Bays (Michaels Bay?) of their time, obsessively watching the proverbial box office numbers and high-fiving themselves when they topped a billion or whatever.

And that leads to something about wearing octopuses as hats, I think. No, I meant what I said.