Mark Tubbs invokes Screwtape to say Christians entirely misunderstand equality. “[T]hey consider it bad form at best, and supreme, ‘sinful’ arrogance at worst, to evangelize others or even to encourage one another because it suggests they may be possessors of a superior spiritual experience!” he says. As long as we are more concerned with our reputations than the truth, we will avoid talking to others, even believers, about real life (meaning spiritual truths).

The post refers to Chesterton’s thoughts on humility. Here is part of the man said about that:

… what we suffer from to-day is humility in the wrong place. Modesty has moved from the organ of ambition. Modesty has settled upon the organ of conviction; where it was never meant to be. A man was meant to be doubtful about himself, but undoubting about the truth; this has been exactly reversed. Nowadays the part of a man that a man does assert is exactly the part he ought not to assert himself. The part he doubts is exactly the part he ought not to doubt — the Divine Reason. Huxley preached a humility content to learn from Nature. But the new sceptic is so humble that he doubts if he can even learn. Thus we should be wrong if we had said hastily that there is no humility typical of our time. The truth is that there is a real humility typical of our time; but it so happens that it is practically a more poisonous humility than the wildest prostrations of the ascetic. The old humility was a spur that prevented a man from stopping; not a nail in his boot that prevented him from going on. For the old humility made a man doubtful about his efforts, which might make him work harder. But the new humility makes a man doubtful about his aims, which will make him stop working altogether.

The Bookplate Junkies shares some very nice designs by English artist Ernest William Oldham: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

This article by Soeren Kern at The Brussels Journal reports on an effort by the growing Swiss Muslim community to remove the famous white cross from that country’s red flag.

An immigrant group based in Bern has called for the emblematic white cross to be removed from the Swiss national flag because as a Christian symbol it “no longer corresponds to today’s multicultural Switzerland.” Ivica Petrusic, the vice president of Second@s Plus, a lobbying group that represents mostly Muslim second-generation foreigners in Switzerland (who colloquially are known as secondos) says the group will launch a nationwide campaign in October to ask Swiss citizens to consider adopting a flag that is less offensive to Muslim immigrants.

Here we have, in a nutshell (it seems to me) Europe’s current cultural problem. They’re desperately trying to find a continental identity, and just as desperately attempting to keep their distance from the one and only thing that historically united them in a cultural sense—the Christian religion. If Europe is not identical with Western Christendom (excluding the Americas), then what in heaven’s name is it?

No one seems to have any idea. Continue reading Flagging enthusiasm →

A mildly amusing event, in the course of my ride to Norway, Michigan last weekend in Ragnar’s colossal van, was our lunch in a biker bar.

We were deep in the wilds of Wisconsin when noon rolled around. Ragnar was following his GPS, which he’d apparently set to “Lose a Tail” mode, because the few towns we passed through were pretty small, and generally didn’t offer any places to eat. However, this being Wisconsin, there was usually at least one bar on every block. We agreed that bars often have food, and we’d look for one that advertised that commodity.

We soon found one, and rolled into the almost empty lot. Once we got inside, we realized, from the décor and the clothing of the customers, that it was a biker establishment.

This is the point where, in a movie or novel, we’d have been set on by toughs and forced to fight for our lives.

I think we might have taken them too, had it come to that.

Because Ragnar is still pretty dangerous, and the entire population of the saloon was the woman behind the bar, and a middle-aged couple in black leather who were more interested in each other than in stomping us.

Hey, we actually fit in pretty well. We had long hair and beards. All we lacked was the leathers.

We ordered hamburgers, which when they came were pretty good.

The only memorable incident was that the bartender noticed I’d paid her with bills stamped with those “Where’s George?” messages. “Are you one of those people who track these things?” she asked.

I said no, but I’d recently been paid by someone who tracks those things.

I think Ragnar was a little disappointed we didn’t get a chance to rumble.

Now that I’m on the subject, I’ve begun to wonder—are there any young motorcyclists anymore?

I remember when biker gangs were the very symbol of rebellious, dangerous youth. The young Marlon Brando. The adolescent Peter Fonda.

It seems as if Biker culture is dying out with the Baby Boomers. The people who ride motorcycles now have square jobs during the week, and get their Animal on on the weekends.

Or they’re retired.

Kind of like Viking reenactors.

Patrick Kurp talks to a ghost about G.K. Chesterton and being funny. “Chesterton is right: Only the serious is worthy of joking. Joy-killers preoccupy themselves with trivia.”

I was going to post yesterday, even though I said I wouldn’t, because I’d scheduled the day off from work in order to recover from the Norway, Michigan trip. Little did I know how much I’d need to recover—enough that I didn’t have the energy to post anyway.

The event in Michigan was generally good. I rode along with a friend to save gas costs, and we arrived mid-afternoon on Friday. I really like Norway, Michigan. It’s a pretty, clean town in a lovely setting among the hills, and it’s got the name “Norway” plastered all over it. The people were nice. I didn’t sell a lot of books, though. I’m not sure I covered my food costs.

Part of the problem may have been that I was purposely keeping my distance from people, in this case out of consideration for them (though that’s my usual reason, come to think of it). On Friday I was starting to come down with a cold, and on Saturday I woke up completely unable to speak. Nevertheless I dosed myself with a combination of nostrums from the local drug store/gift shop, and soldiered through. I even fought a couple combat fights, just to show one of our young guys how the axe was used (I lost them both). Then he took the weapon over, and I considered my obligations fulfilled.

Driving back Sunday I felt pretty bad, and on Monday (today too) I felt no better. I think I’ll prop myself up with drugs and try to go to work tomorrow anyway. Who cares if I infect the whole campus? The point is not to be a sissy!

Bad news today. My publisher has turned down my latest submission. Not because they didn’t like it, but because of financial hard times, and a corporate decision to turn away from fiction.

Our friend Ori says he can help me publish digitally. I’ll let you know how that progresses.

The four boats were soon on the water; Ahab’s in advance, and all swiftly pulling towards their prey. Soon it went down, and while, with oars suspended, we were awaiting its reappearance, lo! in the same spot where it sank, once more it slowly rose. Almost forgetting for the moment all thoughts of Moby Dick, we now gazed at the most wondrous phenomenon which the secret seas have hitherto revealed to mankind. A vast pulpy mass, furlongs in length and breadth, of a glancing cream-color, lay floating on the water, innumerable long arms radiating from its centre, and curling and twisting like a nest of anacondas, as if blindly to catch at any hapless object within reach. No perceptible face or front did it have; no conceivable token of either sensation or instinct; but undulated there on the billows, an unearthly, formless, chance-like apparition of life.

As with a low sucking sound it slowly disappeared again, Starbuck still gazing at the agitated waters where it had sunk, with a wild voice exclaimed- “Almost rather had I seen Moby Dick and fought him, than to have seen thee, thou white ghost!”

“What was it, Sir?” said Flask.

It was not a Kracken, but a great squid which Starbuck said was rarely seen by whalers who lived to tell about it over a warm pint on shore. It was another sign of their doom.

Paleontologist Mark McMenamin explains how he may have discovered the Kracken’s liar by finding “markings on the bones of the remains of nine 45-foot (14 meter) ichthyosaurs of the species Shonisaurus popularis.” The bones are neatly arranged, as if the skeletons were taken back to the monster’s lair after succumbing. McMenamin doubts he will find evidence of a Kracken itself, because only the creature’s beak would have been hard enough to fossilize.

John Mark Reynolds describes his reasons for liking the Disney princesses.

The films are far from perfect and marketing lurks behind every product. Still the harm is more in parents allowing too much consumption, than the innocent fantasies of childhood.

My daughters all struggle with the bad images that our culture sends women, but chief amongst these is not the Disney princess. Too much glitter and self-esteem isn’t good for anyone, but modern young women don’t seem to have enough of either!

…

Blaming the poor Disney princess, especially in her modern form, is wrongheaded. One cultural icon cannot do all the work of forming a good image. If Ophelia needs to be revived, it is more likely due to a culture of male Hamlets than from too much of the Little Mermaid.

(via Trevin Wax, may his ever-afters always be happy)

Nicholas Carr points to the second article in a series on technology in education, particularly whether “popular, expensive computer-aided instruction programs actually benefit students.” He ends his post with a good quote from Steve Jobs in 1996: “Historical precedent shows that we can turn out amazing human beings without technology. Precedent also shows that we can turn out very uninteresting human beings with technology.”

“It is what it is, but it is not what it shall be. Some day, when Someday comes, we will slide on over into the re-Edened earth.” S.D. Smith meditates on the world and the world to come.