Friday, June 25, 2004

Christian Heritage - June 25 - Imitating the Creator's Goodness

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In the love of God there can be no excess, but the love of the world is harmful in every way. We must therefore cling inseparably to the good things that are eternal but make use of those that are temporal like passers-by; then, as pilgrims hastening to our homeland, we shall use any worldly good fortune that comes to us as a means to further our journey, not as an enticement to detain us.

Because the world attracts us by its beauty, abundance, and variety, it is not easy to turn away from it unless in the beauty of visible things one loves the Creator rather than the creature; for when the Creator says: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your mind and with all your strength, he shows that it is not his will for us to loosen the bonds of our love for him in any respect whatever. And by joining to this precept love of our neighbor, he commands us to imitate his own goodness, loving what he loves and doing what he does.

Leo the Great (AD 400-461), Tractate 90, 2-3: CCL 138A, 558-561

Leo is perhaps most famous for writing what became the orthodox formulation of Christ's nature at the Council of Chalcedon in AD 451. Although the Oriental Orthodox churches (notably in Syria, as led principally by the ardent Monophysite, Philoxenus of Mabbug) did not accept Leo's formulation, his epistle to the council was greeted with ecstatic praise: "Peter has spoken through Leo!" Leo described how Christ was one person possessing both a divine and a human nature in perfect unison, thus renouncing the Nestorians. He also emphasized that Christ had a divine and a human will in perfect harmony, thus renouncing the Monothelites ("one-willers"). The technical name for this orthodox teaching is the hypostatic union. A hypostasis is a Greek concept for the individuating principle in an entity. Roughly speaking, a hypostasis is a person. Thus, Christ, as one person, possesed two perfect natures (or, ousia) in a "hypostatic union."

Fortunately, centuries of philosophical anf theological inquiry have brought most people to the conclusion that the Oriental rejection of the Chalcedonian (that is, Eastern and Western) belief in Christ's nature was based more on a technical miscommunication, rather than a fundamental doctrinal disagreement. In other words, both sides were saying the same thing in other words. Considering how central the Incarnation is in Christianity, it's remarkable how the Oriental, Eastern and Western wings of the Church share so many varied beliefs, even despite this ancient difference between the former and the latter two. We can only hope this new insight into what all sides are saying will help foster a union between these ancient, but divided, brethren in the Faith. Let us pray.

Oryx and Crake

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I finished Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake (OC) today. It was outstanding. I bought OC on a whim, taking the advice of a commentor on another blog. The blogger had linked to an article about some decadent leeches of today's pomo-trash Euro-American intellegentsia theorizing and advocating the development of the "transhuman" species. The plans included the benign sterilization of inferior pockets of the population, in conjunction with the systematic production of a genetic elite. (And if you think I'm using big words, you should have heard these ivory tower windbags. Every noun had its own built-in modifier and a three-hyphen per word quota.) All one of the commentors said was, "Someone needs to read Oryx and Crake." In a flash, I became someone.

The story takes place sometime in the future. No, it's not your typical sci-fi apocalypse yawn, er, yarn. It's more in the tradition of 1984, Fahrenheit 451 and Alas, Babylon!, but with a genetic, rather than a totalitarian, technocratic or nuclear-age, slant. It helps that Atwood is not a full time sci-fi writer. She's a highly respected "real writer" that decided to explore our society's accelerating exploitation of genes.

The world of OC is divided between the Compound and the Pleeblands. The Compound is the living space for employees of such genetic R&D companies as HelthWyzer and RejoovenEsense (a total skin replacement service). The Pleeblands are a sort of global ghetto-desert around the oasis of the Compound. The Earth has become meteorologically erratic. There is, for example, a New New York, since old New York was swallowed by tsunamis. By a series of fiscal twists and genetic turns, the compound companies gain more and more control over the population, until the whole planet is in a sort of genetic Marxist revolt of the masses.

The protagonist of OC is Snowman, also known as Jimmy until the climax of the story. The plot moves, then, in reverse: we meet Snowman after the cliamx and gradually make our way along Jimmy's life until we reach the climax. Snowman is living in in a tree (safe from the mutant predators below) in the aftermath of a biological apocalypse Atwood unveils as Snowman makes his way back to where the climax took place: the Paradice Dome. Paradice is the cutting-edge research facility of Crake, Jimmy’s childhood friend, and, as the back cover puts it, “a sardonic genius.”

Years before we meet Jimmy in a tree, we learn that he was an unhappy child of the Compound. One day, apparently for now reason, Jimmy’s increasingly moody mother vanishes. However, because her husband, Jimmy's father, is a leading employee in HelthWyzer, and because the stakes are very high if the company should ever be sabotaged, Jimmy becomes a target of regular scrutiny by the CorpSeCorps, the compound security complex, for years and years after his mother's escape.

Enter Crake. Crake and Jimmy spend their adolescence dissipating themselves on advanced online games and numbingly explicit reality-based webpages For example, niteenite.com broadcasts assisted suicides. As another, HottTotts.com broadcasts the (usually pedophilial) exploits of sex tourists in an unknown Asian country. This is how Crake and Jimmy “meet” Oryx: as an eight-year-old girl in a HottTott film, she stares at the camera, igniting an ambivalent fire of conscience and desire in the two teens. Oryx eventually becomes the mother of the new, perfect race Crake desires to create. Crake, you see, has been honing his genetic experimentation skills for years by playing Extinctathon, an online game that pits extinct species against living ones. Eventually Crake becomes a Grandmaster in the Extinctathon subworld and a leading genetic researcher in the real world. His masterpiece are what Jimmy and Oryx refer to as "the Crakers": a tranquil, beautiful species made from a blend of some of the best adaptations from the entire animal kingdom. They are genetically perfect children, a race of edenic Frankensteins.

Although OC took me a little while to get into (probably to due to my intrusive schedule recently), it was virtually unputdownable before the halfway point. It’s got a good share of mind-catching genetic mutants and what-if inventions. But more than that, it’s a very smart, very honest, very haunting book. Atwood shows us so well how we as a species just keep biting, biting, biting our way up the nylon line that the consumer-science industry has us hooked on. What’s revolting and “wrong” and “unnatural” at first is all too quickly commodified and consumed (quite literally, in one grotesque case) without a peep.

As you may know, I read a lot of books. And, usually, I can close the book and move on without missing a blink. Not so with OC. It actually took me several minutes to stop thinking, with a frown, about its ending. Atwood leaves you, with Jimmy, where you don’t want to be. Such ambiguity. Such uncertainty. Such vicarious guilt. Should we be hopeful for the Crakers – or mournfully piteous of them? Should we revile Crake for his radical plan – or humbly thankful for his commitment to curing humans of their biggest problem, which is themselves?

I was – am? – left asking myself a few very painful questions: at the end of OC, is the best thing to do to root against my own species? Or is it ultimately better to root for humans, since I know, at some deeply pessimistic level, the Crakers are doomed anyway?

As a final thought, many of you probably remember the scene in The Matrix (part one) when Agent Smith defines the human race as a virus. Like many features in that film, Agent Smith’s assessment of humanity has quickly become a meme, a pop-truism for the early 21st century. As vivid and as compelling as the image is, however, I think, from a Christian perspective, it’s skewed, enough to merit a nick-of-time qualification from yours truly. Not radically or utterly skewed, just enough to mask the truth.

The Matrix, like Star Wars before it, was famous for tapping into a whole spectrum of our culture’s contemporary spiritual discourse. It had the Christ imagery (foretold Messiahhood, unjust Passion, cyber-Resurrection); it had the Buddha imagery; it had enough telekinetic savvy to inform us “there is no spoon.” In many Christian circles, the film became a handy device for talking about the Gospel “in a non-threatening way” (whatever that means).

And I’ll give credit where it’s due: The Matrix does indeed raise some good, biblical points about the world. Specifically, in the context of this discussion, it rubs our faces in the fact that we, as a whole species, past and present, do act an awful lot like a virus: single-minded, prolific, consumptive, adaptive, relentless. Given enough time, we get our dirty little virus fingers into every pie. It’s a hard truth, and for that very reason, very true.

However, like anything that’s true, this isn’t a very original idea. No offense to any die-hard Matrix fans, but all The Matrix did, in the scene I’m discussing, is dress the third chapter of St. Paul’s letter to the Romans in an expensive CGI tuxedo. As Paul says (3:13-17, my emphasis),

“Their throats are open graves; their tongues practice deceit. The poison of vipers is on their lips. Their mouths are full of cursing and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood; ruin and misery mark their ways, and the way of peace they do not know.


Humans, you see, are a virus.

Only not quite. In truth, humans are a species of small, magnificent bacteria that is infected by a virus. If you find such an image “unbecoming” creatures made in the image of God – and that invented basketball, to boot – I suggest you read Psalm 8, the last three chapters of Job, Isaiah 40 and Thomas a Kempis’ The Imitation of Christ. As Fakespeare once said, “Forsooth, thou can never be over-humble.” Humans are bacteria made in the image of God who also happen to be infected by the virus of original sin. It feeds off our own innate energies, energies designed by God to be used for His glory. We pass the virus on to our offspring. The only solution is a complete reverse transcriptase treament catalyzed by the power of the Cross: “Deny thyself. Whoever would save his life must lose it. Whoever would follow me must take up his cross daily and follow me.”

In the beginning, we were a pure strain, in a pure culture. But then we bit the viral RNA made for the good of the whole culture, but not (at that point) suitable for our primal genome. So now, we’re infected. The Matrix, as well as Atwood’s Oryx and Crake, have this rudimentary point covered. But without the Resurrection, all we have is an empty Cross. It’s just a shame Ms. Atwood leaves us with little hope of a New Jerusalem.

going up?

"Tetelestai!"

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"It is finished!"

I made it. I completed my first year of teaching. My first year overseas. My first year out of college. Wednesday was my last day of teaching at Viator until summer classes begin July 26. I've been as busy as a bee for the past few days working on the curriculum. I and my co-teacher for Junior 2, Kevin, had to create two lessons for summer classes, as well as revise all eight lessons from last year's fall curriculum. Apologies to anyone reading this that had a hand it in making last year's book, but I was fairly underwhelmed by it. I was offended more by the sins of omission than those of commission. That is, what was there was quite good; I just wished more had been there.

Originally, each lesson consisted of a long list of densely typed, single-spaced vocabulary in two or three columns. Providing a vocabulary source is good, but there were some major flaws in how it was presented. First, there was little room for students to write about the words, so their pages often looked like bloody inken battlefields by the end of each week. I've remedied this flaw by listing the vocab (1.5 spacing) all on the left side. Now, the right side of the page is wide open for notes.

Second, the words were rarely grouped according to semiotic (~logical) and/or grammatical associations. They were just thrown on the page, mass nouns clumped with count nouns, adjectives modifying over and under nouns, verbs acting over and under adjectives; animals stuffed between mismatched terrains, terrains cluttered with mismatched animals; indoor activities scurrying around outdoors and outdoor activities stewing indoors; etc. I've tried to rectify this confusion by grouping all vocab in four main grammatical categories: "count nouns", "mass nouns", "verbs", and "adjectives & adverbs". On top of this, I made a conscientious effort to list words with their roughly appropriate semiological neighbors. Pardon my French, but does a dolphin shit in the woods? No. Hence, like a magnanimous Aslan, I've let marine animals swim with other marine animals and forest creatures frolick with their arboreal kin.

A third flaw is that the words were just that: words. Bare. Lone. Random. Abstract. Words. In a conversational English class, this is like providing only numbers without functions in an algebra class. It's counterintuitive, but, thanks in large part to Noam Chomsky's work, we know people don't think in words; people think and speak in whole phrases and sentences. Our brains are predisposed to assemble words - the variables - according to syntactic categories - the constants. So when students, especially foreign students, see a big list of words, all they see is a big list of erratic letters and meaningless symbols. So, to help my students I’ve added sample phrases and sentences in parentheses next to many of the words in each lesson. This way, students aren’t just seeing words and hearing a fleeting definition. Rather, they’re seeing the word in a natural syntactic “habitat” as well as discovering its lexical “genome.”

In the original textbook, usually two or three dialogues followed the vocab jumble, which leads me to the fourth flaw. Many of the vocab words were never used in the dialogues. Worse than that, the dialogues very often introduced new vocab that wasn’t in the main vocab list. To add insult to injury, the words were only sporadically emphasized as key words in the dialogues, so students never got trained to "latch on" to them as they read. All the time I spent introducing the vocab before we tackled the dialogues was redundant, an exhausting waste of time. It took me weeks to realize this flaw wasn't going away, but once I did, I stopped teaching all the vocab first, getting ambushed next by a dozen new words in the dialogues, falling behind in my course plan – and instead I just began teaching a few key words and taught vocab straight from the dialogues.

Students need to see and use vocab over and over, even if they just read it together a few times from a scripted dialogue. The key is that they habitually connect the presented meaning of words – even if they’ve only got a tenuous grip on it – with the movement of their tongue as it pronounces those words in a conversation. It’s all about reinforcing, overlapping, dovetailing, repaving, double-coating: seeing vocab as well as hearing it as well as speaking it. Therefore, I spent a lot of time (e.g., four hours straight Tuesday night, six hours straight last night until 5:15 AM, etc.) making sure the vocab appeared at least once in the dialogues and, alternatively, that any vocab in the dialogues made its way into the main vocab list.

Another enhancement I made was to make the characters in the dialogues the same characters the students will get to know in their other English book. This provides a sense of continuity and familiarity in an otherwise alientating array of ephemeral voices. I’m sure many of you will be delighted to know I made Mr. Burns, from The Simpsons, a character in one of the dialogues. “Eeeeexcellent,” he says, when he hears about some shoe store discounts.

Earlier I mentioned training students' eyes to recognize key vocab as they read. In order to help students learn how to latch on to key dialogue words, I underlined and bolded all the key words (in at least their first appearance). In some cases, all this effort swelled the vocab list to daunting lengths. However, the fact that I snipped several words from the original thatch of words and increased the students' exposure to and usage of the vocab by two or three times per lesson makes it well worth the extra size of each lesson (in terms of paper space).

Now, a fifth flaw – really just a lacuna, one of those sins of omission – was that the conversational English lessons were not really that, well, conversational. We did a ton of writing and reading this past year and a lot of audiolingual drilling (“I-say-you-say”); but, other than dealing with my indomitable voice, my students didn’t do very much listening, and certainly not much task-oriented listening. To redress this deficit, I’ve added a song, somehow connected with the lesson topic, to the end of each lesson, and have replaced a handful of words with blank lines so students can listen to the song and fill in the missing words. I did a few song-based word-fills this year and had fun every time. (Plus, it’s a great way to keep the young whippersnappers engaged without using my voice!)

(NB: A great listening comprehension technique is to have students read along as you orate a text and intentionally misread words. Begin doing this without any explanation, to see if any sharp students call you on it of their own volition. But then, at some point, tell everyone to call out the true information whenever you misread. It can get pretty fun, as you could say some very silly things in place of the real words.)

Two other touches I’ve added include a warm-up question at the start of each lesson (e.g., “If you were a food, which food would you be? Why?”) and a discussion activity at the end of the lesson (before the listening song). The warm-up question not only serves as a conversational ice-breaker, but also helps the teacher assess the students’ knowledge of and interest in the lesson topic. The discussion idea is there to achieve the third P of the hallowed “three P’s” of ESL: Presentation, Practice, Production. The teacher presents the material (vocab); the students practice it (dialogues); and then they should produce their own material on a smaller scale (discussion). The icing on the cake is that I unleashed my tireless copy editor's laserbeam eye and formatted the whole textbook to look, well, actually pretty sleek and wart-free (uniform font, clear indentations, ample spacing, etc.).

To give you an idea of how significant this lesson overhaul is, keep in mind that the original textbook was about 22 pages long. Now, it’s just under 60. If I’d had more time (lessons were due June 24), I would have loved to have added a lot of pictures and small activities (e.g., crosswords, word searches, word scrambles, etc.). But, I can always add such things as handouts as the year progresses. Trust me, it’s infinitely better, for you and the students, to have too much to cover than too little.

Now, I mentioned I and Kevin also had to write a couple of lessons for the summer classes. Due to his schedule constraints, and the fact that I had an idea I could run with, I ended up writing the whole of both lessons. This is just as well, because, one, I sheepishly confess, I’m kind of a control freak, so it felt good to just get the lessons done to my satisfaction; and, two, my lesson plan was devised in two parts, so it was easiest that I alone made them overlap. The lessons are called “The Early Years” and “The Golden Years”, and are parts one and two, respectively, of “From the Cradle to the Grave”. Part 1 is about birth and childhood. Part 2 is about old age and, yes, death.

The first dialogue takes place between a husband and wife and their seven-year old son, Jeff. Jeff wants a baby brother, and he ends up divulging his surprising knowledge of reproduction (in bolded and underlined tones, of course) with humorous results. The second dialogue takes place eleven months later, when Mark and Sylvia have just returned home from the hospital with their new baby, Robert. This time, Jeff speaks all too bluntly about how little Robert looks (if I recall correctly, “a big raisin with arms”).

Part 2 is focuses on the twilight years of these same brothers. Robert has Alzheimer’s and, in dialogue 1, Jeff is visiting him in the hospital. It’s a poignant scene. Dialogue 2 has Jeff and his wife, Monica, discussing Robert. Suffice it to say, Jeff’s really warmed up to little Robert over the long years. The discussion idea for part 2 is for students to what happened in Robert and Jeff’s lives between Robert’s birth and his hospitalization.

Well, I know I’ve gone at some length about something you won’t be teaching and certainly won’t be learning. But, if you’ve read this far, let me explain my excess. First, I’m a chatty bastard. (“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say that out loud?”) Second, and more to the point, I’m waxing as I am, not, I assure you, to toot my own didactic horn, but because I’m truly excited about this curriculum. All year I taught someone else’s material, seeing what students respond to or ignore, adapting as best as I could, biting my tongue about flaws, biding my time to make improvements. And now my time has come. I am no longer a part-time instructor-cipher. I am full-time teacher at Viator High School, and I am responsible for preparing a full year of curriculum. I finally get to put my experience, trivial as it is, into practice for my own students. I’ll be using this curriculum next year, so every improvement I make now pays off later. May God be with me!

Thursday, June 24, 2004

Mot juste

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"When it comes to smelling your own crap you're all ears."

The following is a Public Service Announcement for any potentially long-term readers of this blog:

Life is an ocean. My mind is a raft. My keyboard is a bilge pump. My blog is a drainage canal. As the waves of thought fill the boat, I must bilge the water or I'll drown. My little raft often fills up with puddles of random one-liners and aphorisms. And then it's time to bilge. Every keystroke is a bilge burp of thought.

That's what the mot juste (above) is: a bilge burp. It refers to no one (yet). It didn't come to me in any relevant way during some significant situation. I was just floating in my little raft, cleaning the kitchen. And then I saw a puddle. And then it was time to type. Burp!

Between strokes of the bilge, I decided to give myself an alter ego to spearhead this ongoing bilging campaign. His name is Elliam Fakespeare. He is the king of idiosyncratic and ostensibly respectable quotes. He is the Bard of Bougis Bullshot. He is, in fact, the co-author of this blog. Keep your eye out for him. The waves are high, my little raft can only hold so much, and he likes to bilge.

A little more Augustine for ya on this, the Feast of John the Baptist

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The Church observes the birth of John as a hallowed event. We have no such commemoration for any other fathers; but it is significant that we celebrate the birthdays of John and of Jesus. This day cannot be passed by. ...

John appears as the boundary between the two testaments, the old and the new. That he is a sort of boundary the Lord himself bears witness, when he speaks of “the law and the prophets up until John the Baptist.” Thus he represents times past and is the herald of the new era to come. As a representative of the past, he is born of aged parents; as a herald of the new era, he is declared to be a prophet while still in his mother’s womb. For when yet unborn, he leapt in his mother’s womb at the arrival of blessed Mary. In that womb he had already been designated a prophet, even before he was born; it was revealed that he was to be Christ’s precursor, before they ever saw one another. These are divine happenings, going beyond the limits of our human frailty.

When John was preaching the Lord’s coming he was asked, “Who are you?” And he replied: “I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness.” The voice is John, but the Lord “in the beginning was the Word.” John was a voice that lasted only for a time; Christ, the Word in the beginning, is eternal.

Unfortunately, I don't yet have the citation info for this quote. For all I know it could be from the same sermon I quoted below (Sermo 293).


UPDATE: Well, I was right. Thanks to Zadok the Roman, I now know this quote comes from Augustine's Sermo 293, 1-3. Ah, the Internet.

Augustine Day by Day - June 24 - Humility of John the Baptist

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John the Baptist was regarded by some people as the Messiah but he told them: "I am not the one whom you think." He refused to accept the error of someone in order to derive glory from it.

John admitted what he was, declared what he was not, and humbled himself. He clearly recognized where his salvation came from, for he understood that he was the lamp, and he feared being extinguished by pride.

-- Sermon 293, 4

Prayer. Thanks and praise to you, my God, who sound in my ears and who illuminate my heart. Keep me away from every temptation.

-- Confessions 10, 31

June 24