What is it with people and locked doors?
At the service station where I put in an occasional appearance behind the counter, we have a security policy that requires the front door to be locked for the overnight shifts. This means that customers wishing to enter the store must be admitted by the console operator on duty; and if the operator isn't immediately available, there's a bell the customers can push to attract their attention.
So...picture the scene at night. The door is locked. A customer has just filled up with petrol and is approaching the store to make payment. The operator (Yours Truly) is out of sight stacking the shelves. The customer encounters the locked door. Do they ring the bell to get my attention? Do they read the sign on the door asking them to ring the bell if the door is locked?
I wish! No, upon encountering the locked door and realising that it's locked, customers decide that the best method of getting my attention is to yank harder on the door. And not only do they pull harder on the door in their attempts to open it, they also try to push it open with as much vigour. The result is that my attention is not attracted by the sound of the bell, it's drawn by the screeching of the shop door as its being yanked fairly off its hinges!
So I ask again: what is it with people and locked doors? Why don't they realise that if the door is locked, trying to force it open is not a viable option? And why do they never see the sign on the door asking them to ring the bell if the door is locked? Honestly, it's the architectural equivalent of thinking that speaking IN A SLOW AND LOUD VOICE will magically enable foreigners to understand English!
Mind you, I don't know why I am so surprised, as this is a familiar phenomenon to me. When I worked in the CBD, I was in an office which had locked front doors (partially as a consequence of the nature of the work; partially because of the not infrequent depredations of the local squatters). It also featured a sign (right next to the door handle) asking people to ring the bell to get the attention of staff. But did it make a blind bit of difference? Not likely! People still pushed and pulled the door with all their vim and vigour, as if their lives depended on it!
I sometimes wonder whether or not being in a public place makes the average citizen a complete bonehead. It's like another phenomenon I've observed, especially in cinemas and theatres and the like, wherein people insist on gathering in large, obstructive groups right in the middle of the doorway. Maybe it's some kind of environmental gene that switches on and renders the possessor thereof unable to do anything other than the one thing that will cause maximum inconvenience to others. Likewise with the locked door; maybe some malevolent DNA strand whispers in their biochemical ear and says: Okay, Joe: this is the bit where you leave your brains in the car. That's a locked door up ahead; just ignore the sign asking you to behave rationally, and instead yank on the damned thing like a demented idiot.
Sigh...maybe I should just resign myself to the proposition that it's an inevitable aspect of human psychology that, when confronted by the unexpected, people will insist on trying to make the expected occur, instead of rationally assessing the situation and responding to it on its own terms. Or maybe the simple, brutal fact is that people are idiots.
Except me, of course. Anyone who maintains a blog must have their head screwed on right...
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: Logic is the art of getting it wrong with confidence. (Joseph Krutch)
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
I'm Now A (Self) Published Author!
Yes, that's right - I've decided to self-publish my first novel!
Hunting the Shadows is a psycho-thriller set in contemporary Melbourne, pitched against a backdrop of political machinations and personal corruption. Two damaged police officers have to find a dangerous serial sex offender who is stalking vulnerable women - all the while battling their own demons and trying to avoid the fallout from internal police politics and individual ambition.
I've published the book through Lulu, a well-known self-publishing business. You can purchase your own copy by clicking on the little icon on the right hand side.
So, please - help this struggling author and get the benefit of a great read!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Authors are like uncaptured criminals: they're the only people free from routine. (Eric Linkletter)
Hunting the Shadows is a psycho-thriller set in contemporary Melbourne, pitched against a backdrop of political machinations and personal corruption. Two damaged police officers have to find a dangerous serial sex offender who is stalking vulnerable women - all the while battling their own demons and trying to avoid the fallout from internal police politics and individual ambition.
I've published the book through Lulu, a well-known self-publishing business. You can purchase your own copy by clicking on the little icon on the right hand side.
So, please - help this struggling author and get the benefit of a great read!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Authors are like uncaptured criminals: they're the only people free from routine. (Eric Linkletter)
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Marvellous Manuscripts
My Dearly Beloved and I recently went to the State Library of Victoria to view the Medieval Manuscripts exhibition.
The hall in which the exhibition is staged isn't quite ideal for the purpose - a tad cramped, inclined to be stuffy, and the information signs were frequently too small or badly placed to read - but these minor inconveniences were easily overshadowed by the treasures within.
And what marvels they were! Beautifully rendered manuscripts, many of them illuminated with extraordinary illustrations, and characterised by the most astonishing penmanship. There were breviaries, lectionaries, hymnals, bestiaries, editions of Ptolemy and Livy and the Augustan History...a wonderful variety of precious manuscripts, created with exquisite care and painstaking attention to detail.
But for me, the two most captivating aspects were:
The hall in which the exhibition is staged isn't quite ideal for the purpose - a tad cramped, inclined to be stuffy, and the information signs were frequently too small or badly placed to read - but these minor inconveniences were easily overshadowed by the treasures within.
And what marvels they were! Beautifully rendered manuscripts, many of them illuminated with extraordinary illustrations, and characterised by the most astonishing penmanship. There were breviaries, lectionaries, hymnals, bestiaries, editions of Ptolemy and Livy and the Augustan History...a wonderful variety of precious manuscripts, created with exquisite care and painstaking attention to detail.
But for me, the two most captivating aspects were:
- The miniatures. These were pint-sized books that nonetheless were as embellished and beautiful as their larger counterparts. How extraordinary was the penmanship, line after line of tiny handwriting reproduced with disciplined and unwavering hands. The effort that creating these miniatures must have taken is almost incomprehensible - you can certainly understand how and why more than one scribe went blind creating these marvels.
- The hymnals. What was most intriguing about these were the musical notations: they were different and yet vaguely familiar as well. Certainly, you could identify the origins of the modern musical system, given the notations were set against the familiar five line stave. But the notations themselves lacked stems, meaning they were identifiable through their different shapes and whether or not they were solid or hollow. Also, the elaborate script that accompanied the music must have been hard to read, especially by candle light!
So if you're looking for a diverting hour or so wondering at the industry that produced these manuscripts, and admiring their sheer beauty, get along to the State Library. It's well worth it!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: The library: a sort of harem. (Ralph Waldo Emmerson)
Saturday, April 19, 2008
China Review: The Great Wall
The Great Wall of China has to be seen to be believed.
Unlike other engineering projects of the ancient world, such as the Pyramids of Giza, the Great Wall was not entirely a single construction undertaken at a specific period of time. During the Spring and Autumn and the Warring States periods (8th-3rd centuries BC), China was divided into a number of petty kingdoms constantly at war with one another, and with surrounding peoples. Many of the northern kingdoms built local walls as a defensive measure against their nomadic tribal neighbours. However, after China was unified by the Emperor Qin Qi Huang in 222BC, he decided to create a single defensive wall to protect his northern border.
The result was the Great Wall, which linked the local walls together and created vast new stretches of wall. To be sure, later dynasties carried out their own works on the Wall, extending and strengthening the existing battlements (indeed, the Great Wall as it is seen by most tourists is the product of extensive Ming Dynasty construction); but the Great Wall as it essentially exists was the product of the Qin Dynasty.
It is reported that more than one million Chinese worked on the Wall, and for most of them, being drafted into the workforce was a death sentence - or, at the very least, a decree in effect that they were to be permanently relocated. It is estimated that thousands of labourers died during the Wall's construction from a variety of causes ranging from exposure to the elements, lack of food, construction accidents, and sheer neglect by imperial officials. When you consider that the population of China at this time is estimated to have been about 5 million people, the scale of the project - and the human suffering it engendered - becomes apparent. And simply beggars belief.
We went to the Wall near a place called Simatai, about two hours out of Beijing. Unfortunately, the smog from the city followed us all the way out to the countryside, although it was nowhere near as bad as Beijing itself, and in any event did not spoil the spectacle. The landscape appeared dead and barren, nothing more than dry, brown grass and rocky earth. This was a stark reminder that the land approaching Beijing is an upland plateau, where sparse rain and seasonal cold combine to produce what is essentially tundra. Indeed, the winters are so harsh that the grass is either burned off or falls dormant - which accounts for the brownness of the land.
Simatai itself is a remote valley nestled amid steep mountains. Relatively few tourists go there (which is precisely what attracted us to the location), but there were nevertheless the ubiquitous stalls at the entrance selling all sorts of nik-naks to the tourists. Up until this point, I had managed to avoid playing the tourist, but on this occasion I succumbed and bought a fur-lined army hat with ear flaps and a bright red star at the front. It made me look very silly (or sillier than I normally look, if you insist on absolute accuracy of reporting!); but I can assure you, I was extremely grateful for the ear flaps once we climbed up onto the Wall itself!
Our first glimpse of the Great Wall was both breath-taking and daunting. High above the valley floor, running along a line of razor-back ridges, the Wall lept from precipice to precipice almost like a living creature - no wonder it was often called the Great Dragon. At regular intervals, square towers jutted toward the sky like the remote eyries of some bird of prey. With a sense of foreboding and anticipation, we started the climb toward the Wall.
It was exhausting! The path to the Wall was smooth and well-made, but the land rose in sharp inclines that taxed our stamina - and as most of you will know, I have very little of that to begin with! Once we met the ruined turret where the path met the Wall, we were faced by long, seemingly endless banks of steps to the next watchtower. Needless to say, I only managed a modest amount of climbing before enough was enough. Others of our party, much fitter than Yours Truly, managed to climb to impressive heights. Indeed, Gary, the other adult on the trip, was virtually skipping up the inclines, with a smile on his dial and a song on his lips - much to my annoyance!
Even so, the view from the watchtower where I stopped to rest/have a coronary was extraordinary. The valley of Simatai lay before me, while to either side, the mountains rose to even greater heights. In the distance, the vista consisted of line after line of jagged peaks, much like the serried ranks of approaching warriors. A chill wind whippd across the Wall, forcing me to once more don the jacket I had stripped off during the climb - and making me glad of my furry hat!
It struck me that life for the soldiers garrisoning the Wall must have been pretty miserable; but for those troops stationed along this particular section, their existence must have been especially wretched. Each watchtower looked like it could house between 20 and 50 soldiers, and it would have been their lot to pace the Wall, keeping a lookout for incursions from the wild tribal lands beyond. The conditions in which they did so ranged from freezing cold to blistering heat, and like all frontier troops, they probably suffered from a combination of boredom, exposure, poor supply, and the depradations of a remote, indifferent officialdom.
And the reality is that, impressive an achievement though it undoubtedly is, the Great Wall was relatively ineffective. It was too static a defence to deal with the highly mobile tribal nations of the north, and the troops were spread far too thinly along its great length to be of any use to any particular section that was under attack. Certainly, the Great Wall proved entirely ineffective against Genghis Khan and his Mongols, as well as against the later Manchu invaders who established China's last dynasty, the Qing.
But all of this was of little moment as we contemplated the views, marvelled at the titanic scale of the construction, and pondered the enormous human cost that accompanied the Wall's completion and maintenance. Words do not do justice to the spectacle of the Wall, and pictures can only convey a partial image, at best. The Great Wall really has to be seen to be believed!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Let observation with extensive view, survey mankind, from China to Peru; remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, and watch the busy scenes of crowded life. (Samuel Jonson).
Unlike other engineering projects of the ancient world, such as the Pyramids of Giza, the Great Wall was not entirely a single construction undertaken at a specific period of time. During the Spring and Autumn and the Warring States periods (8th-3rd centuries BC), China was divided into a number of petty kingdoms constantly at war with one another, and with surrounding peoples. Many of the northern kingdoms built local walls as a defensive measure against their nomadic tribal neighbours. However, after China was unified by the Emperor Qin Qi Huang in 222BC, he decided to create a single defensive wall to protect his northern border.
The result was the Great Wall, which linked the local walls together and created vast new stretches of wall. To be sure, later dynasties carried out their own works on the Wall, extending and strengthening the existing battlements (indeed, the Great Wall as it is seen by most tourists is the product of extensive Ming Dynasty construction); but the Great Wall as it essentially exists was the product of the Qin Dynasty.
It is reported that more than one million Chinese worked on the Wall, and for most of them, being drafted into the workforce was a death sentence - or, at the very least, a decree in effect that they were to be permanently relocated. It is estimated that thousands of labourers died during the Wall's construction from a variety of causes ranging from exposure to the elements, lack of food, construction accidents, and sheer neglect by imperial officials. When you consider that the population of China at this time is estimated to have been about 5 million people, the scale of the project - and the human suffering it engendered - becomes apparent. And simply beggars belief.
We went to the Wall near a place called Simatai, about two hours out of Beijing. Unfortunately, the smog from the city followed us all the way out to the countryside, although it was nowhere near as bad as Beijing itself, and in any event did not spoil the spectacle. The landscape appeared dead and barren, nothing more than dry, brown grass and rocky earth. This was a stark reminder that the land approaching Beijing is an upland plateau, where sparse rain and seasonal cold combine to produce what is essentially tundra. Indeed, the winters are so harsh that the grass is either burned off or falls dormant - which accounts for the brownness of the land.
Simatai itself is a remote valley nestled amid steep mountains. Relatively few tourists go there (which is precisely what attracted us to the location), but there were nevertheless the ubiquitous stalls at the entrance selling all sorts of nik-naks to the tourists. Up until this point, I had managed to avoid playing the tourist, but on this occasion I succumbed and bought a fur-lined army hat with ear flaps and a bright red star at the front. It made me look very silly (or sillier than I normally look, if you insist on absolute accuracy of reporting!); but I can assure you, I was extremely grateful for the ear flaps once we climbed up onto the Wall itself!
Our first glimpse of the Great Wall was both breath-taking and daunting. High above the valley floor, running along a line of razor-back ridges, the Wall lept from precipice to precipice almost like a living creature - no wonder it was often called the Great Dragon. At regular intervals, square towers jutted toward the sky like the remote eyries of some bird of prey. With a sense of foreboding and anticipation, we started the climb toward the Wall.
It was exhausting! The path to the Wall was smooth and well-made, but the land rose in sharp inclines that taxed our stamina - and as most of you will know, I have very little of that to begin with! Once we met the ruined turret where the path met the Wall, we were faced by long, seemingly endless banks of steps to the next watchtower. Needless to say, I only managed a modest amount of climbing before enough was enough. Others of our party, much fitter than Yours Truly, managed to climb to impressive heights. Indeed, Gary, the other adult on the trip, was virtually skipping up the inclines, with a smile on his dial and a song on his lips - much to my annoyance!
Even so, the view from the watchtower where I stopped to rest/have a coronary was extraordinary. The valley of Simatai lay before me, while to either side, the mountains rose to even greater heights. In the distance, the vista consisted of line after line of jagged peaks, much like the serried ranks of approaching warriors. A chill wind whippd across the Wall, forcing me to once more don the jacket I had stripped off during the climb - and making me glad of my furry hat!
It struck me that life for the soldiers garrisoning the Wall must have been pretty miserable; but for those troops stationed along this particular section, their existence must have been especially wretched. Each watchtower looked like it could house between 20 and 50 soldiers, and it would have been their lot to pace the Wall, keeping a lookout for incursions from the wild tribal lands beyond. The conditions in which they did so ranged from freezing cold to blistering heat, and like all frontier troops, they probably suffered from a combination of boredom, exposure, poor supply, and the depradations of a remote, indifferent officialdom.
And the reality is that, impressive an achievement though it undoubtedly is, the Great Wall was relatively ineffective. It was too static a defence to deal with the highly mobile tribal nations of the north, and the troops were spread far too thinly along its great length to be of any use to any particular section that was under attack. Certainly, the Great Wall proved entirely ineffective against Genghis Khan and his Mongols, as well as against the later Manchu invaders who established China's last dynasty, the Qing.
But all of this was of little moment as we contemplated the views, marvelled at the titanic scale of the construction, and pondered the enormous human cost that accompanied the Wall's completion and maintenance. Words do not do justice to the spectacle of the Wall, and pictures can only convey a partial image, at best. The Great Wall really has to be seen to be believed!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Let observation with extensive view, survey mankind, from China to Peru; remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, and watch the busy scenes of crowded life. (Samuel Jonson).
Thursday, April 17, 2008
China Review: Beijing
Those of you who follow this blog regularly may (or may not) have noticed that I've been a little quiescent of late. That's because I've only just come back from a three-week trip to China with my Dearly Beloved, Gary, a former colleague of my Dearly Beloved's, and 21 teenagers. (Well, okay, I've been back a week or so -details!).
The reason why this trip was undertaken lies in the fact that my Dearly Beloved teaches Chinese as a Second Language to high school students, as part of which, she has for many years now been taking groups of students on trips to China as part of their language and cultural development. She changed schools at the start of 2008, but this trip was her last task for the old employer; and Yours Truly and Gary were the other "responsible adults" (in my case, "responsible" was utilised in its broadest possible context) taken along to give her a hand.
I have to admit, I was slightly nervous at the prospect. I have never been to China, and despite the fact that I love Chinese history, I was vaguely aware that I was travelling to a country whose way of life and worldview would be entirely different to mine. So there was very much a sense of "the other". On the other hand, I was also quite excited; the prospect of seeing marvels such as the Great Wall and the entombed warriors of Xi'an was a history buff's dream come true. So it was with mixed feelings that I boarded the plane at Tullamarine Airport for the long haul to Beijing (via Sydney and Shanghai).
I won't bore you with the details of the flight. I had intended to keep a diary, and managed to do so for the first week and a bit; but then the constant travelling and the fatigue this induced mitigated against doing so. Thus, I have determined to break my recollection of events into bit-sized chunks following a basic format. Hopefully, this will give you an insight into my thoughts and feelings at the time, as well as the results of post-event processing in what passes for my mind.
Overview
Beijing is an astonishing megalopolis. Just imagine the high-density, built up CBD of an Australian city extending for square mile after square mile, and that is what Beijing looks like. Or, rather, that's what Beijing looks like when you can see through the smog. I kid you not, the smog has to be experienced to be understood; you know you're in a polluted city when you know there's a skyscraper 100 yards away, but it is completely obscured from view by a thick, yellow pall of smoke, dust, and fumes. On the other hand, there are days in Beijing when the sky is blue, the sun is bright, and the air is clear; on these days, you appreciate just how vast a city Beijing is. Beijing is a place of extraordinary contrasts: of extremes of wealth and poverty; of ancient monuments and ultra-modern construction; of hectic pace and serene, contemplative peace. You have to hit the ground running when you land in Beijing, otherwise it can mess with your head!
Highlights
Without a doubt, the historical monuments, many of which have undergone considerable preservation and renovation in recent years, were the highlight. The Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven, the Forbidden City, and the Yonghe Gong (Lama) Temple were all endlessly fascinating. The first three are monuments to the secluded splendour and majesty in which the Chinese Emperors lived, vast projects involving the construction of palaces and temples, lakes and artificial mountains. It is truly astonishing to think that these seemingly boundless reserves of material and human resources were all at the disposal, and deployed for the enjoyment of, a single individual. The fourth is a precinct of calm and serenity in the midst of Beijing's chaotic sprawl, an operating temple still reverently attended by Buddhist monks where people still come to pray and undertake their religious observances. A lovely complex of gardens and temples and courtyards, it culminates in a colossal (and yet oddly inconspicuous) carving of the Buddha, wrought from a single piece of white sandalwood and standing three stories high!
Beijing also has two lovely gardens, Beihei Park and Jingshan Park, which were once exclusive imperial domains, but are now open to the public. You can stroll through lovely gardens, sit in exquisite pagodas, or contemplate the scenery. On the weekends, the Chinese flock to the parks in droves, making their own entertainment in dance, music, public speaking, or having their photo taken with foreigners. (I declined.)
Lowlights
The smog, the general pushiness of the average Beijinger (precipitated, I suspect, by the fact that life for the average Joe in Beijing is pretty hard), and the presence of snooty ex-pats from all over the world presently resident in Beijing who tend to be arrogant and condescending to both tourists and the locals alike (largely because they're making a fortune from China's economic boom and enjoying a life denied to most Chinese - and even themselves, were they still living in their native country).
The Traffic
The first thing you notice about Beijing is the traffic. There's lots of it, and it is constantly moving. This makes being a pedestrian extremely dangerous, a hazardous condition not helped by the fact that it appears that cars have the right of way. And they come at you from every direction. And yet, oddly, the whole system seems to work, not least because everybody's doing the same thing; but also because the traffic seems to operate on the very Taoist notion of flow and movement - water moving around the rocks, as it were. People just change lanes at will (and are let in); merging traffic just merges on the (correct, as it turns out) assumption that others will make way for them; and pedestrians and bicycles just ease their way through the interstices between vehicles. It's frightening until you get used to it; but once you are, you can appreciate the internal logic. And the thing is, there are hardly any traffic snarls or backlogs in Beijing; by an ironic twist, the only traffic jams we encountered were in Shanghai, which seems to have replicated the West right down to the level of traffic gridlock!
Food
Generally speaking, the food was great. And the reason I enjoyed it was because it was completely unlike the "Chinese" food you get in Australia - this was the real deal! No sweet and sour, no lemon chicken, no banana fritters; just good, honest, north Chinese fare. Ironically, this was the very cause of the teenagers' discontent; they were used to the "Chinese" they'd grown up on in Australia, and couldn't get their heads (or their taste buds) around the genuine article. Sure, there were one or two dishes I wasn't keen on, and I haven't lost my preference for south Asian cuisine; but let me say right now, I discovered a new appreciation for authentic Chinese cooking. Yet the irony is that the culinary highlight wasn't Chinese but Tibetan; the roast yak steak we had at a Tibetan restaurant in Beijing was just sublime, like the best lamb shanks I've ever had - but even better! And the cumin spicing that went with it just added an extra dimension of flavoursomeness, none of which was spoiled by the smooth and hugely enjoyable Tibetan beer. Yum!
Well, that's a snapshot of Beijing. Next: the Great Wall! PS: Why are there no photos - long story, will tell you later!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: May you live in interesting times. (Chinese curse)
The reason why this trip was undertaken lies in the fact that my Dearly Beloved teaches Chinese as a Second Language to high school students, as part of which, she has for many years now been taking groups of students on trips to China as part of their language and cultural development. She changed schools at the start of 2008, but this trip was her last task for the old employer; and Yours Truly and Gary were the other "responsible adults" (in my case, "responsible" was utilised in its broadest possible context) taken along to give her a hand.
I have to admit, I was slightly nervous at the prospect. I have never been to China, and despite the fact that I love Chinese history, I was vaguely aware that I was travelling to a country whose way of life and worldview would be entirely different to mine. So there was very much a sense of "the other". On the other hand, I was also quite excited; the prospect of seeing marvels such as the Great Wall and the entombed warriors of Xi'an was a history buff's dream come true. So it was with mixed feelings that I boarded the plane at Tullamarine Airport for the long haul to Beijing (via Sydney and Shanghai).
I won't bore you with the details of the flight. I had intended to keep a diary, and managed to do so for the first week and a bit; but then the constant travelling and the fatigue this induced mitigated against doing so. Thus, I have determined to break my recollection of events into bit-sized chunks following a basic format. Hopefully, this will give you an insight into my thoughts and feelings at the time, as well as the results of post-event processing in what passes for my mind.
Overview
Beijing is an astonishing megalopolis. Just imagine the high-density, built up CBD of an Australian city extending for square mile after square mile, and that is what Beijing looks like. Or, rather, that's what Beijing looks like when you can see through the smog. I kid you not, the smog has to be experienced to be understood; you know you're in a polluted city when you know there's a skyscraper 100 yards away, but it is completely obscured from view by a thick, yellow pall of smoke, dust, and fumes. On the other hand, there are days in Beijing when the sky is blue, the sun is bright, and the air is clear; on these days, you appreciate just how vast a city Beijing is. Beijing is a place of extraordinary contrasts: of extremes of wealth and poverty; of ancient monuments and ultra-modern construction; of hectic pace and serene, contemplative peace. You have to hit the ground running when you land in Beijing, otherwise it can mess with your head!
Highlights
Without a doubt, the historical monuments, many of which have undergone considerable preservation and renovation in recent years, were the highlight. The Summer Palace, the Temple of Heaven, the Forbidden City, and the Yonghe Gong (Lama) Temple were all endlessly fascinating. The first three are monuments to the secluded splendour and majesty in which the Chinese Emperors lived, vast projects involving the construction of palaces and temples, lakes and artificial mountains. It is truly astonishing to think that these seemingly boundless reserves of material and human resources were all at the disposal, and deployed for the enjoyment of, a single individual. The fourth is a precinct of calm and serenity in the midst of Beijing's chaotic sprawl, an operating temple still reverently attended by Buddhist monks where people still come to pray and undertake their religious observances. A lovely complex of gardens and temples and courtyards, it culminates in a colossal (and yet oddly inconspicuous) carving of the Buddha, wrought from a single piece of white sandalwood and standing three stories high!
Beijing also has two lovely gardens, Beihei Park and Jingshan Park, which were once exclusive imperial domains, but are now open to the public. You can stroll through lovely gardens, sit in exquisite pagodas, or contemplate the scenery. On the weekends, the Chinese flock to the parks in droves, making their own entertainment in dance, music, public speaking, or having their photo taken with foreigners. (I declined.)
Lowlights
The smog, the general pushiness of the average Beijinger (precipitated, I suspect, by the fact that life for the average Joe in Beijing is pretty hard), and the presence of snooty ex-pats from all over the world presently resident in Beijing who tend to be arrogant and condescending to both tourists and the locals alike (largely because they're making a fortune from China's economic boom and enjoying a life denied to most Chinese - and even themselves, were they still living in their native country).
The Traffic
The first thing you notice about Beijing is the traffic. There's lots of it, and it is constantly moving. This makes being a pedestrian extremely dangerous, a hazardous condition not helped by the fact that it appears that cars have the right of way. And they come at you from every direction. And yet, oddly, the whole system seems to work, not least because everybody's doing the same thing; but also because the traffic seems to operate on the very Taoist notion of flow and movement - water moving around the rocks, as it were. People just change lanes at will (and are let in); merging traffic just merges on the (correct, as it turns out) assumption that others will make way for them; and pedestrians and bicycles just ease their way through the interstices between vehicles. It's frightening until you get used to it; but once you are, you can appreciate the internal logic. And the thing is, there are hardly any traffic snarls or backlogs in Beijing; by an ironic twist, the only traffic jams we encountered were in Shanghai, which seems to have replicated the West right down to the level of traffic gridlock!
Food
Generally speaking, the food was great. And the reason I enjoyed it was because it was completely unlike the "Chinese" food you get in Australia - this was the real deal! No sweet and sour, no lemon chicken, no banana fritters; just good, honest, north Chinese fare. Ironically, this was the very cause of the teenagers' discontent; they were used to the "Chinese" they'd grown up on in Australia, and couldn't get their heads (or their taste buds) around the genuine article. Sure, there were one or two dishes I wasn't keen on, and I haven't lost my preference for south Asian cuisine; but let me say right now, I discovered a new appreciation for authentic Chinese cooking. Yet the irony is that the culinary highlight wasn't Chinese but Tibetan; the roast yak steak we had at a Tibetan restaurant in Beijing was just sublime, like the best lamb shanks I've ever had - but even better! And the cumin spicing that went with it just added an extra dimension of flavoursomeness, none of which was spoiled by the smooth and hugely enjoyable Tibetan beer. Yum!
Well, that's a snapshot of Beijing. Next: the Great Wall! PS: Why are there no photos - long story, will tell you later!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: May you live in interesting times. (Chinese curse)
Friday, February 29, 2008
Redemption and Grace
I recently watched a little film called My House In Umbria. It's a film I first saw at the flicks a couple of years ago, and then my Dearly Beloved bought the DVD, which we've both since re-watched a number of times.
The film stars Dame Maggie Smith, dear old Ronnie Barker (in the last film he made before he died), the noted English comedian Timothy Spall, and Italian actor Giancarlo Gianini (who looks very much like an Italian Ian Turpey!). The plot is simple enough: a group of strangers are travelling on a train in Italy, when a bomb in their carriage explodes, killing some and seriously wounding the others. The survivors end up convalescing at the Umbrian country home of Emma Delahunty (Smith), an English ex-pat with a checkered past who has made a living for herself writing romance novels. They include a retired English major (Barker), a young German political activist named Werner, and an American girl who retreats into silence as a result of being traumatised by the explosion. All three are mourning the loss of loved ones in the bombing; while their hostess, who lives alone (with the exception of her manager and groundsman, played by Spall) mourns a life of dashed hopes and ill-fated romances.
Slowly, the strange group begin to re-awaken a sense of purpose and meaning in life, primarily through a project involving the re-creation of an English cottage garden in Delahunty's sprawling, if ill-kept grounds. But their tranquility is threatened on two fronts: Inspector Giotto (Gianini) is determined to catch those responsible for the bombing, and makes frequent calls in which he asks uncomfortable questions; and the American girl's stiff-necked uncle has arrived to take custody of her, thereby breaking the bond of friendship the group has formed.
I won't tell you how these plot threads play themselves out. Needless to say, it's a simple story beautifully told through a combination of stunning cinematography and sympathetic performances. In particular, the scenes filmed around the small Umbrian hill-town near Delahunty's villa, and those shot in and around Sienna, are just breathtaking. Smith is superb as always, Ronnie Barker gives us a performance that reminds us he was a skilled character actor long before he achieved fame as a comedian, Spall is charming and ironic, and Gianini is urbane and graceful.
However, what most strikes the viewer about this film are the themes of grace and redemption that run like dual threads through the plot. All the characters (with the exception of the little girl, whose flaws are a consequence of her trauma) are broken people in one degree or another, burdened by loss, despair, and regret. But they are able to find redemption in the most unlikely of places: in one another's brokenness. The mutual encounter of their bruised and vulnerable humanity causes them to minister to one another; unconsciously at first, and then with a growing sense of warmth and intimacy as their shared sanctuary and desire to re-create the English cottage garden Delahunty longs for enables them to re-form the bonds of their common humanity. And with that humanity comes recognition of a shared need for human contact and engagement, irrespective of how many times that contact has hurt them in the past.
And herein lies their redemption: their capacity to find their way back to hope, to being able to see forward again, not in denial of the past, but in spite of it, even as they carry that past into the future. Their redemption is their capacity to re-affirm themselves, and one another, in the face of everything that negates their affirmation. It is the very weakness and vulnerability of their humanity, as a shared experience, that enables them to become more than the sum of who they are.
My House in Umbria is a modest film, simply made. It won't make anyone's Top Ten list. But it is an eminently worthwhile film to see, both for its own simple beauty, and because of the moving and affirming portrait of vulnerable humanity which it paints.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God. (Karl Barth)
The film stars Dame Maggie Smith, dear old Ronnie Barker (in the last film he made before he died), the noted English comedian Timothy Spall, and Italian actor Giancarlo Gianini (who looks very much like an Italian Ian Turpey!). The plot is simple enough: a group of strangers are travelling on a train in Italy, when a bomb in their carriage explodes, killing some and seriously wounding the others. The survivors end up convalescing at the Umbrian country home of Emma Delahunty (Smith), an English ex-pat with a checkered past who has made a living for herself writing romance novels. They include a retired English major (Barker), a young German political activist named Werner, and an American girl who retreats into silence as a result of being traumatised by the explosion. All three are mourning the loss of loved ones in the bombing; while their hostess, who lives alone (with the exception of her manager and groundsman, played by Spall) mourns a life of dashed hopes and ill-fated romances.
Slowly, the strange group begin to re-awaken a sense of purpose and meaning in life, primarily through a project involving the re-creation of an English cottage garden in Delahunty's sprawling, if ill-kept grounds. But their tranquility is threatened on two fronts: Inspector Giotto (Gianini) is determined to catch those responsible for the bombing, and makes frequent calls in which he asks uncomfortable questions; and the American girl's stiff-necked uncle has arrived to take custody of her, thereby breaking the bond of friendship the group has formed.
I won't tell you how these plot threads play themselves out. Needless to say, it's a simple story beautifully told through a combination of stunning cinematography and sympathetic performances. In particular, the scenes filmed around the small Umbrian hill-town near Delahunty's villa, and those shot in and around Sienna, are just breathtaking. Smith is superb as always, Ronnie Barker gives us a performance that reminds us he was a skilled character actor long before he achieved fame as a comedian, Spall is charming and ironic, and Gianini is urbane and graceful.
However, what most strikes the viewer about this film are the themes of grace and redemption that run like dual threads through the plot. All the characters (with the exception of the little girl, whose flaws are a consequence of her trauma) are broken people in one degree or another, burdened by loss, despair, and regret. But they are able to find redemption in the most unlikely of places: in one another's brokenness. The mutual encounter of their bruised and vulnerable humanity causes them to minister to one another; unconsciously at first, and then with a growing sense of warmth and intimacy as their shared sanctuary and desire to re-create the English cottage garden Delahunty longs for enables them to re-form the bonds of their common humanity. And with that humanity comes recognition of a shared need for human contact and engagement, irrespective of how many times that contact has hurt them in the past.
And herein lies their redemption: their capacity to find their way back to hope, to being able to see forward again, not in denial of the past, but in spite of it, even as they carry that past into the future. Their redemption is their capacity to re-affirm themselves, and one another, in the face of everything that negates their affirmation. It is the very weakness and vulnerability of their humanity, as a shared experience, that enables them to become more than the sum of who they are.
My House in Umbria is a modest film, simply made. It won't make anyone's Top Ten list. But it is an eminently worthwhile film to see, both for its own simple beauty, and because of the moving and affirming portrait of vulnerable humanity which it paints.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Laughter is the closest thing to the grace of God. (Karl Barth)
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
What's In A Name?
I know I've been a little silent of late, so, inspired by the recent example of my buddy Caro, I thought I'd browse the blogthings site to see if I could post something a little light-hearted to tide over anyone who might happen to be reading this blog on even a quasi-regular basis.
I came across the "quiz" "What's Your Name's Hidden Meaning?" I thought it sounded sufficiently innocuous to post on this blog. Here's the result:
I must say, the results surprised me a little, so being the analysis junkie I am, I thought we could explore this outcome a little more. Line by line, as it were.
The first five statements of paragraph one demonstrate immediately that whoever compiled this little "secret hidden meaning" gizmo knows jack shite about Yours Truly. In the words of Edmund Blackadder, I'm about as energetic, spirited, and boisterous as an asthmatic ant with a load of heavy shopping. Who are they talking about? Me, the lumpen proletariat extraordinaire - or some git who exists only in the imagination of an adrenalin junkie hopped to the eyeballs on NoDoze and Red Bull? The only sentence in this para that bears any resemblance to moi is that, yes, on occasion I am wont to get a mite tetchy. Aside from that, however, it's like looking in the mirror and seeing not me but Bruce McAvaney (shudder).
For para two, read as per above, especially the drivel about having a ton of energy. I have about as much energy as a solar panel hidden down a mineshaft. Rebel? Cranky, maybe. Cantankerous, possibly. Curmudgeounly (a word employed often by my Dearly Beloved) probably. But rebellious? Benedict Arnold was more rebellious than I am. I do get into trouble - but that's probably a consequence of the manifold defects of my personality, not as a result of any spirit of rebelliousness. And as for the trouble being "fun" - well, it's clear to me that whoever wrote this blogquiz has the same sense of "fun" as the Maquis de Sade or the Spanish Inquisition...
Para three is interesting only because it largely contradicts the preceeding two paragraphs. I don't know anyone who bounces off walls and thinks parachuting off buildings is fun who is also friendly, charming and warm. From memory, Noel Coward got about in an evening gown, a pipe, and a pair of comfy slippers, not a backpack full of energy bars and a sketchy, second-hand map of the amazon jungle. Get along with anyone - who are they kidding? To me, the word "friend" denotes only two things: one, a word in Tarzan's severly limited vocabulary; and, two, the title of the most overrated show in television history. Sorry, three things: as the old saying goes, a friend in need is someone to be avoided. I try not to rock the boat? Um, doesn't that really contradict the stuff about me being a huge rebel? And my "easy going" attitude clears buildings quicker than you could say "Who's that guy in reception who looks like Osama bin Laden?" Flaky? Irresponsible? They've obviously have mistaken these words as similies for indifferent...
Para four was much closer to the truth. Yes, I am wise. Yes, I understand the world better than most people. That's exactly why most people don't like me. Pure, unrestrained jealousy. And, yes, I am very imaginative. I have imaginary friends. I see them all the time. They talk to me...But then they lost the plot. Paranoid? Me? Listen, buddy, it's true: they are out to get me, and everyone does hate me, okay? Just because I'm unpopular doesn't mean I'm paranoid. And, no, that guy in the pub the other night wasn't just ordering two drinks...he was making a secret signal to all his cohorts in the Ancient Grand Order of Woollen Vests and Sock Suspenders that the Great Day of Apotheosis is nigh...
The next para reckons I'm balanced, ordely, and organised...uh-huh, this is the guy they just described as over-imaginative and paranoid, right? The bloke who gets a tad too upset on occassion and usually needs to be tied into his chair he's so hyperactive? I could have told them if they'd only bothered to consult with me that the only reason I remotely resemble order is because I'm so static. Being able to occupy the same space for a geological age may present the illusion that I'm cool, calm, and collected, but once you look past the encrusting lichen you'll realise that motionlessness is simply - motionlessness. Powerful and competent - in the workplace? I'm not even powerful and competent in my wildest dreams! And can someone please explain to me what the hell work is? Stubborn, headstrong, powerful personality - see, I told you: I'm the literal immoveable object.
And finally, we come to the last para that tells me I'm strong and confident and like the best of everything - isn't perfectionist just a synonym for whinging git? - and that I exude more authority than a fully tooled-up battle group bristling with tactical nukes and a nasty hangover. Again, what happened to paranoid? Or is confidence just paranoia that doesn't recognise itself? And what the bejeezers is a "Type A" personality. I don't even know what my blood type is, let alone my personality "type". For all I know, "Type A" personalities could denote anyone who thinks "The A Team" was the pinnacle of 80s television and that mohawks on aging African-American he-men is an appealing look. And even I'm not that sad. Well, not completely...
Final diagnosis: this thing's a crock. But I guess we already knew that. It provided a laugh, and a forum for me to get a few things off my chest. So if you'll just excuse me, I'm off to talk to my imaginative friends about all the people who hate me. In a calm and authoritive manner, while planning my next crazy escapade around the Andes Mountains.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Mediocrites are people who are always at their best. (Somerset Maugham)
I came across the "quiz" "What's Your Name's Hidden Meaning?" I thought it sounded sufficiently innocuous to post on this blog. Here's the result:
| What Brendan Means |
 You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You're always up to something.You have a ton of energy, and most people can't handle you. You're very intense.You definitely are a handful, and you're likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun. You are friendly, charming, and warm. You get along with almost everyone.You work hard not to rock the boat. Your easy going attitude brings people together.At times, you can be a little flaky and irresponsible. But for the important things, you pull it together. You are very intuitive and wise. You understand the world better than most people.You also have a very active imagination. You often get carried away with your thoughts.You are prone to a little paranoia and jealousy. You sometimes go overboard in interpreting signals. You are balanced, orderly, and organized. You like your ducks in a row.You are powerful and competent, especially in the workplace.People can see you as stubborn and headstrong. You definitely have a dominant personality. You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection. You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive. You have the classic "Type A" personality. |
I must say, the results surprised me a little, so being the analysis junkie I am, I thought we could explore this outcome a little more. Line by line, as it were.
The first five statements of paragraph one demonstrate immediately that whoever compiled this little "secret hidden meaning" gizmo knows jack shite about Yours Truly. In the words of Edmund Blackadder, I'm about as energetic, spirited, and boisterous as an asthmatic ant with a load of heavy shopping. Who are they talking about? Me, the lumpen proletariat extraordinaire - or some git who exists only in the imagination of an adrenalin junkie hopped to the eyeballs on NoDoze and Red Bull? The only sentence in this para that bears any resemblance to moi is that, yes, on occasion I am wont to get a mite tetchy. Aside from that, however, it's like looking in the mirror and seeing not me but Bruce McAvaney (shudder).
For para two, read as per above, especially the drivel about having a ton of energy. I have about as much energy as a solar panel hidden down a mineshaft. Rebel? Cranky, maybe. Cantankerous, possibly. Curmudgeounly (a word employed often by my Dearly Beloved) probably. But rebellious? Benedict Arnold was more rebellious than I am. I do get into trouble - but that's probably a consequence of the manifold defects of my personality, not as a result of any spirit of rebelliousness. And as for the trouble being "fun" - well, it's clear to me that whoever wrote this blogquiz has the same sense of "fun" as the Maquis de Sade or the Spanish Inquisition...
Para three is interesting only because it largely contradicts the preceeding two paragraphs. I don't know anyone who bounces off walls and thinks parachuting off buildings is fun who is also friendly, charming and warm. From memory, Noel Coward got about in an evening gown, a pipe, and a pair of comfy slippers, not a backpack full of energy bars and a sketchy, second-hand map of the amazon jungle. Get along with anyone - who are they kidding? To me, the word "friend" denotes only two things: one, a word in Tarzan's severly limited vocabulary; and, two, the title of the most overrated show in television history. Sorry, three things: as the old saying goes, a friend in need is someone to be avoided. I try not to rock the boat? Um, doesn't that really contradict the stuff about me being a huge rebel? And my "easy going" attitude clears buildings quicker than you could say "Who's that guy in reception who looks like Osama bin Laden?" Flaky? Irresponsible? They've obviously have mistaken these words as similies for indifferent...
Para four was much closer to the truth. Yes, I am wise. Yes, I understand the world better than most people. That's exactly why most people don't like me. Pure, unrestrained jealousy. And, yes, I am very imaginative. I have imaginary friends. I see them all the time. They talk to me...But then they lost the plot. Paranoid? Me? Listen, buddy, it's true: they are out to get me, and everyone does hate me, okay? Just because I'm unpopular doesn't mean I'm paranoid. And, no, that guy in the pub the other night wasn't just ordering two drinks...he was making a secret signal to all his cohorts in the Ancient Grand Order of Woollen Vests and Sock Suspenders that the Great Day of Apotheosis is nigh...
The next para reckons I'm balanced, ordely, and organised...uh-huh, this is the guy they just described as over-imaginative and paranoid, right? The bloke who gets a tad too upset on occassion and usually needs to be tied into his chair he's so hyperactive? I could have told them if they'd only bothered to consult with me that the only reason I remotely resemble order is because I'm so static. Being able to occupy the same space for a geological age may present the illusion that I'm cool, calm, and collected, but once you look past the encrusting lichen you'll realise that motionlessness is simply - motionlessness. Powerful and competent - in the workplace? I'm not even powerful and competent in my wildest dreams! And can someone please explain to me what the hell work is? Stubborn, headstrong, powerful personality - see, I told you: I'm the literal immoveable object.
And finally, we come to the last para that tells me I'm strong and confident and like the best of everything - isn't perfectionist just a synonym for whinging git? - and that I exude more authority than a fully tooled-up battle group bristling with tactical nukes and a nasty hangover. Again, what happened to paranoid? Or is confidence just paranoia that doesn't recognise itself? And what the bejeezers is a "Type A" personality. I don't even know what my blood type is, let alone my personality "type". For all I know, "Type A" personalities could denote anyone who thinks "The A Team" was the pinnacle of 80s television and that mohawks on aging African-American he-men is an appealing look. And even I'm not that sad. Well, not completely...
Final diagnosis: this thing's a crock. But I guess we already knew that. It provided a laugh, and a forum for me to get a few things off my chest. So if you'll just excuse me, I'm off to talk to my imaginative friends about all the people who hate me. In a calm and authoritive manner, while planning my next crazy escapade around the Andes Mountains.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Mediocrites are people who are always at their best. (Somerset Maugham)
Friday, February 01, 2008
Holidays Schmolidays!
I know, strictly speaking, this post is by definition a matter of faith, and therefore should be posted on my other blog, but I thought for general amusement purposes, it would be better suited here.
When my Dearly Beloved and I were affirmed as candidates to the ordained ministry of the Uniting Church in 2007, all the current candidates told us we should enjoy the forthcoming Summer as our last "free" Summer, because every Summer from now on would be occupied with placements and, eventually, ministry.
I should have realised it at the time, but these injunctions to enjoy our last "free" Summer were a harbinger that the Universe's sense of humour was about to swing into action at our expense. For this Summer has been anything but "free", and my Dearly Beloved and I have been kept quite busy with matters ministerial.
This state of affairs has arisen because our much-loved local minister has fallen prey to a severe back condition that requires him to spend extended periods in enforced immobilisation. And that's before the necessary surgery occurs, which will entail further rest and recuperation. So, the church council decided that, given two of its congregation are candidates to the ministry (you know who I'm talking about, don't you?), it would be a terrific idea if they were temporarily appointed as ministerial locums.
Now, before I go any further, I have to say that my Dearly Beloved and I are counting ourselves as extremely fortunate that we are members of a congregation blessed, not only with a brilliant leadership group, but any number of gifted and capable people as well, which means that much of the burden that being a ministerial locum might otherwise involve has been taken off our shoulders. So it's not like we'd want you to believe that we were suddenly presented with the task of looking after a congregation all on our own. Still...
There's been enough to be getting on with. I won't go into all the boring details, except to say that this Summer past has been anything but restful! I can hear the Universe laughing its cosmic head off even as I type. And people keep assuring us that this has all been good experience - and they're right - but I can't avoid the sneaking suspicion that I'm owed a long, lazy Summer before such things vanish into the realms of past experience...
Ah, well, c'est la vie! And I have to admit, there have been some profound and thought-provoking moments in all of this, including some interesting personal insights and an apposite reminder about the need for personal humility. Most importantly, it has reminded me of the needs for grace and sensitivity when dealing with others, that everything we do in faith is an act of ministry - and that ministry exists for purposes that have nothing to do with our own desires and ends.
We're not sure how long the present interim arrangements will last; with the support of the church council and the congregation, we're taking this one day at a time. And most of all, we're praying our minister makes a full recovery and is back on deck as soon as the healing process allows.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
One has to accept life on the same terms as the public baths, or crowds, or travel. Things will get thrown at you and things will hit you. Life's no soft affair. (Seneca)
When my Dearly Beloved and I were affirmed as candidates to the ordained ministry of the Uniting Church in 2007, all the current candidates told us we should enjoy the forthcoming Summer as our last "free" Summer, because every Summer from now on would be occupied with placements and, eventually, ministry.
I should have realised it at the time, but these injunctions to enjoy our last "free" Summer were a harbinger that the Universe's sense of humour was about to swing into action at our expense. For this Summer has been anything but "free", and my Dearly Beloved and I have been kept quite busy with matters ministerial.
This state of affairs has arisen because our much-loved local minister has fallen prey to a severe back condition that requires him to spend extended periods in enforced immobilisation. And that's before the necessary surgery occurs, which will entail further rest and recuperation. So, the church council decided that, given two of its congregation are candidates to the ministry (you know who I'm talking about, don't you?), it would be a terrific idea if they were temporarily appointed as ministerial locums.
Now, before I go any further, I have to say that my Dearly Beloved and I are counting ourselves as extremely fortunate that we are members of a congregation blessed, not only with a brilliant leadership group, but any number of gifted and capable people as well, which means that much of the burden that being a ministerial locum might otherwise involve has been taken off our shoulders. So it's not like we'd want you to believe that we were suddenly presented with the task of looking after a congregation all on our own. Still...
There's been enough to be getting on with. I won't go into all the boring details, except to say that this Summer past has been anything but restful! I can hear the Universe laughing its cosmic head off even as I type. And people keep assuring us that this has all been good experience - and they're right - but I can't avoid the sneaking suspicion that I'm owed a long, lazy Summer before such things vanish into the realms of past experience...
Ah, well, c'est la vie! And I have to admit, there have been some profound and thought-provoking moments in all of this, including some interesting personal insights and an apposite reminder about the need for personal humility. Most importantly, it has reminded me of the needs for grace and sensitivity when dealing with others, that everything we do in faith is an act of ministry - and that ministry exists for purposes that have nothing to do with our own desires and ends.
We're not sure how long the present interim arrangements will last; with the support of the church council and the congregation, we're taking this one day at a time. And most of all, we're praying our minister makes a full recovery and is back on deck as soon as the healing process allows.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
One has to accept life on the same terms as the public baths, or crowds, or travel. Things will get thrown at you and things will hit you. Life's no soft affair. (Seneca)
Sunday, January 20, 2008
A Gentle Reminder...
For those of you who missed my earlier posting on this matter, I now have two blogs. Confessions from a Comfortable Couch will continue to contain my musings and ramblings about life in general.
However, I now have a specific blog for matters of faith - reflections, sermons I've preached, prayers, etc - which now appear on my other blog The Still Circle.
Also, you should catch my Dearly Beloved's blog with some of her latest entries - a sermon she preached recently, as well as some Advent reflections. Great stuff, especially the beautiful pictures that accompany her posts.
Talk to you soon,
BB
However, I now have a specific blog for matters of faith - reflections, sermons I've preached, prayers, etc - which now appear on my other blog The Still Circle.
Also, you should catch my Dearly Beloved's blog with some of her latest entries - a sermon she preached recently, as well as some Advent reflections. Great stuff, especially the beautiful pictures that accompany her posts.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Much Ado About Cricket
When Michael Clarke captured Ishant Sharma's wicket to give Australia an unlikely victory in the Second Test in Sydney, I thought: India didn't deserve that. They had batted gallantly and fought hard to stave off defeat, and had come agonisingly close to succeeding. Then, in five remarkable balls, Clarke took three wickets and snatched victory from the jaws of a draw.
Since then it appears that all hell has broken loose. There are several issues involved, and in the present frenzy, it is difficult to separate them; but it is imperative that this separation occurs, otherwise the dispute will not be resolved, and the damage it is doing to cricket will not be healed.
First, there's the issue of umpiring. There is no question that, in this match, the Indians suffered a number of poor umpiring decisions, at least some of which adversely impacted upon their fortunes. They have a right to feel aggrieved. But it is also true that copping bad decisions is part and parcel of cricket: there isn't a person who has played the game, at whatever level, who hasn't suffered from a bad umpiring decision. But along with the disappointment that naturally results from such incidents, you also - hopefully - learn to accept that umpires are human; and that being human, they from time to time have bad games and make bad decisions. In other words, you learn to swallow your sense of moral outrage, knowing the odds are pretty good that you'll eventually benefit from a bad decision made in your favour.
With all due respect, it appears that the Indian team, and the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) have forgotten this cricketing truism. Feeling aggrieved is one thing; accusing an umpire of incompetence (or is this really a coded accusation of bias?) and demanding the removal of that umpire is something else altogether. For starters, prior to the introduction of the international umpiring panel, touring the sub-continent was proverbial for suffering at the hands of sub-standard umpiring; the Indians are frankly the last people who should be pointing the finger on this score. More importantly, the last three wickets which Michael Clarke captured had nothing to do with bad umpiring; and plenty of Indian wickets fell as a consequence of poor shot selection. More than bad umpiring, the Indians contrived at their own demise.
If this weren't bad enough, the International Cricket Council's (ICC) craven submission to the BCCI's demands that one of the two umpires who officiated in the Syndey Test be removed has only made matters worse. Umpire Steve Bucknor has now been effectively tried and convicted of incompetence, without the benefit of either due process or an appeal - unlike the Indian player accused of racism (see below). For an umpire, who is supposed to be sacrosanct in the respect they are afforded, to be treated in such a shabby manner by the game's administrators, only reinforces the message that if you complain loud and long enough, and if you have the financial muscle to back your complaints, you'll get your way regardless. The ICC might call this pragmatic - I call it gutless.
Next, there is the issue of poor sportsmanship. On this point, the Indians are on much more substantial ground. Frankly, the conduct of the Australian players in the immediate aftermath of their victory was pretty deplorable. Sure, they had every right to be jubilant; but the essence of sportsmanship is being able, in the moment of your victory, to acknowledge the efforts of your opponents and pay them due regard for the competition they provided. The scenes of the Australian players carrying on like drunken teenagers and urging the crowd into transports of triumphalistic ecstasy was distasteful to say the least. If you were coach of a team of 10 year olds who behaved in this fashion, you'd bang their heads together and tell them to behave themselves - I don't see why adults should be exempt from this requirement. Compare this with the grace and dignity with which the English player Andrew Flintoff consoled the Australian players after their narrow loss in the Second Test of the 2005 Ashes series, and the response of the Australians in this latest match was, by contrast, shabby in the extreme.
Then there's the issue of sledging, which also comes under poor sportsmanship. The Australians are notorious sledgers; they are by no means the only ones who sledge, but they are the ones most closely associated with this practice. Let me be clear: sledging is not gamesmanship, the skill of gaining a psychological advantage over your opponent - it is personal abuse, pure and simple. And it seems to me that the Australians long ago forgot the difference between the two. Passing personal remarks and insulting comments is not the same using your skill as a player or adopting a personal approach that intimidates the opposition into surrendering the psychological initiative. Putting opponents off their game by abusing them takes neither skill nor intellect; it's just school-yard bullying transported to the cricket field.
I don't know if the Australians engaged in any sledging in this match (though it seems highly likely that they did), but it does appear that their past habit of doing so at least provided the fuel for the present explosion of indignation and accusation. And when it seemed as though, in their pursuit of victory, the Australians made dubious appeals and claimed wickets that were not theirs to claim, instances of past sledging ignited feelings of grievance and victimisation among the Indian players and officials. I believe that it was these past instances of bad behaviour by the Australians, as much as any instances of sledging in the recent match, which Indian captain Anil Kumble had in mind when he accused the Australians of not playing in the spirit of the game. And I think the Australians need to take a good, long hard look at themselves and realise that victories accomplished, to whatever degree, by sledging are hollow victories indeed.
Finally, there is the spectre of racism. I wasn't on the field when Indian player Harbhajan Singh allegedly called Andrew Symonds a "monkey". I wasn't at the hearing in which match referee Mike Proctor sustained the allegations against Singh and imposed a three match ban. I don't know what evidence was adduced, for and against, the allegation. But at least Singh has had the benefit of a hearing, and will be able to lodge an appeal - which is more courtesy than has been afforded to umpire Bucknor. If Harbhajan called Symonds a "monkey" - the taunt that Indian crowds yelled at him during Australia's recent tour of India -then he deserves to be banned. If he is innocent, the Australians must be examined as to why they lodged the complaint, and made to account accordingly.
Racism must be stamped out of all walks of life. In the past - and the last South African tour of Australia comes to mind - sections of the Australian public racially abused players from other countries. Fortunately, Australia's cricketing and civil authorities have taken steps to prevent this from reoccurring - more than the Indian authorities appear to have done with respect to the racists among their own spectators. And for the BCCI to demand that Harbhajan be cleared or else the present tour will be cancelled is a disgrace; this is a demand that undermines the integrity of the whole process. Granted, the Indians are to an extent entitled to feel miffed that it is one of their players who are among the first to be suspended under the ICC's racism code, especially given the history of racism which Indians, Pakistanis, West Indians, and others have had to endure. But in order for the code to be effective and to have integrity, it must apply to all without exception, regardless of historical injustices; as soon as conditions begin to be placed on the application of the code, it becomes a farce.
So, how does this get resolved? To begin, the captains must take the lead and set the example by their own behaviour. They must be seen to be engaging one another in a spirit of sportsmanship and mutual respect - and not just for show, but genuinely, as part of their integral approach to the game. And the players must follow the example set. And the cricketing boards of the various nations must respect the independence and sanctity of the umpires and disciplinary officials. The "talking" has to be done with bat and ball, and not at press conferences or through the issuing of threats and ultimatums. Any other course simply cheapens the game and makes a mockery of the values which it supposedly represents.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Since then it appears that all hell has broken loose. There are several issues involved, and in the present frenzy, it is difficult to separate them; but it is imperative that this separation occurs, otherwise the dispute will not be resolved, and the damage it is doing to cricket will not be healed.
First, there's the issue of umpiring. There is no question that, in this match, the Indians suffered a number of poor umpiring decisions, at least some of which adversely impacted upon their fortunes. They have a right to feel aggrieved. But it is also true that copping bad decisions is part and parcel of cricket: there isn't a person who has played the game, at whatever level, who hasn't suffered from a bad umpiring decision. But along with the disappointment that naturally results from such incidents, you also - hopefully - learn to accept that umpires are human; and that being human, they from time to time have bad games and make bad decisions. In other words, you learn to swallow your sense of moral outrage, knowing the odds are pretty good that you'll eventually benefit from a bad decision made in your favour.
With all due respect, it appears that the Indian team, and the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) have forgotten this cricketing truism. Feeling aggrieved is one thing; accusing an umpire of incompetence (or is this really a coded accusation of bias?) and demanding the removal of that umpire is something else altogether. For starters, prior to the introduction of the international umpiring panel, touring the sub-continent was proverbial for suffering at the hands of sub-standard umpiring; the Indians are frankly the last people who should be pointing the finger on this score. More importantly, the last three wickets which Michael Clarke captured had nothing to do with bad umpiring; and plenty of Indian wickets fell as a consequence of poor shot selection. More than bad umpiring, the Indians contrived at their own demise.
If this weren't bad enough, the International Cricket Council's (ICC) craven submission to the BCCI's demands that one of the two umpires who officiated in the Syndey Test be removed has only made matters worse. Umpire Steve Bucknor has now been effectively tried and convicted of incompetence, without the benefit of either due process or an appeal - unlike the Indian player accused of racism (see below). For an umpire, who is supposed to be sacrosanct in the respect they are afforded, to be treated in such a shabby manner by the game's administrators, only reinforces the message that if you complain loud and long enough, and if you have the financial muscle to back your complaints, you'll get your way regardless. The ICC might call this pragmatic - I call it gutless.
Next, there is the issue of poor sportsmanship. On this point, the Indians are on much more substantial ground. Frankly, the conduct of the Australian players in the immediate aftermath of their victory was pretty deplorable. Sure, they had every right to be jubilant; but the essence of sportsmanship is being able, in the moment of your victory, to acknowledge the efforts of your opponents and pay them due regard for the competition they provided. The scenes of the Australian players carrying on like drunken teenagers and urging the crowd into transports of triumphalistic ecstasy was distasteful to say the least. If you were coach of a team of 10 year olds who behaved in this fashion, you'd bang their heads together and tell them to behave themselves - I don't see why adults should be exempt from this requirement. Compare this with the grace and dignity with which the English player Andrew Flintoff consoled the Australian players after their narrow loss in the Second Test of the 2005 Ashes series, and the response of the Australians in this latest match was, by contrast, shabby in the extreme.
Then there's the issue of sledging, which also comes under poor sportsmanship. The Australians are notorious sledgers; they are by no means the only ones who sledge, but they are the ones most closely associated with this practice. Let me be clear: sledging is not gamesmanship, the skill of gaining a psychological advantage over your opponent - it is personal abuse, pure and simple. And it seems to me that the Australians long ago forgot the difference between the two. Passing personal remarks and insulting comments is not the same using your skill as a player or adopting a personal approach that intimidates the opposition into surrendering the psychological initiative. Putting opponents off their game by abusing them takes neither skill nor intellect; it's just school-yard bullying transported to the cricket field.
I don't know if the Australians engaged in any sledging in this match (though it seems highly likely that they did), but it does appear that their past habit of doing so at least provided the fuel for the present explosion of indignation and accusation. And when it seemed as though, in their pursuit of victory, the Australians made dubious appeals and claimed wickets that were not theirs to claim, instances of past sledging ignited feelings of grievance and victimisation among the Indian players and officials. I believe that it was these past instances of bad behaviour by the Australians, as much as any instances of sledging in the recent match, which Indian captain Anil Kumble had in mind when he accused the Australians of not playing in the spirit of the game. And I think the Australians need to take a good, long hard look at themselves and realise that victories accomplished, to whatever degree, by sledging are hollow victories indeed.
Finally, there is the spectre of racism. I wasn't on the field when Indian player Harbhajan Singh allegedly called Andrew Symonds a "monkey". I wasn't at the hearing in which match referee Mike Proctor sustained the allegations against Singh and imposed a three match ban. I don't know what evidence was adduced, for and against, the allegation. But at least Singh has had the benefit of a hearing, and will be able to lodge an appeal - which is more courtesy than has been afforded to umpire Bucknor. If Harbhajan called Symonds a "monkey" - the taunt that Indian crowds yelled at him during Australia's recent tour of India -then he deserves to be banned. If he is innocent, the Australians must be examined as to why they lodged the complaint, and made to account accordingly.
Racism must be stamped out of all walks of life. In the past - and the last South African tour of Australia comes to mind - sections of the Australian public racially abused players from other countries. Fortunately, Australia's cricketing and civil authorities have taken steps to prevent this from reoccurring - more than the Indian authorities appear to have done with respect to the racists among their own spectators. And for the BCCI to demand that Harbhajan be cleared or else the present tour will be cancelled is a disgrace; this is a demand that undermines the integrity of the whole process. Granted, the Indians are to an extent entitled to feel miffed that it is one of their players who are among the first to be suspended under the ICC's racism code, especially given the history of racism which Indians, Pakistanis, West Indians, and others have had to endure. But in order for the code to be effective and to have integrity, it must apply to all without exception, regardless of historical injustices; as soon as conditions begin to be placed on the application of the code, it becomes a farce.
So, how does this get resolved? To begin, the captains must take the lead and set the example by their own behaviour. They must be seen to be engaging one another in a spirit of sportsmanship and mutual respect - and not just for show, but genuinely, as part of their integral approach to the game. And the players must follow the example set. And the cricketing boards of the various nations must respect the independence and sanctity of the umpires and disciplinary officials. The "talking" has to be done with bat and ball, and not at press conferences or through the issuing of threats and ultimatums. Any other course simply cheapens the game and makes a mockery of the values which it supposedly represents.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Friday, December 07, 2007
The Results Are In....
Well, the waiting for the 2007 academic year is over, as the results for Second Semester dropped softly (but significantly) into my mailbox today.
All in all, I didn't do too badly. High Distinctions for Triune God and Gospel of Mark, and a Credit (which was only a couple of points off a Distinction) for Faith & Learning.
Must say I was rather pleased with these results for two reasons. Firstly, Semester One was a lot more difficult than I expected; my brain seemed annoyingly sluggish for some reason, and my overall results were solid, if a little disappointing. Secondly, Semester Two was complicated by another round of surgery on my left eye, coupled with the distraction of going through the selection process for applicants to the ordained ministry of the Uniting Church.
I think the difference was that I actually managed to be prepared for a change. I chose my assignment topics early and got stuck into the necessary research without delay. Thus, even though I was laid up for a couple of weeks by the surgery, I had copious notes awaiting me once I was able to get back to work, and writing the essays turned out to be nothing like the nightmare I expected.
You know what - all that guff my teachers and lecturers have been telling me over the years about being disciplined and committed was actually true! Who would have thunk it?
Anyhoo, I reckon I've got bragging rights for this semester...let's just hope my newly found commitment to discipline doesn't disappear over the summer!
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: An intellectual is a man who takes more words than is necessary to say more than he knows. (Dwight D. Eisenhower)
All in all, I didn't do too badly. High Distinctions for Triune God and Gospel of Mark, and a Credit (which was only a couple of points off a Distinction) for Faith & Learning.
Must say I was rather pleased with these results for two reasons. Firstly, Semester One was a lot more difficult than I expected; my brain seemed annoyingly sluggish for some reason, and my overall results were solid, if a little disappointing. Secondly, Semester Two was complicated by another round of surgery on my left eye, coupled with the distraction of going through the selection process for applicants to the ordained ministry of the Uniting Church.
I think the difference was that I actually managed to be prepared for a change. I chose my assignment topics early and got stuck into the necessary research without delay. Thus, even though I was laid up for a couple of weeks by the surgery, I had copious notes awaiting me once I was able to get back to work, and writing the essays turned out to be nothing like the nightmare I expected.
You know what - all that guff my teachers and lecturers have been telling me over the years about being disciplined and committed was actually true! Who would have thunk it?
Anyhoo, I reckon I've got bragging rights for this semester...let's just hope my newly found commitment to discipline doesn't disappear over the summer!
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: An intellectual is a man who takes more words than is necessary to say more than he knows. (Dwight D. Eisenhower)
Sunday, November 25, 2007
An Electoral Reflection
Last night I watched John Howard concede defeat in the Australian Federal election with more dignity and integrity than has characterised most of his time in office.
I have no desire to gloat over a fallen man, however, I am convinced that history will record Howard as the most mediocre individual ever to have been Prime Minister of this country. Which is not to say that his influence and impact on Australia have not been enormous; just that, in my view, Howard's influence on this nation has been almost entirely negative.
Howard's one, shining moment when he acted with genuine integrity occurred early in his Prime Ministership, when he introduced some sanity into the nation's firearms legislation in the wake of the dreadful Port Arthur shootings. Howard did so in the face of bitter protest and opposition from the right-wing of his own support base, and he is to be credited with standing up to the loony shooters fringe and acting in the national interest.
For the rest of his term in office, however, it was a steady downward decline.
Howard has always peddled the "honest John" label that attached itself to him early in his political career. And yet honesty was conspicuously and frequently absent when it came to Howard's decision-making; he much preferred a dissimulation or obfuscation that engendered political capital, as opposed to acting with true statesmanship. Granted, he is not the only politician who has done this, nor was he the only member of his Government who did this; but as the Prime Minister, he set the tone and established the pattern. The reasons for entering the Iraq War and the Howard Government's allegations that refugees threw their children overboard are just two of the more conspicuous examples of dishonesty; and yet in these and other cases, Howard has denied all responsibility, blaming others for supposedly providing defective information, or no information at all. And yet, while it was politically advantageous for him to do so, Howard readily latched onto these lies to entrench his own power.
Howard's dishonesty went further than this. There was, of course, the notorious "never, ever" GST; however, even worse than this was the glib "core and non-core promises" excuse bandied out to the electorate as to why he hadn't kept his election promises; apparently, some of Howard's promises ranked higher on the "I intend to keep" scale than others (not that the electorate was told this, or given the rankings, before an election). Now, Howard is not the only politician to have broken a promise; but the absurd and insulting justification he produced for his dishonesty pointed toward the sinister manipulation of language that would characterise both his government and his approach to realpolitik. This was the Government that changed "refugees" to "unlawful arrivals"; "soldiers" to "enemy combatants"; "dissenters" to "un-Australian". This was the Government that deemed a whole raft of workplace conditions and entitlements to be "non-allowable" in industrial awards, and then had the temerity to attach the phrase "Workchoices" to its punitive industrial legislation. This is the Government - and the Prime Minister - who routinely demonised select groups of people for its own purposes, while at the same time prattling on about "mateship" and "Australian values".
And it is this last that is the defining characteristic of the Howard Government, and of Howard's legacy to Australia: fear. For Howard has manipulated both the underlying racism within Australian society, as well as our habitual insularity and sense of superiority, to secure his own place in politics. When the Hansonite movement threatened to undermine Howard's power-base among conservative, racist whites, Howard not only didn't oppose Hanson directly, he appropriated most of Hanson's policies, especially with respect to Aboriginal Australians and refugees. Hanson's disappearance from politics was not due to any integrity on Howard's part, but was a consequence of Howard's cynical, blatant usurpation of Hanson's power-base. In the wake of 9/11 and the Bali bombings, instead of choosing to comfort the traumatised and offer a platform of hope and engagement, Howard chose to invoke "fortress Australia" and stoke up the fires of mistrust and suspicion. The Howard government's willingness to participate in the unlawful detention of Australian citizens by a foreign power, without trial and subject to every violation of due process imaginable, speaks to the depths to which it was prepared to descend in the pursuit of power.
Australia has been a dark place in the bit-over-a-decade in which Howard has been in power. We are a nation obsessed with material consumption and plunging further and further into personal debt in its pursuit. We claim to be an open and egalitarian society, yet we are suspicious of difference and demand that "others" conform to our "values" and norms. We claim to be fighting on the side of freedom and humanity, yet we have willingly acquiesced in the perpetration of an illegal war, with all the ghastly consequences - including the fostering of new generations of violent extremists - which doing so involves. We claim to be an optimistic and cheerful people, and yet we brood over threats from within and without, and scan the stock reports for signs of impending disaster. We claim to be a nation of anti-establishment larrikins who think for themselves; and yet we have cravenly kowtowed and grovelled to whoever we have thought might offer us security and a few dollars more.
And at the centre of this darkness has stood the figure of John Howard, Prime Minister. Not that I'm suggesting Howard has woven some sort of fiendishly clever web in which he has imposed a dystopic society without us realising the fact. Rather, Howard has been the quintessential expression of our collective weakness; when we needed leadership and statesmanship, we got politicking and manipulation. When we needed courage and hope, we got fear and loathing. When we needed genuine egalitarianism and compassion, we got demonising and finger-pointing. We are to blame for what we are; but Howard, as Prime Minister, is to blame for not trying to make us see what Abraham Lincoln called the "better angels of our nature", for not trying to make us be bigger than the sum of who we are. Howard is to blame for allowing us to wallow in our self-absorption, instead of lifting our eyes to new lights.
What Australia needs now more than anything else is hope and vision. I hope this new government can at least be the starting point for this; otherwise, we're in a lot of trouble.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: Of all lives, the political life always ends in failure. (Enoch Powell)
I have no desire to gloat over a fallen man, however, I am convinced that history will record Howard as the most mediocre individual ever to have been Prime Minister of this country. Which is not to say that his influence and impact on Australia have not been enormous; just that, in my view, Howard's influence on this nation has been almost entirely negative.
Howard's one, shining moment when he acted with genuine integrity occurred early in his Prime Ministership, when he introduced some sanity into the nation's firearms legislation in the wake of the dreadful Port Arthur shootings. Howard did so in the face of bitter protest and opposition from the right-wing of his own support base, and he is to be credited with standing up to the loony shooters fringe and acting in the national interest.
For the rest of his term in office, however, it was a steady downward decline.
Howard has always peddled the "honest John" label that attached itself to him early in his political career. And yet honesty was conspicuously and frequently absent when it came to Howard's decision-making; he much preferred a dissimulation or obfuscation that engendered political capital, as opposed to acting with true statesmanship. Granted, he is not the only politician who has done this, nor was he the only member of his Government who did this; but as the Prime Minister, he set the tone and established the pattern. The reasons for entering the Iraq War and the Howard Government's allegations that refugees threw their children overboard are just two of the more conspicuous examples of dishonesty; and yet in these and other cases, Howard has denied all responsibility, blaming others for supposedly providing defective information, or no information at all. And yet, while it was politically advantageous for him to do so, Howard readily latched onto these lies to entrench his own power.
Howard's dishonesty went further than this. There was, of course, the notorious "never, ever" GST; however, even worse than this was the glib "core and non-core promises" excuse bandied out to the electorate as to why he hadn't kept his election promises; apparently, some of Howard's promises ranked higher on the "I intend to keep" scale than others (not that the electorate was told this, or given the rankings, before an election). Now, Howard is not the only politician to have broken a promise; but the absurd and insulting justification he produced for his dishonesty pointed toward the sinister manipulation of language that would characterise both his government and his approach to realpolitik. This was the Government that changed "refugees" to "unlawful arrivals"; "soldiers" to "enemy combatants"; "dissenters" to "un-Australian". This was the Government that deemed a whole raft of workplace conditions and entitlements to be "non-allowable" in industrial awards, and then had the temerity to attach the phrase "Workchoices" to its punitive industrial legislation. This is the Government - and the Prime Minister - who routinely demonised select groups of people for its own purposes, while at the same time prattling on about "mateship" and "Australian values".
And it is this last that is the defining characteristic of the Howard Government, and of Howard's legacy to Australia: fear. For Howard has manipulated both the underlying racism within Australian society, as well as our habitual insularity and sense of superiority, to secure his own place in politics. When the Hansonite movement threatened to undermine Howard's power-base among conservative, racist whites, Howard not only didn't oppose Hanson directly, he appropriated most of Hanson's policies, especially with respect to Aboriginal Australians and refugees. Hanson's disappearance from politics was not due to any integrity on Howard's part, but was a consequence of Howard's cynical, blatant usurpation of Hanson's power-base. In the wake of 9/11 and the Bali bombings, instead of choosing to comfort the traumatised and offer a platform of hope and engagement, Howard chose to invoke "fortress Australia" and stoke up the fires of mistrust and suspicion. The Howard government's willingness to participate in the unlawful detention of Australian citizens by a foreign power, without trial and subject to every violation of due process imaginable, speaks to the depths to which it was prepared to descend in the pursuit of power.
Australia has been a dark place in the bit-over-a-decade in which Howard has been in power. We are a nation obsessed with material consumption and plunging further and further into personal debt in its pursuit. We claim to be an open and egalitarian society, yet we are suspicious of difference and demand that "others" conform to our "values" and norms. We claim to be fighting on the side of freedom and humanity, yet we have willingly acquiesced in the perpetration of an illegal war, with all the ghastly consequences - including the fostering of new generations of violent extremists - which doing so involves. We claim to be an optimistic and cheerful people, and yet we brood over threats from within and without, and scan the stock reports for signs of impending disaster. We claim to be a nation of anti-establishment larrikins who think for themselves; and yet we have cravenly kowtowed and grovelled to whoever we have thought might offer us security and a few dollars more.
And at the centre of this darkness has stood the figure of John Howard, Prime Minister. Not that I'm suggesting Howard has woven some sort of fiendishly clever web in which he has imposed a dystopic society without us realising the fact. Rather, Howard has been the quintessential expression of our collective weakness; when we needed leadership and statesmanship, we got politicking and manipulation. When we needed courage and hope, we got fear and loathing. When we needed genuine egalitarianism and compassion, we got demonising and finger-pointing. We are to blame for what we are; but Howard, as Prime Minister, is to blame for not trying to make us see what Abraham Lincoln called the "better angels of our nature", for not trying to make us be bigger than the sum of who we are. Howard is to blame for allowing us to wallow in our self-absorption, instead of lifting our eyes to new lights.
What Australia needs now more than anything else is hope and vision. I hope this new government can at least be the starting point for this; otherwise, we're in a lot of trouble.
Talk to you soon,
BB
Quote for the Day: Of all lives, the political life always ends in failure. (Enoch Powell)
Friday, November 23, 2007
My Other Blog
Now that my Dearly Beloved and I are formally candidates to the ordained ministry of the Uniting Church in Australia, and because we are starting to get many more opportunities to preach sermons, lead worship services, and do other associated activities, I have decided to start another blog dedicated to sharing my sermons, prayers, and reflections on faith.
The new blog is called The Still Circle.
But don't worry! I won't be climbing off the Comfy Couch any time soon - I'll still be ranting about all sorts of stuff from the serious to the silly on these pages; it's just that matters of faith will now have their own dedicated site.
I'll begin the new blog with the most recent sermon I preached on Luke 21:5-19, and will also add a couple of recent reflections that have already appeared on this blog. However, as time goes on, I'll add more and more new stuff.
So, there you go - something new. Once you've had fun bouncing around on the Comfy Couch, you can pop over to the Still Circle for some calming down and spiritual centering.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
The new blog is called The Still Circle.
But don't worry! I won't be climbing off the Comfy Couch any time soon - I'll still be ranting about all sorts of stuff from the serious to the silly on these pages; it's just that matters of faith will now have their own dedicated site.
I'll begin the new blog with the most recent sermon I preached on Luke 21:5-19, and will also add a couple of recent reflections that have already appeared on this blog. However, as time goes on, I'll add more and more new stuff.
So, there you go - something new. Once you've had fun bouncing around on the Comfy Couch, you can pop over to the Still Circle for some calming down and spiritual centering.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
The Fall of Rome
The chorus to the James Reyne song Fall of Rome concludes with the following couplet:
Well, everybody might say that I can't do so, but staying home and thinking about the Fall of Rome is exactly what I've been doing in recent times. And my thinking has been prompted by an excellent book, The Fall of the Roman Empire: A New History by Peter Heather (Pan Books, London, 2006).
Heather's book is subtitled A New History because he takes issue with the view, inherited from a long line of historians starting with Edward Gibbon, that the Roman state collapsed under the weight of moral and political corruption generated by over-prosperity arising from the Empire's conquests and sheer, over-weening power. While Heather does not deny that internal factors - the limitations of an agrarian, pre-modern economy; the constraints imposed by primitive communications; the tendency toward civil strife inherent in any change of leadership in an authoritarian state; and the inability of the imperial tax system to respond to increased fiscal demands beyond a certain limit - were weaknesses that made the Empire vulnerable to collapse, he argues that these factors alone, individually and severally, were not sufficient to cause the fall of the Roman Empire in the West. Afterall, Heather argues, the Roman Empire survived in the Eastern Mediterranean for another 1000 years, even though it suffered from the same internal weaknesses.
Indeed, according to Heather, the late Roman Empire, far from being an ungainly edifice perched precipitously on the edge of inevitable disintegration, was in robust good health, internal weaknesses notwithstanding. It had survived the military crises of the 3rd Century AD more or less intact, had contained the threat of the rising Persian (Sassanian) Empire in the East, and was firmly in control of the territories it had ruled since the days of Augustus. And yet, in a mere matter of a decade, from 468-475AD, the Roman Empire in the West completely collapsed. Why?
Heather places the blame squarely on external sources. He argues that these sources did not act in isolation from the aforementioned internal sources, but neither did they merely exacerbate or speed up those internal weaknesses. On the contrary, the external sources, reaching back centuries before the final collapse, were primarily responsible for the fall of the Roman Empire in the West. The internal factors only become critical in response to the external sources; had those external factors never developed, the internal causes would have remained dormant, or taken centuries longer to become meaningful.
And what were these external factors? Heather identifies two major culprits: the Huns; and the Romans themselves.
Concerning the Huns, Heather identifies the rise and collapse of the Hunnic Empire as setting in train a series of events that were ultimately to lead to the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. The emergence of the Huns as a new power north of the Danube in the period 350-375AD caused massive displacement among the peoples living in these regions, especially the Goths and other Germanic peoples such as the Vandals (who were also accompanied by smaller, allied and vassal groups, such as the Suevi and the Alans). But what made these displacements unique when compared to earlier population movements was that they generated a nascent sense of nationhood among the refugees; the hardships suffered at the hands of the Huns, as well as the necessity for a unified response in the face of their overwhelming military power, drove home the advantages of acting and existing en bloc as opposed to operating in tribal and clan units. Thus, gifted barbarian leaders, through a mixture of persuasion, conquest, and the ready submission of potential rival groups, forged coherent national groupings where had previously existed, at best, loose confederations.
The significance of this was that, unlike previous occasions when eastern invaders drove barbarian peoples up against the boundaries of the Roman Empire, the Romans were faced not with a few hundred or a few thousand refugees, but tens of thousands, a suitable proportion of whom were armed fighting men. In the short term, the Romans were able to prevail militarily over such groups; however, whereas previously they had been able to enslave or absorb the civilian population and draft the fighting men into the field army, the new national groupings were far too large to be facilitated by such tactics; and their new-found nationalism meant they would resist any attempt to scatter and absorb their numbers into the Empire's wider population. Thus, the Romans were effectively obliged to settle such groups within the Empire in autonomous or semi-autonomous enclaves, allowing them to live as unified communities in return for payments of tribute and military assistance.
To begin with, these settlements presented a benefit to the Empire. They solved the problem of migrating nations placing pressure on the frontier; they were a source of additional military manpower; they were confined to discrete regions and were thus militarily controllable; and they were a much need source of additional tax revenue. However, as more and more such groups sought entry to the Empire, the land resources available to satisfy the demands of these new groups grew ever scarcer, leading to an increase in conflict, both between the Romans and the newcomers, and between the different barbarian peoples themselves. This conflict resulted in some groups seeking to annexe parts of the Empire exclusively, while other groups sought to expand the size of their enclaves at the expense of others. For example, the Goths settled in south-western Gaul gradually began to increase their dominion, while the Vandals annexed the whole of Spain, eventually moving on to conquer the rich North African provinces. The net effect of this conflict was that vast areas of revenue-producing land were lost to the Roman Empire, undermining the tax base and the Empire's capacity to maintain its armies and resist further invasions.
However, what is most striking about Heather's book is that he sees the collapse of the Hunnic Empire as equally, if not more, significant than its emergence. At first glance this appears anti-intuitive, and yet further analysis reveals that it makes perfect sense. The powerful Hunnic military machine was based on a core of Hunnic fighters supplemented by the fighting-men of conquered peoples - much the same arrangement as that which the Mongols would use to such devastating effect a thousand years later. In order to maintain this machine, perpetual warfare and conquest was necessary, both in order to replace losses and to ensure the control of the Hunnic minority over their conquered subjects. The net effect of this was that the Hunnic Empire, while itself a threat to Rome, also helped contain the threat which the numerous other barbarian peoples also represented; their submission to the Huns neutralised their capacity to threaten the Empire.
However, when the Hunnic Empire collapsed after the death of Attila in 453AD, it released the bonds that tied the subject people to their Hunnic masters; the Huns were overthrown, and the newly-freed subject peoples began to struggle against one another for the resources previously controlled by the erstwhile Hunnic overlords. The inevitable result was that the losers of this brutal contest for survival inevitably sought refuge in the Empire, contributing to and exacerbating the tensions and difficulties created by the settlement of the earlier Germanic nation groups within the Empire. These later arrivals - Rugi, Herules, Burgundians, Sciri, Alemanni, and another group of Goths known as the Ostrogoths ("Eastern Goths") - all competed with one another for land within the Empire, and for positions of influence within the imperial administration that would ensure their success. The result was, after 454AD, a series of largely ineffectual Emperors who ruled at the behest of various barbarian warlords. Combined with the loss of revenue producing lands in Gaul, Spain and North Africa, the weakness of the central administration persuaded many of the rich provincial landowners to throw in their lot with the new barbarian kings, thus providing them with the nucleus of an effective bureaucracy, while further denuding the Empire of talent and sources of income.
The consequence was that the Roman Empire in the West did not so much "fall" as faded away. As central authority weakened and the flow of resources from the centre to the provinces failed, the infrastructure of Roman society gradually whithered away, reverting to village and small town based agrarianism. In the more central regions, barbarian kingdom replaced the Roman imperium; these new kingdoms continued to admire Roman systems of law and governance, resulting in the emergence of what would one day become the feudal bureaucracy of the medieval period, and also ensuring that Latin would transmute over time into the Romance languages of French, Spanish, Italian, Provencal, etc. Of course, the imperial authorities did attempt to fight back, and frequently gained short-term success; but their efforts were constrained by the inability of the Eastern Empire to provide sustained, large-scale support owing to its own military commitments on the ever-dangerous Persian frontier. And when the last attempt to recapture the rich provinces of North Africa in 468AD collapsed in ignominious failure, the writing was on the wall; the deposition of the last Roman Emperor in 475AD was not so much a coup as a formal acknowledgement of the prevailing state of affairs.
But what about that other external source, the Romans themselves? How is this possible? It is in arguing that the Romans themselves created the external sources of their own extinction that Heather provides his most original - and, given the state of affairs in the world today - his most perceptive analysis.
Heather's proposition is simple: through centuries of economic, political, and military contact, the Roman Empire demonstrated to the barbarian peoples along its frontiers the benefits of creating and preserving a unified national grouping. Centuries of trade between the tribes and the Empire lead to increased material wealth, creating economic and social elites among the barbarian nations that had not previously existed. Likewise, the coherent command and authority structure of the Empire's civil and military institutions was better able to respond to crises than the loose confederacy of the barbarians that was usually reliant on the individual charisma of a strong leader, and which was susceptible to being undermined by the rivalry and mutual hostility of the tribal and clan groupings. Further, the frequent punitive military expeditions that were part and parcel of the Empire's policy of dealing with, and ensuring the compliance of, the barbarian tribes ultimately resulted in those tribes developing both an intensified sense of their own identity (and the spirit of independence that goes with this) as well as a desire to create more coherent social and political structures that could better preserve the nation-group.
In other words, it was precisely because of the dangers - military raids, invasions, enslavement, and conscription into the Roman army - as well as the opportunities - enrichment, attainment of political legitimacy, access to material goods and weapons - which the proximity of the Empire afforded that set in motion, over a number of centuries, processes that were to transform the barbarian peoples of the Rhine-Danube frontier from loose tribal and clan confederations locked in ongoing rivalry and warfare to solidified national groupings conscious of their particular identity and prepared to act in its preservation. This process then "collided" with the shock caused by the rise of the Hunnic Empire: national identity was strenghtened as some groups sought to preserve themselves by fleeing into the Roman Empire and setting up enclaves, or as they watched for an opportunity to throw off Hunnic dominion at the least sign of the collapse of the Huns' power. The slow process of socio-political evolution created by Roman-barbarian contact was vastly accelerated by the intrusion of the Huns into Western Europe: and the consequence was a desire for political independence and control of resources that ultimately brought down the Roman state.
Heather demonstrates this thesis by comparing the fallout of the Hunnic invasion with that of the Sarmatian invasion of the 1st century AD. The Sarmatians, Iranian-speaking nomads from the central Asian steppes, overran much of Europe north of the Rhine-Danube frontier just as the Roman Empire was forming itself after the collapse of the Republic. The consequence was a tide of movement against the Empire's boundaries as various barbarian peoples sought refuge from the Sarmatian conquest. However, at this time, the barbarians were divided into many small tribes and clan groupings; their social structure was loose and undefined; their technological attainment had scarcely advanced beyond the early Iron Age; and they appeared at the various frontier posts in small groupings that were managed with relative - though not always complete - ease by the Romans. The upshot was a set of circumstances in which the Romans held all the power: in return for providing shelter, the tribesmen of fighting age had to agree to conscription into the Roman army, while the civilian population was settled in a manner convenient to the Romans. Consequently, the result was absorption of the population and neutralisation of any threat. By contrast, the Hunnic invasion, as we have seen, resulted in the migration of whole population groups conscious of the national identity and determined to preserve it; such groups were not able to be divided and absorbed, but were able to bargain from a position of power, forcing the Romans to allow settlement on generous - if initially controlled - terms. And when the circumstances allowed as the Roman state broke down under the pressure of the building external forces, these enclaves expanded into powerful successor kingdoms to the Roman state.
Thus, Heather skilfully weaves a dual narrative of the rise and fall of the Hunnic Empire, combined with the centuries-long consequence of Roman-barbarian contact, as the primary causes of the fall of the Roman Empire. But what is its relevance for today? Simply, this relevance is to be found in the very final paragraph of this fine, absorbing book: a paragraph that warns the American Empire may, like the Roman, be laying the groundwork for its own destruction. It reads:
BB
Quote for the Day: Who does not learn from the past is doomed to repeat it. (George Santayana)
Everybody says I can't stay home
Still thinking about the Fall of Rome.
Well, everybody might say that I can't do so, but staying home and thinking about the Fall of Rome is exactly what I've been doing in recent times. And my thinking has been prompted by an excellent book, The Fall of the Roman Empire: A New History by Peter Heather (Pan Books, London, 2006).
Heather's book is subtitled A New History because he takes issue with the view, inherited from a long line of historians starting with Edward Gibbon, that the Roman state collapsed under the weight of moral and political corruption generated by over-prosperity arising from the Empire's conquests and sheer, over-weening power. While Heather does not deny that internal factors - the limitations of an agrarian, pre-modern economy; the constraints imposed by primitive communications; the tendency toward civil strife inherent in any change of leadership in an authoritarian state; and the inability of the imperial tax system to respond to increased fiscal demands beyond a certain limit - were weaknesses that made the Empire vulnerable to collapse, he argues that these factors alone, individually and severally, were not sufficient to cause the fall of the Roman Empire in the West. Afterall, Heather argues, the Roman Empire survived in the Eastern Mediterranean for another 1000 years, even though it suffered from the same internal weaknesses.
Indeed, according to Heather, the late Roman Empire, far from being an ungainly edifice perched precipitously on the edge of inevitable disintegration, was in robust good health, internal weaknesses notwithstanding. It had survived the military crises of the 3rd Century AD more or less intact, had contained the threat of the rising Persian (Sassanian) Empire in the East, and was firmly in control of the territories it had ruled since the days of Augustus. And yet, in a mere matter of a decade, from 468-475AD, the Roman Empire in the West completely collapsed. Why?
Heather places the blame squarely on external sources. He argues that these sources did not act in isolation from the aforementioned internal sources, but neither did they merely exacerbate or speed up those internal weaknesses. On the contrary, the external sources, reaching back centuries before the final collapse, were primarily responsible for the fall of the Roman Empire in the West. The internal factors only become critical in response to the external sources; had those external factors never developed, the internal causes would have remained dormant, or taken centuries longer to become meaningful.
And what were these external factors? Heather identifies two major culprits: the Huns; and the Romans themselves.
Concerning the Huns, Heather identifies the rise and collapse of the Hunnic Empire as setting in train a series of events that were ultimately to lead to the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. The emergence of the Huns as a new power north of the Danube in the period 350-375AD caused massive displacement among the peoples living in these regions, especially the Goths and other Germanic peoples such as the Vandals (who were also accompanied by smaller, allied and vassal groups, such as the Suevi and the Alans). But what made these displacements unique when compared to earlier population movements was that they generated a nascent sense of nationhood among the refugees; the hardships suffered at the hands of the Huns, as well as the necessity for a unified response in the face of their overwhelming military power, drove home the advantages of acting and existing en bloc as opposed to operating in tribal and clan units. Thus, gifted barbarian leaders, through a mixture of persuasion, conquest, and the ready submission of potential rival groups, forged coherent national groupings where had previously existed, at best, loose confederations.
The significance of this was that, unlike previous occasions when eastern invaders drove barbarian peoples up against the boundaries of the Roman Empire, the Romans were faced not with a few hundred or a few thousand refugees, but tens of thousands, a suitable proportion of whom were armed fighting men. In the short term, the Romans were able to prevail militarily over such groups; however, whereas previously they had been able to enslave or absorb the civilian population and draft the fighting men into the field army, the new national groupings were far too large to be facilitated by such tactics; and their new-found nationalism meant they would resist any attempt to scatter and absorb their numbers into the Empire's wider population. Thus, the Romans were effectively obliged to settle such groups within the Empire in autonomous or semi-autonomous enclaves, allowing them to live as unified communities in return for payments of tribute and military assistance.
To begin with, these settlements presented a benefit to the Empire. They solved the problem of migrating nations placing pressure on the frontier; they were a source of additional military manpower; they were confined to discrete regions and were thus militarily controllable; and they were a much need source of additional tax revenue. However, as more and more such groups sought entry to the Empire, the land resources available to satisfy the demands of these new groups grew ever scarcer, leading to an increase in conflict, both between the Romans and the newcomers, and between the different barbarian peoples themselves. This conflict resulted in some groups seeking to annexe parts of the Empire exclusively, while other groups sought to expand the size of their enclaves at the expense of others. For example, the Goths settled in south-western Gaul gradually began to increase their dominion, while the Vandals annexed the whole of Spain, eventually moving on to conquer the rich North African provinces. The net effect of this conflict was that vast areas of revenue-producing land were lost to the Roman Empire, undermining the tax base and the Empire's capacity to maintain its armies and resist further invasions.
However, what is most striking about Heather's book is that he sees the collapse of the Hunnic Empire as equally, if not more, significant than its emergence. At first glance this appears anti-intuitive, and yet further analysis reveals that it makes perfect sense. The powerful Hunnic military machine was based on a core of Hunnic fighters supplemented by the fighting-men of conquered peoples - much the same arrangement as that which the Mongols would use to such devastating effect a thousand years later. In order to maintain this machine, perpetual warfare and conquest was necessary, both in order to replace losses and to ensure the control of the Hunnic minority over their conquered subjects. The net effect of this was that the Hunnic Empire, while itself a threat to Rome, also helped contain the threat which the numerous other barbarian peoples also represented; their submission to the Huns neutralised their capacity to threaten the Empire.
However, when the Hunnic Empire collapsed after the death of Attila in 453AD, it released the bonds that tied the subject people to their Hunnic masters; the Huns were overthrown, and the newly-freed subject peoples began to struggle against one another for the resources previously controlled by the erstwhile Hunnic overlords. The inevitable result was that the losers of this brutal contest for survival inevitably sought refuge in the Empire, contributing to and exacerbating the tensions and difficulties created by the settlement of the earlier Germanic nation groups within the Empire. These later arrivals - Rugi, Herules, Burgundians, Sciri, Alemanni, and another group of Goths known as the Ostrogoths ("Eastern Goths") - all competed with one another for land within the Empire, and for positions of influence within the imperial administration that would ensure their success. The result was, after 454AD, a series of largely ineffectual Emperors who ruled at the behest of various barbarian warlords. Combined with the loss of revenue producing lands in Gaul, Spain and North Africa, the weakness of the central administration persuaded many of the rich provincial landowners to throw in their lot with the new barbarian kings, thus providing them with the nucleus of an effective bureaucracy, while further denuding the Empire of talent and sources of income.
The consequence was that the Roman Empire in the West did not so much "fall" as faded away. As central authority weakened and the flow of resources from the centre to the provinces failed, the infrastructure of Roman society gradually whithered away, reverting to village and small town based agrarianism. In the more central regions, barbarian kingdom replaced the Roman imperium; these new kingdoms continued to admire Roman systems of law and governance, resulting in the emergence of what would one day become the feudal bureaucracy of the medieval period, and also ensuring that Latin would transmute over time into the Romance languages of French, Spanish, Italian, Provencal, etc. Of course, the imperial authorities did attempt to fight back, and frequently gained short-term success; but their efforts were constrained by the inability of the Eastern Empire to provide sustained, large-scale support owing to its own military commitments on the ever-dangerous Persian frontier. And when the last attempt to recapture the rich provinces of North Africa in 468AD collapsed in ignominious failure, the writing was on the wall; the deposition of the last Roman Emperor in 475AD was not so much a coup as a formal acknowledgement of the prevailing state of affairs.
But what about that other external source, the Romans themselves? How is this possible? It is in arguing that the Romans themselves created the external sources of their own extinction that Heather provides his most original - and, given the state of affairs in the world today - his most perceptive analysis.
Heather's proposition is simple: through centuries of economic, political, and military contact, the Roman Empire demonstrated to the barbarian peoples along its frontiers the benefits of creating and preserving a unified national grouping. Centuries of trade between the tribes and the Empire lead to increased material wealth, creating economic and social elites among the barbarian nations that had not previously existed. Likewise, the coherent command and authority structure of the Empire's civil and military institutions was better able to respond to crises than the loose confederacy of the barbarians that was usually reliant on the individual charisma of a strong leader, and which was susceptible to being undermined by the rivalry and mutual hostility of the tribal and clan groupings. Further, the frequent punitive military expeditions that were part and parcel of the Empire's policy of dealing with, and ensuring the compliance of, the barbarian tribes ultimately resulted in those tribes developing both an intensified sense of their own identity (and the spirit of independence that goes with this) as well as a desire to create more coherent social and political structures that could better preserve the nation-group.
In other words, it was precisely because of the dangers - military raids, invasions, enslavement, and conscription into the Roman army - as well as the opportunities - enrichment, attainment of political legitimacy, access to material goods and weapons - which the proximity of the Empire afforded that set in motion, over a number of centuries, processes that were to transform the barbarian peoples of the Rhine-Danube frontier from loose tribal and clan confederations locked in ongoing rivalry and warfare to solidified national groupings conscious of their particular identity and prepared to act in its preservation. This process then "collided" with the shock caused by the rise of the Hunnic Empire: national identity was strenghtened as some groups sought to preserve themselves by fleeing into the Roman Empire and setting up enclaves, or as they watched for an opportunity to throw off Hunnic dominion at the least sign of the collapse of the Huns' power. The slow process of socio-political evolution created by Roman-barbarian contact was vastly accelerated by the intrusion of the Huns into Western Europe: and the consequence was a desire for political independence and control of resources that ultimately brought down the Roman state.
Heather demonstrates this thesis by comparing the fallout of the Hunnic invasion with that of the Sarmatian invasion of the 1st century AD. The Sarmatians, Iranian-speaking nomads from the central Asian steppes, overran much of Europe north of the Rhine-Danube frontier just as the Roman Empire was forming itself after the collapse of the Republic. The consequence was a tide of movement against the Empire's boundaries as various barbarian peoples sought refuge from the Sarmatian conquest. However, at this time, the barbarians were divided into many small tribes and clan groupings; their social structure was loose and undefined; their technological attainment had scarcely advanced beyond the early Iron Age; and they appeared at the various frontier posts in small groupings that were managed with relative - though not always complete - ease by the Romans. The upshot was a set of circumstances in which the Romans held all the power: in return for providing shelter, the tribesmen of fighting age had to agree to conscription into the Roman army, while the civilian population was settled in a manner convenient to the Romans. Consequently, the result was absorption of the population and neutralisation of any threat. By contrast, the Hunnic invasion, as we have seen, resulted in the migration of whole population groups conscious of the national identity and determined to preserve it; such groups were not able to be divided and absorbed, but were able to bargain from a position of power, forcing the Romans to allow settlement on generous - if initially controlled - terms. And when the circumstances allowed as the Roman state broke down under the pressure of the building external forces, these enclaves expanded into powerful successor kingdoms to the Roman state.
Thus, Heather skilfully weaves a dual narrative of the rise and fall of the Hunnic Empire, combined with the centuries-long consequence of Roman-barbarian contact, as the primary causes of the fall of the Roman Empire. But what is its relevance for today? Simply, this relevance is to be found in the very final paragraph of this fine, absorbing book: a paragraph that warns the American Empire may, like the Roman, be laying the groundwork for its own destruction. It reads:
There is, I suspect, an inbuilt tendency for the kind of dominance exercised by empires to generate an inverse reaction whereby the dominated, in the end, are able to throw off their chains. The Roman Empire had sown the seeds of its own destruction, therefore, not because of internal weaknesses that had evolved over the centuries, nor because of new ones evolved, but as a consequence of its relationship with the Germanic world. Just as the Sassanians were able to reorganise Near Eastern society so as to throw off Roman domination, Germanic society achieved the same in the west, when its collision with Hunnic power precipitated the process much more quickly than would otherwise have been the case. The west Roman state fell not because of the weight of its own "stupendous fabric", but because its Germanic neighbours had responded to its power in ways that the Romans could never have foreseen. There is in all this a pleasing denouement. By virtue of its unbounded aggression, Roman imperialism was responsible for its own destruction. (p.459)
It's an analysis that certainly gives you pause for thought.
Talk to you soon,BB
Quote for the Day: Who does not learn from the past is doomed to repeat it. (George Santayana)
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Mmmmmmmm, Nigella (incoherent Homeresque gurgling)...
I've just watched the first installment of Nigella Lawson's latest cooking series, Nigella Feasts.
In the last week, I've read a few previews of this series, and I have to say they've focused on everything but the food. Comment has been made about Ms Lawson's physique, her manner in front of the camera, even the supposed hints of socio-economic elitism which her selection of ingredients and demeanor betray. These comments boil down to two basic categories: Nigella as porn and Nigella as snob.
The porn breaks down into two further sub-categories: gastronomic, and Nigella herself. Regarding the former, the observation seems to be that Lawson's use of food is somehow sexually suggestive. The way she kneads dough, for example, or the language she uses to describe ingredients, is said to be more about titillation than it is about cooking. Concerning the latter, Ms Lawson is routinely described as "buxom", "bosomy", "busty", "voluptuous", and so on and so forth. The suggestion seems to be that her body shape is somehow deliberate, a self-created pose whose sole function is to inflame passions and arouse lust.
Now, don't get me wrong. Nigella Lawson is indeed coquettish, and the way she glances strategically at the camera and employs double entendres does carry more than a hint of sexual suggestion. But let's face it: by the standards of most "reality" TV and what passes for "general" entertainment these days, Lawson is positively tame. Indeed, she seems to hark back to an earlier time of "nudge-nudge, wink-wink" that has its origins in the music hall tradition of Victorian England. Sure, I cringe at some aspects of Lawson's on-camera performance; sometimes the banter is a tad too obvious. But I can't help thinking that the reason why so many people seem to find her so captivating is that, if Lawson is indeed suggestive, it's precisely because she uses the power of suggestion to enthrall, as opposed to rubbing our faces in anything explicit. In other words, it's because she hints at something other than food creates the electric charge many react against; if she were to stand at her cooking station naked, she'd simply be dismissed - I doubt she'd raise an eyebrow (or anything else).
So, contrary to what most of the reviewers would have you believe, Ms Lawson isn't some gastro-nymphomaniac who overwhelms you with sexual electricity; on the contrary, it's precisely because she's so subtle (by relative standards) that she captures attention. It's because she stands in such stark contrast to the blatant exhibitionism of pop culture that she is noticed; quite apart from being one of the stew of "notice me" celebrities, she is, in fact, the (even if not complete) opposite.
Concerning the issue of snobbery, the allegation appears to be that Nigella is essentially a phoney: a silver-spooned private-school girl who is attempting to manufacture a "common person" identity which she patently lacks - indeed, which she would probably scorn in her private life. In other words, it's all a crock: Ms Lawson might appear on our TV screens, but she wouldn't be seen dead watching television with any one of us.
First, the disclaimer: I know next to nothing about Ms Lawson's life, background, and socio-economic circumstances. So I have no idea if she is actually a snob, or actually does possess what is called the "common touch". I have no doubt that she enjoys a more than financially secure lifestyle as a consequence of the success of her television series and their spin-off cookbooks. But I'm sure the same could be said of Jamie Oliver - and no-one seems to be suggesting that he's a phoney. Perhaps it's just Lawson's admittedly plummy accent that attracts the opprobrium; unlike Oliver, who says "pukka" a lot and speaks with an accent that, in my humble opinion, makes him sound like a severely mentally retarded five year old. Or maybe it's because Ms Lawson makes no attempt to be anything other than who she is that ticks people off; maybe she was expected to develop a "persona", a character that people could identify with (or which would make them feel less self-conscious).
So it could be that her "crime" is just to have exercised some integrity. I mean, she's no more plummy than the Two Fat Ladies, but nobody accused either of them of snobbery (possibly because they were old and eccentric, and therefore easily patronised). Mind you, if Lawson started saying "pukka" and ran programs for homeless kids who wanted to be chefs, I'm sure she'd also be accused of hypocrisy. Maybe this is just a "no-win" for her; damned if she does, damned if she doesn't.
So what's all this to me? Well, yes, it's because I am an unashamed fan of Ms Lawson. And no, it's not just because I think she's hot. My Dearly Beloved happens to think Ainslie Herriot is sex on a stick, but she'd bristle at any suggestion that was the only reason why she watches him. Hell, I like watching Ainslie myself - and for the same reason why I like Nigella. Because both have an unabashed enthusiasm for food. In this age of eating disorders and image consciousness, both have an almost visceral approach to food and eating that runs counter to the prevailing mood of pop culture. And it's because they're so counter-cultural that I like both Nigella and Ainslie: they like food, and they're not ashamed of the fact.
So, if you'll excuse me, I'll keep watching Nigella. I don't know about the porn, or about the snobbery; what keeps me coming back to Nigella is not the suggestive remarks or the raised eyebrows, but the fact that she enjoys food for it's own sake. She enjoys food because it looks good, tastes great, and sod the calories. That's good enough for me.
And besides - she's a babe...
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Sex is something that's allowed in Scotland only when Rangers beat Celtic. (Ronnie Barker)
In the last week, I've read a few previews of this series, and I have to say they've focused on everything but the food. Comment has been made about Ms Lawson's physique, her manner in front of the camera, even the supposed hints of socio-economic elitism which her selection of ingredients and demeanor betray. These comments boil down to two basic categories: Nigella as porn and Nigella as snob.
The porn breaks down into two further sub-categories: gastronomic, and Nigella herself. Regarding the former, the observation seems to be that Lawson's use of food is somehow sexually suggestive. The way she kneads dough, for example, or the language she uses to describe ingredients, is said to be more about titillation than it is about cooking. Concerning the latter, Ms Lawson is routinely described as "buxom", "bosomy", "busty", "voluptuous", and so on and so forth. The suggestion seems to be that her body shape is somehow deliberate, a self-created pose whose sole function is to inflame passions and arouse lust.
Now, don't get me wrong. Nigella Lawson is indeed coquettish, and the way she glances strategically at the camera and employs double entendres does carry more than a hint of sexual suggestion. But let's face it: by the standards of most "reality" TV and what passes for "general" entertainment these days, Lawson is positively tame. Indeed, she seems to hark back to an earlier time of "nudge-nudge, wink-wink" that has its origins in the music hall tradition of Victorian England. Sure, I cringe at some aspects of Lawson's on-camera performance; sometimes the banter is a tad too obvious. But I can't help thinking that the reason why so many people seem to find her so captivating is that, if Lawson is indeed suggestive, it's precisely because she uses the power of suggestion to enthrall, as opposed to rubbing our faces in anything explicit. In other words, it's because she hints at something other than food creates the electric charge many react against; if she were to stand at her cooking station naked, she'd simply be dismissed - I doubt she'd raise an eyebrow (or anything else).
So, contrary to what most of the reviewers would have you believe, Ms Lawson isn't some gastro-nymphomaniac who overwhelms you with sexual electricity; on the contrary, it's precisely because she's so subtle (by relative standards) that she captures attention. It's because she stands in such stark contrast to the blatant exhibitionism of pop culture that she is noticed; quite apart from being one of the stew of "notice me" celebrities, she is, in fact, the (even if not complete) opposite.
Concerning the issue of snobbery, the allegation appears to be that Nigella is essentially a phoney: a silver-spooned private-school girl who is attempting to manufacture a "common person" identity which she patently lacks - indeed, which she would probably scorn in her private life. In other words, it's all a crock: Ms Lawson might appear on our TV screens, but she wouldn't be seen dead watching television with any one of us.
First, the disclaimer: I know next to nothing about Ms Lawson's life, background, and socio-economic circumstances. So I have no idea if she is actually a snob, or actually does possess what is called the "common touch". I have no doubt that she enjoys a more than financially secure lifestyle as a consequence of the success of her television series and their spin-off cookbooks. But I'm sure the same could be said of Jamie Oliver - and no-one seems to be suggesting that he's a phoney. Perhaps it's just Lawson's admittedly plummy accent that attracts the opprobrium; unlike Oliver, who says "pukka" a lot and speaks with an accent that, in my humble opinion, makes him sound like a severely mentally retarded five year old. Or maybe it's because Ms Lawson makes no attempt to be anything other than who she is that ticks people off; maybe she was expected to develop a "persona", a character that people could identify with (or which would make them feel less self-conscious).
So it could be that her "crime" is just to have exercised some integrity. I mean, she's no more plummy than the Two Fat Ladies, but nobody accused either of them of snobbery (possibly because they were old and eccentric, and therefore easily patronised). Mind you, if Lawson started saying "pukka" and ran programs for homeless kids who wanted to be chefs, I'm sure she'd also be accused of hypocrisy. Maybe this is just a "no-win" for her; damned if she does, damned if she doesn't.
So what's all this to me? Well, yes, it's because I am an unashamed fan of Ms Lawson. And no, it's not just because I think she's hot. My Dearly Beloved happens to think Ainslie Herriot is sex on a stick, but she'd bristle at any suggestion that was the only reason why she watches him. Hell, I like watching Ainslie myself - and for the same reason why I like Nigella. Because both have an unabashed enthusiasm for food. In this age of eating disorders and image consciousness, both have an almost visceral approach to food and eating that runs counter to the prevailing mood of pop culture. And it's because they're so counter-cultural that I like both Nigella and Ainslie: they like food, and they're not ashamed of the fact.
So, if you'll excuse me, I'll keep watching Nigella. I don't know about the porn, or about the snobbery; what keeps me coming back to Nigella is not the suggestive remarks or the raised eyebrows, but the fact that she enjoys food for it's own sake. She enjoys food because it looks good, tastes great, and sod the calories. That's good enough for me.
And besides - she's a babe...
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Sex is something that's allowed in Scotland only when Rangers beat Celtic. (Ronnie Barker)
Monday, November 19, 2007
The Heat Is On!
Because I've been studying full-time this year, my Dearly Beloved has borne the brunt of maintaining the family finances. Accordingly, and in order to make my contribution to the co-nuptial coffers, I have just managed to score a job as a console operator at a local service station.
No, I'm not going to tell you the location, the name of the company, or what shifts I'll be working. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that I don't trust you that much. So don't even ask!
Anyhoo, I've just completed a week's intensive training. Who would have thought there was so much to learn? But believe me, the information overload was phenomenal: Trade Practices Act, Occupational Health and Safety Act, Food Safety Act, as well as all the various safety procedures, money handling and security protocols, and company policies. It really was overwhelming. And then, of course, there's the console itself: authorising the petrol pumps and processing the sales transactions (and, just to make everything even more complicated, being aware of all the discounts, special offers, and product promotions that go with the job!).
Last Friday was my first day on the job. I was only on a shortened shift, but it was nerve-wracking, trying to process transactions without making too many mistakes, and all the while maintaining my professional cool. And, of course, there's always someone who asks you something you don't know or haven't learned yet, or who requires a transaction that you haven't been introduced to while you bed down the basics. Luckily, the manager and a more experienced staff member were on hand for most of the shift, so they were able to correct my stuff ups and give me plenty of useful pointers. Still, by the time I got home, my legs felt like jelly, and I was thinking: what have I let myself in for?
So it's with just a little trepidation that I'm approaching the summer of work lying ahead of me. Of course, I'm hoping this job survives longer than the Summer and continues into next year, but right now it all seems a little daunting. Afterall, when I stopped working full-time, I was leaving a job that was completely familiar to me, in an environment well within my comfort zone. This is all alien territory.
I'm just looking forward to the day when something in my head goes click and it all becomes second nature. But until then, prepare for more tales of woe...
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Employment: death without the dignity. (Brendan Behan)
No, I'm not going to tell you the location, the name of the company, or what shifts I'll be working. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that I don't trust you that much. So don't even ask!
Anyhoo, I've just completed a week's intensive training. Who would have thought there was so much to learn? But believe me, the information overload was phenomenal: Trade Practices Act, Occupational Health and Safety Act, Food Safety Act, as well as all the various safety procedures, money handling and security protocols, and company policies. It really was overwhelming. And then, of course, there's the console itself: authorising the petrol pumps and processing the sales transactions (and, just to make everything even more complicated, being aware of all the discounts, special offers, and product promotions that go with the job!).
Last Friday was my first day on the job. I was only on a shortened shift, but it was nerve-wracking, trying to process transactions without making too many mistakes, and all the while maintaining my professional cool. And, of course, there's always someone who asks you something you don't know or haven't learned yet, or who requires a transaction that you haven't been introduced to while you bed down the basics. Luckily, the manager and a more experienced staff member were on hand for most of the shift, so they were able to correct my stuff ups and give me plenty of useful pointers. Still, by the time I got home, my legs felt like jelly, and I was thinking: what have I let myself in for?
So it's with just a little trepidation that I'm approaching the summer of work lying ahead of me. Of course, I'm hoping this job survives longer than the Summer and continues into next year, but right now it all seems a little daunting. Afterall, when I stopped working full-time, I was leaving a job that was completely familiar to me, in an environment well within my comfort zone. This is all alien territory.
I'm just looking forward to the day when something in my head goes click and it all becomes second nature. But until then, prepare for more tales of woe...
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Employment: death without the dignity. (Brendan Behan)
Monday, November 05, 2007
My Dearly Beloved Speaks!
On the weekend, my Dearly Beloved preaced the sermon at our local Uniting Church congregation. And what a fantastic job she did, too! Using multimedia, a sense of humour, and some pecant observations, she turned the familiar tale of Zacchaeus up his tree into a challenging and thoughtful exploration of friendship, and what the friendship of the divine means for humankind.
She's posted an account on her blog - I urge you to take a look, it will be well worth your while.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
She's posted an account on her blog - I urge you to take a look, it will be well worth your while.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Where is God Taking Me?
Last night, I watched the final installment of the wonderful television series The Abbey, which was featured on the ABC's Compass program.
One of the things I have found fascinating about the show is how the five women who were chosen to live in the Abbey and experience the daily life of the nuns - ordered according to the Rule of St Benedict - adjusted to the discipline of monastic life. Most people, I suspect, believe that living in a monastery is easy, that it involves little more than saying a few prayers, doing a few chores, and basically having a lot of leisure time to laze around and do very little. But the reality is quite different: as the nuns kept reminding the women (and the audience), the rhythm of daily life is governed by the seven daily prayer and worship sessions (which begin at 4:30am!), around which the various jobs of the self-sufficient abbey must be completed. In other words, the life of the nuns is one of work suffused with prayer and contemplation. It amounts to a very full day, seven days a week; and the women discovered for themselves how difficult it actually is.
Another interesting aspect was the amount of silence which the women had to keep - not only at night (the "Great Silence") but also during many parts of the day. This is something which the Rule insists upon in order that the individual might develop the capacity to really listen; listen to the secrets of their true self, to what their life experience is saying to them, to what God is saying to them. Some of the women were actively searching for God; others were either dubious about God, or didn't see God as relevant. But the silence forced them to be open to the possibility of God, and to the fact that God might actually be speaking to them. And that was very confronting for them, because they were used to a world of noise, to the sound of their own and others' voices. It was not simply the amount of silence that troubled them, but its depth, and what it was revealing.
But there is also another reason why this aspect of silence engaged me. This reason resides in the fact that silence, for me, has never been a troubling or confronting experience. On the contrary, I have always found silence deeply comforting and refreshing; it is in silence, and stillness, in the almost physical quietude of the "dark, sacred night" (to quote from the song What A Wonderful World) that I have most deeply and powerfully experienced the presence of God. So, unlike these women, silence for me has never been a problem; what I have flinched from is crowd and noise and the absence of quiet.
Which isn't to say that I'm anti-social. Rather, that I've never been very good at "working a room" or introducing myself to strangers, or just thrusting myself into a conversation. Nor am I very good at "small talk"; a conversation I can sustain until the cows come home, but ask me to talk about the weather, and I'm lost. You could also say that I'm not an "events" kind of person: my idea of a good night out is a sharing a meal and a drink and chatting with a couple of friends in a snug pub or nice restaurant. Likewise, I prefer entertaining a few friends at home and cooking them dinner than going to a club or a loud party.
Yes, there is an element of shyness involved, but it's also part of my nature to prefer calm and convivial events rather than a roisterous "bash". I was even like this as a teenager (much to my mother's exasperation!). But in light of The Abbey and observing the women's difficulty with silence, I am prompted to reflect on my difficulty with noise, especially in the context my candidacy to the ordained ministry.
Will my preference for silence, for small, quiet events, sometimes even solitude, interfere with my pastoral duties and responsibilities? Will my natural reserve, containing as it does an element of shyness, prevent me from being open and welcoming to people? Will my difficulty with "small talk" stop me from engaging with others?
I don't think so. Afterall, I've managed to make friends with many people, partly off my own bat and partly through association with others. Moreover, my work in the union movement was intensely pastoral, requiring me to engage with people and enter into their suffering. And when it comes to functions, I've always managed to find a way to break the ice, however awkwardly. So I don't think my natural inclinations will cripple my capacity to be sociable.
But it will be a struggle, and a struggle for my whole life. I am conscious of that fact, even as I am conscious of the difference between difficulty and debilitation. But the point is not so much how I will deal with situations I find confronting but the fact that God is seemingly taking me into places and situations in which will have to square up to these confrontations. You see, as I was watching The Abbey, it occurred to me how many times I have told people that, had I been born in another time and place, I would almost certainly have ended up in a religious community. Moreover, this is a prospect that I still find deeply compelling: the notion that, at the end of my life, when I have done all there is to do in the world, I could spend the last years of my existence with God.
But I dare say that will never eventuate, even as I know it will always remain an attractive possibility. Because I think the point is that my life is not meant to be comfortable, that faith is not about letting me escape from the world, but enter into it. Not that I think any of the sisters in the Benedictine monastery that was featured in The Abbey are inadequate types who cannot cope with the world; on the contrary, I think they are performing a profound service in which they offer a radical alternative to the materialism and self-absorption of the present cultural climate. What I mean is that I suspect, for me, entering a religious community would in many respects be the "easy option", it would represent a retreat from the life of the world I find so often confronting and challenging. And, for me, I think that is the point of the ordained ministry; it's about not letting me get away with the "easy option", with taking the line of least resistance.
Recently, in another post, I wrote this about myself:
I suspect I will be both bruised and blessed along my journey. I don't look forward to the bruises; but I will try and see beyond them to the blessings.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Easy street never leads anywhere. (Anonymous)
One of the things I have found fascinating about the show is how the five women who were chosen to live in the Abbey and experience the daily life of the nuns - ordered according to the Rule of St Benedict - adjusted to the discipline of monastic life. Most people, I suspect, believe that living in a monastery is easy, that it involves little more than saying a few prayers, doing a few chores, and basically having a lot of leisure time to laze around and do very little. But the reality is quite different: as the nuns kept reminding the women (and the audience), the rhythm of daily life is governed by the seven daily prayer and worship sessions (which begin at 4:30am!), around which the various jobs of the self-sufficient abbey must be completed. In other words, the life of the nuns is one of work suffused with prayer and contemplation. It amounts to a very full day, seven days a week; and the women discovered for themselves how difficult it actually is.
Another interesting aspect was the amount of silence which the women had to keep - not only at night (the "Great Silence") but also during many parts of the day. This is something which the Rule insists upon in order that the individual might develop the capacity to really listen; listen to the secrets of their true self, to what their life experience is saying to them, to what God is saying to them. Some of the women were actively searching for God; others were either dubious about God, or didn't see God as relevant. But the silence forced them to be open to the possibility of God, and to the fact that God might actually be speaking to them. And that was very confronting for them, because they were used to a world of noise, to the sound of their own and others' voices. It was not simply the amount of silence that troubled them, but its depth, and what it was revealing.
But there is also another reason why this aspect of silence engaged me. This reason resides in the fact that silence, for me, has never been a troubling or confronting experience. On the contrary, I have always found silence deeply comforting and refreshing; it is in silence, and stillness, in the almost physical quietude of the "dark, sacred night" (to quote from the song What A Wonderful World) that I have most deeply and powerfully experienced the presence of God. So, unlike these women, silence for me has never been a problem; what I have flinched from is crowd and noise and the absence of quiet.
Which isn't to say that I'm anti-social. Rather, that I've never been very good at "working a room" or introducing myself to strangers, or just thrusting myself into a conversation. Nor am I very good at "small talk"; a conversation I can sustain until the cows come home, but ask me to talk about the weather, and I'm lost. You could also say that I'm not an "events" kind of person: my idea of a good night out is a sharing a meal and a drink and chatting with a couple of friends in a snug pub or nice restaurant. Likewise, I prefer entertaining a few friends at home and cooking them dinner than going to a club or a loud party.
Yes, there is an element of shyness involved, but it's also part of my nature to prefer calm and convivial events rather than a roisterous "bash". I was even like this as a teenager (much to my mother's exasperation!). But in light of The Abbey and observing the women's difficulty with silence, I am prompted to reflect on my difficulty with noise, especially in the context my candidacy to the ordained ministry.
Will my preference for silence, for small, quiet events, sometimes even solitude, interfere with my pastoral duties and responsibilities? Will my natural reserve, containing as it does an element of shyness, prevent me from being open and welcoming to people? Will my difficulty with "small talk" stop me from engaging with others?
I don't think so. Afterall, I've managed to make friends with many people, partly off my own bat and partly through association with others. Moreover, my work in the union movement was intensely pastoral, requiring me to engage with people and enter into their suffering. And when it comes to functions, I've always managed to find a way to break the ice, however awkwardly. So I don't think my natural inclinations will cripple my capacity to be sociable.
But it will be a struggle, and a struggle for my whole life. I am conscious of that fact, even as I am conscious of the difference between difficulty and debilitation. But the point is not so much how I will deal with situations I find confronting but the fact that God is seemingly taking me into places and situations in which will have to square up to these confrontations. You see, as I was watching The Abbey, it occurred to me how many times I have told people that, had I been born in another time and place, I would almost certainly have ended up in a religious community. Moreover, this is a prospect that I still find deeply compelling: the notion that, at the end of my life, when I have done all there is to do in the world, I could spend the last years of my existence with God.
But I dare say that will never eventuate, even as I know it will always remain an attractive possibility. Because I think the point is that my life is not meant to be comfortable, that faith is not about letting me escape from the world, but enter into it. Not that I think any of the sisters in the Benedictine monastery that was featured in The Abbey are inadequate types who cannot cope with the world; on the contrary, I think they are performing a profound service in which they offer a radical alternative to the materialism and self-absorption of the present cultural climate. What I mean is that I suspect, for me, entering a religious community would in many respects be the "easy option", it would represent a retreat from the life of the world I find so often confronting and challenging. And, for me, I think that is the point of the ordained ministry; it's about not letting me get away with the "easy option", with taking the line of least resistance.
Recently, in another post, I wrote this about myself:
And I think therein lies the reason why God is leading me down this path. Jacob wrestled with God all night and ended up with a limp and a dislocated hip; he was renamed Israel, which apparently means "he struggles with God". And that is what faith is; not an easy assurance, but a struggle, a wrestling match from which we come away both bruised and blessed. It bruises us because it confronts and challenges us deeply, with the most powerful and painful aspects of our existence; but it also blesses us because from that suffering arises a richness and depth of being that would not otherwise be possible.I don't think God wants me to be happy; I think God wants me to be fully human, to be what I truly am. I think God wants to take me out of my comfort zone of complacency and familiarity, so that I can grow up, and love, and be loved. And in order to do that, I need to heed the call of vocation which God has been issuing to me my whole life long.
I suspect I will be both bruised and blessed along my journey. I don't look forward to the bruises; but I will try and see beyond them to the blessings.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Easy street never leads anywhere. (Anonymous)
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Eureka Street Article
A bit over a month ago, the editor of Eureka Street, an e-journal published by the Australian Jesuits, asked me to write an article about the union movement and the forthcoming election. The timing of the request wasn't exactly great, given I was struggling to get assignments submitted on time and still recovering from eye surgery, but since Eureka Street pay for articles and I really need the money, I agreed to the request. Also, my vanity in seeing my name attached to a published piece played its part!
So here is the link. Hope you enjoy!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Authors are people who are easy enough to get along with - if you're fond of children. (Michael Joseph)
So here is the link. Hope you enjoy!
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Authors are people who are easy enough to get along with - if you're fond of children. (Michael Joseph)
Saturday, October 27, 2007
A Taste of Things to Come
Yesterday, my Dearly Beloved and I (along with Sue, our fellow newby candidate) went along to the Uniting Church Theological Hall in Melbourne for a "New Candidates Day" to get a taste of what life will be like once we commence our candidates' study and formation in 2008. It was also the last day of the teaching year for the existing candidates, so we were also able to get an insight into a day in the life of the Hall.
In a sense, we had already been welcomed to the Hall by the Uniting Church Candidates Association (which glories in the acronym UCCA). All the new candidates had been sent a lovely card welcoming us to the community of candidates and faculty, and each card featured a beautiful photograph taken by one of the existing candidates (another Sue) during her travels in the Holy Land.
It was nice to receive the warm and generous welcomes of the existing candidates. But it was also instructive to read the exhortations that we enjoy our last summer of freedom - a reminder that next summer we will be on our first field placement in another congregation, quite possibly in a rural area. So that was both exciting in the sense of having something to look forward to, but also slightly intimidating, in that the weight and seriousness of the vocation we are undertaking started to manifest itself.
So, feeling a little like children on their first day at school, my Dearly Beloved and I turned up at Hall - and were immediately greeted and made welcome by all. I was especially touched and humbled to see my friend Caro, whose father recently passed away, there to greet us and share the day. It was a powerful indicator of the grace and spirit that is required to undertake and sustain ordained ministry.
After a brief but moving morning prayer service, the new candidates spent the morning going through various items of "housework" - an introduction to the hall, the ordination requirements, the formation process, etc. Then we broke for morning tea, during which time we discovered how strong the sense of community is at the Hall, as candidates and faculty mingled and talked and shared a cuppa and some food. After morning tea, the new candidates joined the existing candidates and observed presentations that were being made as part of their assessment for a subject entitled "Mission and Evangelism". I don't know about my Dearly Beloved or Sue, but I was impressed with - and a little intimidated by! -the quality of the presentations, and the obvious amount of work that had gone into them. It was an indicator of the standards we will need to achieve as candidates in the future!
Lunch was again a communal affair, consisting of a delicious soup and savoury bread, followed by fresh fruit. During lunch, the new candidates were also given a briefing by the Candidates Association about life at Hall from the candidates' perspective, as well as some of the relevant issues which form the basis of ongoing dialogue with the faculty. We were also informed that there are a number of committees on which students sit that are integral to the life of the Hall and its relations with the United Faculty of Theology, of which it is a constituent member - and, later that afternoon, I was approached and asked if I would like to be a member of one such committee; UCCA works fast!
After lunch, an interesting forum on being an ordained minister and relating to the media was conducted by the Synod's media officer. This was followed by a wonderful Eucharist service, featuring sung responses and a powerful sermon delivered by a guest Lutheran pastor. Then the day concluded with drinks and nibbles, again involving the whole faculty and candidates.
So - an informative, intense, encouraging, uplifting, intimidating, compelling, engaging day. As my Dearly Beloved said later, it was a day that made you realise for the first time the fact that our vocation to ordained ministry is no longer somewhere in the future - it's now a present reality. And that reality is both filled with expectation and hope - and is also a little scary. But what impressed me most about the day was the intense atmosphere of community: the love and support and encouragement were almost palpable. Whatever the difficulties and struggles of the journey ahead, I know my Dearly Beloved and I won't be walking the road alone; we are part of a community now, and that precious gift is valuable beyond estimation.
Talk to you soon,
BB.
Quote for the Day: Virtue shuns ease as a companion - it demands a rough and thorny road. (Michel de Montaigne)
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