Greg Pavlik

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Welcome to the blog of Greg Pavlik, software technologist and frustrated adventurer. Currently, I am working on technologies related to Cloud Computing and Cloud Platform as a Service capabilities.Greg Pavlikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02076590604248408230noreply@blogger.comBlogger251125
Updated: 16 hours 43 min ago

Karamozov

Fri, 2017-11-10 12:02
"Brothers, have no fear of men's sin. Love a man even in his sin, for that is the semblance of Divine Love and is the highest love on earth. Love all God's creation, the whole and every grain of sand in it. Love every leaf, every ray of God's light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything. If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things. Once you perceive it, you will begin to comprehend it better every day. And you will come at last to love the whole world with an all-embracing love. Love the animals: God has given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled. Do not trouble it, don't harass them, don't deprive them of their happiness, don't work against God's intent. Man, do not pride yourself on superiority to the animals; they are without sin, and you, with your greatness, defile the earth by your appearance on it, and leave the traces of your foulness after you -- alas, it is true of almost every one of us! Love children especially, for they too are sinless like the angels; they live to soften and purify our hearts and, as it were, to guide us. Woe to him who offends a child! Father Anfim taught me to love children. The kind, silent man used often on our wanderings to spend the farthings given us on sweets and cakes for the children. He could not pass by a child without emotion. That's the nature of the man.

At some thoughts one stands perplexed, especially at the sight of men's sin, and wonders whether one should use force or humble love. Always decide to use humble love. If you resolve on that once for all, you may subdue the whole world. Loving humility is marvellously strong, the strongest of all things, and there is nothing else like it....

Brothers, love is a teacher; but one must know how to acquire it, for it is hard to acquire, it is dearly bought, it is won slowly by long labour. For we must love not only occasionally, for a moment, but for ever. Everyone can love occasionally, even the wicked can.

My brother asked the birds to forgive him; that sounds senseless, but it is right; for all is like an ocean, all is flowing and blending; a touch in one place sets up movement at the other end of the earth. It may be senseless to beg forgiveness of the birds, but birds would be happier at your side -- a little happier, anyway -- and children and all animals, if you were nobler than you are now. It's all like an ocean, I tell you. Then you would pray to the birds too, consumed by an all-embracing love, in a sort of transport, and pray that they too will forgive you your sin. Treasure this ecstasy, however senseless it may seem to men."

Dark Eyes

Sat, 2017-07-08 12:06
Dark Eyes
(A traditional Russian folk song translated by Greg Pavlik)
The eyes so black, passionate eyes
Fiery eyes, so beautiful!
How I love you - how I fear you!
You know I saw your eyes at the witching hour!

I cannot explain your deep, deep darkness!
I see a mourning within you for my soul,
I see the flame of triumph within you:
it consumes my sorrowing heart.
It does not make me bitter, it does not make me sad,
This my fate, my consolation:
All that is good is a gift from God,
And I sacrifice it all for those fiery eyes!

Original Russian by the Ukrainian poet and writer Yevhen Hrebinka.
1.
Очи чёрные, очи страстные,
Очи жгучие и прекрасные!
Как люблю я вас, как боюсь я вас!
Знать, увидел вас я в недобрый час!
2.
Ох, недаром вы глубины темней!
Вижу траур в вас по душе моей,
Вижу пламя в вас я победное:
Сожжено на нём сердце бедное.
3.
Но не грустен я, не печален я,
Утешительна мне судьба моя:
Всё, что лучшего в жизни Бог дал нам,
В жертву отдал я огневым глазам!

The river floes break in spring... take 2

Sun, 2017-06-18 16:19
Alexander Blok
The river floes break in spring...
March 1902
translation by Greg Pavlik 



The river floes break in spring,
And for the dead I feel no sorrow -
Toward new summits I am rising,
Forgetting crevasses of past striving,
I see the blue horizon of tomorrow.

What regret, in fire and smoke,
the lament of the cross,
With each hour, with each stroke -
Or instead - the heavens’ gift stoked,
from the bush burnt without loss!

Original:

Весна в реке ломает льдины,
И милых мертвых мне не жаль:
Преодолев мои вершины,
Забыл я зимние теснины
И вижу голубую даль.

Что сожалеть в дыму пожара,
Что сокрушаться у креста,
Когда всечасно жду удара
Или божественного дара
Из Моисеева куста!
 
Март 1902
Translators note: I updated this after some reflection. The original translation used the allegorical imagery that would have been common in patristic writing and hence Russian Orthodoxy. For example, I used the image of Aaron's rod in lieu of the word "cross", which appears in Russian (креста). The rod of Aaron was commonly understood to be a type of the cross in traditional readings of Old Testament Scriptures. Similarly, the final line of Blok's poem "Из Моисеева куста" literally translates to "from Moses's Bush". In my original translation, I rendered the final line "from the bush of Moses, the Mother of God". Since at least the 4th century, the burning bush was interpreted as a type of Mary, the Theotokos (or God-bearer) in the patristic literature (see for example, Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses). In Russian iconography there is even an icon type of the Mother of God called the Unburnt Bush. While the use of "rod" and "Mother of God" allowed me to maintain the rhyme pattern (rod/God in place of креста/куста) of the original poem, it created a awkward rhythm to the poem, especially in the final line. It also added explicit allusions to patristic images that are not explicitly present in the original poem, perhaps fundamentally altering the author's intention. A neat experiment but also one that I think ultimately failed.

The new translation returns to a more literal translation without allegory: "
креста" means simply cross and that is how the poem now reads. The final line has been abbreviated from my original translation, though somewhat less literal - "Из Моисеева куста" is now rendered as "from the bush burnt without loss" rather than the literal "from Moses's bush" or the more awkward original translation "From the Bush of Moses, the Mother of God". The new translation I believe captures more closely the original meaning and manages to maintain at least the rhyme pattern of the original (now cross/loss in place of креста/куста). Overall, this is far from a perfect translation but I think it is an improvement.
One final comment about Blok himself that perhaps illustrates why I am still conflicted about the changes to final line: Blok was a master of the Symbolist movement in Russian poetry, wherein he worked unconventional rhythms and rhyming into his poetry. On that score, I feel somewhat more at liberty to ignore the meter of the original and attempt to express something of a musical quality in English. However, Blok was also deeply influenced by the great philosopher Vladimir Soloviev, a proponent of Sophiology in the Russian intellectual tradition. This led to him writing many of his early poetic compositions about the Fair Lady, Sophia the embodiment of Wisdom. It is with this in mind that I feel some regret at removing the reference to the Mother of God, a human embodiment/enhypostatization of Divine Wisdom.

We're All In This Thing Together

Fri, 2017-04-14 17:26
This song pretty much summarizes everything I've learned to be true about life after nearly five decades of living...

Well my friend, well I see your face so clear
Little bit tired, a little worn through the years
You sound nervous, you seem alone
I hardly recognize your voice on the telephone

In between I remember
Just before we wound up broken down
We'd drive out to the edge of the highway
Follow that lonesome dead-end roadside sound

We're all in this thing together
Walkin' the line between faith and fear
This life don't last forever
When you cry I taste the salt in your tears

Well my friend let's put this thing together
And walk the path that worn out feet have trod
If you wanted we can go home forever
Give up your jaded ways, spell your name to God

We're all in this thing together
Walkin' the line between faith and fear
This life don't last forever
When you cry I taste the salt in your tears

All we are is a picture in a mirror
Fancy shoes to grace our feet
All that there is is a slow road to freedom
Heaven above and the devil beneath

We're all in this thing together
Walkin' the line between faith and fear
This life don't last forever
When you cry I taste the salt in your tears

The river floes break in spring...

Wed, 2016-05-25 19:37

Alexander Blok
 The river floes break in spring...
March 1902
translation by Greg Pavlik 


The river floes break in spring,
And for the dead I feel no sorrow -
Toward new summits I am rising,
Forgetting crevasses of past striving,
I see the blue horizon of tomorrow.

What regret, in fire and smoke,
What agony of Aaron’s rod,
With each hour, with each stroke -
Or instead - the heavens’ gift stoked,
From the Bush of Moses, the Mother of God!

Original:

Весна в реке ломает льдины,
И милых мертвых мне не жаль:
Преодолев мои вершины,
Забыл я зимние теснины
И вижу голубую даль.

Что сожалеть в дыму пожара,
Что сокрушаться у креста,
Когда всечасно жду удара
Или божественного дара
Из Моисеева куста!
 
 Март 1902

Why I am a Dostoevskyan Humanist

Sun, 2016-05-01 17:11
An explanation in 5 parts, by reference to the works of those who were not.*

'Lo! I show you the Last Man.

"What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?" -- so asks the Last Man, and blinks.

The earth has become small, and on it hops the Last Man, who makes everything small. His species is ineradicable as the flea; the Last Man lives longest.

"We have discovered happiness" -- say the Last Men, and they blink.

They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need warmth. One still loves one's neighbor and rubs against him; for one needs warmth.

Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk warily. He is a fool who still stumbles over stones or men!

A little poison now and then: that makes for pleasant dreams. And much poison at the end for a pleasant death.

One still works, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the pastime should hurt one.

One no longer becomes poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still wants to rule? Who still wants to obey? Both are too burdensome.

No shepherd, and one herd! Everyone wants the same; everyone is the same: he who feels differently goes voluntarily into the madhouse.

"Formerly all the world was insane," -- say the subtlest of them, and they blink.

They are clever and know all that has happened: so there is no end to their derision. People still quarrel, but are soon reconciled -- otherwise it upsets their stomachs.

They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures for the night, but they have a regard for health.

"We have discovered happiness," -- say the Last Men, and they blink.'
Friedrich Nietzsche: Thus Spoke Zarathustra



The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb, Hans Holbein

Now, did He really break the seal
And rise again?
We dare not say….
Meanwhile, a silence on the cross
As dead as we shall ever be,
Speaks of some total gain or loss,
And you and I are free
Auden, Friday’s Child

“Wherever an altar is found, there is civilization."
Joseph de Maistre

“All actual life is encounter.”
Martin Buber, I and Thou

* model for composition stolen gratuitously from an online challenge.

Something Amiss

Thu, 2016-03-17 00:02
Looks like this curious non-review of the novel Laurus seems to have been referring to "Brahmins" as "Brahman" - I suppose republished to correct the mistake:
​Russian Brahman by Alan Jacobs | Articles | First Things
www.firstthings.com/article/2016/04/russian-brahman
First Things
Russian Brahman. by Alan Jacobs April 2016. Laurus by eugene vodolazkin translated by lisa hayden oneworld, 384 pages, $24.99. Eugene Vodolazkin's ...
​Russian Brahmin by Alan Jacobs | Articles | First Things
www.firstthings.com/article/2016/04/russian-brahmin
First Things
Russian Brahmin. by Alan Jacobs April 2016. Laurus by eugene vodolazkin translated by lisa hayden oneworld, 384 pages, $24.99. Eugene Vodolazkin's ...

Whatever his grasp of Hindu concepts, it's obvious Jacobs knows little to nothing about the tradition of Russian yurodivy, which makes this review overall kind of silly at best. Interested readers can refer to the hagiographies of Xenia of Petersburg or Feofil of the Kiev Caves Lavra to become acquainted with some of the conceptual background to the novel, both published by the monastery press in Jordanville, NY in English. As a complement the Pavel Lungin movie Ostrov is worth watching carefully - the film is based partly on Feofil, though like the life of St Xenia, it explores the theme of vicarious repentance. (It was not until the third time I saw the film that I fully grasped it - the visuals are stunning and in many respects a distraction.)

All of that aside, what continues to trouble me in general is the fact that most of the reviews of Laurus that I've seen have been oriented toward theological critiques - endorsements or arguments revolving around the reviewer's reading of what the author might want us to think about religion. And yet it is obvious that Vodolazkin did not write a religious apologetic (Jacobs invokes Karamazov, which is simultaneously a religious argument and a humanistic work - but Laurus is anything but the former). Laurus deserves a review as a work of notable - even great - world literature: which is to say first and foremost an exploration of what Vodolazkin is attempting to accomplish as a writer and what that has produced as a work of literature. The lack of serious analysis is particularly puzzling given the devices Vodolazkin uses to deal with language, identity, personality, relationship, and - yes - time. We could do with a few less sermons and a bit more thought.

Nativity

Thu, 2015-12-24 09:24
Shadows flicker against the wall
within the cave it is perpetually night
(I find my vision gets dimmer with age
- when we are alleged to see more sharply -
in the low light of a single candle flame
it is getting much harder to read
year by year)
there is a form I barely am able to perceive.
I wonder if it is better here than the open air
where my eyes would surely be closed against the sun
where all forms find their origin in the one.

2015

Brazil

Sun, 2015-12-20 23:11
Blown away to get my purple belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu from 10th Planet black belt Alex Canders.


Like a white stone in the depths of a well...

Tue, 2015-10-13 13:26
Like a white stone in the depths of a well...
Anna Akhmatova
working translation by Greg Pavlik

Like a white stone in the depths of a well
within me there lies one memory.
I can not - and do not - want to expel
this, my greatest joy and my agony.

I think that anyone who closely looks
can see this recollection reads
as harrowing sadness in a tragic book -
a warning, and a sign of need.

I know the gods forever strive
to wreck the body but cannot touch the mind;
assurance that you will forever live
as a memory I can’t leave behind.

Original:
Как белый камень в глубине колодца,
Лежит во мне одно воспоминанье.
Я не могу и не хочу бороться:
Оно - веселье и оно - страданье.

Мне кажется, что тот, кто близко взглянет
В мои глаза, его увидит сразу.
Печальней и задумчивее станет
Внимающего скорбному рассказу.

Я ведаю, что боги превращали
Людей в предметы, не убив сознанья,
Чтоб вечно жили дивные печали.
Ты превращен в мое воспоминанье.

Requiem Fragment

Sun, 2015-10-11 16:59
Requiem Fragment
Anna Akhmatova
translation by Greg Pavlik

10 Crucifixion

      Do not lament me, O Mother,
      seeing me in the tomb.


The angelic chorus glorified the hour of eternity,
when the heavens convulsed in a river of fire:
He cried to His Father “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?”
And to His Mother, he spoke: “Do not lament me”…

1938

Mary Magdalena writhed, and wept
as the beloved John froze like stone (or salt).
Where the Mother stood in silence -
no one dared to look.

1940

Translator notes. I chose to translate this poem much less loosely than my interpretative translation of Akhmatova’s Lot’s Wife – there Russian readers will recognize that the final stanza is essentially my own poem (with an explicit reference to the unrelated work of Scott Cairns, in fact).

Instead, this section of Requiem is much closer to the original (1), with only minimal augmentation. Nonetheless, it is also very different from Akhmatova’s in certain critical respects. Requiem itself is a difficult and evocative work – its melancholy is inseparable from the suffering of both Akhmatova herself and the Soviet people under Stalin. In some sense, I have abandoned this context in my translation. Educated Russian readers would have recognized Akhmatova’s work as using the imagery of the hymnography of the Paschal Nocturnes, the final liturgical setting of Great and Holy Saturday chanted before the entombed body of the dead Christ, which includes a deeply moving dialogue with his Mother. (2)

I have chosen to deepen the liturgical elements of the poem and play off themes that recur in and around the Lenten Triodion. The text of the Slavonic service is rendered here in English as it is commonly used in American parishes within the Russian Orthodox tradition. Second, I use the Hebrew directly in quotation from the Psalter, emphasizing its position as a liturgical prayer. While the dialogic element from the Nocturnes service is repeated, maintaining the liturgical connection, here the address to the Mother is clearly one of human filial affection.

The river of fire is evocative of the image God as “consuming fire”, which, St Isaac says is experienced as bliss by the pure in heart. The second stanza – and I do not believe there is any intention at all in the original to do this – also points back to the story of Lot and Sodom and implicitly re-invokes the image of fire. Akhmatova makes no association with salt. I have tried intentionally not to recall the poetics of Stabat Mater in the final lines.

(1) Original Russian:

10
РАСПЯТИЕ

   Не рыдай Мене, Мати,
   во гробе зрящия.

Хор ангелов великий час восславил,
И небеса расплавились в огне.
Отцу сказал: "Почто Меня оставил!"
А матери: "О, не рыдай Мене..."

1938

Магдалина билась и рыдала,
Ученик любимый каменел,
А туда, где молча Мать стояла,
Так никто взглянуть и не посмел.

1940, Фонтанный Дом

(2) From the Eastern Orthodox Liturgical Service of Paschal Nocturnes:

Do not lament me, O Mother, seeing me in the tomb, the Son conceived in the womb without seed, for I shall arise and be glorified with eternal glory as God. I shall exalt all who magnify thee in faith and in love.

Glory to Thee, our God, glory to Thee!

I escaped sufferings and was blessed beyond nature at Thy strange birth, O Son, who art without beginning. But now, beholding Thee, my God, dead and without breath, I am sorely pierced by the sword of sorrow. But arise, that I may be magnified.

Glory to Thee, our God, glory to Thee!

By my own will, the earth covers me, O Mother, but the gatekeepers of hell tremble at seeing me clothed in the blood-stained garments of vengeance; for when I have vanquished my enemies on the cross, I shall arise as God and magnify thee.

Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen.

Let creation rejoice, let all born on earth be glad, for hateful hell has been despoiled, let the women with myrrh come to meet me, for I am redeeming Adam and Eve and all their descendants, and on the third day shall I arise.

Lot's Wife

Mon, 2015-09-28 11:57
Lot's Wife
by Anna Akhmatova
an interpretive translation by Greg Pavlik
The righteous Lot heard the voice of God
As if coming from the distant and black mountains.
But his wife,
She saw what was until yesterday her blessing.
Under the beautiful spires of Sodom,
Where she sang spinning cloth -
The empty window of the room,
In which her children were born.
She looked – and her pain died with her,
For she could look no more:
Her body translucent salt,
Her feet joined the earth.
Who will mourn for Marah?
An insignificant role in a grand saga -
Yet my conscience cannot forget
The one who gave her life for a fleeting glance.
-----
Original poem
И праведник шел за посланником Бога,
Огромный и светлый, по черной горе.
Но громко жене говорила тревога:
Не поздно, ты можешь еще посмотреть
На красные башни родного Содома,
На площадь, где пела, на двор, где пряла,
На окна пустые высокого дома,
Где милому мужу детей родила.
Взглянула – и, скованы смертною болью,
Глаза ее больше смотреть не могли;
И сделалось тело прозрачною солью,
И быстрые ноги к земле приросли.
Кто женщину эту оплакивать будет?
Не меньшей ли мнится она из утрат?
Лишь сердце мое никогда не забудет
Отдавшую жизнь за единственный взгляд.

Ancestor Worship

Sat, 2015-08-08 08:25
Some profound lessons in how to be human that we can learn from our Confucian friends


Fascinating Lives

Fri, 2015-08-07 18:38
There is something, I think, admirable in a quiet life: care for family, constructive participation in community, hard work. But there are times and places (perhaps all times, but not all places?) where simply attending to the simple things of life becomes a kind of impossibility: whether for psychological or moral reasons. I was reflecting on two persons recently who have struck me by not only their intellectual genius but also by the sheer force by which they pushed against the norm, one for reasons of psychology and one for reasons of morality.

Yukio Mishima: narcissist, political fanatic, suicide. And one of Japan's greatest novelists. I recently completed the Sea of Fertility tetralogy, which traces the life of Shigekuni Honda from youth to retirement as a wealthy attorney, centered around what Honda believes are the successive reincarnations of his friend Kiyoaki Matsugae: as a young rightist, a Thai princess and an orphan. The most powerful of the four novels, in my opinion is the second: Runaway Horses. The book seems to rebuke the militant nationalism of Japanese reactionaries, though ironically enough Mishima himself ends his own life under the banner of a similar ideology. Mishima's fascinating portrait of an inherent dark side of youth - a taming of a deep inhumanism - so to speak, comes through almost all the novels, but most strongly in the last. This echoes a theme he developed in The Sailor Who Fell From Grace with the Sea, though I can think of few works that more strongly explore this theme than the Lord of the Flies. In any case, Mishima is masterful in exploring aberrant developmental psychology - even as he, himself, seems to have been stricken with his own disordered personality.

Maria Skobtsova: atheist, symbolist poet, Bolshevik revolutionary - and a renegade nun arrested for helping Jews in Paris by the Gestapo, she allegedly died by taking the place of a Jewish woman being sent to death. Jim Forrest provides a useful overview of her life - unlikely most lives of a Christian saints, this is no hagiography: it is a straightforward story of life. At the same time, we see a life transformed by a dawning realization that self-denial is a path to transformation -

"The way to God lies through love of people. At the Last Judgment I shall not be asked whether I was successful in my ascetic exercises, nor how many bows and prostrations I made. Instead I shall be asked did I feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick and the prisoners. That is all I shall be asked. About every poor, hungry and imprisoned person the Savior says ‘I': ‘I was hungry and thirsty, I was sick and in prison.’ To think that he puts an equal sign between himself and anyone in need. . . . I always knew it, but now it has somehow penetrated to my sinews. It fills me with awe."

And despite a life dedicated to service, she remained an acute intellectual, a characteristic of so many Russian emigres in Paris. This too reflected her view that redemption and suffering where intertwined - my favorite piece On the Imitation of the Mother of God
- draws this out beautifully.


Aporias

Sat, 2015-06-20 11:03
1.
Actually
He likes word games
   Diffident
In the way they circle about
   Starlings in flight
   Or Seraphim.

2.
With sweeping gesture
   Left to right
Hands hang with head
Under the pressing of the sun:
   Weight of doubt
   Or will.

3.
Against open air, tumultuous sea
   Turtle green
The division is nowhere more evident
Where sand meets froth
   Stark, blinding glare
Wind balmed
   Until night.

4.
Cleanliness,
   Next to godliness
The echo of countless schoolmarms
Chiding, chilling - without regret
   Yeah, rather,
   Motherhood.

What The World Needs More Of

Fri, 2015-06-19 15:07
The interview with these two kids - Chris and Camryn Singleton - is available on BBC, but I wanted to pull out this remarkable commentary in a related article:

"People are hurting in Charleston. But for the hundreds who packed into the gymnasium at the Goose Creek High School, it was also a reminder of the importance of love.

Sharonda Singleton coached the girls' athletics team here. As her photo rested on an easel on the polished floors in the vast sports hall, her friends and family paid tribute. Speaking for the first time since the deadly attack on the AME church where she worshipped, Sharonda's two children, Chris and Camryn, told me they forgive the man who killed her.

 "We already forgive him and there's nothing but love from our side of the family," Chris told me.

Many will find this incomprehensible. Charleston is often called the Holy City for the number of churches it is home to, and the role religion plays here. For some, like Chris and Camryn, unwavering faith is the only way to turn such a devastating loss into something positive."

This immediately brought to mind the sayings of Fr Zosima in Dostoevsky's Brothers Karamazov, which not to many years ago were the source of a kind of epiphany for me that in a sense reoriented by own thinking:

"Strive to love your neighbor actively and indefatigably. In as far as you advance in love you will grow surer of the reality of God and of the immort
ality of your soul. If you attain to perfect self-forgetfulness in the love of your neighbor, then you will believe without doubt, and no doubt can possibly enter your soul. This has been tried. This is certain.

Above all, avoid falsehood, every kind of falsehood, especially falseness to yourself. Watch over your own deceitfulness and look into it every hour, every minute. Avoid being scornful, both to others and to yourself. What seems to you bad within you will grow purer from the very fact of your observing it in yourself. Avoid fear, too, though fear is only the consequence of every sort of falsehood. Never be frightened at your own faint-heartedness in attaining love. Don't be frightened overmuch even at your evil actions. I am sorry I can say nothing more consoling to you, for love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams. Love in dreams is greedy for immediate action, rapidly performed and in the sight of all. Men will even give their lives if only the ordeal does not last long but is soon over, with all looking on and applauding as though on the stage. But active love is labor and fortitude, and for some people too, perhaps, a complete science. But I predict that just when you see with horror that in spite of all your efforts you are getting farther from your goal instead of nearer to it—at that very moment I predict that you will reach it and behold clearly the miraculous power of the Lord who has been all the time loving and mysteriously guiding you."

....


"At some thoughts one stands perplexed, especially at the sight of men's sin, and wonders whether one should use force or humble love. Always decide to use humble love. If you resolve on that once for all, you may subdue the whole world. Loving humility is marvelously strong, the strongest of all things, and there is nothing else like it." 

....

"“Remember particularly that you cannot be a judge of anyone. For no one can judge a criminal until he recognizes that he is just such a criminal as the man standing before him, and that he perhaps is more than all men to blame for that crime. When he understands that, he will be able to be a judge. Though that sounds absurd, it is true. If I had been righteous myself, perhaps there would have been no criminal standing before me. If you can take upon yourself the crime of the criminal your heart is judging, take it at once, suffer for him yourself, and let him go without reproach. And even if the law itself makes you his judge, act in the same spirit so far as possible, for he will go away and condemn himself more bitterly than you have done. If, after your kiss, he goes away untouched, mocking at you, do not let that be a stumbling-block to you. It shows his time has not yet come, but it will come in due course. And if it come not, no matter; if not he, then another in his place will understand and suffer, and judge and condemn himself, and the truth will be fulfilled. Believe that, believe it without doubt; for in that lies all the hope and faith of the saints.”


This time, Chris and Camryn have moved me beyond words by living this reality.

Addendum/edit: more of this humbling love on display

3 film non-meme

Sun, 2014-09-21 16:09
Riffing off previous post - was discussing with my wife last evening what we thought the three best "recent" films we had seen were. Here's my list:

1) Jia Zhangke's A Touch of Sin.

Reason: this is a powerful, powerful film that explores the effects of radical individualism, and economic inequality and of the overturning of normal, local, rooted communities. Banned by the Chinese government, it is as much a critique of the values of neoliberalism globally as it is of the current Chinese economic experiment.

2) Alejandro González Iñárritu's Biutiful.

Reason: a moving exploration of responsibility and ethics in the face of poverty, hopelessness and impending death. What do we make of the human spirit and our obligations to each other - and our obligations in the face of The Other?  Javier Bardem was birthed for this role - fantastic acting.

3) Pavel Lungin's The Island.

Reason: who is guilty before whom and for what? Take a director of Jewish background, give him a story that is loosely inspired by a hagiography of the fool-for-Christ Feofil of the Kieven Caves, and cast a retired-rock-star-current-recluse (Pyotr Mamonov) as a Orthodox monastic in the far north of Russia, and I would have quite low expectations for the outcome. What Lungin produced is instead not only his best film but I think one of the best films of the last 20 years.

Top 10 Book Meme

Tue, 2014-09-16 11:48
What books have most impacted me? I picked books I have returned to over and over. Yes, I know this is solipsistic to publish, but its a fascinating thing to think through. I'm sure the list will not look right in a few months anyway. But here I go...

1 The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Reason: the best book ever written about the human condition.

2 Iob, LXX
Reason: bad things happen to good people, quite often.

3 I Am a Cat, Natsume Soseki
Reason: comedy is good for the soul. This is the funniest book I've ever read. Cheating here, but I'd probably add Gogol as a next choice.

4 The Symposium, Plato
Reason: love. And I'm an only partially reconstructed platonist.

5 Demons, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Reason: explains a big part of the 20th century. Makes 1984 look like crude propaganda.

6 Also Spracht Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche
Reason: Nietszche saw the enormity of the modern project clearly.

7 Life of Moses, Gregory of Nyssa
Reason: before structuralism, post structuralism, semiotics, and deconstruction, there was Gregory of Nyssa. And apokatastasis.

8 For the Time Being, WH Auden
Reason: aside from the fact that Auden is the best English language poet, this is a deeply moving meditation on Christmas in the anglophone experience. Read it several times each winter.

9 The Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri
Reason: great art meets allegory meets beauty in the search for meaning. Honestly, stuck with only one book this might be it.

10 Faust, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Reason: we are all compromised to one degree or another.

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