Means and Ends

A musician by the name of Chuck E. Costa once decided to put a handful of Rudyard Kipling’s poems to music. For this I am deeply grateful because I have now memorized three-quarters of Kipling’s poem “If” although I’d probably have to sing it instead of say it if asked to recite.

“If” is a poem about virtues and honor in general, but in particular it’s about swearing to your own hurt. It’s about the hard virtues. The ones that don’t feel good. The ones that go against our grain. The ones that are almost impossible to remember in the moment of anger, betrayal or frustration. Or hard to remember in moments of triumph and superiority.

I had intended to post a video containing the Chuck E. Costa song, which is a slightly trucated version of the original, because it is beautiful the way he sings it. But I was unable to find it on youtube, so I simply advise it to you if your interested (the album is called "Never Seen a Jaguar" and the song simply "If")

Anyhow, here is the original:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

There is so much to talk about and delve into in this poem—not to mention one or two bits that might be points of contention for some—that I have chosen only two lines to expound upon—those highlighted in bold: dream and not make dreams your master; think and not make thoughts your aim.

Those two lines are more of a knife through the modern psyche than anything else. We would all most likely agree that it is wise to not become too proud, and noble to push yourself to spite laziness and fear, and virtuous to refrain from lying no matter that others are doing so about you. But in current thought processes dreams are a sort of master, and thoughts surely are the aim, are they not?

These lines hit me hardest because I do have the horrifying tendency to let dreams become my master—to drive my thoughts and feelings, thence to drive my anger and disappointment. The dreams are not wrong, but their preeminence is. If the loss or failure of them ruins someone—sunders them and puts them to the ground—then that someone held those dreams too high aloft. They gave them too much weight. They made them god and master.

A fairly predominate theme in so many inspirational movies these days is “chase your dreams.” And that’s not wholly bad. If someone is afraid of taking risks, afraid of stepping outside and making things happen, then they probably do need to be encouraged in that manner. But underneath that benign theme lies the potential to make dreams a master that rules you ruthlessly for your entire life. It’s strange how something so sunny on the surface can be shudder-inducing after the sheen’s rubbed off.

However, even more pertinent to face against post-modern thinking is the line “to think and not make thoughts your aim.” Such a subtle, elementary idea and yet it flies in the face of much of modern western academia and of youth culture. Sitting around in the coffee-shop and producing “thoughts” and things to “think about” and mulling over the “exchange of ideas” is often—rather than the means to an end—a goal in and of itself. It becomes a game of throwing thoughts out on the table like cards to see who has the best hand.

Thinking without purpose, thinking without aim—thinking without desiring or intending any true conclusion. Thinking, perhaps, without believing there can ever be any conclusion. That's post-modernism 'to a T'; it is more than happy to run on a treadmill, dutifully moving its legs, going nowhere—exercising the mind often without knowing how to use it in real contexts to reach real solutions…or find real answers.

It just so happened that while I had already decided to write about the “If” poem I happened upon this verse in Acts:

“All the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there spent their time doing nothing but talking about and listening to the latest ideas”

And a few of the Athenians actually listened, discussed and thought until they reached a conclusion but only a few, it seems. And we are a very Athenian culture these days—in ways both good and bad. It’s wonderful to be willing to hear, engage, argue and indeed “exchange ideas”—it’s deadly not to put all that to use in making concrete choices that follow from good thought.

Point being, I don’t want to be as some high-minded cook that will go on forever adding spices and ingredients without ever feeling a need to pause and taste what it is I have been concocting. That’s what thoughts being the aim is; cooking without tasting or eating; theory without application; experiment without viewing the results; or, simply, fear. Thought in and of itself is not going to sustain you when times get rough. Thoughts, however rich and good and enjoyable, are a means to an even better end.

I know I left the last post with a lengthy C.S. Lewis quote, but he keeps managing to have pertinent things to say, so here is a section from “The Great Divorce” in which a ghost from gray purgatory-like “hell” goes up to visit an old academic friend in Heaven and decide whether or not he might stay up there. One is referred to as the ghost (and occasionally the Episcopal ghost) and the heaven-living one is real or ‘the other one’.

(the real one)

“I have nothing to do with generality. Nor with any man but you and me. Oh, as you love your own soul, remember. You know that you and I were playing with loaded dice. We didn’t want the other to be true. We were afraid of crude Salvationism, afraid of a breach with the spirit of the age, afraid of ridicule, afraid (above all) of real spiritual fears and hopes”

(The conversation regarding this carries on, with the ghost saying things like “ah yes, that is a point of view. Certainly it’s a point of view,” until the real person invites the ghost into heaven)

“Will you come with me to the mountains? It will hurt at first, until your feet are hardened. Reality is harsh to the feet of shadows. But will you come?”

(and the ghost says)

“’Well, that is a plan. I am perfectly ready to consider it. Of course I should require some assurances…I should want a guarantee that you are taking me to a place where I shall find a wider sphere of usefulness—and scope for the talents God has given me—and an atmosphere of free inquiry—in short, all that one means by civilization and—er—the spiritual life’

‘No,’ said the other. ‘I can promise you none of these things. No sphere of usefulness: you are not needed there at all. No scope for your talents: only forgiveness for having perverted them. No atmosphere of inquiry, for I will bring you to the land not of questions but of answers, and you shall see the face of God.’

(the ghost): ‘Ah but we must interpret those beautiful words in our own way! For me there is no such thing as a final answer. The free wind of inquiry must always continue to blow through the mind, must it not? “Prove all things”…to travel hopefully is better than to arrive.’

(the real one): ‘If that were true, and known to be true, how could anyone travel hopefully? There would be nothing to hope for.’

(the ghost): ‘But you must feel yourself that there is something stifling about the idea of finality? Stagnation, my dear boy, what is more soul-destroying than stagnation?’

(the real one): ‘You think that,  because hitherto you have experienced truth only with the abstract intellect. I will bring you where you can taste it like honey and be embraced by it as by a bridegroom. Your thirst shall be quenched.’

(and finally, later, the heaven-living one says): ‘Once you were a child. Once you knew what inquiry was for. There was a time when you asked questions because you wanted answers, and were glad when you had found them. Become that child again: even now…Thirst was made for water; inquiry for truth”

‘Think and not make thoughts your aim,’ lest we grow afraid of finding answers. When the ghost fears stagnation, what he does not realize is that inquiry for the sake of inquiry is the stagnant and cyclical thing, NOT the finding of answers and the standing on solid ground. The first is the house on sand, the latter the house on rock. One washes in and out with the tides, the other holds strong and provides shelter. Our thirst will be quenched.

Dharohar Project: To Darkness and Back

This album (an EP actually) is a collaborative effort between Mumford & Sons, Laura Marling and Dharohar Project and accomplishes the fantastic trick of combining distinct Indian sounds (Rajasthani specifically), with British folk, gorgeous voices and lyrics that you want to eat nice and slow so as to figure out what on earth they’ve been spiced with. I’ve listened to this album over and over and I’m still sorting through some of the words. That, I think, is how it should be.

But actually this isn’t about the album so much as it’s about one of the songs: “To Darkness.” Don’t let the title discourage you—it’s an acknowledgement, not a concession. Here’s the song:

Try as I might, I could not find sufficient sources to incontrovertibly confirm my hearing of the lyrics, but the most crucial ones are consistent, therefore the lyrics are (more or less) as follows, with uncertainties in parentheses, and my comments in italics:

Take my eyes, My whole heart

In your hands, In your hands

And board the (ark)

(As it departs)

Lead me on the shore

But I will hunt no more

I have to pause here for a moment. For me songs are stories. If I don’t see one overtly told, I will dig for it. It’s in there somewhere. So we start with a mournful sound and a sense of loss, and a desire to be taken up—to give up the striving—to be led.

Hold my sin above my head,

Take me home instead,

Take me home instead.

Here they present the soft image of someone lifting a branch out of your way so that it does not obstruct. The hindrance is being held aloft and the pathway made clear for a homeward trek. Again, guidance…being led.

I will not speak of your sin

There is a way out for him

The mirror shows not

Your values are all shot

The first line speaks of forgiveness, the second of a ‘way out.’ Way out of what? The final two lines hint at it: We don’t see ourselves clearly. We don’t understand our own failings by any mere glance in the mirror.

But Oh, my heart

Was flawed, I knew my weakness

So hold my hand

Consign me not to darkness

Here we hit the heart of the song. Again the look outward, the request for guidance. The recognition of flaws, the acknowledgement of weakness. “Hold my hand, consign me not to darkness.” Of whom does the singer demand such a thing? Who can consign or ‘consign not’ to darkness? Who is it that is taking the hand and holding our sin above our heads?

Well, for one (Psalms 107:14) “He brought them out of darkness, the utter darkness, and broke away their chains” and (Psalm 103:12) “as far as the east is from the west, so far has he put our sins from us”

I bring this song up because it is:

A.     Beautiful

B.      Intriguing

C.      Perhaps saying things it doesn’t realize it’s saying (or maybe it does, who knows)

D.     Thematically consistent with Mumford & Sons and Laura Marling’s respective bodies of work (I cannot speak as to Dharohar Project, this is my first time to hear of them).

Both of the above mentioned bands/artists are in a constant state of acknowledging deep flaws (“seal my heart and break my pride, I’ve nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide, Align my heart, my body, my mind—to face what I’ve done and do my time”—from “Dustbowl Dance” by Mumford & Sons) and this seems a rather rare phenomenon in this day and age where most people like to think we’re all just decent fellows and lasses at heart and it’s just the times or circumstances getting us down here and there.

Both bands also hint at the ongoing struggle that ensues regarding such an acknowledgment (“Pick up your rope Lord, and fling it to me. If we are to battle, I must not be weak”—from “Hope in the Air” by Laura Marling. And “Darkness is a harsh term, don’t you think? And yet it dominates the things I seek”—from “Roll Away Your Stone” by Mumford & Sons)

Long story short? These artists talk about facing our own darkness and about wrestling with God. I don’t know whether or not these artists believe in God, but they sure seem to be shouting upward with better aim than most. I think the awareness they speak of and the longing it calls to the surface is compelling. They want to have it out with God, perhaps, but they admit that he’ll have to pull them to the surface first—we’re at his mercy. Maybe they think they’re singing into the darkness and shadowboxing against the empty air.

But they aren’t. With these beautiful, earnest words, they’re wrestling with the real, live Him—they may get a great, terrifying shock out of it if they don’t already know Him:

“…you have had a shock like that before, in connection with smaller matters—when the line pulls at your hand, when something breathes beside you in the darkness. So here; the shock comes at the precise moment when the thrill of life is communicated to us along the clue we have been following. It is always shocking to meet life where we thought we were alone. ‘Look out!’ we cry ‘it’s alive!’. And therefore this is the very point at which so many draw back—I would have done so myself if I could—and proceed no further with Christianity. An ‘impersonal God’—well and good. A subjective God of beauty, truth and goodness, inside our own heads—better still. A formless life-force surging through us, a vast power which we can tap—best of all. But God Himself, alive, pulling at the other end of the cord, perhaps approaching at infinite speed, the hunter, king, husband—that is quite another matter. There comes a moment when the children who have been playing at burglars hush suddenly: was that a real footstep in the hall? There comes a moment when people who have been dabbling in religion (‘Man’s search for God!) suddenly draw back. Supposing we really found him? We never meant it to come to that! Worse still, supposing He had found us?

So it is a sort of Rubicon. One goes across; or not. But if one does, there is no manner of security against miracles. One may be in for anything.”

-C.S. Lewis in “Miracles”

And I think that about says it.

Discipline is Not a Dirty Word

In light of the fact that language is taking certain shifts these days and words that used to have a positive connotation now have a negative or impotent one and vice versa (i.e. on So You Think You Can Dance, calling a dance “nasty” is generally offered as a high compliment. Or the word “awesome” which is supposed to mean “inspires awe” but instead, apparently, means “that's nice”—and if you’re feeling additionally expressive, it connotes an exclamation point as well) I feel the need to put in a good word for the very good word “discipline.” I don’t want it to get a bad reputation.

The word disciplined still has a fairly decent rap, but disciplinarian is not always well-treated and either word sometimes conjures in the young, modern mind an image of something rigid, binding, unrelenting and, perhaps, uncreative.

I beg to differ. It seems to me that even the most creative of people, if they truly wish to develop that creativity, will be driven to the intense discipline of honing their natural skills. I say this as someone who is not a naturally disciplined person and whatever else I am, I’m not organized. I have spurts of organization (where I will schedule whole months of meals to cook and miles to run) but generally I find discipline difficult. Which is what makes me respect its acquisition so highly.

The Disciplines:

Discipline is a tricky beast and it has a variety of meanings:

1. A parent disciplines a child: Had my parents not done this, I would likely be one of the following: a vagrant, a mercenary, a criminal mastermind, or at least in jail for something or other. I have violent and heartless tendencies, and no amount of sweet-smiled “oh she’ll grow out of it” would have tempered that. I’m STILL working on it.

2. You can study in an academic discipline: I am not so academically keen, but they call them “disciplines” for  a reason. Reading, study, research, verification, comparison, hours and hours and hours.

3. Discipline of habit/persistence: You do something enough times, the discipline becomes habit—an instinctive part of daily life.

4. Disciplined: To be regimented, organized…regularized.

For a Girl Who Doesn’t Like Grammar:

In his essay “The Weight of Glory” C.S. Lewis talks about the transformation of external discipline to intrinsic meaning saying that“…poetry replaces grammar, gospel replaces law, longing transforms obedience, as gradually as the tide lifts a grounded ship.”

It should go noted that the things “replaced” do not actually disappear. Grammar, law and obedience are still present, but their meaning has gone bone-deep.

Furthermore, Lewis talks about the person who aims to acquire a certain knowledge through discipline:

“His position, therefore, bears a certain resemblance to that of the mercenary; the reward he is going to get will, in actual fact, be a natural and proper reward, but he will not know that till he has got it.”

The student, the soldier, the runner—they are working towards a reward that is not instantaneous and which they do not fully understand until its culmination. Discipline and passing pleasures are not much connected. Discipline and lasting ones are.

“…enjoyment creeps in upon the mere drudgery,” he goes on to say. And“…the proper rewards are not simply tacked on to the activity for which they are given but are the activity itself in consummation.”

He give the example of a school child learning Greek grammar (something I suppose few school children do these days. I certainly never did) and the enjoyment of its poetry being the proper reward for the tedious study that preceded it. Yet, he notes, the school-child could not have known how he might enjoy the poetry while he was yet immersed in the tedium. Had this theoretical school child demanded to know what value he would receive at the end of his endeavors, he would have received an explanation he either did not understand, or was disinclined to believe—because the daily study did not, to him, bear the marks of a pleasant, rewarding thing. It was a struggle, and its end was hazy.

In Language:

As I said, I have not studied Greek, but I have studied other languages and the reward of fluency is beyond concise explanation. Suffice it to say it opens up whole new worlds of political media, poetry, literature, culture, music, idiom, perspective and conversation. And it starts with the discipline of use, immersion and persistence.

I couldn't have fully known what it would mean when I was starting fresh with alphabets and vocabulary.

In Running:

Another discipline with which I have become familiar is that of running, and it being a raw physical example doesn’t exclude it from being just as relevant.

When I first-very-first started running I was resistant to the discipline of it. I balked at the mere idea of doing an exercise just for the sake of exercise, which is how I saw it. (I still have a slight aversion to treadmills for their going-nowhere-ness, even though I have used them when they were what was available.)

I remember the first time I ran a mile and a half. I remember how excited I was. I remember two miles. I also remember how long those two miles took me and it was laughable. There was a lot of on-off start-stop running over the years, but eventually a habit formed out of sheer mercenary necessity: I was joining the Marine Corps and I had to be able to run 3 miles in a certain time. And I didn’t want to just pass the test. I wanted to ACE it.

Only now do I know that the rewards of that discipline far outweighed my perception of them. I thought “I’ll have an impressive run time, and be fit.” That happened. But more than that. I found the joy in running. The thrill of a good clip, or a wild trail, or of jumping over things (like snakes). The joy of sunsets and sunrises seen from a dozen different angles. The adventure of happening upon new roads, paths, nooks and crannies. The confidence of increased endurance and knowing how this could be used not only on my behalf, but on behalf of others.

This is one example of a discipline that did far more than present me with its known end of ‘fitness’ and a high-scoring run-time.

In Work:

I suppose it goes without saying that military-types are forced to make an intimate acquaintance with discipline of all kinds. Drilling is a quintessential example of this. In physical training. Martial Arts. Or in rifle drill and marching.

One movement. Conducted over and over. And over. ‘Till you bleed. ‘Till your bruised. ‘Till you want to fall over.

The end result? An instinct of the muscles so inherent that your mind need not translate for your body in order for it to know what to do. This is an example of an utterly pragmatic discipline that can also be used in mercenary fashion. You may not realize its worth until the day that your body reacts precisely as it must to the right prompt without it having ever occurred to your mind. Obviously this can be misused as well. Pavlovian responses can easily be good or bad, but in military environments they are about creating survival/offensive/defensive instincts that the average individual may not inherently possess.

This is where the word “discipline” acquires some of its negative connotations. People see uniforms; uniforms connote uniformity; uniformity makes people think of automatons. I—having been in the military—understand but disagree. We forget that we are GLAD when we have created instinctive physical reactions for ourselves when—say—we’re in the car. We turn on the blinker without thinking, check the mirrors, and our foot switches between brake, gas (and/or clutch) without our mind having to get involved. If we had to think too hard about it, this would be a problem. Like I said: this visceral sort of discipline can be well or badly used.

In Everything, Really

So there are disciplines that produce joy in their own right—true, deep joy—and there are other disciplines that have less monumental, less bone-deep rewards but which are satisfying nonetheless: I have been working on simple disciplines which make life smoother…like putting things away in a drawer and a closet when I am done with them. It’s so basic, but I have a tendency not to do it. I’m practicing. The thing is, I find it unlikely that the heights of my joy in life will come from putting a shirt away in the closet. But you know what? There is a tiny sigh of contentment when I think of the tedious work I’m saving myself from so that I have time to do other things…like run, or write this blog post.

So no, you may not necessarily have giddy highs when you scrub down the bathroom on that day that you have disciplined yourself to always scrub it down. But nor will you feel overwhelmed. And besides, a job well and consistently done does make me smile. Sometimes it actually does make me feel a little giddy. Without the discipline it might just make me feel exhausted instead of satisfied.

Take it from someone who had to be disciplined at a higher rate that most of her siblings because she was such a hellion—from someone who dreaded growing up because she thought it would not consist of sufficient tree-climbing and irresponsible running-about—from someone who prefers oblique paths to properly angled ones—from someone who is a fence-hopper and a roof-climber—from someone who finds grammar a scary and unknowable monster of a thing…I like real, true discipline. And boy do I ever need it. Disciple comes from that word. And discipleship.

For some people who have better natural inclinations than I, the verse “He will die for lack of discipline…” in Proverbs may seem extreme. But maybe not. Even the highest quality material still needs to be tempered, honed. It still needs the dross burned off.

True Grit and Winter's Bone

Not-quite a movie review:

I have certain issues with the trends in movies. On one hand, it’s nice that girls get to be part of the action these days, and aren’t always mere damsels in distress or MacGuffins* for the heroes. But on the other hand, I don’t always agree with or like the way this phenomenon is executed. Most of the time the women are no less objectified than they were when they were just dames to be rescued. Moreover, they are given unrealistic abilities that border on super-powers (or just literal super-powers) that make their heroism ring a little false. This is done for men and for women, but for some reason people think that when women are made unrealistically invincible it is 'empowering.' And I'm just not convinced that's accurate.

(*MacGuffin is a term used to describe an item that by its existence, or it’s having been stolen or activated, drives the plot-line. In poorly constructed stories it is usually a completely interchangeable item and you could absolutely get away with calling it “That thing” throughout the entire movie/book. “We must rescue the thing!” or “If we do not retrieve the thing, the world will end!”)

A Small Rant

So you have this recent rash of movies wherein a sexy lady—or a small girl, because that’s popular too—becomes the center of all the punching, kicking and bullet rain. On one hand, Bruce Willis’ John McClane (of Die Hard) is almost as unlikely a beast as one of Angelina Jolie’s slinky, cherry-lipped fighter-chicks. But there is a part of me that gets much more irritated when one of her lanky arms lands as hard a hit as one of Willis’ muscly ones. Ladies and gentleman, just because they added in a wince-inducing sound for the landing of the punch, does not mean that it would really land that way. In fact, I have this vague feeling that she would break her wrist.

Now, I’m aware that these types of movies do not purport to be realistic. I get that. So if Willis’ John McClane can escape a high-rise roof explosion by tying a fire-hose around his waist, to then shoot through a 35^th story window, and make it in JUST IN TIME…why should I criticize the unlikelihood of tooth-pick sized girls throwing knock-out punches then striking a pretty pose?

Well, I’ll admit, one’s a fantasy same as the other. The latter is just THAT MUCH MORE unrealistic, while purporting to be just as likely, and I guess it begins to broach my limits for suspension of disbelief. Or perhaps it’s because, while I do not have experience with explosion-fire-hose-roof-rappelling-glass-shooting escapades, I do have experience with martial arts matches with guys. I’ve done Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and MCMAP (Marine Corps Marital Arts Program) with men—guys my size and guys bigger than me—and I’m telling you THE MOVIES LIE even more than they thought you did. I have an affinity for punching things, mind you. I’ve punched my knuckles bloody on a 75 ILB bag, and that’s half (or less than half) the weight of an average guy—and much softer. And it wasn’t hitting me back or anything.

So I know I can carry a guy who weighs more than me (to a point). But not as fast as he can. Not that that isn’t frustrating. But things can be frustrating and true at the same time. I am not that stellar a fighter, by the way, so I have not beaten a guy bigger than me in a straight match. Or even in a crooked match, frankly. I have, however, beaten girls bigger than me on occasion, and (once) a guy my size.

Just trying to put it into perspective here. I like a little more realism in my action movies than that. Just a leetle more. Besides you’re gonna have to do more than give her some pretty trickle of blood down her cheek to make me believe that she got beat up.

On to the real subject of the day, Movies That Got It Right:

Not so very long ago I watched two films—True Grit and Winter’s Bone—in rather close succession and I was impressed with both for the same reasons, despite each film having a very different tone, because they have similar elements, themes and strengths. The main similarity is that they have realistic, admirable female leads. Action films with female leads tend to make me roll my eyes. These did no such thing. I don’t want to review the movies so much as I want to comment on the viability of the characters they present as role models. Brief summaries for each ought to do (no spoilers).

True Grit: A remake of an old John Wayne Western in which a young girl, Mattie, sets out to avenge her father’s murder. She hires a hard, old wastrel of a Marshall to help her accomplish the task, claiming she needs someone with “True Grit.” They reluctantly team up with a Texas Ranger who is searching for the same criminal and though both the Ranger and the Marshall try to get rid of Mattie, she is the one with true grit, and she accompanies them. Given the era (late 1800’s, I think) this would have been quite bold and surprising.

Winter’s Bone: Set in modern day. The protagonist, Ree, lives in a poor rural area in the Ozarks and takes care of her two younger siblings due to her father’s absence and her mother’s incapacity. Drugs in general and meth in particular constitute a huge issue in the area—nearly everyone participates in one or more of the following: the manufacture, sale, distribution or use of meth. This includes Ree’s Dad, who is due to show up for a court date, but who has disappeared. Unless he is found, Ree’s family’s house will be handed over due to it being part of her father’s bail bond. The film follows her as she tries to either find her Dad alive, or prove that he is dead, so as to save her family’s home.

Two Sides of the Same Coin:

True Grit has comedic moments here and there and a milder take on a rather serious subject matter. Winter’s Bone is the more harsh—the darker—of the two films. Yet both take their young protagonists very seriously, and treat their individual circumstances with an even hand.

Additonally both films:

1. Are realistic in how they approach certain things, such as disparity in strength, social codes and local culture.

2. Deftly handle linguistic nuances: the rural idioms of the Ozarks in Winter’s Bone, and the westernness and almost jarring absence of contractions in True Grit.

3. Showcase a deep, driving love of family. Either to avenge the dead, or protect the living.

4. Have Protagonists that practically any young women could look at and say “I hope to God that I would be as strong and determined as she in such a circumstance.”

5. Have more or less incapacitated mothers, and fathers that are no longer in the picture (even though they drive the picture).

6. Male “mentors” who are less than moral, and less than worthy, but remain important to the protagonists.

7. Showcase both necessary flouting and manipulative/pragmatic utilization of local rule-of-law.

8. Pay attention to practical details of daily life and survival under harsh circumstances.

                                                                                     

Keeping up Appearances:

Regarding the gorgeous, well-dressed fighter-girl-type…you have NOTHING on the ladies depicted in these films.

These young women, though both quite beautiful in their own right, are kept somewhat plain for the roles they play. Steinfeld in True Grit has her hair in thick braided pig-tails—no foolishly flowing hair here—and she spends essentially the entire movie dwarfed inside a thick winter coat. Granted, she is quite a young actress still, so trying to make her sexy would have probably just been awkward. However people have tried it on 11-14 year olds in movies before. Anyhow, Lawrence of Winter’s Bone is also dressed in thick warming layers throughout the entire movie and though her hair is left down, it comes off as though it’s because she cannot be bothered to mess with it: more important things are happening than her hair. It even looks a little stringy and untended here and there.

Mattie:

And Ree:

Why am I emphasizing their respective appearances? I’m pointing it out because blessedly little fuss about it is made by comparison to movies like The Matrix, where the girl is tough and all—but she’s constantly in tight-fitted clothing in case people get bored of watching her be tough. (Don't get me wrong. I like that movie--the first one, that is--and I like that character.)

In True Grit and Winter's Bone, these girls are characters, not objects, and that is the essential reason I’m calling attention to their lack of glamour. Now, you shouldn’t have to dress a girl down to show her strength of spirit, but in the case of these films, I think it served well because it perfectly fit the scenarios in which they found themselves. And I suspect that to be the case for such circumstances broadly speaking. I hesitate to post pictures from boot camp or deployment to prove my point, but I found one that will suit:

See those gams? Yup that's me. Bling in the boots, helicopter-grease-stains on the cammies and eva’thing. Doing gritty work normally doesn't  permit you to wear fancy stuff.

Now, I read an article by an on-line e-zine writer, who guiltily noted that he wasn’t sure he was being any less sexist by cheering the onslaught of super-powered, tough chicks in movies and video games. Because they were all gorgeous, coifed, sexy, leather-clad tough chicks, so there was no loss of the original purpose (back in the day of damsels-in-distress): to look “hot.” (I’m generally not a fan of the use of that word. It implies a complete disassociation of person from body and is, therefore, not a compliment unless that person knows you really well and their regard for you as a person is long-since established. It is not a compliment in passing or new acquaintance. I have a tendency to chastise my little brothers should they be so foolish as to use that word about a girl they barely know in my presence. The youngest thought me silly.  I think he rolled his eyes. He's good with the ladies, so this is as yet unresolved.)

Regarding Violence:

Perhaps this is a silly reason to get irritated, but nevertheless I do get irritated when someone in the movies gets beat up and it doesn’t seem to really affect them at all—or it doesn’t really mar their appearance in a realistic way. It seems silly to me that they should continue to look fine, just with some delicate drops of blood on their face. What about bruising and swelling? Well Winter’s Bone remedies that nonsense by making its protagonists injuries painfully realistic.

(This is much the milder of the photos)

In True Grit, when Mattie first shoots a gun, it knocks her back, as it very likely would. These young women are taking on daunting tasks, but not blithely. It’s not easy, and it doesn’t always work out as planned. Mattie knows when to fight, when to yell for help, when to sit back and wait for the right moment...and when to shoot.

The Best Role Models are Those That Can Exist in Real Life:

The reason I’m making all this fuss over these films and over their depiction of young women is because it stands in contrast to a lot of the other stuff out there. Much like many irritating aspects of post-modern feminism, films and novels often try to portray strong women by falsifying them, their circumstances or their capabilities.

I believe that a New York cop could be a good shot and could throw a good punch, but I doubt he could jump onto and then off of a moving fighter jet (Die Hard 4: greatest, silliest scene). I believe that a young woman can take a brutal beating and recover, refusing to give up on protecting her family and their home, but if you make her knock out a guy with her pinky she becomes just as silly that fighter-jet scene. And if over-the-top action-thriller is what you’re going for, that’s fine.

But if you’re trying to show a strong person facing hardship—someone to respect and admire—and you have the gall to call them a role model for young women—it’s best to show them at a real-life level of strength.

So I point to these two films as examples of strength of character, untainted by fantasy, wish-fulfillment or Computer Generated Images. The virtues and gritty determination shown by these characters is not out of reach. It's not something to day-dream about, but something to truly have.

A Review: Jephte's Daughter, by Naomi Ragen

Naomi Ragen’s novel, Jephte’s daughter, is about a young Hassidic (Jewish ultra-orthodox) girl who is raised in the United States, and is arranged to marry a young Hassidic scholar in Jerusalem. She must leave everything she knows and loves to marry a man she has only just met. It sounds like a traditional set-up for—I don’t know—a romance novel or some such. (It’s an arranged marriage!!! But will it become true love?!? No.)

But this is not a romance novel (though there are some slightly extraneous romantic elements towards the end) and I suspect this isn’t the best way to introduce this novel, at any rate.

The title of this novel is derived from a story in the book of Judges. Jephte (Spelled Jephthah in my translation) makes a horrifying vow to God, that he will sacrifice the first thing that comes out of his house if he is granted victory in battle. He is granted victory. His daughter is the first sight for his eyes as he approaches home. And he is duty bound to sacrifice her. She accepts her fate and asks only for time to mourn that she will die a virgin.

The parallels between the story of Jephte’s daughter and the protagonist of this novel—Batsheva Ha-Levi—are pretty explicitly drawn so I don’t think I’ll be ruining anything for potential readers by expounding upon that parallel.

Batsheva has been raised in wealth and relative isolation, for there are not many Hassidic Jews in the area of California where she lives and where her father is a very successful businessman. Batsheva is her parents’ only child and as such, she is cherished and spoiled. She has an outside tutor (a young gentile college student by the name of Elizabeth) who has introduced her to the sorts of literature that the average Hassidic girl would never see from a mile off (Women in Love and Lady Chatterly’s Lover have the most frequent mention.)

Batsheva is beautiful. She is happy. She is “ill-acquainted with the ways of the world”. She is full of life and she loves God.  She does not lament much the confines of her religious life—firstly because she knows nothing else, and secondly because her confines are few by comparison to others of her sect. She has a yearning and passionate and artistic mind. She struggles, she questions, but she always comes back to her center of faith in God.

        “She loved those instances in the Bible where people took flying leaps of faith headlong into the fearsome unknown and God was always there, like a good father.” (Pg 23)

          “…the more she learned to admire the skilled hand, the wise eye of the artists and photographers she loved, the more she began to perceive the world as a giant canvas and God as the greatest artist of all. So that later, when she finally learned about Darwin, the idea was as absurd and incomprehensible to her as the suggestion that the Mona Lisa had come about because a few cans of paint had accidentally tipped over and dripped their colors onto a chance canvas” (Pg 28)

She is also very much only 18 years old at the beginning of the novel, and becoming increasingly curious about things such as sex, intimacy and romantic love.

       “But God had looked at all of this, His ideas, His wonderful sense of color and design put into action and had said merely that it was good. Not great. Not fantastic. Just good. But when he had looked at man and woman together, He had said it was “very good.” So you could just imagine.” (Pg 35)

But Batsheva’s father, Abraham Ha-Levi, feels guilty. He is the direct descendant of a famous line of Hassidic Rabbis, but instead of devoting himself to the Talmud and a life of poverty, he thinks he has been too perfunctory about his Hassidism and has made an awful lot of money.

Herein lies the sacrifice. In order to devote to God what he feels he must, Batsheva’s father seeks out a husband—the aforementioned Hassidic scholar in Jerusalem—who will reestablish with Batsheva the famous Ha-Levi line. He figures Batsheva will marry this man, they will have great scholars for children, and Batsheva’s father will compensate for his youthful rebellion and his lack of study. He sacrifices her to a very different life than she has known—and to a man she does not know—to ease his guilt.

I should mention that Naomi Ragen’s inspiration for this novel was the instance of a real life Hassidic woman who committed a homicide-suicide (she took her small child with her). Ragen wished to investigate the experiences and emotional state of someone who would do such a horrible thing.

So, be warned. Her marriage is not a good one. And this brings me to one of the most well-executed aspects of this story: Isaac Harshen. He is the husband and, without giving away too much, he is the cause of Batsheva’s emotional and psychological distress. He is essentially the villain of the piece.

But here is where I must truly commend Ragen. Even though I knew that Isaac would be the source of trouble at the out-set of the novel, I still hoped he would mend, hoped he would grow, saw chances for redemption and even understood (did not agree with, but could comprehend) many of his reactions. He starts out as a young, intelligent, handsome man who also knows very little of the world.

But he knows much of his world. In his community in Jerusalem he is well-thought-of and pious and shrewd. He knows, ultimately, how to wield his world against Batsheva.

Ragen does not make Isaac sympathetic in the strictest sense—he grows blatantly cruel—but she makes solid sense of the progression of his thoughts and behaviors. He’s not just unkind because the story needed him to be. You can see exactly how he got that way and why he chooses as he does. You can see it happening with chilling realism right before your eyes. When she describes the “hardening of his heart,” so to speak, towards Batsheva you can (or at least I can) recognize that same mode of thought in some past instance in my life. You know, that time you had both remorse and contempt as options and you saw some faint justification for the contempt and you chose it. Or the decision to capitalize on a miscommunication or on semantics to your own benefit. I’ve known myself to sometimes do the things the Isaac does, and that is scary…and an important truth to recognize—that we have that in ourselves.

From the point of Batsheva’s marriage, the story takes many a twist and turn (and indeed does some things I did not anticipate) and it consists of both good prose and a compelling story. I had to remind myself to look up at the subway stops to make sure I didn’t miss mine while I was reading this, I was so engrossed.

The book has rotating perspectives, giving liberty to drop into postitively anyone’s mind at any time, which I enjoyed. I don’t always like being restricted to one mind for hundreds of pages. It’s a personal preference. I have my own mind to deal with, don’t I? Plus it makes the characters more real, rather than just passing shadows viewed through a young girl’s eyes.

Therefore I would also like to mention a few of the other significant characters, some of whose roles in the story are best left undiscussed if you intend to read this.

Elizabeth:

The aforementioned gentile tutor. She is not much older than Batsheva, but wiser in the ways of the world—at least, in theory. Sadly she makes all the mistakes a girl in her position (young, smart, beautiful, passionate) ought not to make. There is a sub-plot of her involvement with a professor, but it is not superfluous. It is present to show-case the fact that, for all her freedom by comparison to Batsheva and other Hassids, she is still suffering and the choices she makes do not necessarily bring her happiness. She becomes disgusted with herself, and disillusioned with her lover.

Ultimately Elizabeth is a sweetheart, but never as riveting a character as Batsheva because she doesn’t seem to believe in anything. She’s just ‘awful nice.’ She is treated well by the narrative, but in a novel that acknowledges the centrality of God, that just doesn’t cut it. She’s an aimless sweetheart.

Professor MacLeish:

Pretty much a suave, pretentious jerk. His characterization is not as deep as Isaac Harshen’s, but it doesn’t need to be. He’s pretty peripheral. His primary purpose in the story is to provide a parallel to Isaac. To show that, just as Isaac adheres to the rituals and rules of his faith yet truly has no faith, Professor MacLeish adheres to the rhetoric and philosophies of his field of study, but has grown completely disillusioned with it. He carries on with the tune having lost the beat and any semblance of purpose.

David:

My absolute favorite section of the story consists of David’s struggle with God. David is preparing for priesthood in the Catholic church (a priest? What? I thought we were doing this story in a Hassidic neighborhood in Jerusalem! How did we get to a British Priest-in-training? Don’t worry about it.) He is struggling for his faith, struggling against God and ends up going on a trip to Israel to study the Bible and figure things out.

His struggle culminates in, perhaps, the most compelling passage in the whole book.
Note: Jacob is my favorite character in the Bible. The one with whom I can most relate. The passage shows David hiking out to the Desert and having it out with God—wrestling for His blessing. Even though I don’t agree with every single one of this character’s conclusions at the culmination of this scene, it is still very powerful and his story and struggles resonated with me in a way I cannot quite describe.

And The Rest:

There are some interesting arguments presented throughout the latter portion of the book, particularly interesting for someone familiar with both Judaism and Christianity. For instance, many Christians struggle with God’s wrath and the harshness in the Hebrew Scriptures (the Old Testament) while finding Jesus’ message of love and faith a little easier to grasp (if not easy to live). A lot of people see the Old Testament and the New as the "wounding then healing" aspects of God, respectively.

Yet in this novel the opposite perspective is introduced, which I found interesting and ironic in light of the aforementioned:

       “Even “Love they neighbor as thyself,” that which he had always believed the most Christian of ideas, that, too, was written plainly in the Hebrew texts given to Moses. In many ways, its words seemed to bring him closer to the goodness and holiness he had always searched for than the harsh words of the new..., “Think not I have come to bring peace. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Pg 375)

Curiously, though Christian myself, I have always had an easier time breathing in the Old Testament than the new, for various reasons. I believe both are the word of God, but the latter is sometimes much harder for me to grasp. I just think it interesting to note, that some things that are ‘the easy part’ for some, are ‘the hard part’ for others. I’m also glad that the text pointed out some important things that Christians often forget:

        “He had been taught, had he not, that Jesus said, “I come not to change the Law, but to strengthen and verify it.” But it had never occurred to him, never seemed important to him, that Jesus himself came of Jewish parents, and the law he spoke of was the same law of the Jews.” (Pg. 375)

Vital information, if you ask me.

Anyhow, the conclusion of the story actually appeals to my affinity for blood-ties, although an opposite experience than that of a certain converting character can be found in real life in the form of Lauren Winner who wrote about her conversion from Orthodox Judaism (to which she originally converted from Reform Synagogue-going childhood.) to Christianity.  Her book, "Girl Meets God" is also highly recommended.

Conclusion:

I like that this is written about religion from the perspective of one who actually understands it, yet not for the religious shelves. Ragen intends a critique of many aspects of the Hassidic lifestyle, but she does not explicate hatefully. Nor does she give up on it all. Batsheva loves God. She believes in Him. She’s not written as a caricature of a religious person, which is rare when encountering a character found on, say, a shelf marked something other than religious fiction. That love and belief drips off the pages in a way that speaks to those who understand the language of faith. Since I don’t generally read stuff from the “Religious/Christian fiction” shelf I’ve been pretty hard up to find fiction that portray people of faith as anything but caricatures, nut-jobs or plot-devices. I intend to read many more Naomi Ragen books.