Fiction: "Strannik: A Vision"

Herbert James Draper, "The Lament for Icarus"

Written by Jonathan Torres
Edited by Ross J. McKnight



Mother.

You were the first to point me towards the desert star. I looked up and never turned my face away. To have, to hold, to consume - this is all I ever wanted. In searching I have found who I am. I am your son. As I wander, I hear you calling my name. Strannik. I wander. I hear your call. I will never turn away.

Your love is my staff. I do not wander alone. The further I walk, the further I stumble, the further I crawl, the sand cuts harder, the winds flow faster, but the star burns ever brighter. I do not wander alone.

In my first three years of traveling I have met my brothers and sisters, yet have met none like me. I mentioned the star on the horizon and they smiled. Yes, they saw it, but they did not want it. They did not love it. They claimed the sands were too rough, the winds too wild, and so they turned away just as the star burned brighter. I will never turn away.

My brothers and sisters traveled with me for a short time, pretending to want it, pretending to love it. One by one they fell. One by one they came to me and wept. They told me they were sorry. I forgave them, and let them return to their homes. All of them, they turned away.

The last to turn was my first brother. As we crested the high dune in the West he collapsed. Grabbing sand sweat and blood I pulled him to his feet. He grasped my shoulder and looked at me. Our eyes met and I understood. He whispered my name. Strannik. I wander, and I hear you calling. He was so close, so close, mother. So close. He spoke to me one last time. I did not understand his words.

I let him go. I never looked back. The journey is almost complete.

I use all of my strength to place one foot ahead of the other. The winds scream against you, mother. I curse them, damn them to Hell. The star wages war against me, and I weep. The violent sands begin to stir. One foot ahead of the other. Mother, stay with me! Alone, I drop my staff and continue without it. The sand-star bursts out in rage. My veins are full of fire. I turn my face to the ground, looking at my feet full of blood. One more step and I will touch the star. Mother, stay with me! One movement from my body. I lean forward, I look up. My face burns red. My voice disintegrates. The sand turns to glass. The ground shatters and my body is dismembered. My soul flies to the star, and the star catches what was always its son.

The nova of my life twinkled in the midnight sky. My brothers and sisters looked up and smiled, and they turned away.

I never turned away. I never turned away.

Krzysztof Kieślowski: Polish Filmmaker

Recommended

This post will serve as the introduction to a series on Krzysztof Kieślowski, a Polish filmmaker widely unknown in America, who directed many films of great intuition and artistry from 1989 to 1994. 

A master of the contemplative moments of life, he captured complex emotion with the aid of powerful sound scores by the Polish composer, Zbigniew Preisner, with whom he worked closely on some of his greatest pictures, such as the Trois Couleurs trilogy and La Double Vie de Véronique. 

Noticeable characteristics of his cinematographic style include long shots of characters making their paths through the streets, sequences devoid of dialogue with movement seemingly directed by the almost constant musical accompaniment, and a conscious use of color tones to achieve diverse moods.

Singularly masterful in comparison to most contemporary filmmakers, Kieślowski's ability to convey the human condition as beautiful, mournful, solemn, and sublime dwarfs the standards of Hollywood that attempt to simplify human experience to a few immobile sentiments, reactions, needs. Kieślowski's characters cannot be pinned down. They seem to be the best representations of the fallen human self, free from assumptions and surmise. They have infinite potential, and no trite, quick conclusion is employed to flatten them. They remain real.

We may be blessed with one lonely hermit of the same breed, and of course I mean Terrence Malick, who has also applied the compositions of Preisner -- as well as John Tavener (d. 2013) -- to his work.

Enjoy the trailers. Dive into the human story and the fragrant bath of life. More to come.

The Declining Female Happiness

Satan tempting Eve, by John Martin

There is a social phenomenon sociologists and their kind call “the paradox of declining female happiness.” This phenomenon was first noted by two researchers at the Wharton School studying 35 years of data from the General Social Survey. What they found was that during the time that women had increased access to education, career opportunities, and the contraceptives that made careers possible, there was a steady decline in the level of happiness reported by women. Those researchers tried not to draw any conclusions, but I think it is reasonable to explore the correlations.

Before going any further, I think it appropriate to speak directly to you, female reader. There is no question that you can do many things that men do. You can be doctors, lawyers, teachers, etc. There is, however, question that you can do all those things as men do them. I did not say “better than” or “worse than,” I said “as.” There is further question as to whether you should do those things, even though you can.

One of the possible reasons for the decline in female happiness seems to lie in what G.K. Chesterton describes as “modern torture.” No one denies that women have been wronged before, but as Chesterton says, “I doubt if they were ever tortured so much as they are tortured now by the absurd modern attempt to make them domestic empresses and competitive clerks at the same time.” A woman’s life was never easy, but at least she knew what she was to do with her life. She knew she was to be a wife, a mother, a cook, a teacher, a seamstress, a moral guide, a source of optimism for her pessimistic husband, a dose of realism for his irrational dreaming, and more. To paraphrase Chesterton, a woman was expected to be everything to a few people rather than one thing to many.

Even more, what others expected of her aligned with her natural tendencies. No little girl ever grew up dreaming of being a rich and powerful CEO; she grew up dreaming of her prince, with whom she would start a family. Now, however, little girls are told that they should not “settle” for marriage, a loving husband and father for their children, and a life of love and care for others; rather, they should become wealthy and successful. If she decides that a child might be nice along the way, she can simply go to the sperm store and inject it herself.

Our current situation is much like the story of the original sin. There is a great lie being spoken to insecure women and the timid and weak men stand aside, fearful that they might be hurt, or worse, offend someone. Instead of trying to be like God, in this case, woman is trying to be like man, because men have failed her and hurt her. We have lesbians because men failed to be loving and faithful men; we have gays because the men that were replaced by women decided to fill the void of femininity left by those women. What is to be done?

I greatly admire those women today who have the incredible strength to reject the lie that their work as wives and mothers is less than the work of female accountants, teachers, doctors, or lawyers. The work of the wife and mother is of infinitely more worth than any temporal work she may do. Her work as wife and mother is of divine and eternal importance. For that work to take place, she needs a man that stands for her, fights for her, and protects her from a diseased world. We not only need women to take the stand for themselves and reject the lie, but we need men who will take the stand for the women they love.

The Sincerity of American Self-Loathing

Marcello Pera

The Italian philosopher and senator, Marcello Pera, in his essay "Relativism, Christianity, and the West," has written about the perhaps inappropriate self-loathing of Western Civilization -- its recantation of former beliefs sincerely held, its illness of toleration, its apologies for colonial wrongdoing.

Recognizing the legitimate problems present in the negative side effects of Western colonialism, Pera defends the great good that the West -- that's us -- has brought about in suffering countries. I am reminded, for example, of a statement by George Obama, Barack's brother, to the effect that South Africa is a well-organized state because of Western influence, while Kenya is in a condition of chaos because that influence is no longer present.

George Obama, who lives in an 8x8 shack, appreciates the benefits of Western culture. We know that his brother probably shares this opinion, if only subconsciously.

But this is the European picture of Westernesse that I am talking about, not the American.

The European West is necessarily insincere in its self-loathing. Or at least hypocritical.

On the one hand, it sustains large-scale humanitarian efforts, while on the other, it condemns its own self-righteousness -- particularly in the universities, where cultural contextualism is the new "Marseilles." Europe is embattled with itself, and we can only pray that its Christian roots win out in the end.

America, however, is an entirely different story. America is the dumber younger brother nevertheless attempting to emulate the older in his singular inner turmoil. America is addicted to the attractive aloofness and arrogance of its inattentive idol. It's why we like French things.

America puts on airs. It has pretensions to Europeanism, but it is hopelessly ignorant of the ideological troubles faced on the European continent, and so it is hopelessly doomed to ape them ineffectually. And this unrootedness of America, this disconnection from heritage, is bound up in the very reason for our founding: flee the system.

Unfortunately, when we fled society and culture for the wilderness, we fled society and culture for the wilderness.

Here, capitalism has lifted its dress for the bestialism of the frontier. Moneyed bestialism then decided to try on culture. And when the nouveau riche donned their borrowed spectacles, they found themselves disjointed and uncomfortable, but nevertheless unwilling to lay down that assumed arrogance that sweeps over the abyss with waxen wings.

Moneyed bestialism then aped the great empires of the continent, but instead of civilization left mostly burnt forests and oil interests. And when it had found that this was no longer the trend, it turned on itself -- not knowing why -- and began to slap its own wrists for all the wrong reasons. There was no sincere questioning of morals, only an arbitrary reformulation of morals to more adequately conform to both moneyed bestialism and blind idol-worship.

Idols, of course, are not the real thing. Europe, with its cognizant self, may pull out of its self-loathing with a redemptive re-imagining of the Western spirit and the values of that spirit.

America, alas, may be both solitary and sincere in its self-loathing when the "I-less" want overtakes it.

A Defense of Child-bearing

Frantisek Kupka, "The Beginning of Life"

Who has been blessed with those mysterious moments in which an infant for the first time toddles forward on her feet, unaided by any guiding hand or low object, in deep concentration upon the next step? In these moments especially do we not empathize most readily with the parents of this beautiful creature, and wish ourselves progenitors and recipients of this most wondrous gift that can only be divine? Love surges in our hearts, mysterious love without the need for rationale, mysterious love that gives birth to hope, hope that asserts the goodness of this new and curious life. 

Some say that a pregnant mother is irradiated with the burgeoning life within her, that her eyes are alight with the joy of expectation. We, as witnesses of this joy, must wonder how there may be any question as to the benefit of having children, of raising a healthy and numerous family. The more persons, we would say, the better. The greater number of human beings in society, the greater chance that society may grow to be great, not only in size but in quality. Saying “yes” to the possibility of children is the ultimate social act, the ultimate affirmation of the human community, and the ultimate renunciation of selfish interests. Yes, one should have children, if only because one must have children if history is to continue. We know by the very fact of mortality that the story we live is not our own. We prepare, well or poorly as the case may be, for those who come after.

The object, then, is to prepare well, and to prepare well first of all requires the existence of the reason for which we prepare: children themselves. As Pope John Paul II has said, “The future starts today, not tomorrow.” If we are to “plan for the future,” as we moderns so proudly declaim, we must not postpone or neglect the begetting of the stewards of the future. What use is a future without people? We are always speaking of the “avant-garde” in art or technology or politics as a state to be envied, and yet this obsession becomes insane when we are equally obsessed with maintaining an isolation and a lack of responsibility that contradicts this very attraction for newness by claiming it only for our moribund selves. Indeed, on a very rational level, whether or not we “like” children, humanity is nothing without reproduction. Children are the very proof that only love is eternal and we ourselves are ash.

The French spirit of this age, the spirit of ethnic extinction, is one that upraises the image of the unbound self, free and unfettered by worldly ties or the demands of relationships. The mobility to do as one pleases is prized above all else. “This existence, this here and now,” the modern Frenchman might say, “is the great thing, the only occupation worth intellectual or spiritual involvement.” And yet, by agreeing with the Frenchman, we would most ardently disagree. The idolization of the independent self above all else is the same as the hatred of the self above all else, for the self is nothingness without relationship to others, divine or human. The self asserts nothing if it does not assert the perfection of itself, which lies – unexpectedly to some – in the engendering and nurturing of new life like oneself, an infinite affirmation of self-worth. Imagine the great pain and emptiness felt by Hannah as she wept and prayed in the temple, mourned her childlessness in abject loneliness in the darkened tent, swept her garments about her to cover the shame of being known, facelessness being better than barrenness. How she wept and prayed, a woman beginning to wrinkle with age – but what did the purity of desire gain her, all her attentions devoted in ecstasy toward a possible and improbable new life to give hers meaning: reward. Reward in another heartbeat to join her own in the acclamation, the drumbeat and song of life's praise.

We take the ability to procreate for granted, as if this seemingly ubiquitous biological ability we must necessarily also possess. Would it not be a terrible shame if those who now artificially postpone the possibility of children until they have reached what they deem as the appropriate time find themselves, when that time arrives, to be incapable of the greatest blessing afforded us in our briefness upon this earth? Is this awesome blessing, then, not to be pursued with passion and dear effort? Are we not to bend all our will upon the attainment of this treasure that ratifies the very proposition that life is worth living? Are we not to be exceedingly grateful if we are able in the requirements of circumstance to conceive and bear a child? Indeed, we must be and we must do, for as we believe there is a soul, children are a gift from the Divine, and therefore sacred from their conception, and what is sacred must be sought without ceasing.

The Importance of Death

Woody Allen and Death

Recently, I watched a documentary on Woody Allen. He is quite an interesting character. If you do not know much about his life and work, go look him up. I had seen a film or two written and directed by Woody Allen and I had heard talk of his thoughtfulness and intelligence, but until I took the time to view the documentary, I had not understood the depth in his work. One of the subjects that struck me was Woody Allen’s appreciation for death.

His explanation for why he turned from being a sweet infant and toddler, to a sarcastic and slightly mean boy is that he learned of death; he realized that he was not going to live forever and the happy world around him would become irrelevant. He decided that the way one lives his life is largely determined by how he responds to the reality of death – to what degree is an individual creating an illusory world that allows him to ignore the fact of his own death? Woody Allen responded with irony.

Woody Allen’s ironic stance towards the world allows him to be funny; because he can lampoon those things that most other people take seriously, but know they are silly for doing so. That same ironic stance also allows Woody Allen to be a serious thinker and to understand and express the depths of meaningful human relationships.

The ironic approach towards life that Woody Allen takes on, because of his view of death, gives him a form of detachment. He accomplishes a sort of secular detachment, as opposed to detachment motivated by religious beliefs.  Although Woody Allen is not the ideal role model in many ways, this essential bit of an interesting man offers food for thought.

Anyone familiar with the Benedictine religious order will know that an important piece of guidance offered in St. Benedict’s Rule is to “keep death always before your eyes.” This maxim is appropriate for any Christian attempting to walk the straight and narrow. Woody Allen had it right – we all must face the reality of death, and we all must respond in some way. For a Christian, death is a reminder of the life after death, which in turn encourages detachment from earthly things.

Detachment, however, is not the end, for one still must live out his time on earth. Similar to Woody Allen’s growth from a simply satirical young man to one who is a serious thinker, with interest in the complexities of human life and relationships, Christians must mature from an initial experience of detachment to a posture of detachment that appreciates the good, the true, and the beautiful so marvelously found in human experience on earth.

Death is important. Death keeps things in perspective. Death helps bring new life. In our culture that hates and hides death, yet actively promotes and produces death, we not only must labor to respond well to death as an idea, but also work to strengthen our courage and the courage of others in facing the reality of a culture obsessed with death.