My favorite word is "Mooreeffoc." You won't find this word in the Oxford English Dictionary (I checked). However, this word is associated with the likes of Dickens, Chesterton, and Tolkien, and represents a wonderful concept. Tolkien defined mooreeffoc as "The queerness of things that have become trite when they are seen suddenly from a new angle" in his essay "On Fairy Stories." The ability to see things from a fresh perspective is integral to the value of a fairy tale, as well as a pretty important element in G.K. Chesterton's thinking on life in general. Enamored with this concept, I decided to name by blog after it. What follows is a reflection on mooreeffoc.
Today we live in a world of wonders. I can contact almost anyone I want to almost anywhere in the country almost instantly, by means of a cell phone. I could be almost anywhere in the world is less than a day, by means of a jet airplane. I can find much of the information that I want about countless subjects by pushing a few buttons. If I hadn't grown up in a world with such wonders, these things would be almost unimaginable. Less than 150 years ago, to go around the world in 80 days was unthinkable. Yet we have become so accustomed to things like cell phones and airplanes and Google, that we no longer find anything remarkable in them. They have become trite. It takes something like being deprived of them to make us realize how fantastic and wild these things really are.
Yet, these modern marvels are really the most insignificant of the things to which we become habituated. They are just the easiest to recognize because we know there was a time when they didn't exist and because we can actually live pretty well without them. It's things like breathing oxygen, walking on green grass, and having two legs that are at once the most amazing and the most easily overlooked. But the fact is that the world could have been such that our bodies needed an element other than oxygen for metabolic processes, that most vegetation was red, and that you were born without legs. The world is a great "might have been." Yet we so easily lose our sense of wonder at life. Fairy stories allow us to reclaim that sense of wonder. Their value is partly therapeutic. "These tales," Chesterton wrote, "say that apples were golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green. They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember, for one wild moment, that they run with water."
Recognizing that the world is contingent, that things could have been other than they are, properly leads to a feeling of gratitude. Because I might not have been, I have reason to be thankful that I am. Indeed gratitude is a natural response to wonder at life. But we naturally want someone to whom we are thankful. Chesterton wrote, "We thank people for birthday presents of cigars and slippers. Can I thank no one for the birthday present of birth?" This feeling of gratitude leads us naturally to God, as the object of thanks and praise. Gratitude is also connected to morality. Reality itself is construed in such a way that happiness depends on certain conditions. This is another thing that fairy tales teach us. "A box is opened, and all evils fly out. A word is forgotten, and cities perish. A lamp is lit, and loves flies away. A flower is plucked, and human lives are forfeited. An apple is eaten, and the hope of God is gone." But because the world is a gift, who are we to question the conditions whereby that gift is given? Gratitude naturally leads us to act morally. "Keeping to one woman is a small price for so much as seeing one woman." If this isn't clear to us, what we need is to see the world with the fresh eyes of a child. What we need is, in a word, mooreeffoc.
Being able to see things with fresh eyes also informs Chesterton's apologetic for Christianity. In The Everlasting Man, he wrote that "the best relation to our spiritual home is to be near enough to love it. But the next best is to be far enough away not to hate it." When we are far enough away from Christianity, detached as it were, we can see Christianity unprejudiced and for what it really is. The Christian faith is nothing less that remarkable, for it claims that God has become man. A sense of wonder at the mysteries of the faith is not only important for leading people into Christianity, but is also something which Christians needs to reclaim. How often does prayer and liturgy become trite as we become habituated to it, how often do the paradoxes of the faith fail to move us? If we could attend every Mass as if it were our first, how awestruck would we be at what is happening? And how grateful would we be?
This is the power of mooreeffoc. Mooreeffoc allows us to see the beauty that is everywhere, but which we have forgotten. It gives us the eyes of a child, who wonders at the world and has learned at a young age to say "thank you."
Unless noted in text, all quotes came from the chapter "The Ethics of Elfland" from the book Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton.
To see the selections in Chesterton and Tolkien where the word "Mooreeffoc" is discussed, see this post from the American Chesterton Society blog. I suggest you check it out.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Living in a Story
"I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?" -Samwise Gamgee
When asked what my favorite book is, as I was this past week, my answer is The Lord of the Rings. I think the reason this book resonates with me, is that its ending is the most powerful and satisfying that I have ever read. Upon recently concluding my second reading of Tolkien's novel, I was left with a perfect feeling of awe. What contributes first to the potency of the ending is the epic nature of the work. A lot is at stake in the book, and many different interconnected threads are brought together. The Lord of the Rings is able to take that powerful build up and resolve it in the most fitting way imaginable. The novel takes the time (6 chapters) to really tie up every imaginable loose end. This might drive some people crazy, but to me it seems necessary after the hundreds of pages of build up. This combination of a complex, yet well connected story with a well-contrived, fitting and smooth ending is something The Lord of the Rings does exceptionally well.
As amazing and satisfying as the Lord of the Rings is, I want to propose that even the Lord of the Rings has a certain dissatisfaction, but that this dissatisfaction is true to life. The problem? The story has to end somewhere. At some point, Tolkien had to stop writing. When it's all said and done, after all the loose ends are tied up, we are left with Sam sitting in his home, wondering how life will go on. We are left to ponder if he will ever join Frodo across the sundering sea and what life will be like for him and Rosie and his children. How will middle earth get on after Aragorn is dead? Although Frodo and the elves going into the West seems fitting, why did the elves have to leave and will Frodo be fully healed of his wounds? Even if we did continue the story to learn how many children Sam had and to learn if Sam was reunited with Frodo, there would always be more we could say. What about Sam's grandchildren?
This dissatisfaction is the very thing Tolkien prepares us for by his characters' understanding of themselves as part of a larger story:
"'Don't the great tales never end?' [asked Sam].
'No, they never end as tales,' said Frodo. 'But the people in them come, and go when their part's ended.'"
Sam and Frodo know they are a small part of an ongoing story. In fact the whole 'story' of the Lord of the Rings is only a small part of the larger story of Middle Earth. The writing itself reflects the smallness of the events which are happening. Sauron, the Lord of the Rings, is only an old servant of Morgoth, the one who first brought evil to Middle Earth. Shelob, the spider-like creature which Frodo and Sam encounter, is only a child of Ungoliant, the original such creature which destroyed the trees of the Sun and the Moon long ago in Valinor. Aragorn and Arwen are but a reminder of Beren and Luthien, the original romance between a mortal and an immortal. The events in the Lord of the Rings are hardly the most important that have ever happened in Middle Earth. They are just a small part of the story.
This is why we can never be truly satisfied with any story. The story is never actually over, and we can only ever tell or listen to a part of the greater story. Tolkien’s writing reflects this. I want to propose that our feeling of satisfaction or dissatisfaction with storytelling is true to our experience of satisfaction or dissatisfaction with life. As amazing and exciting as all our plans and achievements are, at the end of the day we are dissatisfied. This is true no matter how complete or how fulfilling we think they will be and how satisfying they actually are. There is always a lingering dissatisfaction. This is because the things we do are just part of the larger story. After we graduate, life goes on. After we win the Nobel prize, life goes on. When our lives our complete, our story comes to an end, but new characters enter the story and the tale continues.
Are we doomed to be forever dissatisfied? And if we are just small players in an enormous story, does it really matter if we play our part well? What was even the point of everything that happened in the Lord of the Rings and what is the point of our lives?
Recall the experience Sam had nearly despairing deep in the heart of Mordor:
"There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."
Sam could have given up because the shadow was only a passing thing, but instead the realization filled him with hope. He had hope that good would triumph in the end. Assured of that, all he could do was his best.
If we find our efforts frustrated, dissatisfying, or pointless, our greatest source of hope is remembering that we are part of a great story. Goodness will triumph in the end, and all our human efforts can help bring that about. When goodness finally triumphs and the great story, the story behind every other story, comes to The End which is beyond our imagination, then we will find true satisfaction. This, I suggest, is the tale we have fallen into. We are living in a story.
When asked what my favorite book is, as I was this past week, my answer is The Lord of the Rings. I think the reason this book resonates with me, is that its ending is the most powerful and satisfying that I have ever read. Upon recently concluding my second reading of Tolkien's novel, I was left with a perfect feeling of awe. What contributes first to the potency of the ending is the epic nature of the work. A lot is at stake in the book, and many different interconnected threads are brought together. The Lord of the Rings is able to take that powerful build up and resolve it in the most fitting way imaginable. The novel takes the time (6 chapters) to really tie up every imaginable loose end. This might drive some people crazy, but to me it seems necessary after the hundreds of pages of build up. This combination of a complex, yet well connected story with a well-contrived, fitting and smooth ending is something The Lord of the Rings does exceptionally well.
As amazing and satisfying as the Lord of the Rings is, I want to propose that even the Lord of the Rings has a certain dissatisfaction, but that this dissatisfaction is true to life. The problem? The story has to end somewhere. At some point, Tolkien had to stop writing. When it's all said and done, after all the loose ends are tied up, we are left with Sam sitting in his home, wondering how life will go on. We are left to ponder if he will ever join Frodo across the sundering sea and what life will be like for him and Rosie and his children. How will middle earth get on after Aragorn is dead? Although Frodo and the elves going into the West seems fitting, why did the elves have to leave and will Frodo be fully healed of his wounds? Even if we did continue the story to learn how many children Sam had and to learn if Sam was reunited with Frodo, there would always be more we could say. What about Sam's grandchildren?
This dissatisfaction is the very thing Tolkien prepares us for by his characters' understanding of themselves as part of a larger story:
"'Don't the great tales never end?' [asked Sam].
'No, they never end as tales,' said Frodo. 'But the people in them come, and go when their part's ended.'"
Sam and Frodo know they are a small part of an ongoing story. In fact the whole 'story' of the Lord of the Rings is only a small part of the larger story of Middle Earth. The writing itself reflects the smallness of the events which are happening. Sauron, the Lord of the Rings, is only an old servant of Morgoth, the one who first brought evil to Middle Earth. Shelob, the spider-like creature which Frodo and Sam encounter, is only a child of Ungoliant, the original such creature which destroyed the trees of the Sun and the Moon long ago in Valinor. Aragorn and Arwen are but a reminder of Beren and Luthien, the original romance between a mortal and an immortal. The events in the Lord of the Rings are hardly the most important that have ever happened in Middle Earth. They are just a small part of the story.
This is why we can never be truly satisfied with any story. The story is never actually over, and we can only ever tell or listen to a part of the greater story. Tolkien’s writing reflects this. I want to propose that our feeling of satisfaction or dissatisfaction with storytelling is true to our experience of satisfaction or dissatisfaction with life. As amazing and exciting as all our plans and achievements are, at the end of the day we are dissatisfied. This is true no matter how complete or how fulfilling we think they will be and how satisfying they actually are. There is always a lingering dissatisfaction. This is because the things we do are just part of the larger story. After we graduate, life goes on. After we win the Nobel prize, life goes on. When our lives our complete, our story comes to an end, but new characters enter the story and the tale continues.
Are we doomed to be forever dissatisfied? And if we are just small players in an enormous story, does it really matter if we play our part well? What was even the point of everything that happened in the Lord of the Rings and what is the point of our lives?
Recall the experience Sam had nearly despairing deep in the heart of Mordor:
"There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."
Sam could have given up because the shadow was only a passing thing, but instead the realization filled him with hope. He had hope that good would triumph in the end. Assured of that, all he could do was his best.
If we find our efforts frustrated, dissatisfying, or pointless, our greatest source of hope is remembering that we are part of a great story. Goodness will triumph in the end, and all our human efforts can help bring that about. When goodness finally triumphs and the great story, the story behind every other story, comes to The End which is beyond our imagination, then we will find true satisfaction. This, I suggest, is the tale we have fallen into. We are living in a story.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Blogging and the Nature of Creative Expression
Creative expression is something which is profoundly human. We create things. We design buildings. We write songs. We paint pictures. We dance. We act. We write poems and books. And yes, we write blogs. There is something about this human desire for self-expression which is inherently outward directed. I could write songs that no one else but myself will hear. I could create whole fantasy worlds and commit them to paper, without sharing them with anyone. I could draw up fantastic buildings and contraptions that no one else will see. I could write in a journal that no one else will ever read. There is nothing wrong if you have some sort of creative work which you hope never sees the light of day. It is, however, my experience that we want at least some of our art to be noticed and admired.
Whence comes this desire to produce something external to ourselves that is noticed by others? First of all, creative expression is a profound way we have of getting ourselves "out there." It is a way we can bridge the gap between the self and the other. We hope that our thoughts and expressions will some how resonate with others. It proves to us that we are not alone and we are not the only ones in the world who have felt a certain way. Perhaps on a deeper level, producing art, producing something that is external to ourselves, is a way for us to make a difference in the world. It is a way for us to survive ourselves. It is, in short, one of the ways human beings participate in immortality. This happens most tangibly with things like paintings, buildings, movies, plays, books, and music which we may happen to produce. These are things which can last long after we are dead. However, even dancing, acting, or performing music still can achieve immortality because these particular artistic expressions shape the other people who experience them.
If art is indeed a result of the human desire for immortality, that might explain the close connection between love and art. With certain forms of art in particular, romantic love is extremely closely woven with the art. Dancing, poetry, and music (just think of how many 'love songs' there are), come to mind as particularly powerful examples. What stops us from expressing ourselves creatively to others is the same thing which stops us from expressing love for another: fear of rejection. Once George McFly can express his love for Lorraine, getting his book published is easy. This love-art connection should not be surprising when we realize that love is something which is essentially creative. The natural end of erotic love is the creation of new life. As it happens, having children is one powerful way in which we humans can survive ourselves and participate in immortality. The power to create and the power to love may just be two sides of the same coin. This view is supported, I think, when looking at two of the primary ways of thinking about God in the Christian tradition. One is the 'God is Love' view. The other is based on seeing God as he is in relationship to the universe, namely as its Creator. Creation is nothing less than an act of love.
Thus, I move to the what might be called the heart of this post. In deciding to start a blog, I have joined with many others in an endeavor which I presume is centered on a desire for self-expression that wants to be noticed by other people. (I do not presume people start blogs because they are in love, although one would not preclude the other.) Should you read my blog? In all honesty probably not. Of all the volumes and volumes of books that are published and articles that are written everyday and have even been written, few are really worth your time. Almost certainly there is something better than the unprofessional reflections of a college student you are reading right now. But the hope of the artist is that his art is worthwhile, that it is meaningful, and that other people can appreciate it. So I hope that you come back for more, as I give expression to my thoughts and try to participate in immortality in my own creative and expressive way.
Whence comes this desire to produce something external to ourselves that is noticed by others? First of all, creative expression is a profound way we have of getting ourselves "out there." It is a way we can bridge the gap between the self and the other. We hope that our thoughts and expressions will some how resonate with others. It proves to us that we are not alone and we are not the only ones in the world who have felt a certain way. Perhaps on a deeper level, producing art, producing something that is external to ourselves, is a way for us to make a difference in the world. It is a way for us to survive ourselves. It is, in short, one of the ways human beings participate in immortality. This happens most tangibly with things like paintings, buildings, movies, plays, books, and music which we may happen to produce. These are things which can last long after we are dead. However, even dancing, acting, or performing music still can achieve immortality because these particular artistic expressions shape the other people who experience them.
If art is indeed a result of the human desire for immortality, that might explain the close connection between love and art. With certain forms of art in particular, romantic love is extremely closely woven with the art. Dancing, poetry, and music (just think of how many 'love songs' there are), come to mind as particularly powerful examples. What stops us from expressing ourselves creatively to others is the same thing which stops us from expressing love for another: fear of rejection. Once George McFly can express his love for Lorraine, getting his book published is easy. This love-art connection should not be surprising when we realize that love is something which is essentially creative. The natural end of erotic love is the creation of new life. As it happens, having children is one powerful way in which we humans can survive ourselves and participate in immortality. The power to create and the power to love may just be two sides of the same coin. This view is supported, I think, when looking at two of the primary ways of thinking about God in the Christian tradition. One is the 'God is Love' view. The other is based on seeing God as he is in relationship to the universe, namely as its Creator. Creation is nothing less than an act of love.
Thus, I move to the what might be called the heart of this post. In deciding to start a blog, I have joined with many others in an endeavor which I presume is centered on a desire for self-expression that wants to be noticed by other people. (I do not presume people start blogs because they are in love, although one would not preclude the other.) Should you read my blog? In all honesty probably not. Of all the volumes and volumes of books that are published and articles that are written everyday and have even been written, few are really worth your time. Almost certainly there is something better than the unprofessional reflections of a college student you are reading right now. But the hope of the artist is that his art is worthwhile, that it is meaningful, and that other people can appreciate it. So I hope that you come back for more, as I give expression to my thoughts and try to participate in immortality in my own creative and expressive way.
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