Language, Reality, Whatever

I wrote the opinion piece for the upcoming issue of the Talon. I was assigned the position that "swearing affects faith," but, because I swear like a sailor, it was something of an intellectual exercise to figure out how to defend a position I not only disagree with, but actively resist. This is the result.
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Words are powerful. The words we speak define the types of thoughts that we can express, and it is through words that we explain to those listeners around us who we are. Seen in this light, language itself defines me as an individual and also peoples’ perceptions of me. Words exist, both written and spoken, as the most common and efficient means of communication with others. Thus, language use should not be taken lightly, because in a very real way language works to define both personality and integrity.

This same principle applies to the use of profanity. By swearing (or conversely, not swearing), we are making a statement about the kind of individuals we are. Whether we like it, or always realize it, people do judge character based on the language a person uses and how it is used. Ignoring this fact can result in sloppy, unintentional impressions which do not accurately reflect the true nature of a person. I don’t think this is necessarily an issue of whether swearing itself is right or wrong, but of appropriate behavior in certain situations and of us, as speakers, being aware of the kinds of effects those behaviors have on others.

Expressing faith is no different. When I was attending community college, one of the ways I chose to express my faith to my peers was through my choice not to swear. Profanity runs rampant on most campuses, so my choice to show that I was different was through speaking differently than my peers. This approach was inoffensive and implicit; it didn’t push Christianity down anyone’s throat, but instead introduced my character through my language use. In this way, I was able to set myself apart obviously, but still subtly.

Profanity is also contextual. Words often exist on a scale of ‘better’ or ‘worse,’ and although these standards are arbitrary and change with time, geography, and situation, the capricious nature of words needs to be considered. There is nothing faith-like about offending a person through needless profanity, so in order to avoid the possibility of causing undue offense and harm to one’s testimony, it is better to avoid the use of swear words at all. In this way, one’s own faith is unhampered and one’s impression on others also remains intact.

Language presents a unique opportunity to witness without being invasive, threatening, or overly evangelistic. If faith should come through actions and not just professed declarations, abstaining from swearing can only have positive effects on both faith itself and on perceptions of faith by others. Therefore, if we want to portray images of being people of faith, our language should also reflect that goal.

Water for Elephants: A Review

Water for Elephants, a novel by Sara Gruen, tells the story of young Jacob Jankowski as he reminisces about his transition from upstanding veterinarian-in-training to fully integrated circus worker. The novel involves Jacob as an old man in a nursing home, struggling to cope with his wavering vitality and familial connection by filtering his surroundings through the memory of his youth in the traveling circus, The Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth.

After Jacob loses his parents in a fatal car crash, he runs away from his orderly life at Cornell, where he has been studying to be a veterinarian. Penniless and lonely, he jumps a train in the middle of the night - a decision that places him into the hands of fate. This train ends up being a circus train, and through the goodwill of August, the equestrian director, and the rough but lovable dwarf, Walter, Jacob becomes a vital part of circus life, as he uses his knowledge of animals to become the circus’ very own veterinarian.

Jacob’s newfound sense of belonging is jeopardized, however, when a friend becomes irreversibly ill and Jacob works to prevent him from being ‘redlighted,’ when the circus goes into debt over a supposedly stupid elephant, and when Jacob falls in love with Marlena, August’s wife and the circus’ star performer. Jacob shows his resourcefulness by befriending and training Rosie, the elephant, who becomes the show’s biggest money maker after Jacob crosses her language barrier. However, his desire to do the right thing and to protect Marlena pits him against the politics and shady practices of greedy Uncle Al, the manager of the circus, and against August, whose jealousy and violence ostracize him from both his wife and his friend.

This novel presents a vivid and delightful insider’s look at circus life during the 1930’s, while still engaging with the class and ethical issues of that setting. Jacob is unendingly likeable as a protagonist, and the cast of colorful supporting characters provides entertaining and haphazard scenarios of both humor and loyalty. However, the overall plot remains rather formulaic, occasionally feeling rushed and shying away from the details which would really bring the story to life. The dual development of Jacob as both an old man and a youth progress the novel on several stages with depth and delight, but underdeveloped main characters, such as Marlena, who acts more as device for Jacob to do good than anything else, and predicable plot devices keep this novel at the level of enchanting, but not challenging.

Dangerously Educated

"It must be allowed that learning does take away something, as the file takes something from rough metal, the whetstone from blunt instruments, and age from wine; but it takes away what is faulty; and that which learning has polished is less only because it is better" - Quintilian

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We talked in class briefly the other day about the dangerous elements of education, especially in regards to theology. That, somehow, becoming educated is a greater evil than maintaining ignorance, because education, the university setting, exposes students to bad theology, bad philosophy, bad ideas. Some pastors even pride themselves on their lack of education. But I wonder why this is, that if one can get an education, why one wouldn't. Is there something better about not being exposed to things and ideas? Yes, learning can be dangerous, but so is crossing the street, and that doesn't stop me. In fact, I think I prefer my education (and my street-crossing) dangerous, because I'm not sure I would truly be being educated (or truly be getting to the other side) if it wasn't.

I Dream in Diamonds - A Conceit

I haven't updated this blog since I used it for advanced expos last semester. And I rarely post poems. Except for my last post. So this happens to be an odd coincidence. But I wrote this poem for Genres class this semester, and thus I send it out into the world.
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Pretty, but useless, thoughtless.
Cubic zirconia,
I hated my April birthday because diamonds
Have no color
And I was never given a necklace with a real diamond.

I watched darkness swallow the dusk in a moment.
The night is a bracelet of black pearls,
Uneven but smooth,
Unending and circular.
It shines sometimes, when the moon flirts with the trees,
Clouds playing a paper fan over the eyes of the coquette.
I prefer black pearls,
Especially over diamonds.

I wanted to wear that night like a vintage gown,
With glass beads and cream pearls for stars,
Metal and stone.
The sand, the oyster, the alloys, the rocks,
All natural things.
I held a paper fan over my eyes and flirted through a dream.
A boy, his eyes like sapphires.
He wore that grey pinstripe suit like the foggy pre-dawn hour.
He threw stones onto my fingers, circular and hollow,
And he lavished my arms with amulets of moonstones,
And we were happy, I think.
Because I couldn’t sleep,
Because I couldn’t dream,
Outside of the rocky waves he made behind my eyes and outside my window.

His eyes were rubies.
I needn’t be scared, he said,
His voice wrapping around my throat as a diamond necklace for an April birthday,
As real diamonds, hard enough to scratch out his ruby eyes,
Hard enough also to cut the night which I was wearing away from my opal skin.
He glimmered red light then,
The red light of a garnet red planet,
And I wanted the sapphires back, as brooches to pin the dark onyx around my shoulders once again,
Stripped bare, stripped blank, no prongs of gold or silver or rose gold to hold it in place.
The pearls scattered, a sinew chain snapping, when they fell to the ground,
Slipping into corners
Chased by the glassy, starry beads,
And I was the bold, agate moon again,
His eyes deep violet amethysts that burned crevasses into my bald surface.

As the dawn rose then,
His grey suit turned copper,
The setting for the hard purple gems.
He moved a stone cold hand over my bleached face,
Swiping the fading light from behind my cloudy paper fan, stealing it away from me
As he rode into his rightful place
In the sky.
Nightless then, lightless,
I awoke with only a necklace to show for it, an April birthday’s real diamond,
A dream.

The Mail Service

If postage could send my heart to you, I would ship it now, overnight, as fast as can be.

You are stranded in a raft on the ocean. My heart will help you.

My heart knows the way home.

Through rain or sleet or dark of night or ocean breezes, the Postal Service always delivers,

And I never wanted you to be alone.

I don’t know where you are, because you didn’t leave a map or a constellation chart or bread crumbs,

But post codes always find their way, and if they don’t…it’s the sad tragedy of life,

When even the mail service fails.

I’ll address it:

Dear One
Stranded Raft
Ocean 1 of 4
The World

And I’m sure that will be specific enough.
The universe will make it find its way, with the post man’s help, unless there are other stranded rafts with other flags of address, or other such aspects I have not made allowances for, but I trust that you will recognize my heart when you see it. It’s the one in the brown paper roll with the plastic end caps. It’s the one addressed to you.

Which Comes First, Speech or Thought?

I stared at a terrifyingly blank computer screen for too long, having both too many thoughts and too few simultaneously. I didn’t want to tell a story from my time in Europe or share my thoughts about the current world situation or point out the duplicity within society as a whole. I didn’t really want to write anything at all.
That sentiment above could have been true at many points in my life, but actually it refers to about ten minutes ago. I, frankly, just don’t have anything to say.
But then again, maybe I do. Maybe I want to say that we all talk far too much. If we shut up about needing to plaster our own unique perspective across every available blank wall, then that oh-so-precious perspective might matter more. We would focus on developing that outlook, making it better, making it worth a damn, instead of forcing it to be known and understood by others. Prodding someone into acknowledging that I have a perspective on life worth the recognition does far less for me when I’m no longer in the spotlight than using those same efforts to craft thoughts actually worth expressing.
John Andrew Holmes said, “Speech is conveniently located midway between thought and action, where it often substitutes for both.” Maybe if we as individuals worked on the bookends of that process, the thought and the action, then the speech element would be more effective at expressing our thoughts accurately and at promoting the action we desire. Speech without thought is meaningless, and thought well-developed is worth speaking.

The Libertarian Ethic

If I could change the world, I don’t think I would. Because one change wouldn’t really make a difference. Because change in the world is rarely ever permanent. Because there is intrinsic value in the way we live now.
Once change takes hold, consequences always happen. Without proof by which to know that change, any change, would be truly positive, despite the optimism of the goal itself, there is no reason to assume that the change would actually, well, change anything. It is just as valid to assume that change might even make the state of the world worse.
Although this may seem pessimistic, to not want anything to be different, I’m really advocating a libertarian approach to life. If I don’t mess with you, then you shouldn’t mess with me. Perhaps the change in the world we should be aiming for is less people trying to make changes. Then maybe the world could find the equilibrium by which to change itself, without our interference.