"There is a strange idea abroad that in every subject the ancient books should be read only by the professionals, and that the amateur should content himself with the modern books. Thus I have found as a tutor in English Literature that if the average student wants to find out something about Platonism, the very last thing he thinks of doing is to take a translation of Plato off the library shelf and read the Symposium. He would rather read some dreary modern book ten times as long, all about "isms" and influences and only once in twelve pages telling him what Plato actually said. The error is rather an amiable one, for it springs from humility. The student is half afraid to meet one of the great philosophers face to face. He feels himself inadequate and thinks he will not understand him. But if he only knew, the great man, just because of his greatness, is much more intelligible than his modern commentator. The simplest student will be able to understand, if not all, yet a very great deal of what Plato said; but hardly anyone can understand some modern books on Platonism. It has always therefore been one of my main endeavours as a teacher to persuade the young that firsthand knowledge is not only more worth acquiring than secondhand knowledge, but is usually much easier and more delightful to acquire.
This mistaken preference for the modern books and this shyness of the old ones is nowhere more rampant than in theology ... Now this seems to me topsy-turvy. Naturally, since I myself am a writer, I do not wish the ordinary reader to read no modern books. But if he must read only the new or only the old, I would advise him to read the old. And I would give him this advice precisely because he is an amateur and therefore much less protected than the expert against the dangers of an exclusive contemporary diet. A new book is still on its trial and the amateur is not in a position to judge it. It has to be tested against the great body of Christian thought down the ages, and all of its hidden implications (often unsuspected by the author himself) have to be brought to light. Often it cannot be fully understood without the knowledge of a good many other modern books. If you join at eleven o'clock a conversation which began at eight you will often not see the real bearing of what is said. Remarks which seem to you very ordinary will produce laughter or irritation and you will not see why—the reason, of course, being that the earlier stages of the conversation have given them a special point. In the same way sentences in a modern book which look quite ordinary may be directed at some other book; in this way you may be led to accept what you would have indignantly rejected if you knew its real significance."
Category: Books
Here is the other part of the Book Meme from Dayna's blog:
1. Who is your favorite author and why?
Favorite authors....ooh. This is a hard one. I really like: John MacArthur, Jane Austin, John Bunyan, Dorothy Sayers, Charles Dickens, Leo Tolstoy, JRR Tolkien, Charlotte Bronte, Thomas Watson, C.H. Spurgeon, and Elisabeth Elliot.
I have to say Elizabeth Prentiss is my favorite though because of Stepping Heavenward and More Love to Thee: the Life and Letters of Elizabeth Prentiss.
Stepping Heavenward is a novel written in the 1800's that follows the life of a girl, Katherine Mortimer, from age 16 to just before her death. Over and over throughout Katy's early life, I saw my own behavior and thoughts written down ... being selfish, disobedient, wanting to run with the crowd, falling in "love" with unworthy boys, etc.
Then, watching her grow as a young woman and newly wed. Seeing her sin even though she herself didn't see it at the time showed me how often I do the exact same thing and don't blink an eye -- until later when I am convicted about my words or attitudes or thoughts! The inspiring thing about all of her struggles -- with her father-in-law, sister-in-law, and husband -- they force her to go to God! It shows me is that God uses everything in our life, but often the unpleasant, to teach us and to help us grow into more Christ-like people. I knew this intellectually, but to see it actually lived out was life changing.
More Love to Thee: the Life and Letters of Elizabeth Prentiss is a collection of Elizabeth's diaries, letters, and essays by others who knew her. She suffered greatly throughout her life. I came across this book after our baby Benjamin died. I was so struck after learning that her second child died at the age of four in January of one year, she gave birth in April, and the newborn baby died in May of that same year. When I read that chapter, I just cried right through it. Her strength and faith in the midst of her sufferings have been such a consolation and inspiration to me.
2. Who was your first favorite author and why?
Rebecca Caudill. My first favorite book was "The Best Loved Doll".
It's the story of a little girl named Betsy who is invited to a party. At the party, there will be prizes handed out for "oldest doll", "best dressed doll", and the "doll who can do the most things." Betsy has a hard time deciding which doll to bring to the party. She has dolls that fit into those categories, but at the last minute she takes Jennifer, her favorite doll -- an ugly, ragged doll with a faded dress and cracked nose. I read this story over and over again as a child!
3. Who's the most recent addition to your favorite authors and why?
I don't know if she qualifies as a favorite author yet, but I just finished The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck, and I'm still thinking about it a week and a half later. The novel follows the life of a poor farmer in pre-Revolutionary China. The story presents a dichotomy between poverty and wealth, young and old, faithful and false -- all within and around the life of this farmer. The ideas in this book are so profound -- I want to re-read it already.
I don't know who to tag for this. Anyone who is interested, consider yourself tagged!
Category: Books
Dayna over at Contra Mundum has brought the book meme back to life and I tagged myself! Is that allowed? {grin}
I picked up a wonderful book at church today and have really been enjoying it this afternoon.
Here's fifth through eighth sentence on page 123:
"If God says to us, "You are mine", we shall be his forever: 'This God is our God for ever and ever' (Psa. 48:14). You cannot say you have health, and you shall have it forever; you have a child, and you shall have it forever; but if God is your God, you shall have him forever. The covenant of grace is a royal charter, and this is the happiness of it, it is made for eternity."
Want to play along? Here are the rules:
- Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages.)
- Open the book to page 123.
- Find the fifth sentence.
- Post the next three sentences.
- Tag five people. Or not. I'm in favor of just opening up for anyone who wants to play along.
Category: Books
This is a fun meme from Anne at By Fidelity and Fortitude.
Book Meme:
Rules -
- Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages.)
- Open the book to page 123.
- Find the fifth sentence.
- Post the next three sentences.
- Tag five people.
Here's my book:
For if you fear death, you shall never the more avoid it, but you make it miserable. Fannius, that killed himself for fear of death, died as certainly as Portia, that ate burning coals, or Cato, that cut his own throat. To die is necessary and natural, and it may be honorable; but to die poorly, and basely, and sinfully, that alone is it that can make a man unfortunate.
Category: Books
He drew her to him, whispered in her ear, and kissed her. I knew as well, when I saw my mother's head lean down upon his shoulder, and her arm touch his neck -- I knew as well that he could mould her pliant nature into any form he chose as I know now that he did it.
"Go you below, my love," said Mr. Murdstone. "David and I will come down together. My friend," turning a darkening face on Peggotty, when he had watched my mother out, and dismissed her with a nod and a smile, "do you know your mistress's name?"
"She has been my mistress a long time, sir," answered Peggotty. "I ought to know it."
"That's true," he answered. "But I thought I heard you, as I came up stairs, address her by a name that is not hers. She has taken mine, you know. Will you remember that?"
Pegotty, with some uneasy glances at me, curtseyed herself out of the room without replying; seeing, I suppose, that she was expected to go, and had no excuse for remaining. When we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on a chair, and holding me standing before him, looked steadily into my eyes. I felt my own attracted, no less steadily, to his. As I recall our being opposed thus, face to face, I seem again to hear my heart beat fast and high.
"David," he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them together, "if I have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, what do you think I do?"
"I don't know."
"I beat him."
I think my heart sank about two feet as I read the above interchange. Oh, how I love to read Dickens! I love his long convoluted paragraphs and descriptions. I love his characters -- how distinct, descriptive, multi-dimensional, and ... character-y they are. I love his use of dialogue. I love that I can't guess the entire plot and story line in the first three chapters ... that I always have to keep reading to see where he's going with a person and an idea. I love that his story lines come to completion. It is so irritating when authors introduce a character or theme and then forget all about it; He is the master of interweaving story lines and characters. Anyway, if you're looking for one, David Copperfield is a great read.
Category: Books
Boys Will Be...
...pleased by this garden of earthly delights.
by Roger Kimball
In a recent interview, Conn Iggulden, speaking about his collaboration with his brother in writing The Dangerous Book for Boys, dilated on this campaign against the boy-like side of boyhood. "They need to fall off things occasionally," Iggulden said, "or . . . they'll take worse risks on their own. If we do away with challenging playgrounds and cancel school trips for fear of being sued, we don't end up with safer boys--we end up with them walking on train tracks." Quite right. The Dangerous Book for Boys is alive with such salubrious challenges. Its epigraph, a 1903 letter from an army surgeon to the young Prince of Wales, advises, "The best motto for a long march is 'Don't grumble. Plug on.'" How antique that stiff-upper-lippery sounds to our ears!
Into the swamp-like miasma of contemporary life The Dangerous Book for Boys blows like a healing zephyr. Mark Twain once included a note about "the weather in this book," explaining that there wasn't any. There is a lot of weather in The Dangerous Book for Boys, and I do not just mean the sections devoted to cloud formations and such questions as Why is the Sky blue? What causes the wind? and Why is it hotter at the Equator? True, this book includes lots of indoor activities. You'll find out how to make a simple battery out of a bunch of quarters, aluminum foil, vinegar, and salt, for example, as well as how to make secret inks, fireproof cloth, and marbled paper. There's a section on timers and tripwires--"very simple to make--and deeply satisfying," the authors explain. Let's say you want a light bulb to turn on in 20 minutes "to win a bet perhaps, or frighten your little sister with the thought that a mad axe murderer is upstairs." Look no further: It's all here.
There's a section of useful quotations from Shakespeare, "Latin Phrases Every Boy Should Know," and "Books Every Boy Should Read" (this is one of them, though it's not on the list). There are several engaging sections on words and grammar. There are also two sections devoted to famous battles, from Thermopylae and Cannae up through Waterloo, Gettysburg, and the Somme. If you want a quick timeline of U.S. history, it's here. So is information about "the golden age of piracy," spies, codes, and ciphers, as well as coin tricks, dog tricks, and first aid. There's also--uh-oh: p.c. alert!--a chapter on the history of artillery.
Still, this is essentially an outdoor book. Not that it deals chiefly with outdoor subjects, though it has splendid advice about building treehouses, fishing, and growing sunflowers (and I suppose artillery is, usually, a subject best pursued outside). Rather, it understands that boys and the outdoors go together like a hammer and nails. It is sympathetic to dirt and looks kindly upon rocks, bugs, snakes, and woodpiles. It is a book, in other words, that approves of derring-do and the testosterone that fires it.
Click here to read entire review.
Wow! This looks like a book I have to get for my boys!
Category: Books
In 1882, fifth graders read these authors in their Appleton School Reader: William Shakespeare, Henry Thoreau, George Washington, Sir Walter Scott, Mark Twain, Benjamin Franklin, Oliver Wendell Holmes, John Bunyan, Daniel Webster, Samuel Johnson, Lewis Carroll, Thomas Jefferson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and others like them. In 1995, a student teacher of fifth graders in Minneapolis wrote to the local newspaper, "I was told children are not to be expected to spell the following words correctly: back, big, call, came, can, day, did, dog, down, get, good, have, he, home, if, in, is, it, like, little, man, morning, mother, my, night, off, out, over, people, play, ran, said, saw, she, some, soon, their, them, there, time, two, too, up, us, very, water, we, went, where, when, will, would, etc. Is this nuts?"
Do you think class size, teacher compensation, and school revenue have much to do with education quality? If so, the conclusion is inescapable that we are living in a golden age. From 1955 to 1991 the U.S. pupil/teacher ratio dropped 40 percent, the average salary of teachers rose 50 percent (in real terms) and the annual expense per pupil, inflation adjusted, soared 350 percent. What other hypothesis, then, might fit the strange data I’m about to present?
Forget the 10 percent drop in SAT and Achievement Test scores the press beats to death with regularity; how do you explain the 37 percent decline since 1972 in students who score above 600 on the SAT? This is an absolute decline, not a relative one. It is not affected by an increase in unsuitable minds taking the test or by an increase in the numbers. The absolute body count of smart students is down drastically with a test not more difficult than yesterday’s but considerably less so.
What should be made of a 50 percent decline among the most rarefied group of test-takers, those who score above 750? In 1972, there were 2,817 American students who reached this pinnacle; only 1,438 did in 1994—when kids took a much easier test. Can a 50 percent decline occur in twenty-two years without signaling that some massive leveling in the public school mind is underway?
A must read book! Click on the picture for more information.
Category: Books
Hee-hee. You know I was never asked, not once, in all my years of public school to write an essay on this theme? Ha! Now I have my chance, LOL.
My Summer Vacation by Heather L.
Our family went camping at Lake Arrowhead for our vacation. It was 95 degrees every day. The only relief from the heat was while we were treading water in the swimming pool or in the air-conditioned store where we bought ice. The End. :-)
Actually, despite the heat, we had a great time. Here's Dave making breakfast:
 
He's making Campfire Eggs. Yum!
Campfire Eggs
1 pound bacon
1 1/2 c. frozen hash browns
1 dozen eggs
1/3 c. milk
1 c. shredded cheddar
salt and pepper to taste
Beat eggs, milk, salt and pepper in bowl. Set aside. Cook bacon in cast-iron skillet over fire until crisp. Remove and crumble bacon. Set aside. Cook hash browns in same skillet over fire until hash browns are golden brown. Sprinkle bacon over hash browns. Pour eggs over hash browns and bacon. Cook without stirring until mixture is set. Sprinkle with cheese and stir. Cook for 1-2 minutes. Serve.
I also got the chance to read. The wonderful luxury of sitting around reading for hours at a time.
The first book I read was The Return of Philo T. McGiffin by David Poyer:
Then, finally, the music stops, suddenly, in mid-beat, and there is utter silence across the field; the eyes of four thousand men meet on the distant stand where an officer steps up and the PA system crackles and then booms out.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Brigade of Midshipmen."
A scattering of applause from the stands; the men stand motionless, waiting...
"Thirty-fourth Company! For-waaaard . . . harch!"
"Column reigh . . . harch!"
Around the turn, into it; don't swing wide, watch the interval . . . watching from porches . . . then another column left, the last, and this is it, the last stretch, and you match cadence and dress and cover, and the dust comes up in sunlit streamers, your piece solid with your shoulder, bayonets glittering, the reviewing stand ahead, and then the band hits those slow brassy bars of "The Stars and Stripes Forever" and the hair goes up on your neck and hills stiffen your spine and you watch the guidon now because no one could hear a command, and then it swoops, hangs poised, and dips and eyes right. Your head snaps a quarter turn, and along a long rank of chests, a long line of white gloves that rise and swing and stop in perfect synchrony, the slightly stooped figure of the old man, the Superintendent, is taking the salute. That's him, gold up to his elbow, and you can never hope to be that old, that noble; and at the same time you know that once he was a mid, like you; once he marched too, on this soil, like Mahan and Dewey and Cushing, and Michelson and Fiske, King and Halsey and Spruance, Nimitz and Burke and Rickover.
And there, for that moment at eyes right, the band playing full and clear, you realize that you are in ranks with them, the men who in war and peace conquered the enemy and themselves, the thousands who led and died, and you are no longer just a scared plebe but part of something glorious that stretches back into a past echoing with the sounds of guns and the clash of bloody steel.
The second book was The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.
"Dominique," he said, softly, reasonably, "that's it. Now I know. I know what's been the matter all the time."
"Has anything been the matter?"
"Wait. This is terribly important, Dominique, you've never said, not once what you thought. Not about anything. You've never expressed a desire. Not of any kind."
"What's wrong about that?"
"But it's . . . it's like death. You're not real. You're only a body. Look, Dominique, you don't know it, I'll try to explain. You understand what death is? When a body can't move any more, when it has no . . . no will, no meaning. You understand? Nothing. The absolute nothing. Well, your body moves -- but that's all. The other, the thing inside you, your -- oh, don't misunderstand me, I'm not talking religion, but there's no other word for it, so I'll say: your soul -- your soul doesn't exist. No will, no meaning. There's no real you any more."
"What's the real me?" she asked. For the first time, she looked attentive; not compassionate; but, at least, attentive.
"What's the real anyone?" he said, encouraged. "It's not just the body. It's . . . it's the soul."
"What is the soul?"
"It's -- you. The thing inside you."
"The thing that thinks and values and makes decisions?"
"Yes! Yes, that's it. And the thing that feels. You've -- you've given it up."
"So, there are two things that one can't give up: One's thoughts and one's desires?" ....
"Yes.... You're not here, Dominique. You're not alive. Where's your I?"
"Where's yours, Peter? ... You're beginning to see, aren't you, Peter? Shall I make it clearer. You never wanted me to be real. You never wanted anyone to be. But you didn't want me to show it. You wanted an act to help your act -- a beautiful, complicated act, all twists, trimmings and words. All words. You didn't like what I said about Vincent Knowlton. You liked it when I said the same thing under cover of virtuous sentiments. You didn't want me to believe. You only wanted me to convince you that I believed. My real soul, Peter? It's real only when it's independent -- you've discovered that, haven't you? It's real only when it chooses curtains and desserts -- you're right about that -- curtains, desserts, religions, Peter, and the shapes of buildings. But you've never wanted that. You wanted a mirror. People want nothing but mirrors around them. To reflect them while they're reflecting too... I gave you what you wanted. I became what you are, what your friends are, what most of humanity is so busy being -- only without the trimmings.
But, alas, I am home again. And I have a ton of laundry to do. And a ton of re-organizing to put all of the camping stuff away. sigh. At least my house is air-conditioned. :-)
Category: Books
The Duties of Parents by J.C. Ryle was our book of the month at church for May. I just finished reading it and it is wonderful! One of my most grevious parenting tendencies is the leaning toward punishment and yelling. Yikes! This chapter has been on the forefront of my mind and has been extremely encouraging and inspiring!
Train up your child with all tenderness, affection, and patience.
I do not mean that you are to spoil him, but I do mean that you should let him see that you love him.
Love should be the silver thread that runs through all your conduct. Kindness, gentleness, long-suffering, forbearance, patience, sympathy, a willingness to enter into childish troubles, a readiness to take part in childish joys, — these are the cords by which a child may be led most easily, — these are the clues you must follow if you would find the way to his heart. Few are to be found, even among grown-up people, who are not more easy to draw than to drive. There is that in all our minds which rises in arms against compulsion; we set up our backs and stiffen our necks at the very idea of a forced obedience. We are like young horses in the hand of a breaker: handle them kindly, and make much of them, and by and by you may guide them with thread; use them roughly and violently, and it will be many a month before you get the mastery of them at all.
Now children’s minds are cast in much the same mould as our own. Sternness and severity of manner chill them and throw them back. It shuts up their hearts, and you will weary yourself to find the door. But let them only see that you have an affectionate feeling towards them, — that you are really desirous to make them happy, and do them good, — that if you punish them, it is intended for their profit, and that, like the pelican, you would give your heart’s blood to nourish their souls; let them see this, I say, and they will soon be all your own. But they must be wooed with kindness, if their attention is ever to be won. And surely reason itself might teach us this lesson. Children are weak and tender creatures, and, as such, they need patient and considerate treatment. We must handle them delicately, like frail machines, lest by rough fingering we do more harm than good. They are like young plants, and need gentle watering, — often, but little at a time.
We must not expect all things at once. We must remember what children are, and teach them as they are able to bear. Their minds are like a lump of metal — not to be forged and made useful at once, but only by a succession of little blows. Their understandings are like narrow-necked vessels: we must pour in the wine of knowledge gradually, or much of it will be spilled and lost. "Line upon line, and precept upon precept, here a little and there a little," must be our rule. The whetstone does its work slowly, but frequent rubbing will bring the scythe to a fine edge. Truly there is need of patience in training a child, but without it nothing can be done.
Nothing will compensate for the absence of this tenderness and love. A minister may speak the truth as it is in Jesus, clearly, forcibly, unanswerably; but if he does not speak it in love, few souls will be won. Just so you must set before your children their duty, — command, threaten, punish, reason, — but if affection be wanting in your treatment, your labour will be all in vain.
Love is one grand secret of successful training. Anger and harshness may frighten, but they will not persuade the child that you are right; and if he sees you often out of temper, you will soon cease to have his respect. A father who speaks to his son as Saul did to Jonathan (1 Sam. 20:30), need not expect to retain his influence over that son’s mind.
Try hard to keep up a hold on your child’s affections. It is a dangerous thing to make your children afraid of you. Anything is almost better than reserve and constraint between your child and yourself; and this will come in with fear. Fear puts an end to openness of manner; — fear leads to concealment; — fear sows the seed of much hypocrisy, and leads to many a lie. There is a mine of truth in the Apostle’s words to the Colossians: "Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged" (Col. 3:21). Let not the advice it contains be overlooked.
Category: Books
"Between April 6, when the plane of President Juvenal Habyarimana was shot down with a missile, and July 4, when the Tutsi rebel army captured the capital of Kigali, approximately eight hundred thousand Rwandans were slaughtered. This is a number that cannot be grasped with the rational mind. It is like trying -- all at once-- to understand that the earth is surrounded by billions of balls of gas just like our sun across a vast blackness. You cannot understand the magnitude. Just try! Eight hundred thousand lives snuffed out in one hundred days. That's eight thousand lives a day. More than five lives per minute. Each one of those lives was like a little world in itself. Some person who laughed and cried and ate and thought and felt and hurt just like any other person, just like you and me. A mother's child, every one irreplaceable.
And the way they died ... I can't bear to think about it for long. Many went slowly from slash wounds, watching their own blood gather in pools in the dirt, perhaps looking at their own severed limbs, oftentimes with the screams of their parents or their children or their husbands in their ears. Their bodies were cast aside like garbage, left to rot in the sun, shoveled into mass graves with bulldozers when it was all over. It was not the largest genocide in the history of the world, but it was the fastest and most efficient.
At the end, the best you can say is that my hotel saved about four hours' worth of people. Take four hours away from one hundred days and you have an idea of just how little I was able to accomplish against the grand design."
Required reading.
Category: Books
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