Six Blind Men!

John Godfrey Saxe's "Six Men of Hindustan" or "The Blind Men & the Elephant" can be applied to about any kind of quest for knowledge.

Originally Saxe wrote this parable to mock theological dispute (The disputants… / Rail on in utter ignorance / Of what each other mean, / And prate about an Elephant / Not one of them has seen!), but it’s applicable to about any field of experience. After all, truth be told, no mere mortal can possess complete and objective knowledge.

But let’s not take lightly the other side of the coin, namely that the six men of Hindustan, though blind, at least were curious and went out there, and had an adventure!

There were six men of Hindustan,
to learning much inclined,
Who went to see an elephant,
though all of them were blind,
That each by observation
might satisfy his mind.

The first approached the elephant,
and happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
at once began to bawl,
"This mystery of an elephant
is very like a wall."

The second, feeling of the tusk,
cried, "Ho, what have we here,
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 'tis mighty clear,
This wonder of an elephant
is very like a spear."

The third approached the elephant,
and happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
thus boldly up and spake,
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant
is very like a snake."

The fourth reached out an eager hand,
and felt above the knee,
"What this most wondrous beast
is like is very plain" said he,
"'Tis clear enough the elephant
is very like a tree."

The fifth who chanced to touch the ear
said, "E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
deny the fact who can;
This marvel of an elephant
is very like a fan."

The sixth no sooner had begun
about the beast to grope,
Than seizing on the swinging tail
that fell within his scope;
"I see," said he, "the elephant
is very like a rope."

So six blind men of Hindustan
disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
exceeding stiff and strong;
Though each was partly in the right,
they all were in the wrong!

Enjoy, ron

12/25

Although the precise origin of the date is unclear, Christmas is celebrated worldwide on 12/25. It was first identified as the date of Jesus' birth by Sextus Julius Africanus in 221. Regardless the date, Christmas is when we commemorate and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit is at work.

Have you read Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" lately? As you may recall it is a heartwarming tale of how the penurious old coot is transformed by the Spirit of Christmas. Certainly the story carries a far greater legacy than merely giving us the phrases "Bah, Humbug!" and "God bless us, every one!"

It is more than 150 years since Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol. But that story endures and retains the power to move us because it speaks to the human condition, and offers an alternative to selfishness and materialism. It points us, albeit dimly, to the source of our being. As K Barth put it: “Christmas is where we come from…”

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before! "Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas ... perhaps ... means a little bit more!” “And what happened then ... in Who-ville they say [is] that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!” - Dr. Suess

Enjoy, ron

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Shelter from the storm!

Jesus, refuge of the weary,
Blest redeemer, whom we love,
Fountain in life’s desert dreary,
Savior from the world above:
Often have your eyes, offended,
Gazed upon the sinner’s fall;
Yet upon the cross extended,
You have borne the pain of all.

Do we pass that cross unheeding,
Breathing no repentant vow,
Though we see you wounded, bleeding,
See your thorn encircled brow?
Yet you sinless death has brought us
Life eternal, peace, and rest;
Only what your grace has taught us
Calms the sinner’s deep distress.

Jesus, may our hearts be burning
With more fervent love for you;
May our eyes be ever turning
To behold your cross anew
Till in glory, parted never
From the blessed Savior’s side,
Graven in our hearts forever,
Dwell the cross, the Crucified.

–Girolamo Savonarola

PS. Girolamo Savonarola (September 21, 1452 – May 23, 1498) was an Italian Dominican priest and leader of Florence from 1494 until his execution in 1498. He was known for religious reform and vehemently preached against what he saw as the moral corruption of the clergy. He is sometimes seen as a precursor of Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation.

PSS. The novel Romola by one of my all time favorite authors George Eliot features Savonarola as a central character. Romola (1863) is a historical novel set in the fifteenth century, and is "a deep study of life in the city of Florence from an intellectual, artistic, religious, and social point of view." If you want to read the book click on Romola.

PSSS.

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm."

-Dylan

enjoy, ron

Feekless Promises!

“Satan promises the best, but pays with the worst;

he promises honor and pays with disgrace;

he promises pleasure and pays with pain;

he promises profit and pays with loss;

he promises life and pays with death.”

–Thomas Brooks

Masks & Madness!

Poem for 9/11 on 9/12

She leaned on her brother's lego towers,
Being at that age when everything becomes
An aid to the miracle of mobility. Hers was
To sow disassembly on the industrious fields
Of a sibling's imagination. Innocently.

Far out in the world, men learn
The miracle of walking planes on leashes,
Testicles burning with artificial fire,
Striding into gangling towers
Innocent as placard-carrying activists.

Far out in another world, Hitler and Mao
Compare notes, ruing the slow evolution
Of human imagination. "I'd have built airports,
Not Auschwitz; sent Israel to Canaan
On Economy," Hitler says, in a rare interview.

Mao nods absentmindedly, he spends his days
Building Boeings from the pages of the red
Book. In New York, men settled for suicide,
Hurtled down burning towers, voices willed
To answering machines that reproduce

Every nuance of terror, and leak the smells
Of burning words, burning goodbyes, burning
Skins, burning everything. The journey
Of a thousand stories ends with one step
Into dust, into ash, into the salt from many eyes,

Civilisation toppling at the sound of God's name.
And as for you who wear masks and madness, and chant
God's name in vain: Pack all the fear you can, into
The aisles of a million jets, and watch them explode
Prematurely with a heroism that is not yours — and never will be.

(Originally appeared in The Vocabula Review )

Poet Longfellow!

Speaking of poetry and Longfellow, as a kid, I was once considered a poet by an admirer. Here's a rough paraphrase of their comment: “Ron, you’re a poet but don’t know it. But your feet sure do show it. They’re Longfellows!”

On a more serious note, one of my sons, Geoffrey, attended a medium sized Christian prep school called Minnehaha Academy. As you may surmise, it’s located near Minnehaha Falls in Minneapolis Minnesota. The falls is in Minnehaha Park, a large city park on the shores of the Mississippi River. The park includes picnic areas, trails, sculpture and the 53 foot falls, just off of Hiawatha Ave (Route 55). Although Longfellow never visited the spot, Minnehaha Falls is the waterfall of his Song of Hiawatha.

By the way, when Henry Wadsworth Longfellow turned 70 on February 27, 1877, the USA celebrated the day, hosting parades across the land in his honor and sending "salutations and friendly greetings from far and near." Had he the constitution of Methuselah, this year he would have celebrated his 200th birthday with the writing of another amazing poem.

In his day, Longfellow was a star. More than 50,000 bought The Song of Hiawatha. His friend Nathaniel Hawthorne said, "No other poet has anything like your vogue." People from all walks of life would knock on the door of his Cambridge, Massachusetts, home to ask for autographs.

"A Psalm of Life" is one of Longfellow’s best-known works. It captures the kind of poetic spirit that will continually make him one of America's favorite poets

A Psalm of Life

What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act--act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

enjoy, ron