The Undivided Heart

A critical comment on the cover of Anita Diamant's The Red Tent (Picador, 1997) hails, "It is tempting to say that The Red Tent is what the Bible would be like if it had been written by women . . ." This assertion raises all sorts of wonderful literary, philosophical, and historiographical questions. But those questions are so important neither to the book nor to this reader.

The Red Tent moves with the tidal pull of a regal aunt who finally tells your father's story from her perspective. True to how pre-literate agrarian culture must have felt, the narrative sticks to the reader's feet with all the grit, scents, and daily gore of human society protected only by sheets of canvas and its slow mobility. The appearance of biblical characters grown too familiar in the churched imagination of European minds sets the narrator's hook. There is no escape after the prologue: We are pulled, inexorably, soul-seduced, on the shore of the river where Dinah has her way with us.

The radical division of the sexes hinted at by the Old Testament takes on robust flesh in the life of Dinah. Diamant gives us cause to wonder: If the matriarchs were not silent chattel in the real Ancient Near East, is it possible that the patriarchs were not noble, courageous, and strong? Just as the Old Testament narrative gives women over to uncleanness, is it possible the men were brutish, mean, and deceptive? Exploring the poles of human sexuality and relationship opens up a whole spectrum of human experience, including the possibility that the journey of God's people was not direct, but more complex and mysterious. The cleft of doubt yawns wide: As Dinah herself puts it, life means learning to live with a divided heart.

Diamant ushers us with magnificent skill through innocence, loss, pain, and joy. Aside from one laborious passage leading in to Joseph's story (near the end of the book, after we fully trust Dinah), the complex scents and flavors of Dinah's world carry us naturally from one scene to another, hungry for the next encounter even in the mundane activities of cooking and spinning. We learn from Dinah that every relationship exists in perpetual danger of feast or famine, flood or drought; every next conversation could explode with joy or shatter with anger. And each moment, light or dark, affects the balance of the whole.

Perhaps the greatest feat of The Red Tent is its marriage of the Old Testament ethos with the zeitgeist of the turn-of-the-century West: There is no happy ending, only endurance. There is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but there will be another storm against which the sun will shine. This division between rain and light, storm and silence, is the rending of every human heart. It is why the reader can both weep and laugh in the space of three pages, then hunger for the time it will happen again.

This division is why The Red Tent probably speaks the true other half of the bible.

~ emrys

Jury Duty

I recently completed a term as a grand juror four our county court system. This first opportunity I had to serve on a jury proved fascinating and enlightening. In spite of all the middle- and high-school classes intended to teach us the uniqueness of the American legal system, only serving on a jury brought home the reality that the jury--both the grand and trial versions--is the thing that keeps the United States from becoming a police state.

Without a group of peers--united only in the reasonableness of the common person--to assess the quality of evidence behind a charge, nothing keeps police and attorneys from trumping up charges against anyone they please and thereby ruining lives.

An essential part of this system which pivots on the jury is the character and quality of our police force. Ubiquitous human evil notwithstanding, I think our law enforcement does a good job of conforming to both the letter and spirit of the law. They of course put themselves in harm's way on a regular basis, and must be ready to adapt to a dizzying array of difficult and obscure circumstances, ascertaining how to uphold the law and guard safety within a complex world. I thank God that, although as far from perfect as any human system is bound to be, our police forces generally serve the rule of law and not the whims of personal gain or political party.

What surprised me most was the difficulty we reasonable peers had in keeping ourselves tied to the narrow task of a grand jury. Our mission was to determine whether the evidence presented serves as reasonable cause to believe that an accused person committed a crime. We were not to determine the guilt of the accused, "beyond the shadow of a doubt." We were not to play defense attorney (whose role was conspicuously absent from the proceedings), and decide what other evidence might be pursued to establish guilt or innocence. We had to limit ourselves to the evidence given and what it suggested to us reasonable people.

A few times among the twenty or twenty-five cases we heard, the defendant would choose to address us. I  was surprised by how the testimony of the defendant polarized us. Some of us would hear the defendant and come to the conclusion that s/he was guilty. Some of us would hear that testimony and from it begin to second-guess the possible interpretations of the district attorney's evidence. We would begin to seek a "shadow of doubt" on the defendant's behalf. Neither of these pursuits fell under our job description. Only in the rare case that the credibility of witnesses came into play did a defendant's testimony change our course; but how easily we were drawn into the tempting work of a trial jury rather than a grand jury. How swiftly, it seems, we savor the opportunity to play the judge of persons rather than evidence! How often we wanted to say the final word in the case!

Drawing ourselves back, time and again, to our designated course we managed, I think, to do our job in good conscience. I would gladly serve again. In my case juggling jury duty and work was not impossible, though my time with my family certainly suffered deficiency during those four weeks. (Perhaps after my children are out of the house, or after I have retired from my primary employment, I could volunteer to serve as a juror more regularly.)

I believe with even firmer conviction now, however, that serving on jury duty constitutes one of our core obligations as citizens. If I were a defendant, rightly or wrongly accused, would I want juries that rubber stamp the opinions of district attorneys--especially those who bare their teeth quickly so as not to appear "soft on crime"? Would I want jurors examining my case whose first priority was getting it over with and getting back to their mundane routine?

I would rather make this valuable system the best that it can be, which means precisely being one thoughtful person, in a group of twenty-two, for ninety hours every six years. It's not much to pay for a better justice system.

And we twenty-two strangers, thrown together in the secret society of the jury room, bonded in small but important ways. We were generous with our coffee-making skills, took an interest in each other's stories, and one of our number even baked apple crumb bars to celebrate our last day of work together. I speculate that the combination of difficulty and value in our work served to bring us together. Most people I hear talk about getting a jury summons roll their eyes and sigh. I hope that now twenty-two fewer of us will think that way about our duty.

~ emrys

Imperial Dreams

Few international news arenas garner as much attention in American media as conflict in the Middle East, and especially conflict in the Middle East connected with Israel. So from page one I felt that Ephraim Karsh's 2007 book, Islamic Imperialism: A History, would bring some helpful context to much of the media chatter around me.

The subtitle "A History" has a fascinating multivalence about it. "A history" says that this book is not a policy manifesto. With thorough notation revealing great depth of research, Karsh's text gives the reader an expansive look at the topic from the days of Muhammad up to the first decade of this century. The knowledge brought to bear about Middle Eastern history, literature, and politics reflects what I would expect from the founding director of Middle East and Mediterranean Studies at King's College London (among many other distinguished titles). Nonetheless Karsh remains focused on one slice of history; this is not a history of Islam, or Islamic cultures, but rather a history of Islamic imperialism. The focus is on the historical pattern of Islamic leaders seeking to unite Muslims, or Arabs, or the known world, under a single political entity.

"A history," emphasis on the indefinite article, suggests that it would be possible to write another history of the same topic. And many other authors undoubtedly would.

This history was, I took note early on, written by an author born of parents who moved to Israel under the British Mandate of the early 20th century, attended Hebrew University in Jerusalem, and attained the rank of major in the Israeli Defense Forces. This personal context might explain why this book, undergirded on every page by such clear and extensive research, evinces a tone of disdain for all things Islamic or Arab. Even the positive cultural attributes of past Middle Eastern societies are treated with an upturned nose. The space between the lines of this text declare that there is nothing good--perhaps nothing redeemable at all--about Islam or Arabs.

Karsh's hammer drops in the Epilogue, ringing in the conclusion built up throughout the book that imperialism is an unworthy fantasy: "if the political elites of the Middle East and elsewhere were ever to reconcile themselves to the reality that there is no Arab or Islamic nation, but only modern Muslim states with destinies and domestic responsibilities of their own, the imperialist dream would die" (p240). The idea that Islam or "pan-Arabism" could unify a people worldwide, says Karsh, is a complete illusion. The only real geopolitical entity is the modern nation-state.

The book raises enough examples of Muslim and Arab leaders behaving poorly so as to secure the prejudices of anyone with a shred of bias against those descriptors. This attitude may be the factor which will keep the book in circulation, especially now that ISIS/ISIL fits Karsh's mold so nicely. But Karsh's assertion that worldwide Islamic unity must surrender to the lines on a map (which same lines are the sole proof of Israel's legitimacy, let us not forget), comes part-and-parcel with another assertion about Islam as a faith. Muslims must "reconcile themselves to the reality of state nationalism . . . and make Islam a matter of private faith rather than a tool of political ambition" (p241).

Many of us would, I think, agree that an imperialism (of any faith) which seeks to destroy others--like Karsh's historical examples and ISIS/ISIL today--should be dismissed. However, I wonder if privatization of faith and the limitation of social ambition to national boundaries provide a desirable--or workable--solution. I can sympathize with this book's desire to offset the atrocities of past empires, but I don't know that "imperialism," as a desire to influence those currently outside our sphere of influence, is the proper dragon to slay.

To brass tacks: As a Christian I believe that Jesus Christ is the Lord of all creation and history, the head of an empire both spiritual and temporal. I believe that this is good news, on many levels, to those who hear it. I also believe that in Jesus Christ humanity has been given an ethic of self-sacrificing love which, no matter the present faith of a person or group, is the best ethic to follow.

If I, as a voter and potential leader in my own nation, privatize my faith and allow the nation-state to which I belong to establish its own ethic and priorities, then are we better off? Is it not precisely because I believe my nation-state is capable of reflecting the commands and ethics of my Emperor--who calls us to move outward to others--that I can function and serve in this nation-state?

Though I apply to myself the challenge Karsh makes to "Middle Eastern political elites," one of the fascinating minor chords in this book is its absolution of Western, European nation-states in the dilemmas of the Middle East. He insists, against the common interpretation of Middle East conflict as resulting from Western (imperial?) meddling, that all the conflict and tension have arisen from the choices and desires of Middle Eastern leaders themselves. Karsh even goes to so far as to say that the Western powers, even as they take actions against which Middle Eastern leadership protests, are acting as pawns of the Islamic imperialist machinations of the region. It is as if to say that upon entering the seventeenth-century political enlightenment of nationalism, all societies west of Istanbul (not Constantinople!) washed themselves of any responsibility for problems in the Middle East.

As much as I appreciate having my nation (and not insignificantly the State of Israel in the process) absolved, I am suspicious of such a clear line. I have the impression from my own study of history that international affairs are a tangled web of darkness and light. And perhaps, as Karsh's labors imply (but do not say), the value of a political philosophy is best tested not by asking "Nation-state or Empire?" but by asking, "Does it produce good for those within and without?"

Thanks to Frank Amalfitano for allowing me the blessing of this book from his library. It has been an enriching read!

~ emrys

Reason to Celebrate

I try to respond to all emails that come in with due respect and attention. And I receive an average of 30 emails per day, even after Gmail's spam filter has done its fabulous work.

So it is that I do a little happy dance in my soul every time I whittle down my inbox until I can see all waiting messages on one screen, without scrolling.

Huzzah!

~ emrys

Joint Efforts

I discovered quickly that in order to improve the quality of my (albeit amateur) surprise woodworking project, I would need not only a working planer, but also a working jointer. The shop owned by my generous benefactrix contains a commercial-grade jointer. However, a quick look at the blades revealed that, like the planer, it was desperately in need of a good sharpening.

In the process of testing it, I discovered that the shaft of the cutter head knocked horribly. An exploration followed, which revealed a missing set screw, damaged pulley, and several other irregularities requiring overhaul. So began my thorough education in the anatomy and physiology of the jointer.

I never had to deal with retaining rings before . . . and, in fact, still haven't invested in the right tool to manipulate them. I hacked my way through replacing these:

One of the benefits of taking my kids to the shop with me is having a dedicated camera crew: "Daddy, can we use your camera?" So they catch me in the midst of figuring out how properly to set the cutter head:

One glorious liability of having one's own camera crew is that they become bored with documentary film-making and turn the cameras on themselves:

And the crew goes exploring the hidden (and very dirty) recesses of the shop:

But in spite of the journalism going on around me, I got all the parts repaired and made the final adjustments to the jointer. It runs and cuts again, smooth as silk. And I know more than I ever imagined wanting to know about another shop tool.

And my daughter discovered that Bartleby will take a picture through the flesh of her finger. "Daddy, look! The flash makes my finger red!"

Trips to the shop involve all kinds of learning.

~ emrys

Be a Leader: Stop It!

"Stop it!" That was Dr. Switzer's instruction to his client to help her get over her irrational fear. Every time the anxious thought crossed her mind, she was to remember: "Stop it!" The first step of returning to normal life was shutting up the lie.

Jeffrey Pfeffer, Professor of Organizational Behavior at the Stanford School of Business, says "Stop it!" to the leadership industry. His new book, Leadership BS (Harper Business, 2015), cries foul at the whole juggernaut of leadership training. Reflecting on the ubiquitous panoply of badly behaved leaders (think Steve Jobs, Martha Stewart, Anthony Wiener), miserable workplaces, and oppressed employees, Pfeffer stabs an accusatory finger at the roaring leadership industry.

"Stop it!" he says. Stop buying the ineffective horse-hockey peddled by the industry.

Don't let your leadership derive from inspiration. (It won't work.)

Don't be modest. (Successful leaders can't afford to be.)

Don't be authentic. (Whatever that means).

Don't worry about telling the truth. (The matter is more complex than that.)

Don't make trust your cornerstone. (No one is trustworthy.)

Look out for #1, because that's what everyone else is doing.

In his closing chapter, Pfeffer cites the legacy of Niccolo Machiavelli, an apt move given the thrust of the book. One edge of his thesis--the righteous edge--slices through the pablum of the inspirational leadership industry. He wants the leadership world to stop contributing to the deception that holding up cardinal virtues is anything more than wishful thinking that ruins careers. The other edge--the Machiavellian edge--cuts through the impression that the business world is anything but a shark tank. People are out for themselves, that's how it is: "Get over it" (p192). The sooner we realize that's how the world works, the sooner we can change things.

The subtitle of the book is Fixing Workplaces and Careers One Truth at a Time. This suggestive phrase is what really enticed me to buy the book (though I must confess my attraction to a title with "BS" in it). Let's change the system so that leaders behave better, workplaces are more enjoyable, and employees have a greater sense of satisfaction. How do we do that?

The last paragraph of Pfeffer's book begins, "I'm not sure what will make a difference in the leadership crisis that cost leaders their careers and provide too many employees with enervating work environments" (p220). He just knows that what the current leadership industry provides is not doing the trick. But how to enact positive change is a mystery.

Leadership BS makes an excellent case for reframing our understanding of business leadership around verifiable research and common sense rather than naive inspirational fluff. The numerous stories of good leaders getting the shaft endeared me to Pfeffer's truth-telling cause. But his description of self-interest as the necessary platform for business culture, though perhaps true, does not leave this reader with much hope for better. Perhaps Pfeffer can't see a solution to the leadership crisis because, given his foundation, there isn't one.

Perhaps changing the culture with which Pfeffer has become exasperated will not happen because of a magic technique, business plan, or organizational structure. Perhaps it will come from changing the definition of success It struck me that Pfeffer runs in, and writes about, circles of leaders who make salaries with six or seven figures and have a capital "C" and "O" in their titles. When success is defined by a title that starts with "Chief" and an exorbitant income, then perhaps the business philosophy of an Italian Prince is inevitable. (And one is left to wonder whether medieval Florence had a higher or lower employee satisfaction than current U.S. businesses.)

Does "getting real" about leadership woes mean giving up hope for good leaders and good business?

(By the way, one can view the fabulous performance of Bob Newhart as Dr. Switzer on youtube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ow0lr63y4Mw)

~ emrys

Real Fairy Tales: Hans Christian Andersen

If you sit through all the credits after the film Frozen, you will read the statement that Disney's latest princess blockbuster is based on the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale "The Snow-Queen." I know that Disney has mastered the art of seducing twenty-first century viewers; but Andersen wrote in the late nineteenth century. I wondered: Just how much of Andersen's story was preserved in the adventures of Elsa and Anna?

Barnes & Noble sells a hardcover tome entitled Classic Fairy Tales (2012) which, though not stated to be "complete," is a thorough 697-page collection of Anderesen's fanciful stories. Reading through them all is a journey often strange (as mice questing to make "Soup From a Sausage Peg"), sometimes witty (as the lesson about pride in "The Emperor's New Clothes"), and occasionally laborious (as the drawn-out plot of "The Marsh King's Daughter"). The style, translated from nineteenth-century Denmark, quite reasonably takes some getting used to. But once the reader falls in with Andersen's cadence, his writing is easily followed.

Disney fairy-tales these are not. The vast majority of Andersen's tales do not end in a "happily ever after." Take, for instance, "The Little Mermaid." Instead of Disney's nuptial sail into a regal sunset, Andersen paints a painful scene of noble suicide, with a strange metaphysical twist. Like so many other Andersen tales, the denouement is death (as in the famous "The Little Match Girl" and less famous "Story from the Sand Hills"), inviting the reader to consider her own mortality and eternal destiny. Rather than lifting up redemption in the form of human love and romantic free-will, Andersen's stories reflect on death as the universal human experience, then point to the Christian message of eternal life.

What makes these "fairy tales" is not their optimism about mortal life but rather their insistence that beyond the thin veil of human experience is another world. Animals can reason and talk like humans (as in "The Story of the Year"); metal and stone objects have personalities (as in "The Money Pig," reminiscent of Disney's Toy Story); the commonest items may be magical (as in "The Galoshes of Fortune"). A glimpse through the gossamer curtain is a journey into the depths of reality, whose fathoms give insight into human dealings on the mundane surface.

That journey into a different, wondrous world may be the thread that stitches all of Andersen's tales together. To read his stories one must be ready to go the distance in imagination, or sometimes in plain geography. Many of the tales read like the fireside embellishments of a well-traveled uncle, mystifying young listeners with his adventures abroad. From a few of the yarns one might even be able to knit cogent maps (as in "The Ice Maiden," a zigzag narrative through the crags of Switzerland). Another world--through the veil or just down the road--waits to be discovered, if only one will risk danger, misfortune, and death to experience it.

Success and happy endings are God's reserve to grant or keep, according to Andersen. Only adventure for adventure's sake, travel for learning's sake, and suffering for wisdom's sake await the one who crosses familiar bounds. But even acknowledging the shadow behind the curtain, reading these classic tales might still inspire the twenty-first century reader to pierce the veils of life and discover the wonders beyond.

Andersen's Snow Queen is a chilling metaphysical kidnapper, nothing like the misunderstood Princess Elsa of Frozen fame. Kay and Gerda, the heroes of Andersen's original, do live happily ever after, but only because of the invocation of Jesus in pious verse. The ice-witch remains an unexplained phantom, beyond understanding or control. And perhaps this alteration of the tale is most telling for us. The enemies of the Disney tale are misguided parents, mistaken siblings, and a misogynist prince--human elements overcome by human love. Gone are Andersen's fairy depths, in which dwell forces beyond our ken and control.

Disney has mastered the art of seducing us with the pleasant diversion we have come to expect. But by giving up the dark depths of Andersen's fairy world, perhaps we lose what is most important in his tales: the haunting mystery and transcendent wonder waiting just behind the curtain.

~ emrys

Great Grandparents

There is a joy in their greeting borne of long absence. There are always gifts in their hands--not necessarily big or flashy, and often pre-approved by the parents, but carefully and lovingly chosen. They have the knowing calm of experience to face what exasperates the middle generation. And sometimes they laugh at what infuriates us parents--because they know that in the long run, we'll laugh, too.

They are grandparents. And done well, grandparenting is one of the greatest gifts to the world.

I have heard the grandparenting philosophy known as "spoil 'em and give 'em back," and have come to despise it.

Our children do not have those kind of grandparents. They have grandparents who relish every story heard and told by the wee ones. They have grandparents whose loving patience exceeds that of their parents, but will put up with no more unacceptable behavior. They have grandparents with gentle voices and enveloping embraces.

These grandparents see in their grandchildren all the come-uppance that we parents earned in our childhoods, but keep their reminders kind, with a twinkle of the eye.

These grandparents are great, and we are blessed to have them in the lives of our children.

Thank God for great grandparents!

Adventures in Rest

They discovered that the old apple tree growing on the other side of the creek had a host of fruit. Small, but with that Granny-Smith kind of bite.

"These are good! Let's get a basket so we can have them for snacks!" says the elder, bubbling over with excitement.

"Yah!" says the younger, "Les get baskit!"

We pick a couple of dozen. Correction: I pick a couple of dozen, while the other two argue over the basket, eat the proceeds, and get distracted, all in thirty-second cycles.

She lets out a gasp. "Daddy! Look! There's another one up there!"

It's true. Our property used to host a whole orchard of apple trees. It still does, technically. But they've gone untended so long, no orchard would want them.

"Where?" says the younger.

"See, up there? With the red apples on it. Daddy, let's go up there!"

"You do realize that means we have to cut a path through the weeds." Moment of diabolical parental anticipation: I had been procrastinating on hacking my way to that very tree earlier this week.

"Let's go get the tools!" says the elder.

"Me too!" says the younger.

An hour later, we're half way there:

Burdock, it turns out, is a fascinating opponent in a first-grader's summer imagination. We have to hack through a great deal of it. One would think we were slaying dragons.

Another hour later, and we've been to the Red Apple Tree. (And we have found the other two Green Apple Trees right next to it.) These are sweeter, more of a Fuji or Gala. Perfect for "ruining one's dinner," as we often say:

When one has a belly full of wild apples, there is no better activity than digging in Daddy's Bridge Renovation Site. After a lesson in not sitting where someone else's shovel is flinging (bloody nose), seats are found side-by-side. And there is silence in the yard for a whole fifteen minutes:

"No work today," my calendar said. Sabbath.

The sweat in my clothes begs to differ. It can beg away, though--because labor this fun can't count as work.

~ emrys

Why Parents Should Volunteer At School

Last month I signed up to serve as a parent chaperone on my daughter's class trip to the nearby Discovery Center. I figured I might be the only dad to sign up; it turns out I was the only parent from her class. This means that I was put in charge of four kindergarteners. "In charge" means "try to keep up and make sure none falls from too great a height." 

The class had a "lecture" (I use the term in its elementary sense) on bubbles. Part of the experiential learning that followed included bubble ink. "Have you ever blown bubbles with a straw in your chocolate milk?" was the intro. The idea was to froth up a bowl full of colored water, then press paper on top and make a print. But really, when kindergarteners get license to do what their parents have been telling them for three years not to do at Denny's, they just want to . . . blow bubbles. Lots of them. Until the bowl overflows in a Kilauea of multicolored surface tension. Until this parent, who unwittingly volunteered to "oversee" this activity, found himself spending most of the time sopping rainbow rivulets of water off the table.

The payoff for all that sopping was watching as my wee merry band discovered the Pirate Ship and treasure chest filled with Pirate dress-up costumes. When they had decked themselves out and set their hands to the rigging, I made a serendipitous discovery: A bunch of kindergarteners will focus and stand still for a moment if I ask them to yell, "Aaargh, me hearties!" Instant attention and coordination!

I try not to take many pictures of my children. But when, without prompting, they strike poses on a pirate ship, I cannot resist.

Color, sound, energy: joy!

~ emrys