Let the Games Begin

Quo Vadis?

Henryk Sienkiewicz (pronounced sane-kay-vitz) was an international phenomenon a century ago--at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries. He was trained in both law and medicine. He was a respected historian. He was a successful journalist. He was a widely sought-after critic and editor. He was an erudite lecturer. And in addition to all that, he was an amazingly prolific and wildly popular novelist--selling millions of copies of his almost fifty books in nearly three hundred editions in the United States alone.

He wowed the world with his grace, his learning, his courage, his depth of character, and his evocative story-telling. His writing includes some of the most memorable works of historical fiction ever penned--ranking with the likes of Sir Walter Scott, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Samuel Johnson.

It was an unlikely destiny for a passionately ethnic novelist from the isolated, feudal, and agrarian Podlasie region of Poland to fulfill. Born in 1846, he lived during one of the most tumultuous periods of Central European history. Ideological revolutions, utopian uprisings, base conspiracies, nationalistic movements, and imperialistic expansions wracked the continent in the decades between the fall of Napoleon and the rise of Hitler. Wars and rumors of wars shook the foundations of social order to an extraordinary degree. His own nation was cruelly and bitterly divided between the ambitions of the Prussian Kaiser and the Russian Czar. The proud cultural and national legacy of Poland was practically snuffed out altogether--all the distinctive aspects of the culture were outlawed and even the language was fiercely suppressed.

Sienkiewicz became a part of the underground movement to recover the Polish arts--music, poetry, journalism, history, and fiction. He used the backdrop of the social, cultural, and political chaos to reflect both the tragedy of his people and the ultimate hope that lay in their glorious tenacity. He was thus, a true traditionalist at a time when traditionalism had been thoroughly and systematically discredited the world over--the only notable exceptions being in the American South and the Dutch Netherlands. As a result, his distinctive voice rang out in stark contrast to the din of vogue conformity. Thus, his novels not only introduced the world to Poland, they offered a stern anti-revolutionary rebuke in the face of Modernity’s smothering political correctness.

His massive Trilogy, published between 1884 and 1887, tells the story of an ill-fated attempt to save his homeland from foreign domination during the previous century. When they were first released in the United States, the books became instant best-sellers. They made Sienkiewicz a household name--so much so that Mark Twain could assert that he was the first serious, international writer to become an American literary celebrity. Even so, the Trilogy did not achieve for him even a fraction of the acclaim that came his way with the publication, in 1898, of Quo Vadis?--a fictional portrayal of the events surrounding the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. It was nothing short of a phenomenon. It was the first book the New York Times dubbed a “blockbuster,” and became the standard against which all future mega-best-sellers was judged.

On this day in 1905, Sienkiewicz saw his brilliant career capped when he was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature.

Yearning for Boring

In his masterful novel The Red Badge of Courage, Stephen Crane traced the effects of war on a single Union soldier, Henry Fleming, from his dreams of soldiering, to his actual enlistment, and through several battles of the all too uncivil War between the States. Unhappy with his dull, quiet, and boring life at home on the farm, Fleming yearns to somehow earn glory and renown for his heroic achievements in battle. After he enlists however, he discovers that a soldier’s life consists of two parts futility, one part confusion, and one part terror. Set at the battle of Chancellorsville—though it actually remains unnamed in the story—the young idealistic soldier is forced by the dumb certainties of experience to become a hardened realistic veteran. And in the process, he comes to the difficult realization that boring is actually a virtue not a vice.

The reality is that boring is what most people are actually yearning for—they just don’t know it. Boring is having no people to see, no tasks to accomplish, no expectations to meet, no pressures to deal with—it is the ideal adventure. People go halfway around the world to find a secluded beach or a remote cabin or a mountain chalet, just so they can do nothing. It is dull people who have to be stimulated constantly. Something has always got to be going on.

Most modern men and women are addicted to the razzle-dazzle. We want wow. And we want it now. Our whole culture, from popular entertainment to corporate management, is predicated on the idea that our lives ought to be defined by a frenetic go-go-go sense of busyness. There is no time to reflect. No time to think. No time to do anything at all except be busy.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Somehow, Stephen Crane realized over a century ago what we are still struggling to come to terms with. He realized it too late to wrench his life away from the precipitous decline of debauchery—though his novel remains a morality tale, a steadfast warning for us. He sold an abridged version of The Red Badge of Courage to the Bachellor-Johnson Syndicate for ninety-dollars on this day in 1894, and it first appeared in the Philadelphia Press about a month later.

Within five years of his greatest achievement, Crane was dead. Suffering from several tuberculosis attacks and a general physical collapse due to his heavy drinking and dissolute lifestyle, Crane was just twenty-eight years old. In his journal he had scratched out a few final words just a day before. Though it was destroyed along with all the rest of his effects, an orderly at the sanitarium reported his last desperate cry, “Oh, to find rest, sweet repose. Why must we grind out our lives in search of vain glories when all that is wanted is home?”

An Uncommon Common Man

During his term as Vice-President, Thomas Jefferson traveled to Baltimore on official business. He asked for a room in the city’s best hotel. Not recognizing the great man--who always traveled quite modestly without a retinue of servants and dressed comfortably in soiled working clothes--the proprietor turned him away.

Soon after Jefferson’s departure, the innkeeper was informed that he had just sent away the author of the Declaration of Independence and hero of the War for Independence. Horrified, he promptly dispatched a number of his employees to find the Vice-President and offer him as many rooms as he required.

Jefferson, who had already taken a room at another hotel, was not at all flattered or amused. He sent the man who found him back with the message, “Tell the innkeeper that I value his good intentions highly, but if he has no room for a dirty farmer, he shall have none for the Vice-President.”

It was not merely the spirit of democratic solidarity or of judicial propriety that piqued Jefferson’s ire in that situation. He had always prided himself as a man of the soil first and foremost. He was America’s preeminent agrarian theorist. He was an avid gardener and a skilled botanist. His gardening journals have inspired generations of farmers and planters. And his agricultural innovations helped to make American harvests the envy of the world.

He strongly believed that an attachment to the land was the chief mark of an advanced culture. He believed that the fate of a nation was ultimately decided by the attitude of that nation to its soil. He said, “Widespread distribution and careful stewardship over property is the most tangible attribute of liberty. The faith of a people, the vision of a people, the destiny of a people may be divined by its corporate concern for the soil.”

To be sure, Jefferson was often a conflicted intellectual, an inconsistent moralist, and an impractical idealist, but his ideas of land, the dignity of labor, the essential nobleness of common men, and the vitality of the agrarian virtues made Jefferson the undisputed father of American populism.

Above Reproach

After the scandals of the previous three administrations the Republican Party was concerned to choose an especially upright candidate in the nation’s centennial year, 1876. They found him in Rutherford B. Hayes (1822-1893), a devout, conscientious Midwesterner whose Puritan ancestors had come from New England.

In his third term as Governor of Ohio, Hayes was known for an honest administration, a constructive reforms, and a strong stand on sound money—one of the leading issues of the day. In addition, he had an outstanding military record—performing gallantly on the battlefield and emerging a Major General. He was apparently above reproach. Yet it is one of the quirks of history that such a man should reach the White House through the very questionable settlement of a bitterly disputed election—although most historians believe that Hayes himself was not personally involved.

The settlement was in the hands of a special electoral commission that happened to have a majority of Republicans. But the Republicans had chosen well—better than some of them knew. For President Hayes proved to be too honest and forthright for many of them, who could hardly wait to get him out of office.

Despite political undercurrents, Hayes made good use of his one term to stabilize the government on several fronts. He officially ended Reconstruction on this day in 1877; he withdrew Federal troops from the occupied Southern states; he established reforms in civil service; he took courageous steps to settle the railroad strike of 1877; and he stood firm in enforcing a sound money policy—all in the face of vigorous opposition.

The man chosen to remove the taint of scandal from the government proved to be surprisingly resolute and effective; his dedication to principle and his courageous and forthright actions won him the kind of praise earned by very few one-term Presidents.

On the Nightstand

30 Days of Prayer

The 18th annual 30 Days: Muslim Prayer Focus begins tomorrow. This ministry of intercession purposely coincides each year with Ramadan--the month-long Islamic fast mandated by the Koran. Thus, it is a call for Christians to make a concerted, respectful effort during the month to learn about our Muslim neighbors, to pray for a Gospel impact among them, and to reach out to them with genuine grace--whether they live right across the street or all the way across the world.

A very helpful Prayer Guide has been prepared and is available in both print and online versions. It can also be sent directly to your in-box daily via an RSS feed.

Won't you consider joining thousands of other believers over the next 30 days in praying for the light of Christ to be shed abroad in the Islamic world?

NCF Picnic

New College Franklin Convocation

A Heroic Love of Words

Every great library begins in the heart of someone with at least three heroic loves: a love for words, a love for truth, and a love for future generations. Libraries begin as a collection of beloved books, but those books generate a love for words, as well—without that, books are mere antiquarian or decorative curiosities.

Perhaps the greatest etymologist of all time—and thus, one of the most passionate lovers of words—was James Murray (1837-1915), a self-educated Scots country boy who was the original editor of the monumental Oxford English Dictionary.

The dictionary was a mind-bogglingly huge undertaking which practically consumed his life—it documented every single word in the English language, past and present, as well as every possible usage from formal to colloquial. Thus, tens of thousands of entries had to be carefully researched. The etymology of every word was traced. Examples of the use of the word were drawn from the best prose and poetry extant. And it all was arranged and catalogued in as functional and usable fashion as possible.

Murray was precise with every detail of the Herculean task at hand. His granddaughter later described how he would illumine visitors to his cluttered study as to the vital character of his work—understanding full well the seed truth about language and the precision inherent in the transferal of truth, first foretold in the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel.

Thus, Elisabeth Murray wrote, “As he showed the guests round, Dr. Murray would give examples of the unique feature of the dictionary, the application of the historical method. His task was to trace the life history both of every English word now in use and of all those known to have been in use at any time during the last seven hundred years. His starting point was in 1150, and the early history, variations of sense and form of every word current at that date, was to be given in the same detail as the changes which took place in succeeding centuries. In this he was applying the historical principle much more completely than had been attempted in any country. Although James knew that there would be additions and changes in English vocabulary in future ages, he would stress that, every fact faithfully recorded, and every inference correctly drawn from the facts, becomes a permanent accession to human knowledge part of eternal truth, which will never cease to be true.”

It was in 1859, when he was merely 22 years old, that Murray first conceived of the great work—but it would on this day two decades later before he could win the confidence of the Philological Society to actually begin the work. Alas, he died before the work was completed. Nevertheless, the organization he put together ensured that the work was indeed published in 1928.