I’ve witnessed people discount or dismiss folks like Greg Glassman’s (of CrossFit) or Mark Rippetoe’s (of Starting Strength) training advice simply because they don’t “look the part.”
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I’ve witnessed people discount or dismiss folks like Greg Glassman’s (of CrossFit) or Mark Rippetoe’s (of Starting Strength) training advice simply because they don’t “look the part.”
His torment is the disappearance of faith. His program is to lead men to God. His preferred instrument is teaching. But the Vatican curia doesn't help him much. And sometimes it harms him
So the confederation of nobles that won a brief respite for Poland had become a cause célèbre in the late 18th century, and provides the backdrop in our story as Rousseau puts pen to paper. That this confederation’s purpose failed, even before Rousseau completed his work, only enhances the power of his subtle argument; for Rousseau’s purpose is to speak more broadly than the particulars of his age in Poland. His purpose concerns how a people might forge their patriotic devotion even bereft of a secure territory or state. As Kendall summarizes, “let the Poles build their republic in their own hearts, beyond the reach of foreign sword.” How this feat — which, as I say, more recent history confirms the Polish people, like few peoples on earth, have been more than equal to — might be accomplished: that is the theme of Rousseau’s Poland
Well, let us snap our cellphones shut and use the word correctly: even so, there are friends and there are friends. The first sort includes those people we enjoy seeing maybe often, maybe not, learn something from, swap stories with, leave the children with, borrow books from, or work with compatibly. We reach out to them (and they to us) feeling various degrees of affection and need. Most of us require an extended social network to keep us mentally and morally awake, and for a laugh, too, and if these friends are people we can weave in and out of our lives without heartbreak, they are nonetheless dear. They respond, they amuse, and they sometimes shelter us in a way that shows as clear as paint that the world is full of goodness and not just evil. Nor do they generally require an enormous amount of time. A man who cannot keep friendships like these in good repair isn’t trying.
But the friends who are our best and closest friends are another matter entirely. They are rare, and irreplaceable, and to those of us temperamentally inclined to look at things a certain way, they seem to be one of the many excesses of a Creation that is so overflowing with good things that there is a great deal of undeserved extra. We have our families, who are stuck with us; how fortunate we are also to have our intimate friends, who are not.
Finding friends like these seems to be a matter of grace or luck, though keeping them requires time and effort, tact and finally love. Beyond fourth grade there is no instant best-friending; real friendship needs a patina. It has to be proven in order to be. It needs presence, too; communion is too subtle a matter to establish itself well long-distance. You can maintain friendships across the country, but you can’t really grow them; not without visits in between. (At least I can’t. The one exception I’d make is for letters, since a written letter can be almost as expressive as a face.) It’s very hard to be there for someone long-distance, either; in times of crisis there is no substitution for the laying on of hands. Outside of the necessity of your kids knowing their grandparents, keeping an old friend at hand is the strongest argument I know for everybody to stop moving already.
I know there are some well-made movies out there. I don’t deny this. I have probably seen some of them. What I deny is that you can reach a certain age and still be addicted to this form of entertainment, that you can “go to the movies” intending not to see something in particular but intending simply to “go to the movies” or “take in a movie” or, because it’s Friday, “rent a movie.” At a certain age you must come to prefer your book and a chair by the fire, or the pleasures of argument with friends over beer; otherwise, I own, you must admit some unflattering things about yourself.
Let it be said—and then let us be done with the matter—that movies are inferior to books and conversation. If I allow that bad books are inferior to good movies, or that good movies are more to be desired than dull conversation, I hasten to add that movie-watching is never the same as reading—and it is certainly not as strenuous as engaging in dull talk. Movie-watching is like Gilligan’s exercise regimen: lifting bamboo poles weighted with empty coconut shells.
Moving-watching is to reading what phone sex is to sex.