Hi Katie, In John Milbank's "An Essay Against Secular Order" he talks about the reality of forgiveness. He says that without forgiveness being accepted and realized it does not have a true reality. Neither does forgiveness have a true reality if it is merely formal. Receiving forgiveness involves a complete realization of consciousness of egocentricity. This involves a suffering on the receipient of forgiveness. It also involves a suffering on the forgiver through the re-establishing of the bonds of the relationship. -Tim

Jun. 13 at 3:11pm | See in context

The Eustace reference works well!

I have heard Mark-- on the radio-- speak about Uncle Andrew too.  Together, Eustace and Uncle Andrew make for some of the most off-putting characters in Narnia, and can annoy readers to the point of wanting to imitate Edmund (of all people).

On the radio, Mark pointed out the unrepentant nature of Uncle Andrew, exhorting listeners to  have "child-like faith' instead.  It was a good reminder that ingenuity and IQ are not all we're meant for.

Jun. 12 at 11:42am | See in context

Not in particular, Devra.  It's kind of fuzzy to me, too. :)  Just a general sense I had, of Ivan's feeling guilty and wanting to do better.  Ha!  I should re-read that one; it was good! 

Jun. 11 at 11:55am | See in context

I love the reminder that turning away from serious vice is "the beginning of freedom".

The next big liberation, in my experience, is from illusions of rectitude and self-sufficiency. It's the willingness to face and absorb the truth about ourselves—especially our impotence to save ourselves, or even to live well.  

It's painful, but definitely freeing.

Jun. 11 at 11:53am | See in context

I'm not sure, but maybe.  Ivan Ilyich had his lists of "thou shalt not's," but they all had to do with what was and wasn't done in his social circle.   There's something like that in Anna Karenina, too, about how Vronsky stuck to his principles, which were "Never lie, except to a woman," and "Never fail to pay a debt, unless it's a gambling debt," and so on.  Crime and Punishment is pretty fuzzy in my mind, Cathy: is there some part in particular you're thinking of?

Jun. 11 at 10:39am | See in context

Was it the one about the dying man who couldn't take the first step, which was to admit he was not a good man ad to ask for mercy.The Death of Ivan Ilyich or something like that?

Jun. 11 at 9:01am | See in context

Dev, 

Were you thinking of Crime & Punishment by Tolstoy??

Cathy 

Jun. 11 at 8:26am | See in context

One of my favorite scenes in one of my favorite movies, On the Waterfront, is Terry and Edie's first date. Terry tells her his philosophy of life. It's every man for himself. Get the other guy before he gets you.

She lives in a different world—a world where people are part of each other, where they care about each other, help each other, and call out the best in each other. She's asking for his help. He's drawn to her world, but finds her naive. He wants her to drop her pursuit of justice for her brother. Forget it. Move on. Enjoy life. Don't risk trouble.

The conversation ends abruptly when he bursts out in frustration, "What do want from me, Edie?"  She replies, passionately: "Much more. Much, much, much more."

Cardinal O'Brien sounds to me a lot like Terry. "I said I'm sorry. What more do you want?" The Vatican sound more like Evie. "Much much more."

Much more from you and much more for you.

Jun. 9 at 1:49pm | See in context

Got it. Thanks, Devra!  Can't wait to read it.

Jun. 7 at 8:42am | See in context

Rhett, I'm with you in lamenting that maddening gap between the depth and delicacy of the insight you think you have and the clunky unspecialness of what comes out when you try to put in it words.

That's the negative experience of writing your thoughts. The positive experience is when you've struggled and struggled to say something, realized you're missing something key, and then suddenly seen what it is—something you wouldn't have seen if you hadn't made the effort to put it to paper, or screen.

Jun. 6 at 9:44am | See in context