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The War Prayer

The War Prayer

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Disgusted by the aftermath of the Spanish-American War and the then-current Philippine-American War, Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens) wrote The War Prayer in 1904. It was considered too sacrilegious and provocative for the times. Twain agreed to bury it, but wanted it published after his death (“I have told the truth in that… and only dead men can tell the truth in this world”). He died in 1910, and it was published in Harper’s Monthly, November 1916. I have always found this to be a very powerful piece of writing, and this animation adds a new resonance to how I have imagined it in my mind’s eye before.

Take a few moments. Read. And watch – if you like.

The War Prayer by Mark Twain

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety’s sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJsZCpp8hR4[/youtube]

Sunday morning came — next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams — visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation.

God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!

Then came the “long” prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory —

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher’s side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, “Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!”

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside — which the startled minister did — and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

“I come from the Throne — bearing a message from Almighty God!” The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. “He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import — that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of — except he pause and think.

“God’s servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two — one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsoJ-WJZGXM[/youtube]

Ponder this — keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor’s crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

“You have heard your servant’s prayer — the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it — that part which the pastor — and also you in your hearts — fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: ‘Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!’ That is sufficient. the whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory–must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

“O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle — be Thou near them! With them — in spirit — we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it — for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(After a pause.) “Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!”

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

And then, try reading To the Person Sitting in Darkness.

Satire – the fusing of truth, anger, and irony – is an important genre for us to relearn. We have become too literal, and too superficial. We need more writers like Mark Twain and Jonathan Swift and Oscar Wilde. Some people don’t even get Colbert and Jon Stewart. Wikipedia has a list, but I think they must define satire too broadly. Top comedians are less satirists than court jesters. Not to say that jesters cannot be satirical, but it’s just one tool in their bag of tricks.

For me, true satire is a little like a koan. You have to play with perspective, and performatively evoke an ethical sense in the other. You know it’s satire when literalists cannot grasp the dynamic: That’s when they will object! … or join up!

Half Full or Half Empty

Half Full or Half Empty

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The trouble with philosophical abstraction is that it tries to create a space separated from the world.

The metaphor of the slippery slope, for example, has become almost literal. That’s why it is often effective. Who wants to slide down a slippery slope? What is unstated but operative is that this metaphor encourages the reader/hearer to assume – without question – that there exists a place that is not slippery, where one cannot slide or fall.

In our complex world (and especially with regard to ethical and legal questions that affect people’s lives), we seem to have a craving to be able to state our understandings in a universally-applicable and absolute way, even about topics that are not absolute and cannot be absolute. That’s why “top-down” understandings must play against “bottom-up” ones, where a multitude of examples and perspectives of experience can realistically inform both theory and practice.

Why am I having these thoughts today? It’s all about the old question of whether the glass is half empty or half full.

I’ve heard a lot of answers to that question. Some will say it is both half empty and half full, or even that it is neither half full nor half empty. Your personal preference of interpretation can be used as a measure of optimism or pessimism. There are hundreds of jokes.

Last night I read the hands-down best answer to the question of whether the glass is half-full or half-empty. That answer illustrates a kind of blind spot for absolute abstraction and universalizing. It illustrates the importance of perspective and context in a completely different way. Just by the wayside, it made me laugh so hard that I felt compelled to share the joy. I think that only a woman could have come up with this answer. In this case, a grandmother.

I didn’t find it in a philosophy book, but in a chapter on grandparents in Cosbyology: Essays and Observations From the Doctor of Comedy, a short book by Bill Cosby. At Temple University, he had been assigned to debate one side or another. The question seemed unanswerable to him.

So I went home that night — and my grandmother was there — and she saw me concentrating and so she asked me what was the matter.

“I’m supposed to figure out if the glass is half full or half empty,” I told her.

Without a moment’s hesitation, in a split second, my grandmother shrugged and said:

“It depends on if you’re drinking or pouring.”

Leonardo Da Vinci

Leonardo Da Vinci

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Many have made a trade of delusions and false miracles, deceiving the stupid multitude.

There are three classes of people: those who see. Those who see when they are shown. Those who do not see.

Blinding ignorance does mislead us. O! Wretched mortals, open your eyes!

Nothing can be love or hated unless it is first known.

Anyone who conducts an argument by appealing to authority is not using his intelligence he is just using his memory.

The depth and strength of a human character are defined by its moral reserves. People reveal themselves completely only when they are thrown out of the customary conditions of their life, for only then do they have to fall back on their reserves.

Patience serves as a protection against wrongs as clothes do against cold. For if you put on more clothes as the cold increases, it will have no power to hurt you. So in like manner you must grow in patience when you meet with great wrongs.

Wisdom is the daughter of experience.

All our knowledge has its origins in our perceptions.

The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding.

Learning never exhausts the mind.

The poet ranks far below the painter in the representation of visible things, and far below the musician in that of invisible things.

The smallest feline is a masterpiece.

Where the spirit does not work with the hand there is no art.

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.

Art is never finished, only abandoned.

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.

You can have no dominion greater or less than that over yourself.

I have offended God and mankind because my work didn’t reach the quality it should have.