Another day and raising a smoked glass
I am going to break my own rule and diarise again I think, because yesterday afternoon I did something I have never done before - and that was meet my friend Cath after work to go kayaking in Canada Bay! You might think that this sounds like a lovely afternoon, and it certainly was - down by the water as the sun set over it and gentle waves lapped the little beach. But you need to understand that this was no ordinary kayak. It was a "pro-kayak" – being seven metres in length and scarcely any wider than my behind, with its own rudder operated by foot peddles, that being the sort of watercraft workmanship that it was. Trying to stay upright in this kayak was no easy task, and not feeling overly inclined to swim in Sydney Harbour last night I had quite an anxious time of it! Much as the idea of paddling in the bay appealed to me, I climbed out of that wobbly vessel with no small amount of relief, happy to let my expert friend paddle off into the sunset and leave me on the shore.
I’ve tried to think of some sort of biblical link to this story, but all that comes to mind is that I now understand why the bible writers thought that there would be no sea in heaven – it is indeed the place of chaos for an amateur in a long, skinny kayak! There can be a sea in heaven, so long as my kayak is half as long and twice as wide.
After our paddle in the ocean we found a Thai restaurant in the Entertainment voucher book for dinner, and there we sat and played 10 days in Europe (went nicely with our Thai), to the bemusement of the staff, who found the place for our food covered by the continent and watched on surreptitiously and quizzically.
Anyway, I have been talking to a friend Michelle tonight over gelati as we strolled along Coogee beach (a group expedition to the Sheraton good food month "sugar hit" failed, but gelati by the beach was quite as good), who had a letter published in the SMH today (can’t seem to find a direct link to it), about couching our theological and biblical ideas in the voice of the people, and blogging, and reaching people in a post modern age (or whatever age we think we are now in) and using stories and so forth and so on ... And this is distantly related but I read something today in Adam Bede, that I thought one of the gems Eliot weaves into her novels, to focus our moral thoughts and poke us, through the lives and lenses of her characters. It’s long but I am going to write it out anyway. It’s a conversation between one Arthur and one Mr Irwine:
‘But I think it is hardly an argument against a man’s general strength of character, that he should be apt to be mastered by love. A fine constitution doesn’t insure one against small-pox or any other of those inevitable diseases. A man may be very firm in other matters, and yet be under a sort of witchery from a woman.’
‘Yes; but there’s this difference between love and small-pox, or bewitchment either – that if you detect the disease at an early stage and try change of air, there is every chance of complete escape, without any further development of symptoms. And there are certain alternative doses which a man may administer to himself by keeping unpleasant consequences before his mind: that gives you a sort of smoked glass through which you may look at the resplendent fair one and discern her true outline; though I’m afraid, by the by, the smoked glass is apt to be missing just at the moment it is most wanted. I daresay, now, even a man fortified with a knowledge of the classics might be lured into an imprudent marriage, in spite of the warning given him by the chorus in the Prometheus.’
The smile that flittered across Arthur’s face was a faint one, and instead of following Mr Irwine’s playful lead, he said quiet seriously – ‘Yes, that’s the worst of it. It’s a desperately vexatious thing, that after all one’s reflections and quiet determinations, we should be ruled by moods that one can’t calculate on beforehand. I don’t think a man ought to be blamed so much if he is betrayed into doing things in that way, in spite of his resolutions.’
‘Ah, but the moods lie in his nature, my boy, just as much as his reflections did, and more. A man can never do anything at variance with his own nature. He carries within him the germ of his most exceptional action; and if we wise people make eminent fools of ourselves on any particular occasion, we must endure the legitimate conclusion that we carry a few grains of folly to our ounce of wisdom.’
‘Well, but one may be betrayed into doing things by a combination of circumstances, which one might never have done otherwise.’
‘Why, yes, a man can’t very well steal a bank-note unless the bank-note lies within convenient reach; but he won’t make us think him an honest man because he begins to howl at the bank-note for falling in his way.’
‘But surely you don’t think a man who struggles against a temptation into which he falls at last, as bad as the man who never struggles at all?’
‘No, my boy, I pity him, in proportion to his struggles, for they foreshadow the inward suffering which is the worst form of Nemesis. Consequences are unpitying. Our deeds carry their terrible consequences, quite apart from any fluctuations that went before – consequences that are hardly ever confined to ourselves. And it is best to fix our minds on that certainty, instead of considering what may be the elements of excuse for us ...’.
Unfortunately and ashamedly I have discovered a few grains of folly ...