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Friday, December 25, 2009
Threes: A Christmas Rumination
Christmas morning, 5:30 AM. Dogs yipping to be let out. Mass is at 7:30, must rise despite powerful adverse inclinations. Hurry hurry hurry to shower, shave, brush teeth, dress, and gulp down enough coffee to achieve sentience. Confound it, I've popped a bridge again. Kiss the C.S.O. Skirt the grand pile of empty cardboard boxes. Sidle past Snidely the Snowblower. Sorry, Snidely, no gas-powered equipment in church; it's a rule. Slip carefully into Mercy the Mercedes and hurtle down Long Island's ever-hazardous roads to St. Louis de Montfort Roman Catholic Church, the seat of my parish.
What on Earth am I going to write about today?
Christmas may come but once a year, but it comes every year, and on the very same date at that. You'd think shoppers would have learned to get into and out of the stores in October or November. You'd think sententious Christian commentators would have learned to start thinking about their Christmas topics a few weeks or days in advance, too.
But I never have. I keep trusting that something will occur to me as my fingers land on these keys. I keep trusting that my modest gift for extemporaneous blather in a semblance of good English will carry me through another Nativity Rumination.
I keep trusting in God. He hasn't failed me yet.
When you dare to vent your opinions, more or less unfiltered, into a public medium such as the Web, you implicitly accept that some of your readers will react badly. Some of them will think poorly of you. Some will venture to tell you so. Eternity Road devotees who also write for an audience are undoubtedly nodding as they read this. Venomous, contemptuous backblasts, condemnations for daring to have an unapproved stance on something, happen to all of us. It's an unavoidable price of what we do.
That doesn't mean it does no damage. It most certainly does. The emitters know that, or at least hope for it.
I was nursing the wound from a recent one -- no, I won't tell you who inflicted it; no doubt she already regrets it -- when it occurred to me that these events have a tripartite structure, and a replicating one at that, just like a good fractal. First comes the "extreme" position on the "controversial" subject. Then comes the mini-essay, carefully formed and polished to express your sentiments with the minimum necessary ambiguity. Then comes the ugly rejoinder, when some self-nominated judge of character or political correctness deigns to backhand you for daring to differ with him.
But the end of that "three" is the beginning of two others. For my part, there's the incredulity (and often considerable anger) germinated by the insult. Then comes the period of reflection, during which I muse over the frailties of Man, pondering which of them might have given rise to so uncharitable and unnecessary a missive. Finally comes my grant of forgiveness, without which I find I cannot move past the original offense.
And I suspect that the offender is busy with his own "three:" the offense; the period of reflection -- often quite reluctant reflection -- on whether it was a "good idea" to have done as he did; and the realization that even at moments of sharpest disagreement with another person, there are nevertheless some things that should not be said.
No, this isn't a sermonette on the dictates of Christian forgiveness or the tolerance of others' insane opinions. It's a musing over the special power of three.
Three -- a pattern or rhythm of three parts -- appears to be a fundamental component of the human psyche. I use it even when I had no prior intention of doing so:
The kitchen table was bare except for a large sheet of butcher paper. Christine and Louis sat before it. A spring thunderstorm rattled the windows. Against the backdrop of the storm, the kitchen seemed unnaturally bright.
Louis drew three pentacles in one corner of the sheet. "What do you see, Chris?"
She glanced at him suspiciously. "Three stars."
He nodded, and drew three rhomboids a little distance away. "And what do you see here?"
"Three diamonds. What does this have to do with computers?"
"Patience, Chris. I'm trying to lay some groundwork, here." He drew a large numeral 3 and pointed at it. "And this?"
"Come on, Louis, get serious."
He said nothing.
"It's a three."
"Three of what?"
"Huh? Three of anything."
"Is 'three' a thing, Chris?" He was grinning now.
"Well...isn't it?" She was beginning to feel confused.
He shook his head. "Go anywhere you want, in this house or anywhere else, and find me a 'three.' I'll pay big time for it. I've been looking for more than thirty years."
"All right, what is it, then?" Confusion and frustration were beginning to blend.
Louis shook his head again. "You're going to tell me. I'll ask a related question." He wrote "Christine" below the 3. "What's this?"
"It's my name...wait...it's a lot of other people's name, too. It's not me, but it's used to refer to me." She frowned. "Louis, what does this have to do with computers?"
He declined to acknowledge the question. "What do you call something that's used to refer to something else?" He waited, eyes and grin wide.
She thought furiously. "A name? A label? A...symbol?"
His grin blossomed into a brilliant smile. "A symbol. These are both symbols. Nearly pure, too, since they have no use except to refer to other things." He appended "Marie D'Alessandro" to her first name and pointed to it again. "That's a symbol, too. A more specific one, the symbol for you. Now, how does this symbol differ from that symbol there?" He pointed to the numeral again.
She thought a moment. There had to be a point. She would find it.
"That," she pointed to her name, "refers to something specific. This," she pointed to the digit, "refers to an idea."
He laid his pencil down and brought his hands together in three sharp claps. He appeared to be both surprised and pleased.
"You're on your way, Chris."
Gentle Reader, as God is my witness, I had no slightest idea I was doing that as I did it. I had even less idea that I was about to do it. Yet it's a key scene in my first novel, of which I'm most proud. Count the threes in it. See if you can finish before bedtime.
Three seems to haunt me. While doing my final proofreading before "releasing" Which Art In Hope, I was mainly on the lookout for awkwardnesses of rhythm: sentences that ended without a satisfying "ba-da-boom," such that the reader could feel that they'd ended quite as much as grasp it from the period at the end. And in virtually every case, the errors I found were violations of what writer Will David Mitchell once called "the principle of three." Read it and you'll see what I mean.
I've known about the "three effect" for a long time. I've made reference to it here before. Yet I seem to keep learning about it as time passes.
The story of Jesus is filled with threes.
Yes, yes, there were three persons in the Holy Family. But that's neither the first three of the story nor the last. Consider the three main episodes of the Incarnation of Christ: the Annunciation, when Mary accepted God's will that she bear His Son made flesh; the Visitation, when the Blessed Virgin sheltered with her cousin Elizabeth, also the beneficiary of a miraculous conception; and the Nativity itself. The Magi, Zoroastrian scientist-philosophers whose journey across the desert to pay homage to the Christ Child is commemorated on the Feast of the Epiphany, were three in number. Their gifts were three as well: gold, for the King of Kings; frankincense, for the Priest of Priests; and myrrh, in token of His eventual sacrifice for the redemption of the world.
The story of the Magi underpins the Christmas tradition of gift-giving. We don't give gifts to the Christ Child, of course -- the shipping costs are prohibitive, and if the BLEEP!ing thing doesn't fit, how in Heaven is He supposed to exchange it? -- but to one another, and in doing so complete yet another three: the dour consideration of what you could possibly give him this year; the hunt for, and eventual capture of, the gift; and his reaction of surprise and dismay when he tears open the wrapping and finds your offering for the year.
(Needless to say, this three is symmetrical. As we give, so do we receive. And by the way, to whoever sent it, my humble and sincere thanks for this lovely McDonald's Dollar Gift Certificate. I'll cherish it until lunchtime tomorrow.)
The Nativity is both the conclusion of Mary's "three" and the beginning of yet another: Jesus's birth as a Man among men; His three years of ministry around the Sea of Galilee; and His Passion, culminating in His death between two thieves -- Hah! Thought I'd miss that one, didn't you? -- on the hill of Golgotha. The Passion ends that three and begins yet another: the Passion, the Resurrection that fulfilled centuries of prophecy, and the Ascension that confirmed His divinity and authority as Dispenser of the New Covenant between God and Man.
After a while, you start expecting threes everywhere in the Christian story. There are plenty of them; spend a little time with the Gospels, particularly Luke's, and you'll find them in quantity. They hint, to me at least, at a larger three, a transcendent three that envelops the human condition and speaks of the great gifts of God to Man.
Yes, there are three of them.
First is the gift of life itself. We cannot make human life, except by the processes God has installed in our bodies for engendering children. Whether we were a creation ab initio or are the fruits of a Divinely guided evolutionary process, still we are unique: in having the power of reason, possession of consciences, and the ability to conform our actions to the dictates of our moral senses.
Second is the gift of a lawful universe in which to live. Reliable natural laws that don't change over time (at least, not on human timescales) are a sine qua non for the improvement of our condition. Because they're reliable, we can learn them, and contrive to exploit them for our benefit. Because they descend from a coherent conception of reality -- that is, God's conception -- they harmonize with one another, giving rise to ever wider and better understanding. And because they're natural, as opposed to the emissions of a temporal legislature, we don't have to worry about Congress making them more restrictive or expensive each year, the way it does with everything it touches.
Third and supreme above all other things is God's gift of His Son to Mankind. We needed a little help, and He gave it to us. God could have chosen far less appealing ways of pointing us down the proper path. He could have sculpted the moral laws to inflict actual suffering and damage on us whenever we might violate them, as Damon Knight wrote in his novella Rule Golden. He could have constrained our wills, making it impossible that we should ever act violently or fraudulently toward one another. Instead, He sent Jesus, the Prince of Peace, to teach us, suffer among us, and die at our hands. Not for His sake but for ours.
The glory of Mankind is how many of us have accepted His gifts, with heartfelt gratitude for all three.
The tragedy is how many have not.
The clash between those groups is the ultimate propellant of human history, not to be exhausted until the end of time itself.
I'm rather worn out just now. Lately I've been less well than usual, and the usual ain't no BLEEP!ing picnic. The world has been too much with me, as Eternity Road's Gentle Readers would likely know from the stuff I've posted lately. Finally, it took a tremendous effort to complete Which Art In Hope, and as pleased as I am with having come to the end of that journey, nevertheless it's left me somewhat "post-partum." I expect it will take a while for me to recover. So I hope you'll allow me a few days of (relative) silence, while I recharge my batteries and prepare for the year to come.
Merry Christmas, Gentle Readers. No matter what might befall us, individually or as a nation, may the joy of the Nativity be yours throughout the coming year.
And may God bless and keep you all.
Comments
Merry Christmas, Fran. Know that, when we (I think I can speak in confidence for your readers, here...and I _know_ I can speak for myself and the fellow-fan to whom I’m married) say that you’re entitled to whatever period of rest you need, it doesn’t mean we don’t want you back writing ASAP.
We can be selfish that way. Forgive us.
Posted by Matt on 12/25/2009 at 01:49 PMMerry Christmas, old friend! Hug the CSO and all the menagerie of the Fortress. Peace and blessings.
Posted by LizP on 12/25/2009 at 04:02 PMMerry Christmas, Mr. Porretto.
And if you take a few days off, I will have a chance to read Which Art in Hope.
Posted by on 12/25/2009 at 04:44 PMWhere can I find said book?
Posted by on 12/25/2009 at 05:24 PMDavid, it’s a two-step process:
1. Register as an Eternity Road Member;
2. Then apply (left sidebar, a little way from the top) to become a Novel Reader. I’ll approve it, and you’ll have access to the Novels section.Posted by Francis W. Porretto on 12/25/2009 at 05:28 PMMerry Christmas, Fran.
On your topic: do you suppose that has anything to do with the fact that the symbol for the conclusion of a syllogism is a triangle of three dots?
M
Posted by Mark Alger on 12/25/2009 at 06:42 PMOh, no, Mark. That’s one of the classic episodes in mathematical history. One day a geometry teacher, exasperated with a particularly slow and nearsighted student, drew that triangle of dots on the blackboard and asked the student, “How many dots are there?” The student squinted at the board, scratched his head, and said, “There’re four.”
And so mathematics history was made!
Posted by Francis W. Porretto on 12/25/2009 at 09:11 PM1. A dialetic: another set of threes.
2. Wish you balm for your aches, both mental and physical.
3. As we are almost of an age, have full sympathy on the physical.
4. Lack the wherewithal to be as afflicted mentally and spiritually, but respect your travail.
5. Keep up your fine postings.
V/R JWestPosted by on 12/26/2009 at 11:47 AMFran;
Heh.
M
Posted by Mark Alger on 12/26/2009 at 01:13 PMThree is an interesting number, 333 being associated with the divine, and the doubling of same the diabolical mocking of same (and a more infamous grouping of three of the same number would be hard to come by).
But enough of that.
It has been said, that an artist of any sort, gives up a part of him (or her)self in every completed work. Your passion(s) are evident in most everything you have honored us with, be it commentary, prose, or poetry.
So it is no surprise you should find yourself tapped to the dregs.
Recharge, regroup, refresh. We will be as we always are, content in what has been presented before us, and mindful of the fact you have much more on your plate, than just this particular side of yourself you allow us to see and share in.
Merry Christmas, and the Happiest of New Years!
Posted by Guy S. on 12/26/2009 at 01:29 PMMerry Christmas Fran,
Thank you for your wonderful gift of “Which Art in Hope”, and for your wonderful essays over the past year.
May the coming year be kind to both you and your family.
Posted by on 12/27/2009 at 07:35 PMBook of Armaments, Chapter 2, verses 9-21
And Saint Attila raised the hand grenade up on high, saying, “O Lord, bless this Thy hand grenade that with it Thou mayest blow Thine enemies to tiny bits, in Thy mercy.” And the Lord did grin and the people did feast upon the lambs and sloths and carp and anchovies and orangutans and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats and large chu...anyway… And the Lord spake, saying, “First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin, then shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceedest on to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.”
Posted by on 12/29/2009 at 10:21 AMWell, uh, yes.
Posted by Francis W. Porretto on 12/29/2009 at 10:32 AM
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