The Quill Newsletter

Issue II (March 2009)

Order of things

Intro

Poem

‘Am I Confused?’ by Daniel Levesque

Poem

‘Hulk’ by Luke Landtroop

Short story

‘Spirit of ‘78’ by Luke Landtroop

Commentary

I Am Legend starring Will Smith

Luke Landtroop

Perspectives

‘The Idea of Progress and Reactionary Reasoning’ by Luke Landtroop

‘Life or Living’ by Daniel Levesque

Influences

Outro

Well, fortunately, our endurance and inspiration has continued on long enough to allow the second installment of the Quill Newsletter. Hopefully, The Quill will remain onto a ripe old age. This month, little has changed. We will still strive to put up noteworthy and hopefully entertaining material, something that will doubtfully change as long as this lasts. That said, read to your heart’s content!

-Daniel Levesque

Am I Confused?

Daniel Levesque

Break the impression

Of feeling sad, or maybe rad

Its makes me mad

Sometimes

What’s the difference anyways

One brings you up, the other breaks you down

I’m fighting these colors

The sensations of others

To find my own

If I can break past these emotions

This oasis of mirages

Has induced all these barrages

I’m feeling upside down

Which may be right side up

Maybe it was right before

Time to stare out the door

Break it down, hoping for more

Call me red, or call me blue

It will depend on if I’m in the mood

If I’m ever not confused…

Hulk

Luke Landtroop

Worm-ridden cadaver
Of what was meant to fly
Over the gale-tossed spray
Now a repository of thieves

Black and crumbling bones
Hewn long ago from vanished wood
Latent verdancy extinguished
From the twilit forests of Albion

Sail-binding sinews frayed
Warped and rotten from neglect
Anchor-chain corrodes in the brine
Chained souls linger in the hold

Yet through an unofficial porthole
From the bowels of the moribund beast
The vernal mist-bound shores of home
Can yet be seen, if not remembered

Spirit of ‘78

Luke Landtroop

January, 1778

Across the glistening, ermine snow, below the overhanging grey of sky, stretched an errant track of crimson patches, irregular, yet following a clear path. At the end of the track was a man, plodding, head bent against the evanescent flurries of snow. To look at him, one would not have guessed that he was a soldier, but so he was. In the dead of winter he wore little more than a motley jumble of rags; bits of uniform and odd items of clothing ’borrowed’ from dead comrades. On his head was perched a dirty tricorn hat that was too small. In the drift-deep snow the man wore no shoes, only small scraps of cloth bound about his feet. At every step the surrounding whiteness was spattered with startling scarlet. It was fresh blood from the festering sores and frostbite that lay beneath the rags. Beneath what clothes the man had, he was a gaunt near-skeleton. The man’s face, which bore remnants of a feeble attempt to shave, showed that he was young. The man trudged forward, arms wrapped about his thin chest, vaguely trying to reach a cluster of log and earth cabins, from which wound slight wisps of weak smoke. The man reached a stand of straggling, naked black trees and collapsed against one of them. A racking cough enveloped his lungs, causing flecks of spittle mixed with red to spray onto the ragged scarf about his neck. The enfolding coldness of the snow was oddly comforting to the man, making his dazed mind wonder why he was trying to reach the shelter of the cabins. The man grunted, disgusted with himself, and shook his head madly. He turned pale blue eyes in the direction of the cabins and tried to focus his hazy vision on them, remember the warmth. From his position they appeared to be nebulous shadows, unreal imaginations. The man slapped his head vigorously to wake up. He turned his thoughts to memories of ’before’ to keep his mind from slumber. He saw in brilliant colors his father’s prosperous Virginia farm, where the meals had been simple but hearty, where he and his brothers played, innocently enough, at slaying Frenchmen and Indians, basking in the glorious southern sun. He remembered hearing of Concord and Lexington, his patriotic fervor, eagerness to fight for Virginia, for Virginia’s rights. He joined the Continental Army as soon as he could, scorning mere militia service. Even dying hadn’t seemed so bad then, being cut down instantaneously, gloriously, by an oppressors bullet. Not like now. He was dying sure enough, but slowly, agonizingly. Whether smallpox, typhus, or unadorned starvation, it didn’t much matter.

The young man thought now of his early days in the army. He had met many new kinds of men, Pennsylvanians, New Yorkers, New Englanders, Georgians, gaining as much knowledge of the outside world in a few months as he had in his whole life before. Gradually the realization came, first in shards that broke through his prior understanding, which grew and united into a glorious tapestry of truth. He became aware that he was fighting for something much grander than taxes or the rights of his own state. Nor were they fighting for mere independence, it was to preserve their ancient liberties, and perhaps expand upon them. The common fighting man was not ignorant of these things, they were bandied about camp, argued over, thought out.


Then there were the first battles. He discovered quickly that real war bore little if any resemblance to his boyhood games. The ominous thunder of artillery, the fiendish shriek of a flying ball, these sounds became ingrained in the soldier’s mind. The rolling crackle of musket fire was seared into his memory, from the first terrifying moment. But he had learned swiftly. He now knew the shock of having a comrade beside you torn to bloody shreds by an exploding shell, to feel a musket ball whiz by, brushing his hair. He still was afraid of course, but he could now control his fear. Whenever he felt it rising from the depths of his stomach into his throat, he fiercely stuffed it down and concentrated on the task ahead.. Now he joked and ribbed along with the others before each encounter with the enemy.
The enemy. Long lines of men in red coats, marching in perfect order to the drum’s beat. These were no savage Indians or foreign Frenchmen. They were Englishmen, just as the soldier and all those he knew had considered themselves until very recently. He still had not learned to hate them, as some had. It was not the ’lobsterback’ who was the oppressor, he was only the symbol and front of the oppression. Besides, the American cause had friends in England as well, such as the great statesman Edmund Burke. No, he would not hate them, only fight them.

Then came the great event that occurred a year and a half ago. Representatives from each state had convened and declared their colonies independent of Britain. It was a time of much soaring patriotic rhetoric and enthusiasm. A year and a half ago. Then they had come to this place, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. They arrived on December 17th and had been there over a month, and it had been the hardest time of the soldier’s young life. They had little food, few shoes, and no warm clothing. It had been a dreary Christmas a few weeks ago. Gone, vanished like the autumn leaves, was the jaunty jingoism of ’76. For most it was replaced by black dejection, sinking into a pit of despair. Enlistments began to expire, and many took advantage of it, few feeling up to holding on as the officers pled with them to.

The young soldier’s enlistment had expired a few days ago. He had waited, trying to make up his mind. He had made his decision after bitter wracking of his mind. He had rationalized it; he was sick, he needed to go home. He remembered the empty stares of his bunk mates as he had packed his slender bundle of belongings. He had pretended not to notice, and had tried to focus on home, food, and the sun’s friendly warmth. He had left camp, fooling himself into thinking that he was light-hearted and felt nothing but joy at doing so. As he had trekked across the snow, trying to ignore the cold steel bite of the snow on his feet, unbidden thoughts had crowded into his mind: his father admonishment him to be a good soldier echoed hollowly in his brain. Vivid visions of his best friend lying on a cot, leg blown off and infected, begging someone to save him, flashed before his eyes. Unwittingly he had slowed his pace, his legs beginning to feel like bars of iron. He saw again his friends’ stares, piercing him like darts. Were they resentful, envious? Angrily he had shoved the thoughts away, again and again, to no avail. Was he abandoning them? Was he betraying the cause? Suddenly his strength was sapped, he had stopped dead and turned around. The camp was no longer in sight. His mind was a battlefield, torn between two opposing forces. What good would it do to go back?, he reasoned. One more half-dead man wouldn’t matter much. But the rationale was overcome by the images of comrades, dead and dying. Almost without knowing it, the soldier had started back, dragging one tortured foot in front of the other. Every step was new torment. Several times he stopped, unable to continue for coughing. More thoughts came, mental demons vigorously assuring him that it was hopeless, there was no way that he would make it back. But their was a tiny spark, a flame that said, maybe…

And that was how he had come to sit, completely exhausted, against the bare tree amidst the snow. He knew he would not go any further. A bitter laugh, sounding like pained grunt, squeezed past his cracked lips. What good had it done, trying to come back? He was going to die, how would that help his friends, or the cause? Then he remembered the spark, the maybe. The soldier eased a hand into his jacket and withdrew a worn pocket Bible. With shaking fingers he opened the frayed pages at random to the book of Job. He read the first verse his eyes lighted upon.

‘Though he slay me, yet will I trust him.’

Then it all became clear. It was not a matter of living or dying, success or failure, it was about trying. He had not won a battle for freedom or saved the colonies by coming back. But he had tried. This was what it was about, not glory or enthusiasm, though they had their place. Now it was about simply trying as hard as one could, despite evil odds and apparent defeat. It was about holding on. It was about… The soldier fumbled on the ground beside him, found a stick, and cleared snow from a small patch of dark, sodden loam. He scratched about in the dirt then dropped the twig. The soldier flipped to the Psalms and read a few, then replaced the Bible. Once again he turned his eyes to the direction of the camp, nothing but blurs now. He opened his mouth and tried to shout. It came out as a groan that ended in more coughing. He actually smiled in fatal amusement at his weakness. He felt curiously warm, and knew the end was near. He closed his eyes and breathed his last prayer. A darkness began on the periphery of his vision. It grew slowly till all that remained was a beam of pure white light surrounded by blackness, and in that pinpoint of light the young soldier saw. He saw what his death meant, what was to come of… trying.

When they found him the next day, he had a wide smile on his pale face, and there was a single word scraped into the soil.

HOPE

I Am Legend starring Will Smith

Luke Landtroop

When much of today's pop culture is abysmally vulgar in an attempt to be clever or insipid in an attempt to be wholesome, it is refreshing when something comes along that is both an artistic masterpiece and an affirmation of the best of truly human values. Such was the Lord of the Rings motion picture trilogy by Peter Jackson, and so, I am glad to say, was I Am Legend, a post-apocalyptic horror film starring Will Smith.

Since the film has been on DVD for some time I will not get into much plot summary but simply make some observations on the film as a work that is truly moral in that deep sense that Russell Kirk meant when he spoke and wrote of "the moral imagination." A writer at LewRockwell.com actually called it "The Coolest Christian Movie Ever." While the film is certainly not out to proselytize, it is full of Christian themes and subtly Christian imagery. When Robert Neville, the protagonist, is rescued from rabid mutant humans by Anna, a crucifix is seen hanging from her rearview mirror. When Anna and her son Ethan finally arrive at the survivor's colony and the haven's gates are opened a church is prominent in the background.

There are more explicit depictions of spiritual themes, though. There is the prayer shared by Neville and his wife and daughter as they prepare to evacuate New York. His wife prays aloud for the Lord to watch over Neville and keep him safe as he remains as a military scientist in the city to seek a cure for the manmade virus that is destroying humanity. Later, when Anna expresses her horror with "My God!," Neville tells her "God didn't do this, we did." evoking the tragedy of scientific promise gone awry. The cancer-curing virus had been seen as a miraculous breakthrough before its sinister effects manifested. Anna claims that God told her about the survivor's colony though she has no proof and Neville, on the verge of despair, tells her that there is no God. Anna replies that all one has to do to hear the voice of God is listen. It turns out that Anna is right.

But the strongest Christian characteristic of this movie is found in the character of Robert Neville himself, who is indeed a kind of Christ figure, albeit a vulnerable, flawed, and very human one. While it is Anna who most visibly demonstrates love of her son, faith in God, and hope for the future, Neville too, despite his apparent despair and lack of belief in God, exhibits those three attributes most dear to Christianity. The fact that he remains in the city, continuing to seek a cure, shows that he has faith and hope that somehow he can find a solution and restore humanity. His determination must be grounded in a sort of love for his fellow men, even in their corrupted state, as he could easily leave the city and live out his life in peace.

Neville's Christlike nature is most clearly demonstrated in his final realization that the cure for the curse is in his own blood, and sacrifices himself both for Anna and Ethan and the mutant cannibalistic humans who are trying to kill them. The idea of the ability of the blood of a sacrificial victim to redeem a hopelessly corrupted humanity is the single element that most strongly characterizes I Am Legend as a Christian story. When he sacrifices himself, Neville tells a protesting Anna that he is finally listening to the voice of God as she admonished him to do.

I am no expert on cinematics, but suffice to say that the film struck me as beautifully effective visually. Mechanically speaking, I think the best thing about the movie was Will Smith's absolutely brilliant performance. It was an inspired portrayal of human need and the depths of human emotion. The film is heartbreaking and of course frightening, but it is the most vivid and moving portrayal of the idea of hope I have seen in a movie since The Lord of the Rings. It deeply moved and affected me like no other movie has done for a long time. Some might think I am stretching the point, but I feel this is the kind of movie that can actually change the way one looks at life. I certainly intend to never take my fellow humans, especially those close to me, for granted. Not that I ever did, but the experience that I Am Legend provides reaffirms that resolution.

The Ideas of Progress and Reactionary Reasoning

Luke Landtroop

In his work, Ideas Have Consequences, Richard Weaver mentions more than once a particular idea which he refers to as the “Whig theory of history.” This is the idea that the course of man’s journey through time has been one of constant social, ethical and technological improvement. This idea has received the illustrious christening of Progress. Essentially, the idea of Progress is the historical counterpart of scientific Darwinism. This theory carries the implication that change is valuable for its own sake, that all that has come before is outdated, archaic, and to be unreservedly discarded. According to this idea, Progress is the product of vast and inevitable social and economic forces, which no action of individuals or groups of persons can avoid. Those who attempt to slow progress, that is, to preserve beliefs or lifestyles held from time immemorial are viewed as unenlightened irritants, and are branded reactionaries. Those who subscribe to this idea of Progress believe that the civil government and societal structure are to be its faithful instruments. However, I am firmly convinced that the idea of capital ’p’ Progress is a fable, and that the goal of government and society is not to facilitate some ephemeral concept of Progress, but rather to achieve the best balance possible between opposite poles

I think it is profitable to examine the word ‘progress’ a little closer. To ‘progress’ is simply to move towards something. You can ‘progress’ towards a burning building or the edge of a canyon. Things can become “progressively worse“. Yet today, how many times do we hear leaders say, “We are making progress!” Is it of no importance what we are progressing towards?

A few historical examples will greatly illuminate the point I am attempting to make. The French Revolution, which was initially hailed by many as a bold and admirable stroke in the service of Progress, became a bloody debacle that horrified even the most progressive and liberal minds of the day. Certainly there were abuses under the Old Regime, but the attempt to overthrow, rather than ameliorate, the established order, became much worse, and in the end led to Napoleonic tyranny. In what is popularly called the American Civil War, slavery, which was assuredly an evil stain upon the land, was ended, but at the cost of state sovereignty and the system of government laid down by the Founding Fathers.

So we see that there is no unadulterated Progress, but that when we attempt radical measure to achieve what may be a desirable end, we risk losing something just as valuable, if not more so. As John Randolph of Roanoke forcefully declared, “Change is not reform!” Here is shown the value of what I call, “Reactionary Reasoning.” The wise scholar of society realizes that whenever the balance of order is disrupted in an attempt to attain a feat of “Progress”, chaos can ensue. While moderate reform is necessary and desirable, we must establish safeguards for the treasured heritage and hard-earned freedoms before we embark on a crusade. The cost must be weighed, and sometimes reform must be rejected in favor of continuity and preservation of better things. The real objective of society is not everlasting movement towards some ultimate paradise, but a prudent balance between liberty and order, justice and mercy, prosperity and morality.

Civilizations and cultures rise and fall, not by impersonal, unavoidable forces, but by the conscious decisions and ruling passions of human beings. To believe that we are destined to progress infinitely in every way is sheer, incautious, arrogance. Certainly we are much more advanced technologically than at any point in history, but that does not mean that the ancient canons of spirituality and morality are outmoded, or that we may discard the ways of our ancestors without a second thought. We must always cultivate the virtue of historical humility, and realize that we see so far because we stand upon the shoulders of giants.

Life, or Living

Daniel Levesque

In this world that we live in, life appears in an almost overabundance. We live in a world filled with life; with thousands, millions, billions of lives and lifetimes fill every corner of the earth. There is a question that many, many have asked, and the answer in itself has never been completely answered.

We live in a very different culture from the one that the people of a hundred years before us knew. We are surrounded with technology, immersed with a way of living that would seem impossible, unreachable by those merely one or two generations before us. There are, like everything else that anyone must face in life, benefits and disadvantages to this fact.

But, one of the biggest disadvantages of them all, has the greatest question attached along with it. In this world and culture that fills our every waking moment; there is a question, one that deserves an answer. The question is simple, but, unfortunately, the answer is not.

We have more benefits, more advantages then any other time in the history of mankind has. Technology and the higher value of human life has given us privileges that we have never had before. For example, the privilege to…enjoy life. Sounds quite simple. But, for thousands of years, all humanity never had that option to choose.

And yet, how much of that option have we truly chosen? The many aspects of this modern world give us so many more ways to turn away from just trying to survive. Really, very few have to worry about just surviving, at least in this country. But still, as a culture, we seem to be more trapped in that mentality then many times even before us.

Entertainment and leisure in its true form has become so irrelevant for so many. Work, business, and the channels of bread-earning have become so much more important, that many people have turned away from other things. Ironically, this was not the way it was in the recent generations of past times. In the times past, there was so much more required of them all, when it was so much harder to live, and when survival was a little more of a reality then it is today.

However, that did not change those in that time from enjoying life for what it was. The realization that life is not just to survive, not just to earn money, or to work. That is living, but, it is not life. Life is not just surviving, or just doing the things that spell of survival. The irony is that when the time comes that life can be truly enjoyed, the elements of surviving have only became so much more important to our culture.

Why is it, that in this time that we have so much more time, so many more commodities to help us and allow us to enjoy the beauty of the world around us, that we have only become even more busy? Too busy to stop and smell the roses. Too busy to enjoy this day, the day that we will never have the opportunity to enjoy again. Too busy to sit down, stop, and see the true gloriousness all around us. Why is that?

The question we must answer is, why are all of us guilty of this way of life? Unfortunately, it’s not a question that can be answered that easily. But, we are all capable of realizing the relevance of it. Just looking to the day ahead of us, for the next weekend, the next paycheck…. That is not what life is about, that is only living.

The time comes when just being able to live is not always enough. And, we are blessed to live in a time that we don’t have to worry about being forced with that. Now, the question is, will we take advantage of it? The time has come. Live life, like there is no tomorrow. And perhaps the time to enjoy what we have been blessed with is here.

Influences

Daniel Levesque

Book: ‘1984’ by George Orwell

Movie: ‘The Prestige’

Music Album: ‘Absolution’ by Muse

Luke Landtroop

Book: ‘The Paradise War’ by Stephen R. Lawhead

Movie: ‘A Beautiful Mind’

Music Album: ‘Noble Beast’ Andrew Bird

And this is how we bring the second installment of The Quill to a close. I hope that it has been an enjoyment, and don’t forget to check back! Next month we plan to integrate a new format for the newsletter that will make navigating in much easier. Till then!

Daniel Levesque