Death and Life mere chimaeras?

http://majorityoftwo.blogspot.com/2009/06/our-little-lives.html

The surrealism and unreality of the corporeal life is necessarily that, when the soul is not connected to G-d in its earthly sojourn, an odyssey wherein we are tested to search and find that cleaving and m,any have claimed to have secured that cleaving among the saints in finding the reality behind the facade.The rest is the sleep and the unreality and the dreams that Gurdjieff writes of. The false temples mankind has so magnificently erected over the millenniums.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,As I foretold you, were all
spirits, andAre melted into air, into thin air:And like the baseless fabric of
this vision,The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,The solemn temples,
the great globe itself,Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,And, like this
insubstantial pageant faded,Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuffAs dreams
are made on; and our little lifeIs rounded with a sleep.... Prospero, "The
Tempest", by William Shakespeare

Enjoy your lives, cherish your family and
friends, appreciate all the things you have -- no matter what their value. And
remember to value yourself too, because you really are unique -- one of a
kind.

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”... Oscar Wilde

Korczak -naively romantic about children?

http://korczak.com/Biography/kap-7.htm

Ten year old boys have sharp ears and discerning senses to ferret out thwe "ring of a ciounterfeit coin" and could smell misplaced idealism. No more of bnaive romanticism about children.He was helpless at camp despite his reading those numerous books on child psychology.Note the descriptions of the most unlikely emerging boys. Note the variety of their characters and life situations illustrated by their descriptions.The most unlikely emerged as leaders,and the unruly were considerate of others.Note the gentle 12 year old Kruk,prince among the boys.A wholesome environment and the children blossomed. Look at these Jewish bastard boys more carefully, Korczak thought as the Polish peasant offered him his field to eat their meal. They are not the children you think they are. They are Jewish bastards who are not allowed to play in the city parks. Coachmen hit them with their whips, pedestrians push them off the sidewalks, superintendents chase them from their courtyards with brooms. These are not children, these are Moshkis- little Jews, yes. And not only aren´t you chasing them from under your trees, you are inviting them into your field." QUOTE The countryside brought out the poetry of the Polish and Yiddish languages as the city brought out the curses of both languages.janusz Korczak had the ifrst chance to test the effectiveness of a children's newspaper.

It was his lowest moment: "I was not a novice in the educational field; I
had been tutoring for years and had read numerous books on child psychology. Yet
there I was helpless" confounded bv the mvstery of the šberschHE HE
eries."collective soul of a child´ s community." He had come filled with
"ideals," but the boys´ sharp ears had caught the "ring of a counterfeit coin."
Conspiracy, rebellion, teachtery, reprisals were life´s reply to his "reveries."
As he struggled to win the confidence of the campers, he knew he would never
again be naively romantic about children.
By the end of the first week, the
most unlikely boys had emerged as leaders and the most unruly ones began to show
consideration for others. Aaron, who had weak lungs and lived with his mother, a
factory worker, was in his glory recounting the fairy tales he had heard while
convalescing in the courtyard of his tenement. Weintraub, who lost a leg after
being shot on the street, had learned to play checkers in the hospital and
organized some tournaments. Chaim, the biggest troublemaker, always defended
Mordko, who had sad black eyes, was awkward at games, and conversed with a
cuckoo in the woods. Ugly Anzel came to be accepted as someone who had become
nasty and fat because of the mean way he had been treated by other children. And
the gentle nature of twelve- year-old Kruk, who already worked in a factory and
looked after his incorrigible eight-year-old brother at camp, won him the title
of Prince among the boys.
"In life there are two kingdoms," Korczak wrote.
"There is the kingdom of pleasure, balls, salons, and beautiful clothes, where
for centuries the richest, happiest, and laziest have been called princes. But
there is also that other kingdom of hunger, troubles, and hard work. its princes
know from early childhood how much a pound of bread costs, how to take care of
younger brothers and sisters, how to work. Kruk and his friends are princes in
the kingdom of sad thoughts and black bread-hereditary princes."
Korczak was
gratified to see how rapidly his young princes blossomed in that wholesome
environment: "Yesterday-a caveman; today-a good sport. Yesterday-timid, fearful,
solemn; a week later-bold, lively, bursting with initiative and song."
One
morning, as the children were on their way to a distant forest, they stopped to
eat by a railroad track. The cinders stirred up by the wind fell into their
breakfast. A peasant passing by said: "Children, don´t sit where it´s so dusty.
My field is much nicer."
"But if we walk on your land, we´ll trample
whatever is growing there," one child replied."Oh, how much harm can you do if
you´re barefoot? Go along. It´s my field, I give you permission."Korczak, the
counselor, was moved by the offer. He was thinking:"Oh, Polish peasant, look at
those boye more closely. They are not the children you think they are. They are
Jewish bastards who are not allowed to play in the city parks. Coachmen hit them
with their whips, pedestrians push them off the sidewalks, superintendents chase
them from their courtyards with brooms. These are not children, these are
Moshkis- little Jews, yes. And not only aren´t you chasing them from under your
trees, you are inviting them into your field."
"What kind of things do you
do in Warsaw?" the peasant asked the boys. And he told them where they could
find the best berries.
Such encounters helped the young campers´ Polish as
well as their spirits. They may have heard only Polish curses in Warsaw-"Jewish
bastards!" "Drop dead!" -but in the country, Korczak wrote, "the Polish language
smiles at the children with the greenness of the trees and the gold of the
wheat. It is mixed with birdsong, starlight, and fresh river breezes. Polish
words, like wild flowers, rearrange themselves into meadows."The same was true
for Yiddish-"so noisy and full of curses on the streets of Warsaw"-which became
softer, even poetic, as the children played together in the countryside.
The
campers were amazed when a W arsaw newspaper arrived with news about them on the
first page: "Mamelok climbed up to the window and looked into the kitchen;
Hawelkie and Szekielewski don>>t want to eat kasha; Boruch had a fight
with his brother Mordko; Butterman forgave Yemen for hitting him; the new dog
escaped his chain, but Franek grabbed him." There were also articles about the
joys of going barefoot in the country, and the history of summer camps.
The
older boys caught on that the counselors had written the paper, but the little
ones were very impressed that their activities were being reported in Warsaw.
And Janusz Korczak, whose idea it was, had his first chance to test the
effectiveness of a children"s newspaper.

Korczak International News: Creating a Korczak Prize in Burundi

Korczak International News: Creating a Korczak Prize in Burundi

Janusz Korczak learns in practice the art of discipline.

http://korczak.com/Biography/kap-7.htm

The camp was for 3 weeks and Janusz was their counselor and the 10 year boys were apprehensive and somewhat fearful, far from an ideal picture of youth , and his ideals of child behavior were quickly tested and then he had to administer discipline to the reality they created.

"There for the first time I came in touch with a community of children and learned the alphabet of educational practice. " The camp was 80 miles from Warsaw and funded by an assimilated Jewish philanthropist.Polish was the stipulated language spoken and heard on the gramophone,the culture the Russians were trying to obliterate. Korczak,the bungling Gulliver in the world of Lilliputians, his portrayal in his humorous and moving book, depicted himself unprepared for the raucous and wild behavior of the boys. Having complete freedom to create his own program of games, swimming, excursions, and storytelling, he had blithely concentrated on locating a gramophone, a magic lantern, fireworks, checkers, and dominoes.(QUOTE) He was searching for warm memories from the hungry,disabused and disinherited. There was a menacing mob to keep under control. It was then he learned that keeping order depends entirely upon the ability to anticipate -"having foreseen, it is possible to prevent." (QUOTE)

He was tested by their noises in the semi dark dormitory at night to test his reactions.Korczak rose to the challenge and grabbed a bold whistler and pulled his ears in punishing his act.

Summer CampsThey start to laugh with a different laugh than the one they had in
the city.-Moshki, Joski, and Srule

One summer day in 1907, Janusz
Korczak, dressed in sports clothes, stood in the large courtyard of the Summer
Camps Society and watched as one hundred and fifty poor Jewish boys arrived for
what would be their first trip to the country. He noted the boys who came with
families and those who straggled in alone, the ones who were clean and those who
were neglected; he noted their apprehensiveness as they said final goodbyes for
three weeks, and their fearfulness and shyness as they lined up in pairs. He
knew they were wondering what kind of counselor he´d be -one who was strict or
one they could hoodwink.
Having volunteered his services to the camp society
while in medical school, he valued the opportunity it offered to work with
children outside of a hospital environment. The camp to which he was assigned,
about eighty miles from Warsaw, had been funded by an assimilated Jewish
philanthropist, with the stipulation that only Polish be spoken. Forbidden
Polish music and patriotic songs were played on the gramophone as a way of
exposing the children to the Polish national culture and history that the
Russians were still trying to obliterate. in the humorous and moving book he
wrote about his experiences with those ten-year-old boys, Moshki, Joski, and
Srule (diminutives of typical Jewish names), Korczak portrayed himself as a
bungling Gulliver in the land of streetwise Lilliputians who taught him
everything he knew about the young: "There for the first time I came in touch
with a community of children and learned the alphabet of educational practice.
Rich in illusions, lacking in experience, sentimental, and young, I believed
that the mere fact that i wanted to achieve something with children was enough."
The thirty children assigned to him had seemed a reasonable number because he
did not as yet understand the skill he would need to keep the "menacing mob"
under control. Having complete freedom to create his own program of games,
swimming, excursions, and storytelling, he had blithely concentrated on locating
a gramophone, a magic lantern, fireworks, checkers, and dominoes.
"There I
was, like someone wearing kid gloves and a carnation in bis buttonhole, setting
out in search of enchanting impressions and warm memories to be got from the
hungry, abused, and disinherited," he wrote. "I wanted to discharge my duties at
the cost of little more than a few smiles and cheap fireworks . . . I expected
their friendliness and was unprepared for their shortcomings bred in the dark
alleys of city life."
When the boys made a wild dash from the train to the
horse-drawn carts waiting to take them to the camp, the new counselor had his
first moment of panic. The most aggressive ones claimed the best seats, the most
awkward lost their bags, prayer books, and toothbrushes, and there was
pandemonium before everyone was finally accounted for. It was then he learned
that keeping order depends entirely upon the ability to anticipate -"having
foreseen, it is possible to prevent." His nerves were on edge that first night.
One of the boys who was unaccustomed to sleeping alone on a narrow bed slid with
a thud off his freshly filled hay mattress onto the floor. Others moaned or
talked in their sleep. The next day was no better. When the boys weren´t
squabbling over seating at the tables or who slept where, or attacking each
other with belt buckles, they were baiting him with noises in the semidark
dormitory to see what he would do. Flustered by his inability to maintain either
discipline or order, he announced he would punish the next one who made a noise.
Grabbing "the bold whistler" who took up the challenge, Korczak pulled his ears,
and even threatened to lock him out on the veranda, where a fierce watchdog was
loose.

YARDSTICKS TO RATE GREAT PAST WORKS AND THE PRESENT ONES ALSO

http://needmoreshelves.blogspot.com/2009/06/nonfiction-files_24.html

To rate the great books of the past by an author's darker prejudices and then reject the book out of hand and not learn the great and engrossing themes thereby is in itself a form of "bigotry in literary or idea assessment of the work, Each author has a darker side albeit in agreement with our own or no.The work stands ipso facto on its own merits, not on our own moral assessments and we can learn the Weltanschauung of the age and author that gave that work birth and sustenance.

"The honest, educated reader, when tackling the towering literary works of
the past, now faces a different, though no less precarious task: how to
acknowledge an author's darker side without losing the ability to enjoy and
value the book. Prejudice is repellent, but if we were to purge our shelves of
all the great books tainted by one vile idea or another, we'd have nothing left
to read - or at least nothing but the new and blandly virtuous....In recent
years, it's gotten easier to write off complaints about how an author portrays
race, class, or gender as "political correctness", but that's just as facile as
reducing every author to the sum of his political beliefs; hatred and injustice
are wrong, not merely "incorrect"...But perhaps ethics are not all that counts,
or even what really counts, when it comes to reading stories. I have hated some
morally impeccable novels, and liked some reprehensible ones. I'm not convinced
that either kind has altered the moral underpinnings of my own life...Perhaps I
did not so much learn from these books as recognize my better self in them."In
any case, I'm still finding the book extremely interesting. I'm enjoying
learning more about the life of C.S. Lewis, and the work that went into writing
these beloved novels. And I don't feel betrayed or deceived by the darker side
of Narnia, or its author - I don't expect writers to be perfect people, even if
they write from a Christian viewpoint. I just want them to write great
books.

The middle section of this book - called Trouble in Paradise - deals with the author's initial discovery that Lewis' books have a strong Christian allegorical element, and her subsequent anger and disillusionment. She had decided that the Catholic church was not for her at a young age, and saw the Narnia books as a deception, trying to indoctrinate her into a belief system she had already rejected. She felt tricked and cheated. This might seem like an overreaction, but she was about 13 at the time, and overreacting is, after all, probably what 13-year-olds do best.

Posted by Elizabeth

Reviewing:

THE MAGICIAN'S BOOK is the story of one reader's long, tumultuous relationship with C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia. Enchanted by its fantastic world as a child, prominent critic Laura Miller returns to the series as an adult to uncover the source of these small books' mysterious power by looking at their creator, Clive Staples Lewis. What she discovers is not the familiar, idealized image of the author, but a more interesting and ambiguous truth: Lewis's tragic and troubled childhood, his unconventional love life, and his intense but ultimately doomed friendship with J.R.R. Tolkien.