Doing Good Something Well

A man and a woman sat in the teachers' lounge in mid-afternoon, sharing a pot of tea and arguing about the English language. The man, a science teacher, had been grading essays on Einstein's work in the field of electromagnetism when he'd been stumped by what he thought to be a grammatical error on the part of a student. In a new initiative to approach education in a more holistic manner, their principal had been promoting "cross-training", as he called it, among subjects. History teachers were encouraged to include simple math problems on tests. Math teachers were tasked to integrate the complex numerical elements of composers like Bach into their lessons. It was even suggested to gym teachers that they conduct annual chariot games and assign each student a classical name like Diagoras or Astylos. Many teachers hadn't fully bought into the concept yet; but some were trying.

The science teacher repeated his question again, at the request of his colleague, an English teacher. "Is it he did something good OR he did something well?"

The woman, an English teacher, turned her head to the side once more. "I honestly think they're both right," she said after some deliberating.

The man let out a chuckle. "Well, now, isn't that very post-modern of you? Einstein would have been disappointed."

"I thought Einstein was Mr. Relativity," she asked. "Why would he be offended by something seeming equivocal?"

Shaking his head, the science teacher replied, "No, no, no… Einstein's theories of relativity are not about being equivocal or wishy-washy or any of this new-age mumbo jumbo. You may be surprised to know that Einstein was chiefly concerned with the Absolute."

"How so?"

"Take special relativity, for instance," he said. "The term relativity comes from the relationship between space and time. These two things are indeed relative. But Einstein discovered this characteristic not by a weakened view of either component… but rather by his strengthened view of another component: light. Light, he determined, travels at 186,282 miles per second no matter who is observing it, no matter where they're observing it from, and no matter how fast they are going when they observe it. You could say that he took 'absolute' to a whole new level."

"So what is your question about grammar again?"

"Right… good or well? Well or good? Which is right?"

"Both."

A slight grin formed on one side of his face. "Are you absolutely certain about that?"

"Yes. Because it's not the contradiction you think it is. You think the two sentences sound weird because grammatically they're completely different. The terms good and well are different parts of speech and, thus, play totally different roles in your sentences."

"Like time traveling twins who were born at the same time but meet later in life having lived completely different spans of time?"

"I highly doubt it. 'Good' is an adjective, which means that it modifies a noun. 'Well', on the other hand, is an adverb, meaning that it modifies some other part of speech besides a noun… often a verb."

"Holistic approach my ass…"

"Think about it this way- The phrase 'he did something good' would be an acceptable answer if the question were 'what did he do?' On the other hand, the phrase 'he did something well' would be an acceptable answer if the question where 'how did he do it?' How and what are completely different questions, requiring vastly different answers.  Because of this, both options are reasonable correct in a certain situation."

"Hmm. That makes a fair amount of sense, I suppose. But what about this one… if I wanted to combine these two 'acceptable' answers into one, would I say 'he did something good well' or 'he did something well good'?"

The English teacher frowned deeply. Now she was stumped.

Within moments a philosophy teacher in the corner perked up and joined the conversation. "I think the one who asks the question which calls for one of your two responses is mistaken in his fundamental assumptions about the human condition."

The science teacher and the English teacher turned to him. They were going to need another cup of tea.

The philosophy teacher continued, "We humans have the capacity, you see, to do something good and also the capacity to do something well. But these capacities are, as a general rule, mutually exclusive. One can seek to conduct himself in a way that brings about a good end result OR one can seek to conduct himself in a way that gets to results (whatever they may be) in the most efficient manner possible. But the closer you move towards pursuing one, the farther you become from the other. It's a fundamental tradeoff."

An excited thought leapt into the mind of the science teacher. "Like simultaneously determining both the location and the trajectory of a particle!" he exclaimed.

After pondering the thought for a moment, the philosophy teacher looked at him and said, "Exactly."

Things That Resound (Part V): The Weight of Glory

A thing resounds when it rings true

Ringing all the bells inside of you

Like a golden sky on a summer's eve

Your heart is tugging at your sleve

And you cannot say why

Part IV: The Weight of Glory

Excerpts from C.S. Lewis' essay The Weight of Glory...

I turn next to the idea of glory. There is no getting away from the fact that this idea is very prominent in the New Testament and in early Christian writings. Salvation is constantly associated with palms, crowns, white robes, thrones, and splendour like the sun and stars(...) When I began to look into this matter I was shocked to find such different Christians as Milton, Johnson, and Thomas Aquinas taking heavenly glory quite frankly in the sense of fame or good report. But not fame conferred by our fellow creatures- fame with God, approval or (I might say) "appreciation" by God. And then, when I had thought it over, I saw this view was scriptural; nothing can eliminate from the parable the divine accolade, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." With that, a good deal of what I had been thinking fell down like a house of cards. I suddenly remembered that no one can enter heaven except as a child; and nothing is so obvious in a child as its great and undisguised pleasure in being praised. 
(...)
Perfect humility dispenses with modesty. If God is satisfied with the work, the work may be satisfied with itself. In the end that Face which is the delight or the terror of the universe must be turned upon each of us either with one expression or with the other, either conferring glory inexpressible or inflicting shame that can never be cured or disguised. I read in a periodical the other day that the fundamental thing is how we think of God. By God Himself, it is not! How God thinks of us is not only more important, but infinitely more important. 
(...)
To please God... to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness... to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as the artist delights in his work or a father in a son- it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain. But it is so.
(...)
We should hardly dare to ask that any notice be taken of ourselves. But we pine. The sense that in this universe we are treated as strangers, the longing to be acknowledged, to meet with some response, to bridge some chasm that yawns between us and reality, is part of our inconsolable secret. And surely, from this point of view, the promise of glory, in the sense described, becomes highly relevant to our deep desire. For glory means good report with God, acceptance by God, response, acknowledgement, and welcome into the heart of things. The door on which we have been knocking all our lives will open at last. 
Perhaps it is rather crude to describe glory as the fact of being "noticed" by God. But this is almost the language of the New Testament. St. Paul promises to those who love God not, as we should expect, that they will know Him, but that they will be known by Him. It is a strange promise. Does not God know all things at all times? But it is dreadfully re-echoed in another passage of the New Testament. There we are warned that it may happen to anyone of us to appear at last before the face of God and hear only the appalling words, "I never knew you. Depart from Me." In some sense, as dark to the intellect as it is unendurable to the feelings, we can be both banished from the presence of Him who is present everywhere and erased from the knowledge of Him who knows all. We can be left utterly and absolutely outside- repelled, exiled, estranged, finally and unspeakably ignored. On the other can, we can be called in, welcomed, received, acknowledged. We walk every on the razor edge between these two incredible possibilities.
(...)
We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put to words- to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. That is why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses and nymphs and elves- that, though we cannot, yet these projections can enjoy themselves that beauty, grace, and power of which Nature is the image. That is why the poets tell us such lovely false-image. They talk as if the west wind could really sweep into a human soul; but it can't. They tell us that "beauty born of murmuring sound" will pass into human face; but it won't. Or not yet. For if we take the imagery of Scripture seriously, if we believe that God will one day give us the Morning Star and cause us to put on the splendour of the sun, then we may surmise that both the ancient myths and the modern poetry, so false as history, may be very near the truth as prophecy. At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in (...) Nature is mortal; we shall outlive her. When all the suns and nebulae have passed away, each of you will still be alive. Nature is only the image, the symbol; but it is the symbol Scripture invites me to use. We are summoned to pass in through Nature, beyond her, into that splendour which she fitfully reflects. 
And in there, in beyond Nature, we shall eat of the tree of life. At present, if we are reborn in Christ, the spirit in us lives directly on God; but the mind and, still more, the body receives life from Him at a thousand removes- through our ancestors, through our food, through the elements. The faint, far-off results of those energies which God's creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures; and even thus filtered, they are too much for our present management. What would it be to taste at the fountainhead that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating? Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us. 
(...)
Meanwhile the cross comes before the crown and tomorrow is a Monday morning. A cleft has opened in the pitiless walls of the world, and we are invited to follow our great Captain inside. The following Him is, of course, the essential point. That being so, it may be asked what practical use there is in speculations which I have been indulging. I can think of at least one such use. It may be possible for each of us to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbor's glory should be laid on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations- these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit- immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously- no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner- no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object present to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour, he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also is Christ vere latitat- the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden.