‘Saving Mr. Banks’

     
And speaking of films, from Parabola magazine:

A remarkable film opened on Christmas Day called “Saving Mr. Banks,” about P.L. Travers, a founding editor of Parabola. Have a look at the trailer for the film here:





In honor of the occasion, Parabola will publish [on Facebook and the Parabola blog] material written by Pamela Travers that has appeared in Parabola over the years. Here is an excerpt from her essay “Remembering,” a lifelong pursuit of Something Else, from Summer 1991.


A Hebrew Myth, a potent element in the annals of the bees, tells us that when a child is born an angel takes it under his wing and recites the Torah to it. Having done that he puts his forefinger on the infant lip and says one word, “Forget!”

Clearly, every tradition has a similar angel, for where is the human creature who lacks indentation of the upper lip, that little valley of flesh where the same word has been so ineffaceably expressed? And, indeed, of necessity. For how, without forgetting, can remembering arise? And remembering leads to search.

Detail of painting ‘Tobias and the Angel’

by Raphael. National Gallery, London.

Maybe it needs another angel, though this time leaving no manifest mark, to set us on our way. Angels, anyway, thread through our lives, invisible presences, energies, messengers, bringers of dreams–not the hodge-podge of daily events–but those rare dreams of portent and revelation that can change the course of our lives. There are angels who walk beside us as Raphael walked with Tobias, pilgrim angels who carry bowls, not for begging at doors but to hold to our lips from time to time to refresh us with a taste of that emptiness which in their land is fullness. Such a draught–even the brush of an angel wing–can bring one to oneself, and thus to remembering; for without remembering we dream our life away and arrive at the end of it to find that there has been nobody there, the initiatory touch truly forgotten and never woken from. The way has been in us but we have not been on the way.

I cannot recall the time when I was not searching for a nameless unknown. Something Else, I called it as a child, and as that it is still known to me. The longing for it affected me most strongly at sundown, and I would weep, not allowing the grownups to comfort me, tenderly or testily, with assurances that the sun would surely rise in the morning. I knew that. But this unknown was clearly connected with it and seemed to depart with the sun.

As I grew, I learned to contain my sorrow, indeed–except at moments when an angel passed–entirely to forget it. Daily life needs its full share of the human creature’s two natures–the mind its inventions and imaginings, the heart its orchestra of feelings (oh, the drumbeats, the clarinets, the trombones!), flesh and blood their various feastings, in order to have the material to question and to know. Was it not this share that the Prodigal Son–and most of us are Prodigal Sons–set out with his portion to seek? And after, again like most of us, spending it–the revelings and the subsequent sufferings–he came at last to himself. Having forgotten, he had to remember, reminded, perhaps, by a passing angel, and knew he had to turn home.

The parable does not tell us much more. But can we suppose that he spent the rest of his life making merry and feeding on fatted calves? Would he not, after such an awakening, such a realization of his own unworth and at length such a welcome home, feel the need to search within for his essential self? Prodigal in all things, would he not submit himself to the fire of self-question, pursue the reparation of the past through the process of metanoia, and with this new energy stirring in him, apply himself to working in the patriarchal fields along with his elder brother who, significantly, never left him?

There is much to be said for that elder brother who is so often maligned. Clearly, having been told to forget he had very soon remembered that what he was searching for was to be found nowhere but at the father’s side.

Most of us have to go far before we find what is nearer than the neck vein, but the very distance draws one closer. For myself, Something Else no longer sets with the sun. Rather, the sun goes down in myself and I am lost in the twilight. O Forgetting, sustain my Remembering! Stay my feet, angels, upon the way, so that the seeker becomes the sought, and I, too, may be spied from afar as someone comes running to meet me.
     

‘You’ll Find Mathematics in the Darnedest Places’

     
First, an observation: Can you imagine Hollywood trying to teach Sacred Geometry to children today?

And closing the cartoon with Galileo’s quotation: “Mathematics is the alphabet with which God has written the universe.” Impossible.




Donald in Mathmagic Land was produced by Walt Disney Productions in 1959. It would become Disney’s first cartoon ever televised in color, in 1961, in “The Wonderful World of Color” series on NBC. It can be bought today on DVD for less than $10.

Three errors in this short, as pointed out by IMDB:


Despite this being a mathematical education film, a character incorrectly recites the value of the mathematical constant pi. The character states, “Pi is equal to 3.141,592,653,589,747, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” The correct value of pi (to the same number of digits) is actually 3.141,592,653,589,793. (The last two digits are different.)

During the “imagination” segment toward the end, the Spirit says to put a triangle in a perfect circle, and then turn the triangle. The image that results is a straight line that reaches both the top and bottom of the circle. There is no possible orientation that the original triangle could have to reproduce this visual effect in real life.

During the “slice the cone” scene, the Spirit says, “A slice like this, and you have a searchlight. A slice like this, the mirror of a giant telescope.” The actual cut made in the cone is a hyperbola, meanwhile both a searchlight and a telescope’s mirror are both parabolas. (The difference is that a parabola is made by making an exactly vertical slice in the cone, not an angled slice as depicted.)

But don’t let these detract from the fun.

(Trivia: Uncle Walt was born on this date in 1901.)

     

‘The Secret of Kells’

Magpie coverage of Masonic Week 2010 is in the works, and will be posted serially this week.

Courtesy The Blog of Kells.

A little known film from Ireland that hasn’t even been released yet in America has garnered an Academy Award nomination for Best Animated Feature, and I’d say every thinking Freemason should at least be aware of it. The Secret of Kells tells of Brendan, age 12, an apprentice of sorts who is initiated into the mysteries of the calligraphic art of illumination. His goal is to complete ‘The Book of Kells,’ that publishing marvel from about the eighth century, also known as the Book of Columba. The Catholic Encyclopedia says:

No words can describe the beauty and the extreme splendor of the richly colored initial letters, which are more profuse in the ‘Book of Kells’ than in any other manuscript. The only thing to which they can be compared is a bed of many colored crocuses and tulips or the very finest stained glass window, which they equal in beauty of coloring and rival in delicacy of ornament and drawing. The artist possessed a wonderful knowledge of the proportion of color and the distribution of his material – sienna, purple, lilac, red, pink, green, yellow, the colors most often used – and he managed the shading and tinting of the letters with consummate taste and skill. It is remarkable that there is no trace of the use of silver or gold on the vellum. Sometimes the colors are laid on in thick layers to give the appearance of enamel, and are here and there as bright and soft and lustrous as when put on fresh more than twelve hundred years ago. Even the best photographic and color reproductions give but a faint idea of the beauty of the original. Especially worthy of notice is the series of illuminated miniatures, including pictorial representations of the Evangelists and their symbols, the Blessed Virgin and the Divine Child, the temptation of Jesus, and Jesus seized by the Jews. These pictures reach their culminating point in what is, in some respects, the most marvelous example of workmanship that the world has ever produced, namely the full page monogram XPI which occurs in the text of the Gospel of St. Matthew. It is no wonder that it was for a long time believed that the ‘Book of Kells’ could have been written only by angels.

Not a bad review.

Regarding content, the Encyclopedia says the book is:

An Irish manuscript containing the Four Gospels, a fragment of Hebrew names, and the Eusebian canons, known also as the ‘Book of Columba,’ probably because it was written in the monastery of Iona to honor the saint. It is likely that it is to this book that the entry in the ‘Annals of Ulster’ under the year 1006 refers, recording that in that year the ‘Gospel of Columba’ was stolen. According to tradition, the book is a relic from the time of Columba (d. 597) and even the work of his hands, but, on paleographic grounds and judging by the character of the ornamentation, this tradition cannot be sustained, and the date of the composition of the book can hardly be placed earlier than the end of the seventh or beginning of the eighth century. This must be the book which the Welshman, Geraldus Cambrensis, saw at Kildare in the last quarter of the 12th century and which he describes in glowing terms. We next hear of it at the cathedral of Kells (Irish Cenannus) in Meath, a foundation of Columba’s, where it remained for a long time, or until the year 1541. In the 17th century Archbishop Ussher presented it to Trinity College, Dublin, where it is the most precious manuscript in the college library and by far the choicest relic of Irish art that has been preserved. In it is to be found every variety of design typical of Irish art at its best.

I have not seen this film, nor can I find solid information on any general or even limited release, which is amazing given the Oscar nomination. I really do look forward to seeing this though, because even a quick glance at the website reveals all kinds of esoteric and spiritual imagery and themes. The plot echoes countless hero myths. Its climax drips Manichean thinking. Visit the Image Gallery and behold the numerous depictions of familiar ritualistic elements, all beautifully stylized. There appears to be: sacred geometry (Fibonacci), a circle of union, a wizardly mentor/guide, a challenge to overcome fear and undertake a rough and rugged journey, and even a Jonah-like trial of being swallowed by a beast.

Of the film’s conclusion, the website suspensefully asks “Will Brendan succeed in his quest to illuminate the darkness and prove that enlightenment is the best fortification against barbarians?” Can you say “Rose Croix ritual?”

Disney trailer courtesy of Cartoon Saloon on Vimeo.

The name Brendan is the anglicized form of the Irish name Bréanainn, which in turn derives from the Welsh for “prince.” Saint Brendan, also known as “Brendan the Voyager,” was a sixth century Irish abbot who, legend says, crossed the Atlantic and reached North America with 17 other monks.