Having started reading this book I am reminded of a David and Goliath moment in my business. Way back (before the year 2000) I had been subcontracted by a company X started by Craig Johnston to design the electronic communications for his automatic hotel minibar invention. The mechanical design was subcontracted to another company M which was an established industrial design house. The software to co-ordinate the minibars and charge the customer's account when a drink was removed was subcontracted to an established London software house S. Both M and S had teams working on the project whereas I was a sole trader. It soon became apparent that M also had interests in the electronics when they tried to exclude me. Meanwhile S appeared to be getting on well but when it came to demonstrating their software it had nice graphics but was clearly functionally not fit for purpose.
I took a David chance. I confronted M's manager telling him his electronics proposal was flawed but he didn't accept my judgement. I also did some hard thinking about S's software issues. As a result I approached my boss, the manager of X, warning him of M's flawed electronics proposal explaining that my design would work better and be cheaper. And I offered to write software that would both be completed in advance of and out-perform S's. X hired an independent consultant to appraise my claims which were exonerated and I duly carried out my proposals within the agreed timescale. The resulting electronics and software were wholly satisfactory and faithfully ran the Butler system for many years.
Regrettably, after a number of years, the company X ceased trading when orders were lost when the UK and Ireland hotel trade suffered following the foot and mouth outbreak in 2001. Craig's apparent claim that he patented the design and now says between 15,000 and 20,000 Butlers have been sold must be exaggeration - I could believe in excess of 5,000 minibars with systems in perhaps 30 hotels throughout the UK and Ireland.
20190128
20190114
Three feasts and Ungit
This post is sort of a continuation of an earlier one.
A few miles from us there is a castle called Three Castles. The name is thought to be because this is the last remaining one of three: a second is visible on a historic map, the third is a mystery.
A few more miles and in the Wicklow Mountains is Three Lakes which, we are told, is a lake, although in fact there is a second smaller lake close by. But not three.
Denomination: a religious group that has slightly different beliefs from other groups that share the same religion. On that basis the church I go to, and a few others worldwide that are loosely connected, constitute a denomination. Except that they claim they are not denominational. The same argument might apply to the church my parents took me to as a child. And both claim to be the bees knees when it comes to doctrine - although at least one must be wrong.
What is 'different' about the church I go to is that it is "third feast" (as opposed to "third wave") as in the three feast periods mentioned in the Old Testament which loosely equate to the initial salvation experience (Passover), baptism in the Spirit (Pentecost) and going on to perfection (Tabernacles). This is of course a very simplistic summary. Perfection is not a new idea - John Wesley and all Methodists who adhere to his doctrine advocate it. Exactly what is meant by perfection is another thing. Some have claimed that, on reaching "perfection" they would in this life live forever, although I have not yet noticed anyone doing this. And anyway there is something decidedly fishy about claiming oneself is perfect.
It's not that I disagree with the third feast idea. For one thing it sets a vision of holiness (perfection) to which one can at least aspire even if without divine help it is humanly impossible. But I've heard this preaching for around 40 years and do not see a corresponding amount of progress. Not in my life anyway. Whilst a believer can and doubtless should experience the first two, the third remains obstinately in the future. And yet I want to go on, to become better, I want it to have been true that I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.
Long ago, when we were living in London, I remember there was teaching in our group on likening our Christian journey to the children of Israel travelling from Egypt (code-name for the world system) to the promised land. This teaching continued over many weeks and then one day the preacher reckoned we were actually entering the promised land. But nothing that I noticed had changed, and it left me anticlimactic, like, what next? It also taught me not to trust preachers.
Presently the little door on my right opened and a woman, a peasant, came in... She looked as if she had cried all night, and in her hands she held a live pigeon. One of the lesser priests came forward at once, took the tiny offering from her, slit it open with his stone knife, splashed the little shower of blood over Ungit... The peasant woman sank down on her face at Ungit's feet. She lay there a very long time, so shaking that anyone could tell how bitterly she wept. But the weeping ceased. She rose up on her knees and put back her hair from her face and took a long breath...
"Has Ungit comforted you, child?" I asked.
"Oh yes, Queen," said the woman, her face almost brightening, "Oh yes. Ungit has given me great comfort. There's no goddess like Ungit."
"Do you always pray to that Ungit," said I (nodding toward the shapeless stone), "and not to that?" Here I nodded towards our new image, standing tall and straight in her robes and (whatever the Fox might say of it) the loveliest thing our land has ever seen.
"Oh, always this, Queen," said she. "That other, the Greek Ungit, she wouldn't understand my speech. She's only for nobles and learned men. There's no comfort in her."
Lewis's Till we have Faces is his most pertinent fiction. If you, his reader, do not immediately identify with Orual's introversion then you're made of sterner stuff than I am. As usual in his fiction, Lewis wisely leaves it to the reader to elaborate. We cannot tell if the comfort this peasant woman gained was real or just a product of her sub-conscience but, either way, the new fangled, painted, Greek image of Ungit didn't do the trick. And maybe new fangled teaching isn't working for me apart from some small admiration for its colourful paintwork. I'll be denounced heretical for this admission no doubt. Perhaps my problem is unbelief, of which the Bible has many negative things to say. But I have tried to believe - help thou my unbelief.
Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me. I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.
 |
| Three Castles |
A few miles from us there is a castle called Three Castles. The name is thought to be because this is the last remaining one of three: a second is visible on a historic map, the third is a mystery.
 |
| Three Lakes |
A few more miles and in the Wicklow Mountains is Three Lakes which, we are told, is a lake, although in fact there is a second smaller lake close by. But not three.
Denomination: a religious group that has slightly different beliefs from other groups that share the same religion. On that basis the church I go to, and a few others worldwide that are loosely connected, constitute a denomination. Except that they claim they are not denominational. The same argument might apply to the church my parents took me to as a child. And both claim to be the bees knees when it comes to doctrine - although at least one must be wrong.
What is 'different' about the church I go to is that it is "third feast" (as opposed to "third wave") as in the three feast periods mentioned in the Old Testament which loosely equate to the initial salvation experience (Passover), baptism in the Spirit (Pentecost) and going on to perfection (Tabernacles). This is of course a very simplistic summary. Perfection is not a new idea - John Wesley and all Methodists who adhere to his doctrine advocate it. Exactly what is meant by perfection is another thing. Some have claimed that, on reaching "perfection" they would in this life live forever, although I have not yet noticed anyone doing this. And anyway there is something decidedly fishy about claiming oneself is perfect.
It's not that I disagree with the third feast idea. For one thing it sets a vision of holiness (perfection) to which one can at least aspire even if without divine help it is humanly impossible. But I've heard this preaching for around 40 years and do not see a corresponding amount of progress. Not in my life anyway. Whilst a believer can and doubtless should experience the first two, the third remains obstinately in the future. And yet I want to go on, to become better, I want it to have been true that I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.
Long ago, when we were living in London, I remember there was teaching in our group on likening our Christian journey to the children of Israel travelling from Egypt (code-name for the world system) to the promised land. This teaching continued over many weeks and then one day the preacher reckoned we were actually entering the promised land. But nothing that I noticed had changed, and it left me anticlimactic, like, what next? It also taught me not to trust preachers.
Presently the little door on my right opened and a woman, a peasant, came in... She looked as if she had cried all night, and in her hands she held a live pigeon. One of the lesser priests came forward at once, took the tiny offering from her, slit it open with his stone knife, splashed the little shower of blood over Ungit... The peasant woman sank down on her face at Ungit's feet. She lay there a very long time, so shaking that anyone could tell how bitterly she wept. But the weeping ceased. She rose up on her knees and put back her hair from her face and took a long breath...
"Has Ungit comforted you, child?" I asked.
"Oh yes, Queen," said the woman, her face almost brightening, "Oh yes. Ungit has given me great comfort. There's no goddess like Ungit."
"Do you always pray to that Ungit," said I (nodding toward the shapeless stone), "and not to that?" Here I nodded towards our new image, standing tall and straight in her robes and (whatever the Fox might say of it) the loveliest thing our land has ever seen.
"Oh, always this, Queen," said she. "That other, the Greek Ungit, she wouldn't understand my speech. She's only for nobles and learned men. There's no comfort in her."
Save me, O God! For the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in deep mire, where there is no foothold; I have come into deep waters, and the flood sweeps over me. I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.
20190113
Attractors
In the field of dynamical systems an attractor is a set of numerical values toward which a system tends to evolve, so says Wikipedia. An example is the lowest point of a damped, swinging pendulum to which the pendulum gravitates.
I've noticed during my barefoot runs (on the road), that the probability of vehicles converging from opposite directions and wanting to pass just where I am, sometimes causing me to jump onto the verge and take what thistles, brambles and stinging nettles come my way, seems to be higher than statistics should predict. Thus it appears as if I'm an attractor. Of vehicles.
This lunch time I wanted to go into the kitchen - there are two doorways between our dining area and kitchen. I headed for the nearest one and found two women nattering and blocking the doorway. As this is a frequent occurrence I simply went towards the other door but, lo and behold, another knot of the female variety were blocking that one too. I considered the long way of going outside and trying to enter by the kitchen's outside door but thankfully the knot rearranged itself sufficiently for me, carrying my stack of dirty dishes, to squeeze past. It appears therefore that doorways are attractors. Of women.
Not wishing to be unduly sexist, for all I know it may be (although I have not observed it) that men also like to talk in doorways but that it is a less common occurrence because, generally, men natter less than women.
I've noticed during my barefoot runs (on the road), that the probability of vehicles converging from opposite directions and wanting to pass just where I am, sometimes causing me to jump onto the verge and take what thistles, brambles and stinging nettles come my way, seems to be higher than statistics should predict. Thus it appears as if I'm an attractor. Of vehicles.
This lunch time I wanted to go into the kitchen - there are two doorways between our dining area and kitchen. I headed for the nearest one and found two women nattering and blocking the doorway. As this is a frequent occurrence I simply went towards the other door but, lo and behold, another knot of the female variety were blocking that one too. I considered the long way of going outside and trying to enter by the kitchen's outside door but thankfully the knot rearranged itself sufficiently for me, carrying my stack of dirty dishes, to squeeze past. It appears therefore that doorways are attractors. Of women.
Not wishing to be unduly sexist, for all I know it may be (although I have not observed it) that men also like to talk in doorways but that it is a less common occurrence because, generally, men natter less than women.
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