Body-text fonts, pt. 42: Monotype Garamond (or something close)

At the ripe old age of about sixty, Evelyn Waugh published A Little Learning, the first volume of his autobiography. It was his last book. Two years later, he died.

A Little Learning begins like this:

How’s that for eloquent weariness?

(There are Garamonds and Garamonds. I don’t know all of their histories. This is Monotype’s metal-type version or something close enough; the digitization is what everyone recognizes from Microsoft Word.)

Waugh’d be a challenge for me to read chronologically because I’ve gone through his early novels many times and his late works hardly at all. I’d have to make it past Brideshead and The Loved One to get to the really unfamiliar stuff. In the mid-1940s, Waugh began tackling a steeper grade than I’ve been able to climb at the breakneck pace he set in his comical works.

It’s better, perhaps, to try going backwards, to begin with sluggish, morbid despair and retrace the author’s path from initial breakneck hilarity (in its way, just as despairing).

Despair usually is a sin, but in Waugh’s case it may actually be a virtue.

Germany, Peru, Argentina

Katrina, my old friend, kindly writes:

When are you gonna post something about [the] Ecuador vs. Peru game? Will you post anything about [the] Ecuador vs. Argentina game? I always look to YOUR blog for informed commentary =)

This hurts to think about. Even so:

What afflicts us is temperamental immoderation: extreme cockiness, extreme pessimism. We really do think we can outplay anyone. And yet we can’t help but throw our games away.

For Ecuadorians this is old news:

We’re ranked 10th in the world, the highest we’ve ever been. We deserve it. Licking our chops, we schedule a “test” match in Florida against Germany, No. 2 in the world.

On the eve of this match we broadcast one of our team showers (PG-13). Very cocky.

During the match, on the first play, Gabriel Achilier tries to dribble around Lukas Podolski — very cocky! — and gets his pocket picked: nine seconds in, we’re down 0 to 1. Soon, it’s 0 to 4, thanks to more errors by Achilier and other demoralized defenders.

Around minute 30, we wake up and decide to pin the Germans in their own box; we do this for the rest of the game. It’s clear that Joachim Löw, the German coach, is suffering. Still, the German players are good, and so we manage just two goals against them. What we gain from this “test” is the feeling that even though we can dominate anyone, we’re still prone to losing through sheer carelessness.

This feeling persists into the Peru qualifier. In Lima, we’re a bundle of nerves. Once again we concede an early goal. Then the Peruvians pack their own box for the rest of the game. From watching the Germans, they’ve learned to try to score quickly and then concentrate on defending.

And so ends our unbeaten streak against Peru in tournaments. Our previous defeat was in 1977.

Next, in Quito, it’s Argentina, No. 3 in the world. By this time we’re nervous as hell. Right away we give up a silly penalty, and it’s 0 to 1. Another hill to climb.

We assault them with everything. The Argentinians are punch-drunk. At minute 16, it’s 1 to 1.

Not only are the Argentinians desperate, we’re dribbling past them at will. And this is when we regain our cockiness. Our play is downright disrespectful. Never have we been so dominant against anyone so good. Again and again, the Argentinians can do nothing but kick the ball out of bounds. We earn twenty-two corner kicks. TWENTY-TWO. Oh, it’s breathtaking … but it’s ineffective. The game ends, a stalemate.

This is our soccer team; this is our nation; this is John-Paul. Humility, that delicate balance, is so difficult to achieve.

Hope

“Dracula’s Lament.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Last week’s sermon was about hope. All it amounted to was: We need to keep on hoping!

I was like: But how?

Here are a few suggestions.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

When he became a father, one of my friends wrote:

It’s amazing how much babies live in the moment. If she’s hungry or her diaper is dirty then her world is ending. She has no perspective that says this will probably be fixed in a little while so I’ll just hang on. I suppose that would be a frightening way to live. If I was hungry and couldn’t conceive of a future where I wasn’t I’d probably cry too.

I don’t remember how I felt when I was a baby. But yes, when I was a young child, I often had the feeling that my friend attributes to his daughter. I wasn’t carefree.

Adults can despair for a similar reason. They, too, can become unable to conceive of a future in which their needs are met. For adults, though, this is because of too much experience.

Failing to have one’s needs met, year after year, makes it more difficult to imagine how they can be met. Experiencing disappointment, again and again, makes it exhausting or painful to continue thinking of possibilities for meeting those needs.

For humans, this is an impediment to hoping, because what we can hope for depends on what seems possible to us.

(Notice that the same point applies to the world’s needs. Your own needs are mere tributaries. Even if you learn to navigate the tributaries – and the rivers they pour into – you must eventually confront the ocean.)

So for adults deterred by hurt, being hopeful often requires having the courage to allow wounds to be reopened. (Here a theological virtue depends upon a cardinal one.) And for adults worn down by disappointment, being hopeful often requires endurance in the midst of exhaustion.

It’s natural to lack courage. It’s natural to lack endurance. If you lack those things, don’t be too hard on yourself. By all means, enjoy some shelter and rest. But don’t stop at that:

(a) Keep in mind that, from the eternal perspective, we are babies. Our experience is not conclusive. There truly are blessings of which we can’t conceive. As far as you’re able (and if this is even coherent), don’t just hope for what’s imaginable to you.

(b) Ask God for courage and endurance to keep trying to imagine what’s imaginable, so that needs can be met even in this life.

(c) Train yourself in courage and in endurance. Training won’t be enough. But it will help, as long as it isn’t taken as a replacement for (a) and (b).

(d) Soothe others’ wounds, bear others’ burdens, protect them from the full destructiveness of exhaustion and hurt. And sometimes, or maybe just once, you will be in a position to give a person what he or she desperately needs. Then that person will be saved from despair. That person will be lucky (or blessed).

It won’t suffice, spiritually, for that person. But it’ll help, as long as it isn’t taken as a replacement for (a) and (b).

All too often, we’re tempted to think that cultivating hopefulness is primarily a matter of willing ourselves to believe that things will turn out all right. But we can do more than this. We can cultivate hopefulness by removing hindrances to the imagination. We can do this for ourselves by becoming braver, stronger. And we can do it for others by helping to ease their weariness and pain.