Unreachable Dreams in The Catcher in The Rye :: Catcher Rye Essays

Unreachable Dreams in The Catcher in The Rye      Ã‚   Many people find that their dreams are unreachable.   Holden Caulfield realizes this in J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye.   As Holden tells his story, he recounts the events since leaving the Pencey School to his psychiatrist.   At first, Holden sounds like a typical, misguided teenager, rebellious towards his parents, angry with his teachers, and flunking out of school.   However, as his story progresses, it becomes clear that Holden is indeed motivated, just not academically.   He has a purpose: to protect the young and innocent minds of young children from the "horrors" of adult society.   He hopes to freeze the children in time, as wax figures are frozen in a museum.   After interacting with Phoebe, his younger sister, Holden realizes that this goal is quite unachievable. Holden wants to be the Catcher in the Rye, then realizes it is an unreachable ideal.      Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   Holden begins his story misguided and without direction.   After flunking out of the Pencey School, Holden decides to leave early.   Before he leaves, though, he visits his teacher, Mr. Spencer.   Mr. Spencer and Holden talk about his direction in life: "'Do you feel absolutely no concern for your future, boy?' 'Oh, I feel some concern for my future, all right. Sure. Sure, I do.' I thought about it for a minute. 'But not too much, I guess,'" (14).   After leaving Pencey, he checks into a hotel where he invites a prostitute up to his room.   He gets cold feet and decides not to have intercourse with her, though.   Later, Holden decides to take his old girlfriend, Sally Hayes, to the theater.   After taking her to the theater, Holden formulates a crazy plan which entails running away with Sally, getting married, and growing old together.   Sally thinks that he is crazy, and she decides to go home.   During his stay away from home, Holden drinks and smokes, showing even more misdirection.   However, when Holden returns home and talks to his sister, Phoebe, his direction becomes clear.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   Holden wants to be the Catcher in the Rye to protect children from the world in which he is forced to live.   While talking with Phoebe, she asks Holden what he would like to be.   He responds saying:

“Bring Back Flogging” Response Paper Essay

In Jeff Jacoby’s essay, â€Å"Bring Back Flogging,† he strongly reveals his opinions and beliefs on corporal punishment. Jacoby illustrates the use of verbal irony and sarcasm. He applies verbal irony and sarcasm in such a way that by reading what is written is easily understood to interpret what he really means. Jacoby describes what flogging is, how it was helpful, and argues that flogging needs to be brought back to our society. After reading Jacoby’s argument for bringing back the harsh beating and whipping, called flogging, I see that flogging would be helpful if it is brought back. Flogging is exercising the practice of brutal beatings and whippings. Flogging has been practiced by the Puritans in 1632, all the way to 1972 when it was repealed. The Puritans acted in flogging when offenders were sentenced for committing a crime, such as adultery or blaspheme. When convicted of the crime an individual committed, they were tied to a post in public, with no shirt, and severely flogged. By practicing flogging, and displaying the beating to the citizens of the town, the citizens could see what would be done for their punishment if they commit the same or different crime. If flogging were to be brought back and routinely practiced on offenders of certain crimes, and the beating was displayed to the public, it could greatly reduce crimes committed. Being whipped is not any more or less degrading that being locked in a cage, like an animal. Bringing back flogging would inspire possible criminals not to commit a crime that they could be planning. By being whipped in public, the offender will be highly embarrassed and have severe pain. Hopefully this felling of embarrassment and the pain experienced will stay with them, if they think of committing another crime. Also, after beaten the wounds will turn to scars, these would serve as a permanent reminders of the consequences obtained from their actions. Prisons are packed tightly with hundreds of criminals. Some prisoners are violent offenders and others are not. Providing meals, building new jails,  keeping a prison running, and providing prisoners with necessities, is very expensive. If flogging was the consequence of committing crimes, the money spent in and for prisons, could be used for other and more important items, such as books for school systems. In addition, less dangerous offenders will not be abused or raped in prison. The practice of flogging would also increase prison space for more dangerous offenders. Bringing back the punishment of flogging would greatly reduce crimes committed. Also, the public display, pain, and the permanent reminder from scars, will reduce the possibility of participating in the crime again. It would also serve as a physical image to others of what will happen if they commit a crime. Puritan forefathers had an excellent idea of punishment for committing crimes. Flogging was also a very effective punishment. The knowledge of what will happen if a crime is committed, and knowing how painful it is, will allow individuals to think thoroughly if they ever decide they want to commit a crime. I vote to bring back flogging!

Robert Louis Stevensons Classic Essay on Walking Tours

In this affectionate response to William Hazlitts essay On Going a Journey,  Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson describes the pleasures of an idle walk in the country and the even finer pleasures that come afterward--sitting by a fire enjoying trips into the Land of Thought. Stevenson is most well known for his novels including  Kidnapped, Treasure Island and The Strange Case of  Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  Stevenson was a famous author during his life and has remained an important part of the literary cannon. This essay highlights his lesser-known skills as a travel writer.   Walking Tours by Robert Louis Stevenson 1 It must not be imagined that a walking tour, as some would have us fancy, is merely a better or worse way of seeing the country. There are many ways of seeing landscape quite as good; and none more vivid, in spite of canting dilettantes, than from a railway train. But landscape on a walking tour is quite accessory. He who is indeed of the brotherhood does not voyage in quest of the picturesque, but of certain jolly humours--of the hope and spirit with which the march begins at morning, and the peace and spiritual repletion of the evenings rest. He cannot tell whether he puts his knapsack on, or takes it off, with more delight. The excitement of the departure puts him in key for that of the arrival. Whatever he does is not only a reward in itself, but will be further rewarded in the sequel; and so pleasure leads on to pleasure in an endless chain. It is this that so few can understand; they will either be always lounging or always at five miles an hour; they do not play off the one against the other, prepare all day for the evening, and all evening for the next day. And, above all, it is here that your overwalker fails of comprehension. His heart rises against those who drink their curaà §ao in liqueur glasses, when he himself can swill it in a brown John. He will not believe that the flavour is more delicate in the smaller dose. He will not believe that to walk this unconscionable distance is merely to stupefy and brutalise himself, and come to his inn, at night, with a sort of frost on his five wits, and a starless night of darkness in his spirit. Not for him the mild luminous evening of the temperate walker! He has nothing left of man but a physical need for bedtime and a double nightcap; and even his pipe, if he be a smoker, will be savourless and disenchanted. It is the fate of such an one to take twice as much trouble as is needed to obtain happiness, and miss the happiness in the end; he is the man of the proverb, in short, who goes further and fares w orse. 2 Now, to be properly enjoyed, a walking tour should be gone upon alone. If you go in a company, or even in pairs, it is no longer a walking tour in anything but name; it is something else and more in the nature of a picnic. A walking tour should be gone upon alone, because freedom is of the essence; because you should be able to stop and go on, and follow this way or that, as the freak takes you; and because you must have your own pace, and neither trot alongside a champion walker, nor mince in time with a girl. And then you must be open to all impressions and let your thoughts take colour from what you see. You should be as a pipe for any wind to play upon. I cannot see the wit, says Hazlitt, of walking and talking at the same time. When I am in the country I wish to vegetate like the country--which is the gist of all that can be said upon the matter. There should be no cackle of voices at your elbow, to jar on the meditative silence of the morning. And so long as a man is reasonin g he cannot surrender himself to that fine intoxication that comes of much motion in the open air, that begins in a sort of dazzle and sluggishness of the brain, and ends in a peace that passes comprehension. 3 During the first day or so of any tour there are moments of bitterness, when the traveller feels more than coldly towards his knapsack, when he is half in a mind to throw it bodily over the hedge and, like Christian on a similar occasion, give three leaps and go on singing. And yet it soon acquires a property of easiness. It becomes magnetic; the spirit of the journey enters into it. And no sooner have you passed the straps over your shoulder than the lees of sleep are cleared from you, you pull yourself together with a shake, and fall at once into your stride. And surely, of all possible moods, this, in which a man takes the road, is the best. Of course, if he will keep thinking of his anxieties, if he will open the merchant Abudahs chest and walk arm-in-arm with the hag--why, wherever he is, and whether he walk fast or slow, the chances are that he will not be happy. And so much the more shame to himself! There are perhaps thirty men setting forth at that same hour, and I would l ay a large wager there is not another dull face among the thirty. It would be a fine thing to follow, in a coat of darkness, one after another of these wayfarers, some summer morning, for the first few miles upon the road. This one, who walks fast, with a keen look in his eyes, is all concentrated in his own mind; he is up at his loom, weaving and weaving, to set the landscape to words. This one peers about, as he goes, among the grasses; he waits by the canal to watch the dragon-flies; he leans on the gate of the pasture, and cannot look enough upon the complacent kine. And here comes another, talking, laughing, and gesticulating to himself. His face changes from time to time, as indignation flashes from his eyes or anger clouds his forehead. He is composing articles, delivering orations, and conducting the most impassioned interviews, by the way. 4  A little farther on, and it is as like as not he will begin to sing. And well for him, supposing him to be no great master in that art, if he stumble across no stolid peasant at a corner; for on such an occasion, I scarcely know which is the more troubled, or whether it is worse to suffer the confusion of your  troubadour,  or the unfeigned alarm of your clown. A sedentary population, accustomed, besides, to the strange mechanical bearing of the common tramp, can in no wise explain to itself the gaiety of these passers-by. I knew one man who was arrested as a runaway lunatic, because, although a full-grown person with a red beard, he skipped as he went like a child. And you would be astonished if I were to tell you all the grave and learned heads who have confessed to me that, when on walking tours, they sang--and sang very ill--and had a pair of red ears when, as described above, the inauspicious peasant  plumped  into their arms from round a corner. And here, lest you should think I am exaggerating, is Hazlitts own confession, from his essay  On Going a Journey,  which is so good that there should be a tax levied on all who have not read it: Give me the clear blue sky over my head, says he, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three hours march to dinner--and then to thinking! It is hard if I cannot start some game on these lone heaths. I laugh, I run, I leap, I sing for joy. Bravo! After that adventure of my friend with the policeman, you would not have cared, would you, to publish that in the first person? But we have no bravery nowadays, and, even in books, must all pretend to be as dull and foolish as our  neighbours. It was not so with Hazlitt. And notice how learned he is (as, indeed, throughout the essay) in the theory of walking tours. He is none of your athletic men in purple stockings, who walk their fifty miles a day: three hours march is his ideal. And then he must have a winding road, the epicure! 5  Yet there is one thing I object to in these words of his, one thing in the great masters practice that seems to me not wholly wise. I do not approve of that leaping and running. Both of these hurry the respiration; they both shake up the brain out of its glorious open-air  confusion; and  they both break the pace. Uneven walking is not so agreeable to the body, and it distracts and irritates the mind. Whereas, when once you have fallen into an equable stride, it requires no conscious thought from you to keep it up, and yet it prevents you from thinking earnestly of anything else. Like knitting, like the work of a copying clerk, it gradually  neutralises  and sets to sleep the serious activity of the mind. We can think of this or that, lightly and laughingly, as a child thinks, or as we think in a morning doze; we can make puns or puzzle out acrostics, and trifle in a thousand ways with words and rhymes; but when it comes to honest work, when we come to gather ourselves t ogether for an effort, we may sound the trumpet as loud and long as we please; the great barons of the mind will not rally to the standard, but sit, each one, at home, warming his hands over his own fire and brooding on his own private thought! 6  In the course of a days walk, you see, there is much variance in the mood. From the exhilaration of the  start,  to the happy phlegm of the arrival, the change is certainly great. As the day goes on, the  traveller  moves from the one extreme towards the other. He becomes more and more incorporated  with  the material landscape, and the open-air drunkenness grows upon him with great strides, until he posts along the road, and sees everything about him, as in a cheerful dream. The first is certainly brighter, but the second stage is the more peaceful. A man does not make so many articles towards the end, nor does he laugh aloud; but the purely animal pleasures, the sense of physical wellbeing, the delight of every inhalation, of every time the muscles tighten down the thigh, console him for the absence of the others, and bring him to his destination still content. 7  Nor must I forget to say a word on bivouacs. You come to a milestone on a hill, or some place where deep ways meet under trees; and off goes the knapsack, and down you sit to smoke a pipe in the shade. You sink into yourself, and the birds come round and look at you; and your smoke dissipates upon the afternoon under the blue dome of  heaven; and  the sun lies warm upon your feet, and the cool air visits your neck and turns aside your open shirt. If you are not happy, you must have an evil conscience. You may dally as long as you like by the roadside. It is almost as if the millennium  were  arrived,  when we shall throw our clocks and watches over the housetop, and remember time and seasons no more. Not to keep hours for a lifetime is, I was going to say, to live  for ever. You have no  idea,  unless you have tried it, how endlessly long is a summers day, that you measure out only by hunger, and bring to an end only when you are drowsy. I know a village where th ere are hardly any clocks, where no one knows more of the days of the week than by a sort of instinct for the fete on Sundays, and where only one person can tell you the day of the month, and she is generally wrong; and if people were aware how slow Time journeyed in that village, and what armfuls of spare hours he gives, over and above the bargain, to its wise inhabitants, I believe there would be a stampede out of London, Liverpool, Paris, and a variety of large towns, where the clocks lose their heads, and shake the hours out each one faster than the other, as though they were all in a wager. And all these foolish pilgrims would each bring his own misery along with him, in a watch-pocket! 8  It is to be noticed, there were no clocks and watches in the much-vaunted days before the flood. It follows, of course, there were no appointments, and punctuality was not yet thought upon. Though ye take from a covetous man all his treasure, says Milton, he has yet one jewel left; ye cannot deprive him of his covetousness. And so I would say of a modern man of business, you may do what you will for him, put him in Eden, give him the elixir of life--he has still a flaw at heart, he still has his business habits. Now, there is no time when business habits are more mitigated than on a walking tour. And so during these halts, as I say, you will feel almost free. 9  But it is at night, and after dinner, that the best hour comes. There are no such pipes to be smoked as those that follow a good days march; the flavor of the tobacco is a thing to be remembered, it is so dry and aromatic, so full and so fine. If you wind up the evening with grog, you will own there was never such grog; at every sip a jocund tranquillity spreads about your limbs, and sits easily in your heart. If you read a book--and you will never do so save by fits and starts--you find the language strangely racy and harmonious; words take a new meaning; single sentences possess the ear for half an hour together; and the writer endears himself to you, at every page, by the nicest coincidence of sentiment. It seems as if it were a book you had written yourself in a dream. To all we have read on such occasions we look back with special favor. It was on the 10th of April, 1798, says Hazlitt, with amorous precision, that I sat down to a volume of the new  Heloise, at the Inn at Llangollen, over a bottle of sherry and a cold chicken. I should wish to quote more, for though we are mighty fine fellows nowadays, we cannot write like Hazlitt. And, talking of that, a volume of Hazlitts essays would be a capital pocket-book on such a journey; so would a volume of Heines songs; and for  Tristram Shandy  I can pledge a fair experience. 10  If the evening be fine and warm, there is nothing better in life than to lounge before the inn door in the sunset, or lean over the parapet of the bridge, to watch the weeds and the quick fishes. It is then, if ever, that you taste Joviality to the full significance of that audacious word. Your muscles are so agreeably slack, you feel so clean and so strong and so idle, that whether you move or sit still, whatever you do is done with pride and a kingly sort of pleasure. You fall in talk with any one, wise or foolish, drunk or sober. And it seems as if a hot walk purged you, more than of anything else, of all narrowness and pride, and left curiosity to play its part freely, as in a child or a man of science. You lay aside all your own hobbies, to watch provincial humour develop themselves before you, now as a laughable farce, and now grave and beautiful like an old tale. 11  Or perhaps you are left to your own company for the night, and surly weather imprisons you by the fire. You may remember how Burns, numbering past pleasures, dwells upon the hours when he has been happy thinking. It is a phrase that may well perplex a poor modern, girt about on every side by clocks and chimes, and haunted, even at night, by flaming  dialplates. For we are all so busy, and have so many far-off projects to realise, and castles in the fire to turn into solid habitable mansions on a gravel soil, that we can find no time for pleasure trips into the Land of Thought and among the Hills of Vanity. Changed times, indeed, when we must sit all night, beside the fire, with folded hands; and a changed world for most of us, when we find we can pass the hours without discontent, and be happy thinking. We are in such haste to be doing, to be writing, to be gathering gear, to make our voice audible a moment in the derisive silence of eternity, that we forget that one thing, o f which these are but the parts--namely, to live. We fall in love, we drink hard, we run to and fro upon the earth like frightened sheep. And now you are to ask yourself if, when all is done, you would not have been better to sit by the fire at home, and be happy thinking. To sit still and contemplate--to remember the faces of women without desire, to be pleased by the great deeds of men without envy, to be everything and everywhere in sympathy, and yet content to remain where and what you are--is not this to know both wisdom and virtue, and to dwell with happiness? After all, it is not they who carry flags, but they who look upon it from a private chamber, who have the fun of the procession. And once you are at that, you are in the very humor of all social heresy. It is no time for shuffling, or for big, empty words. If you ask yourself what you mean by fame, riches, or learning, the answer is far to seek; and you go back into that kingdom of light imaginations, which seem so vain in the eyes of Philistines perspiring after wealth, and so momentous to those who are stricken with the disproportions of the world, and, in the face of the gigantic stars, cannot stop to split differences between two degrees of the infinitesimally small, such as a tobacco pipe or the Roman Empire, a million of money or a fiddlesticks end. 12  You lean from the window, your last pipe reeking whitely into the darkness, your body full of delicious pains, your mind enthroned in the seventh circle of content; when suddenly the mood changes, the weathercock goes about, and you ask yourself one question more: whether, for the interval, you have been the wisest philosopher or the most egregious of donkeys? Human experience is not yet able to reply, but at least you have had a fine moment, and looked down upon all the kingdoms of the earth. And whether it was wise or foolish, to-morrows travel will carry you, body and mind, into some different parish of the infinite. Originally published in the  Cornhill Magazine  in 1876, Walking Tours by Robert Louis Stevenson appears in the collection  Virginibus Puerisque, and Other Papers  (1881).

Gender Relations in Chinua Achebes Things Fall Apart Essay

Gender Relations in Chinua Achebes Things Fall Apart In Chinua Achebes novel Things Fall Apart, the Ibo peoples patriarchal society has a strict system of behavioral customs according to gender. These customs strongly restrict the freedom of Ibo women and help to reinforce generation after generation the notion that Ibo men are superior to the women of their tribe. Among the people of this society, the condition of weakness is strongly associated with the state of being female. The worst insult that a man can receive is to be called a woman. The novels main character, Okonkwo, is often obsessed with proving his strength as a man because he seeks to escape the reputation of his father who was considered by his fellow†¦show more content†¦He often wish[es] she [Ezinma] were a boy.(122) For his son, he wanted Nwoye to grow into a tough young man capable of ruling his... household. (37) The failure of his son to live up to Okonkwos expectations for him are another factor in Okonkwos own innate need to be exceptionally masculine. The division between male and female goes beyond even individual persons in Ibo society to be applied to both physical and moral acts. Certain jobs are reserved only for women whereas only men can perform other tasks. When Ezinma asks to bring a chair to her father, he forbids it because that is a boys job.(32) Women harvest certain crops which are not worthy of wasting the valuable time and strength of men. Crimes committed with deliberate malicious intent are classified as male in contrast to merely accidental female crimes. When Okonkwo killed a clansman, he had committed the female [crime], because it had been inadvertent.(87) As with the majority of other male / female relations in Ibo culture, sexual relations are marked by a noticeable sense of male domination. It is the man who initiates the sexual activity while the female is supposed to appear passive and uninterested in participating in these acts. The men even mock the womens passiveness in sexual roles by a song: If I hold her hand She says, Dont touch! If I hold her foot She says, Dont touch! But when I hold her waist beadsShow MoreRelatedChinua Achebe s Things Fall Apart1325 Words   |  6 PagesAbdulhameed AlHababi Western Civilization 2 December 2, 2014 Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe Thing Fall Apart, first published in 1958, is Chinua Achebe’s first and most acclaimed novel. Achebe illustrates an approving rendering of Nigerian and African tribal life prior to and subsequent to colonialism. Achebe presents various aspects of a native African community, including war, women mistreatment, violence and conflict, while maintaining a balanceRead MoreAnalysis Of Dragon s Village, Things Fall Apart, And Man Of The People1460 Words   |  6 Pagesbe found in the novels; Dragon’s Village, Things Fall Apart, and Man of the People surrounding China and Africa. Along with Deepa Mehta’s period films, Earth and Water and Iciar Bollain’s juxtaposition piece, Even the Rain that emphasize the circumstances that occurred in India and Bolivia. A master at providing alternative context to Africa and concepts of decolonization, Chinua Achebe wrote a great amount of literary work, including, Things Fall Apart (1956) and A Man of the People (1966). TheRead MoreMost Of Society Views Food In A Singular Manner, That Is,1312 Words   |  6 PagesSingh’s â€Å"The Wog†, Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, and Ngitji’s â€Å"The Possum Woman†. 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The novel is also a representative of the wider picture of African cultures and the socio-economic changes that characterized the colonial eraRead MoreColonialism, Gender, Poverty, Exploitation, Domination, and Hegemony as Rendered in the Novels Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe and Cracking India by Bapsi Sidhwa. 2223 Words   |  9 PagesUniversity Press Chinua Achebe Writing Culture: Representations of Gender and Tradition in Things Fall Apart Osei-Nyame, Godwin Kwadwo, 1967- Research in African Literatures, Volume 30, Number 2, Summer 1999, pp. 148-164 Subject Headings: Achebe, Chinua. Things fall apart. Culture in literature. Masculinity in literature. In lieu of an abstract, here is a preview of the article. Wherever something stands, there something else will stand. —Igbo saying While Achebes early novels haveRead MoreSuccesses and Failures of Patriarchy in Colonialism2853 Words   |  12 PagesIn â€Å"The Tempest†, â€Å"Translations† and â€Å"Things Fall Apart†, the theme of patriarchy is explored in different settings; the colonisation of the Irish in â€Å"Translations†, an unnamed island in â€Å"The Tempest† and the Igbo tribe in â€Å"Things Fall Apart†. Prospero is a familial patriarch, shown through his dominant control of Miranda, such as ‘the very minute bids thee ope thine ear. Obey and be attentive’ . Hugh’s control of Manus is familial, as is Okonkwo’s control of his wives and children. Prospero’s controlRead MoreOne Significant Change That Has Occurred in the World Between 1900 and 2005. 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Radical Inclusion And Gonzalez Of The Bible - 1649 Words

RADICAL INCLUSION AND GONZALEZ â€Å"Jesus is divine and human, and his divinity and humanity are so united that it is impossible to separate them†. Jesus has two natures, God and Man. There is a divine nature and a human nature. He was God before He was born in the flesh and after His human birth he continued to be God. He did things on earth that no one else could do. All the healings and miracles he performed no one had ever seen done before. I think that’s where he then claims divinity and became equal with God, which I think led to his death and him being labeled a heretic. The New Testament seems to believe that Jesus was a human but without sin. Most of the stories in the Bible are when Jesus was human. He was born of a woman and†¦show more content†¦Sin is a transgression of the law, going against God. Sin is an action as well as a condition, a way of being. One cannot condemn another in regards to sin, we all sin. Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to cast a stone at her, John 8:7. One form of transgression is how LGBTQ people are treated because of who they love. Another being how the government is treating immigrants today. I don’t believe that one sin is any bigger or worse than the other. As for sin being inherited I would tend to think it is. We are born of parents we didn’t choose. My mother for example was a heroin addict, which in turn equaled me being born into sin as I was addicted at birth. So I would have to say yes I was born into sin, inherited from my mother. There is also personal sin. These are committed every day from little white lies, to coveting something our neighbor has to murder. The thing about having a relationship with God is we can be forgiven. We are supposedly freed from hell and the penalty of death but we also should be able to resist the temptation to sin because the Holy Spirit resides in us. God was crucified for our sins and by faith we have been redeemed. We don’t need to die again. Growing up in the Church of God in Christ, I learned that I was to always be concerned about my own personal salvation. Meaning to me at that time that I needed to make sure that I did what it took toShow MoreRelatedPauls Contribution to Christianity1449 Words   |  6 Pagesas Barnabas, John Mark and Silas. For these believers, mission was simply a way of life. As one of these missionaries, Paul spread the gospel throughout Israel, Greece, Italy, and Turkey, much of the Mediterranean and even, some claim, to Spain [Gonzà ¡lez 1984]. Christianity’s prevalence in Europe is probably due to Paul’s journeys. While missionaries were common in Paul’s time, writing letters to churches was rare. Paul is remembered most as the writer of many epistles, which contributed to theRead MoreThe Doctrine Of The Trinity9485 Words   |  38 PagesTheology† Sang Hyun Lee 444-455 (11 pp.) Week 8:B JONATHAN EDWARDS â€Å"The Trinity and the Bible† in The Supreme Harmony of All by Amy Plantinga Pauw 19-55 (36 pp.) Week 8:C JONATHAN EDWARDS â€Å"Discourse on the Trinity† by Jonathan Edwards in Writings on the Trinity, Grace, and Faith Ed. by Sang Hyun Lee 113-144 (31 pp.) Week 9:A GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES – Latin America The Trinity: Global Perspectives Maà ±ana, Justo L. Gonzalez 267-275 (8 pp.) 292-304 (6 pp.) 101-116 (15 pp.) Week 9:B GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES –Read MoreStephen P. Robbins Timothy A. Judge (2011) Organizational Behaviour 15th Edition New Jersey: Prentice Hall393164 Words   |  1573 Pagesbehavior of people at work. In addition, you’ll gain insights into specific people skills that you workforce diversity The concept that organizations are becoming more heterogeneous in terms of gender, age, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and inclusion of other diverse groups. Source: ITAR - TASS / Anton Tushin / Newscom The Ritz Carlton Hotel Company is recognized worldwide as the gold standard of the hospitality industry. Its motto—â€Å"We are ladies and gentlemen serving ladies and gentlemen†Ã¢â‚¬â€is

The Da Vinci Code Chapter 73-77 Free Essays

CHAPTER 73 Bourget Airfield’s night shift air traffic controller had been dozing before a blank radar screen when the captain of the Judicial Police practically broke down his door. â€Å"Teabing’s jet,† Bezu Fache blared, marching into the small tower,† where did it go?† The controller’s initial response was a babbling, lame attempt to protect the privacy of their British client – one of the airfield’s most respected customers. It failed miserably. We will write a custom essay sample on The Da Vinci Code Chapter 73-77 or any similar topic only for you Order Now â€Å"Okay,† Fache said,† I am placing you under arrest for permitting a private plane to take off without registering a flight plan.† Fache motioned to another officer, who approached with handcuffs, and the traffic controller felt a surge of terror. He thought of the newspaper articles debating whether the nation’s police captain was a hero or a menace. That question had just been answered. â€Å"Wait!† the controller heard himself whimper at the sight of the handcuffs. â€Å"I can tell you this much. Sir Leigh Teabing makes frequent trips to London for medical treatments. He has a hangar at Biggin Hill Executive Airport in Kent. On the outskirts of London.† Fache waved off the man with the cuffs. â€Å"Is Biggin Hill his destination tonight?† â€Å"I don’t know,† the controller said honestly. â€Å"The plane left on its usual tack, and his last radar contact suggested the United Kingdom. Biggin Hill is an extremely likely guess.† â€Å"Did he have others onboard?† â€Å"I swear, sir, there is no way for me to know that. Our clients can drive directly to their hangars, and load as they please. Who is onboard is the responsibility of the customs officials at the receiving airport.† Fache checked his watch and gazed out at the scattering of jets parked in front of the terminal. â€Å"If they’re going to Biggin Hill, how long until they land?† The controller fumbled through his records. â€Å"It’s a short flight. His plane could be on the ground by†¦ around six-thirty. Fifteen minutes from now.† Fache frowned and turned to one of his men. â€Å"Get a transport up here. I’m going to London. And get me the Kent local police. Not British MI5. I want this quiet. Kent local.Tell them I want Teabing’s plane to be permitted to land. Then I want it surrounded on the tarmac. Nobody deplanes until I get there.† CHAPTER 74 â€Å"You’re quiet,† Langdon said, gazing across the Hawker’s cabin at Sophie. â€Å"Just tired,† she replied. â€Å"And the poem. I don’t know.† Langdon was feeling the same way. The hum of the engines and the gentle rocking of the plane were hypnotic, and his head still throbbed where he’d been hit by the monk. Teabing was still in the back of the plane, and Langdon decided to take advantage of the moment alone with Sophie to tell her something that had been on his mind. â€Å"I think I know part of the reason why your grandfather conspired to put us together. I think there’s something he wanted me to explain to you.† â€Å"The history of the Holy Grail and Mary Magdalene isn’t enough?† Langdon felt uncertain how to proceed. â€Å"The rift between you. The reason you haven’t spoken to him in ten years. I think maybe he was hoping I could somehow make that right by explaining what drove you apart.† Sophie squirmed in her seat. â€Å"I haven’t told you what drove us apart.† Langdon eyed her carefully. â€Å"You witnessed a sex rite. Didn’t you?† Sophie recoiled. â€Å"How do you know that?† â€Å"Sophie, you told me you witnessed something that convinced you your grandfather was in a secret society. And whatever you saw upset you enough that you haven’t spoken to him since. I know a fair amount about secret societies. It doesn’t take the brains of Da Vinci to guess what you saw.† Sophie stared. â€Å"Was it in the spring?† Langdon asked. â€Å"Sometime around the equinox? Mid-March?† Sophie looked out the window. â€Å"I was on spring break from university. I came home a few days early.† â€Å"You want to tell me about it?† â€Å"I’d rather not.† She turned suddenly back to Langdon, her eyes welling with emotion. â€Å"I don’t know what I saw.† â€Å"Were both men and women present?† After a beat, she nodded.† Dressed in white and black?† She wiped her eyes and then nodded, seeming to open up a little. â€Å"The women were in white gossamer gowns†¦ with golden shoes. They held golden orbs. The men wore black tunics and black shoes.† Langdon strained to hide his emotion, and yet he could not believe what he was hearing. Sophie Neveu had unwittingly witnessed a two-thousand-year-old sacred ceremony. â€Å"Masks?† he asked, keeping his voice calm. â€Å"Androgynous masks?† â€Å"Yes. Everyone. Identical masks. White on the women. Black on the men.† Langdon had read descriptions of this ceremony and understood its mystic roots. â€Å"It’s called Hieros Gamos,† he said softly. â€Å"It dates back more than two thousand years. Egyptian priests and priestesses performed it regularly to celebrate the reproductive power of the female,† He paused, leaning toward her. â€Å"And if you witnessed Hieros Gamos without being properly prepared to understand its meaning, I imagine it would be pretty shocking.† Sophie said nothing. â€Å"Hieros Gamos is Greek,† he continued. â€Å"It means sacred marriage.† â€Å"The ritual I saw was no marriage.† â€Å"Marriage as in union, Sophie.† â€Å"You mean as in sex.† â€Å"No.† â€Å"No?† she said, her olive eyes testing him. Langdon backpedaled. â€Å"Well†¦ yes, in a manner of speaking, but not as we understand it today.† He explained that although what she saw probably looked like a sex ritual, Hieros Gamos had nothing to do with eroticism. It was a spiritual act. Historically, intercourse was the act through which male and female experienced God. The ancients believed that the male was spiritually incomplete until he had carnal knowledge of the sacred feminine. Physical union with the female remained the sole means through which man could become spiritually complete and ultimately achieve gnosis – knowledge of the divine. Since the days of Isis, sex rites had been considered man’s only bridge from earth to heaven. â€Å"By communing with woman,† Langdon said,† man could achieve a climactic instant when his mind went totally blank and he could see God.† Sophie looked skeptical. â€Å"Orgasm as prayer?† Langdon gave a noncommittal shrug, although Sophie was essentially correct. Physiologically speaking, the male climax was accompanied by a split second entirely devoid of thought. A brief mental vacuum. A moment of clarity during which God could be glimpsed. Meditation gurus achieved similar states of thoughtlessness without sex and often described Nirvana as a never- ending spiritual orgasm. â€Å"Sophie,† Langdon said quietly,† it’s important to remember that the ancients’ view of sex was entirely opposite from ours today. Sex begot new life – the ultimate miracle – and miracles could be performed only by a god. The ability of the woman to produce life from her womb made her sacred. A god. Intercourse was the revered union of the two halves of the human spirit – male and female – through which the male could find spiritual wholeness and communion with God. What you saw was not about sex, it was about spirituality. The Hieros Gamos ritual is not a perversion. It’s a deeply sacrosanct ceremony.† His words seemed to strike a nerve. Sophie had been remarkably poised all evening, but now, for the first time, Langdon saw the aura of composure beginning to crack. Tears materialized in her eyes again, and she dabbed them away with her sleeve. He gave her a moment. Admittedly, the concept of sex as a pathway to God was mind-boggling at first. Langdon’s Jewish students always looked flabbergasted when he first told them that the early Jewish tradition involved ritualistic sex. In the Temple, no less.Early Jews believed that the Holy of Holies in Solomon’s Temple housed not only God but also His powerful female equal, Shekinah. Men seeking spiritual wholeness came to the Temple to visit priestesses – or hierodules – with whom they made love and experienced the divine through physical union. The Jewish tetragrammaton YHWH – the sacred name of God – in fact derived from Jehovah, an androgynous physical union between the masculine Jah and the pre-Hebraic name for Eve, Havah. â€Å"For the early Church,† Langdon explained in a soft voice,† mankind’s use of sex to commune directly with God posed a serious threat to the Catholic power base. It left the Church out of the loop, undermining their self-proclaimed status as the sole conduit to God. For obvious reasons, they worked hard to demonize sex and recast it as a disgusting and sinful act. Other major religions did the same.† Sophie was silent, but Langdon sensed she was starting to understand her grandfather better. Ironically, Langdon had made this same point in a class lecture earlier this semester. â€Å"Is it surprising we feel conflicted about sex?† he asked his students. â€Å"Our ancient heritage and our very physiologies tell us sex is natural – a cherished route to spiritual fulfillment – and yet modern religion decries it as shameful, teaching us to fear our sexual desire as the hand of the devil.† Langdon decided not to shock his students with the fact that more than a dozen secret societies around the world – many of them quite influential – still practiced sex rites and kept the ancient traditions alive. Tom Cruise’s character in the film Eyes Wide Shut discovered this the hard way when he sneaked into a private gathering of ultraelite Manhattanites only to find himself witnessing Hieros Gamos. Sadly, the filmmakers had gotten most of the specifics wrong, but the basic gist was there – a secret society communing to celebrate the magic of sexual union. â€Å"Professor Langdon?† A male student in back raised his hand, sounding hopeful. â€Å"Are you saying that instead of going to chapel, we should have more sex?† Langdon chuckled, not about to take the bait. From what he’d heard about Harvard parties, these kids were having more than enough sex. â€Å"Gentlemen,† he said, knowing he was on tender ground,† might I offer a suggestion for all of you. Without being so bold as to condone premarital sex, and without being so naive as to think you’re all chaste angels, I will give you this bit of advice about your sex lives.† All the men in the audience leaned forward, listening intently. â€Å"The next time you find yourself with a woman, look in your heart and see if you cannot approach sex as a mystical, spiritual act. Challenge yourself to find that spark of divinity that man can only achieve through union with the sacred feminine.† The women smiled knowingly, nodding. The men exchanged dubious giggles and off-color jokes. Langdon sighed. College men were still boys. Sophie’s forehead felt cold as she pressed it against the plane’s window and stared blankly into the void, trying to process what Langdon had just told her. She felt a new regret well within her. Ten years.She pictured the stacks of unopened letters her grandfather had sent her. I will tell Robert everything.Without turning from the window, Sophie began to speak. Quietly. Fearfully. As she began to recount what had happened that night, she felt herself drifting back†¦ alighting in the woods outside her grandfather’s Normandy chateau†¦ searching the deserted house in confusion†¦ hearing the voices below her†¦ and then finding the hidden door. She inched down the stone staircase, one step at a time, into that basement grotto. She could taste the earthy air. Cool and light. It was March. In the shadows of her hiding place on the staircase, she watched as the strangers swayed and chanted by flickering orange candles. I’m dreaming, Sophie told herself. This is a dream. What else could this be? The women and men were staggered, black, white, black, white. The women’s beautiful gossamer gowns billowed as they raised in their right hands golden orbs and called out in unison,† I was withyou in the beginning, in the dawn of all that is holy, I bore you from the womb before the start of day.† The women lowered their orbs, and everyone rocked back and forth as if in a trance. They were revering something in the center of the circle. What are they looking at? The voices accelerated now. Louder. Faster. â€Å"The woman whom you behold is love!† The women called, raising their orbs again. The men responded,† She has her dwelling in eternity!† The chanting grew steady again. Accelerating. Thundering now. Faster. The participants stepped inward and knelt. In that instant, Sophie could finally see what they were all watching. On a low, ornate altar in the center of the circle lay a man. He was naked, positioned on his back, and wearing a black mask. Sophie instantly recognized his body and the birthmark on his shoulder. She almost cried out. Grand-pere! This image alone would have shocked Sophie beyond belief, and yet there was more. Straddling her grandfather was a naked woman wearing a white mask, her luxuriant silver hair flowing out behind it. Her body was plump, far from perfect, and she was gyrating in rhythm to the chanting – making love to Sophie’s grandfather. Sophie wanted to turn and run, but she couldn’t. The stone walls of the grotto imprisoned her as the chanting rose to a fever pitch. The circle of participants seemed almost to be singing now, the noise rising in crescendo to a frenzy. With a sudden roar, the entire room seemed to erupt in climax. Sophie could not breathe. She suddenly realized she was quietly sobbing. She turned and staggered silently up the stairs, out of the house, and drove trembling back to Paris. CHAPTER 75 The chartered turboprop was just passing over the twinkling lights of Monaco when Aringarosa hung up on Fache for the second time. He reached for the airsickness bag again but felt too drained even to be sick. Just let it be over! Fache’s newest update seemed unfathomable, and yet almost nothing tonight made sense anymore. What is going on? Everything had spiraled wildly out of control. What have I gotten Silas into? What have I gotten myself into! On shaky legs, Aringarosa walked to the cockpit. â€Å"I need to change destinations.† The pilot glanced over his shoulder and laughed. â€Å"You’re joking, right?† â€Å"No. I have to get to London immediately.† â€Å"Father, this is a charter flight, not a taxi.† â€Å"I will pay you extra, of course. How much? London is only one hour farther north and requires almost no change of direction, so – â€Å" â€Å"It’s not a question of money, Father, there are other issues.† â€Å"Ten thousand euro. Right now.† The pilot turned, his eyes wide with shock. â€Å"How much? What kind of priest carries that kind of cash?† Aringarosa walked back to his black briefcase, opened it, and removed one of the bearer bonds. He handed it to the pilot. â€Å"What is this?† the pilot demanded. â€Å"A ten-thousand-euro bearer bond drawn on the Vatican Bank.† The pilot looked dubious.† It’s the same as cash.† â€Å"Only cash is cash,† the pilot said, handing the bond back. Aringarosa felt weak as he steadied himself against the cockpit door. â€Å"This is a matter of life or death. You must help me. I need to get to London.† The pilot eyed the bishop’s gold ring. â€Å"Real diamonds?† Aringarosa looked at the ring. â€Å"I could not possibly part with this.† The pilot shrugged, turning and focusing back out the windshield. Aringarosa felt a deepening sadness. He looked at the ring. Everything it represented was about to be lost to the bishop anyway. After a long moment, he slid the ring from his finger and placed it gently on the instrument panel. Aringarosa slunk out of the cockpit and sat back down. Fifteen seconds later, he could feel the pilot banking a few more degrees to the north. Even so, Aringarosa’s moment of glory was in shambles. It had all begun as a holy cause. A brilliantly crafted scheme. Now, like a house of cards, it was collapsing in on itself†¦ and the end was nowhere in sight. CHAPTER 76 Langdon could see Sophie was still shaken from recounting her experience of Hieros Gamos. For his part, Langdon was amazed to have heard it. Not only had Sophie witnessed the full-blown ritual, but her own grandfather had been the celebrant†¦ the Grand Master of the Priory of Sion. It was heady company. Da Vinci, Botticelli, Isaac Newton, Victor Hugo, Jean Cocteau†¦JacquesSauniere. â€Å"I don’t know what else I can tell you,† Langdon said softly. Sophie’s eyes were a deep green now, tearful. â€Å"He raised me like his own daughter.† Langdon now recognized the emotion that had been growing in her eyes as they spoke. It was remorse. Distant and deep. Sophie Neveu had shunned her grandfather and was now seeing him in an entirely different light. Outside, the dawn was coming fast, its crimson aura gathering off the starboard. The earth was still black beneath them. â€Å"Victuals, my dears?† Teabing rejoined them with a flourish, presenting several cans of Coke and a box of old crackers. He apologized profusely for the limited fare as he doled out the goods. â€Å"Our friend the monk isn’t talking yet,† he chimed, â€Å"but give him time.† He bit into a cracker and eyed the poem. â€Å"So, my lovely, any headway?† He looked at Sophie. â€Å"What is your grandfather trying to tell us here? Where the devil is this headstone? This headstone praised by Templars.† Sophie shook her head and remained silent. While Teabing again dug into the verse, Langdon popped a Coke and turned to the window, his thoughts awash with images of secret rituals and unbroken codes. A headstone praised by Templarsis the key.He took a long sip from the can. A headstone praised by Templars.The cola was warm. The dissolving veil of night seemed to evaporate quickly, and as Langdon watched the transformation, he saw a shimmering ocean stretch out beneath them. The English Channel.It wouldn’t be long now. Langdon willed the light of day to bring with it a second kind of illumination, but the lighter it became outside, the further he felt from the truth. He heard the rhythms of iambic pentameter and chanting, Hieros Gamos and sacred rites, resonating with the rumble of the jet. A headstone praised by Templars. The plane was over land again when a flash of enlightenment struck him. Langdon set down his empty can of Coke hard. â€Å"You won’t believe this,† he said, turning to the others. â€Å"The Templar headstone – I figured it out.† Teabing’s eyes turned to saucers. â€Å"You know where the headstone is?† Langdon smiled. â€Å"Not where it is. What it is.† Sophie leaned in to hear. â€Å"I think the headstone references a literal stone head,†Langdon explained, savoring the familiar excitement of academic breakthrough. â€Å"Not a grave marker.† â€Å"A stone head?† Teabing demanded. Sophie looked equally confused.† Leigh,† Langdon said, turning,† during the Inquisition, the Church accused the Knights Templar of all kinds of heresies, right?† â€Å"Correct. They fabricated all kinds of charges. Sodomy, urination on the cross, devil worship, quite a list.† â€Å"And on that list was the worship of false idols, right? Specifically, the Church accused the Templars of secretly performing rituals in which they prayed to a carved stone head†¦ the pagan god – â€Å" â€Å"Baphomet!† Teabing blurted. â€Å"My heavens, Robert, you’re right! A headstone praised by Templars!† Langdon quickly explained to Sophie that Baphomet was a pagan fertility god associated with the creative force of reproduction. Baphomet’s head was represented as that of a ram or goat, a common symbol of procreation and fecundity. The Templars honored Baphomet by encircling a stone replica of his head and chanting prayers. â€Å"Baphomet,† Teabing tittered. â€Å"The ceremony honored the creative magic of sexual union, but Pope Clement convinced everyone that Baphomet’s head was in fact that of the devil. The Pope used the head of Baphomet as the linchpin in his case against the Templars.† Langdon concurred. The modern belief in a horned devil known as Satan could be traced back to Baphomet and the Church’s attempts to recast the horned fertility god as a symbol of evil. The Church had obviously succeeded, although not entirely. Traditional American Thanksgiving tables still bore pagan, horned fertility symbols. The cornucopia or† horn of plenty† was a tribute to Baphomet’s fertility and dated back to Zeus being suckled by a goat whose horn broke off and magically filled with fruit. Baphomet also appeared in group photographs when some joker raised two fingers behind a friend’s head in the V-symbol of horns; certainly few of the pranksters realized their mocking gesture was in fact advertising their victim’s robust sperm count. â€Å"Yes, yes,† Teabing was saying excitedly. â€Å"Baphomet must be what the poem is referring to. A headstone praised by Templars.† â€Å"Okay,† Sophie said, â€Å"but if Baphomet is the headstone praised by Templars, then we have a new dilemma.† She pointed to the dials on the cryptex. â€Å"Baphomet has eight letters. We only have room for five.† Teabing grinned broadly. â€Å"My dear, this is where the Atbash Cipher comes into play† CHAPTER 77 Langdon was impressed. Teabing had just finished writing out the entire twenty-two-letter Hebrew alphabet – alef-beit – from memory. Granted, he’d used Roman equivalents rather than Hebrew characters, but even so, he was now reading through them with flawless pronunciation. A B G D H V Z Ch T Y K L M N S O P Tz Q R Sh Th â€Å"Alef, Beit, Gimel, Dalet, Hei, Vav, Zayin, Chet, Tet, Yud, Kaf, Lamed, Mem, Nun, Samech, Ayin, Pei, Tzadik, Kuf, Reish, Shin, and Tav.† Teabing dramatically mopped his brow and plowed on. â€Å"In formal Hebrew spelling, the vowel sounds are not written. Therefore, when we write the word Baphomet using the Hebrew alphabet, it will lose its three vowels in translation, leaving us – â€Å" â€Å"Five letters,† Sophie blurted. Teabing nodded and began writing again. â€Å"Okay, here is the proper spelling of Baphomet inHebrew letters. I’ll sketch in the missing vowels for clarity’s sake. B a P V o M e Th â€Å"Remember, of course,† he added,† that Hebrew is normally written in the opposite direction, but we can just as easily use Atbash this way. Next, all we have to do is create our substitution scheme by rewriting the entire alphabet in reverse order opposite the original alphabet.† â€Å"There’s an easier way,† Sophie said, taking the pen from Teabing. â€Å"It works for all reflectional substitution ciphers, including the Atbash. A little trick I learned at the Royal Holloway.† Sophie wrote the first half of the alphabet from left to right, and then, beneath it, wrote the second half, right to left. â€Å"Cryptanalysts call it the fold-over. Half as complicated. Twice as clean.† A B G D H V Z Ch T Y K Th Sh R Q Tz P O S N M L Teabing eyed her handiwork and chuckled. â€Å"Right you are. Glad to see those boys at the Holloway are doing their job.† Looking at Sophie’s substitution matrix, Langdon felt a rising thrill that he imagined must have rivaled the thrill felt by early scholars when they first used the Atbash Cipher to decrypt the now famous Mystery of Sheshach.For years, religious scholars had been baffled by biblical references to a city called Sheshach.The city did not appear on any map nor in any other documents, and yet it was mentioned repeatedly in the Book of Jeremiah – the king of Sheshach, the city of Sheshach, the people of Sheshach. Finally, a scholar applied the Atbash Cipher to the word, and his results were mind-numbing. The cipher revealed that Sheshach was in fact a code word for another very well-known city. The decryption process was simple. Sheshach, in Hebrew, was spelled: Sh-Sh-K. Sh-Sh-K, when placed in the substitution matrix, became B-B-L. B-B-L, in Hebrew, spelled Babel. The mysterious city of Sheshach was revealed as the city of Babel, and a frenzy of biblical examination ensued. Within weeks, several more Atbash code words were uncovered in the Old Testament, unveiling myriad hidden meanings that scholars had no idea were there. â€Å"We’re getting close,† Langdon whispered, unable to control his excitement. â€Å"Inches, Robert,† Teabing said. He glanced over at Sophie and smiled. â€Å"You ready?† She nodded.† Okay, Baphomet in Hebrew without the vowels reads: B-P-V-M-Th.Now we simply apply your Atbash substitution matrix to translate the letters into our five-letter password.† Langdon’s heart pounded. B-P-V-M-Th.The sun was pouring through the windows now. He looked at Sophie’s substitution matrix and slowly began to make the conversion. B is Sh†¦P is V†¦ Teabing was grinning like a schoolboy at Christmas. â€Å"And the Atbash Cipher reveals†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He stopped short. â€Å"Good God!† His face went white. Langdon’s head snapped up. â€Å"What’s wrong?† Sophie demanded. â€Å"You won’t believe this.† Teabing glanced at Sophie. â€Å"Especially you.† â€Å"What do you mean?† she said.† This is†¦ ingenious,† he whispered. â€Å"Utterly ingenious!† Teabing wrote again on the paper. â€Å"Drumroll, please. Here is your password.† He showed them what he had written. Sh-V-P-Y-A Sophie scowled. â€Å"What is it?† Langdon didn’t recognize it either. Teabing’s voice seemed to tremble with awe. â€Å"This, my friend, is actually an ancient word of wisdom.† Langdon read the letters again. An ancient word of wisdom frees this scroll.An instant later he got it. He had never seen this coming. â€Å"An ancient word of wisdom!† Teabing was laughing. â€Å"Quite literally!† Sophie looked at the word and then at the dial. Immediately she realized Langdon and Teabing had failed to see a serious glitch. â€Å"Hold on! This can’t be the password,† she argued. â€Å"The cryptex doesn’t have an Sh on the dial. It uses a traditional Roman alphabet.† â€Å"Read the word,† Langdon urged. â€Å"Keep in mind two things. In Hebrew, the symbol for the sound Sh can also be pronounced as S, depending on the accent. Just as the letter P can be pronounced F.† SVFYA? she thought, puzzled. â€Å"Genius!† Teabing added. â€Å"The letter Vav is often a placeholder for the vowel sound O!† Sophie again looked at the letters, attempting to sound them out.† S†¦ o†¦ f†¦ y†¦ a.† She heard the sound of her voice, and could not believe what she had just said. â€Å"Sophia? This spells Sophia?† Langdon was nodding enthusiastically. â€Å"Yes! Sophia literally means wisdom in Greek. The root of your name, Sophie, is literally a ‘word of wisdom.'† Sophie suddenly missed her grandfather immensely. He encrypted the Priory keystone with my name.A knot caught in her throat. It all seemed so perfect. But as she turned her gaze to the five lettered dials on the cryptex, she realized a problem still existed. â€Å"But wait†¦ the word Sophia has six letters.† Teabing’s smile never faded. â€Å"Look at the poem again. Your grandfather wrote, ‘An ancient word of wisdom.’ â€Å"Yes?† Teabing winked. â€Å"In ancient Greek, wisdom is spelled S-O-F-I-A.† How to cite The Da Vinci Code Chapter 73-77, Essay examples

Behavior and Social Cognitive Approaches to Forming Habits free essay sample

Behavior and Social/Cognitive Approaches to Forming Habits Nikia Williams PYS/250 03/31/2011 Mr. David Wolske Abstract Behavior and Social/Cognitive Approaches to Forming Habits Prayer is a behavior that has existed for many generations in my family. My grandmother and mother prayed nightly, before meals, and in the event of any unpleasant situations, which created the habit of praying for me. Praying is a form releasing for me. Releasing and relinquishing every part of my life to God who I pray to. Praying to God allows me to remove worry and doubt from my life under most conditions. In the times I chose not to pray, it permits the various mishaps to weigh me down, preventing me from living with the intentions of being loving to everyone I come in contact with. The times I chose not to pray are not done purposely, and usually occur when I focus on my surroundings and forget that I am to pray at all times. We will write a custom essay sample on Behavior and Social Cognitive Approaches to Forming Habits or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page Behavioral personality theory suggest the reason I perform this ritual of prayer, is because for many years I observed this act and its practice formed a habit much like learning to speak English is learned through watching others use of it. Behavioral personality theory suggests that any observable behavior impacts learning†¦ Social/cognitive theory suggests that I formed this habit because it is linked to my social environment. Also in social/cognitive theory it is believed that habits are formed when there in interactions of the environment with personal beliefs.