The Waltonian

Should books be made into movies? It’s a simple question. However, the older I get, the more I realize that the answer is not so simple.

There are two major ways we see books adapted to the film screen. First, there is the classic, approximately two-hour-long movie. These movies frequently choose a theme or aspect of the book to draw out, since they simply don’t have enough time to actually thoroughly address the story or the characters. Second, there is the miniseries. Overall, miniseries do a better job of capturing books. The longer time format allows them to be more intentional about crafting a strong retelling of the narrative, characters and themes of a book. At times, we see books adapted into movie series, which does better address the issues of time constraints.

However, a film adaptation must always make sacrifices. There’s simply no way to fit all that is in a book, something that uses words to paint pictures in the reader’s imagination, into a film, which presents the picture directly to the reader.

This is the largest issue that arises when considering film adaptations: The effect on the audience’s imagination. Film adaptations present their own readings of the book, which may or may not align with how the book is intended to be read. This can occur in the addition of scenes or characters to movies that were not originally in the book, thus affecting the story arc and the audience’s understanding of the story. However, even if the movie technically followed the book perfectly, pictures still capture the audience’s imagination. They capture the audience’s imagination in something as simple as the tone of a character’s voice while they quote from the original book. To see it in movie form restricts the audience’s imagination to only hear the quote in that tone, in that voice. This can also take place in something as large as how the movie interprets different aspects of world-building. The film-maker’s imagination for what a scene ought to look like, for even what a planet ought to look like, fill the audience’s mind with their own pictures. The film-maker’s imagination is imposed upon the author’s picture, so that the audience’s imagination is filled with the film-maker’s pictures, rather than what the author themselves necessarily desired. While the film-maker’s imagination can bring the story to life for some audiences, and perhaps at times do so even better than the author, this happens infrequently. It is much more frequent that films based on books fail to retell the story, and forever hurt the audience’s imagination to boot.

So, all in all, should we adapt books into movie form? Movie adaptations must always sacrifice something in their attempt to retell the story. This could include elements of the story itself, like scenes, characters, character growth, or almost anything else you can think of. However, it always includes the sacrifice of the freedom of the audience’s imagination, and that is too great a cost to be counted.

Daniel Finegan:

Think of some of the greatest movies of all time. “Lord of the Rings.” “The Godfather.” “How to Train Your Dragon.” “The Wizard of Oz.” “The Princess Bride.” What do all these films have in common? They were all based on books.

Adapting books into movies is a very common practice, and one that is often controversial. Audiences who love the book often detest the movie for being inaccurate to its source material, or just being plain bad. There are certainly many, many examples of bad book-to-film adaptations. However, when the halls of cinema greatness are filled with so many movies with the credit “Based on the book by…,” it becomes clear that simply disregarding books being made into movies would do a great disservice.

Part of the reason why fans of a book do not like its movie adaptation is because of imagination. Books and movies are very different mediums. Movies utilize more complex visual and auditory elements than books, so the latter relies more heavily on the imagination of the reader. When you read about Aragorn in Tolkein’s books, your imagination constructs an image of him, whereas the “Lord of the Rings” movies use an actor (Viggo Mortensen) to portray the character. Many fans react negatively when the movie’s depiction of a character is not in line with how they imagined the character.

This negativity arises from a misconception about the very nature of films. A book leaves a lot up to your imagination; a film, much less so. Neither approach is necessarily better or worse; they are just different.

The faithfulness of a film to its source material, in and of itself, has very little bearing on its quality. “How to Train Your Dragon” and “The Princess Bride” are quite different from the books of the same name; yet, in my opinion, the films are better. What matters is not, “how accurate is this movie to its book?” What is far more important is, “how good is the movie?”

It can be hard for fans of a book to see it be made into a movie. The art we love has a profound effect on us; it is often very dear and important to our formation as people. Bad movie adaptations, or even ones that make changes to how we see the world and characters, can feel almost like personal attacks. However, even if an adaptation of a book turns out to be a terrible movie, it cannot affect the quality of the book. The book will remain just as good as it was before the movie came out. I can watch a movie based on a book I love, and it may absolutely suck; but I can always go back to the book. But if it happens to be a good movie, then I am depriving myself if I refuse to watch it.

Spring 2025 is an exciting semester at Eastern University. We attempt to keep up with classwork as celebrations are planned, choirs are arranged, and the whole university is waiting in anticipation for festivities to begin. Why, you might ask?

2025 marks Eastern University’s Centennial celebration, the 100th birthday of the school we know and love. The excitement can barely be contained as we all prepare for such an occasion.

However, amidst all the hustle and bustle of the many celebrations on Eastern’s campus commemorating our anniversary, a deeply important question has emerged. You might hear murmurs, quietly circulating rumors from upperclassmen and graduates, but very rarely does it slip out from shadowy whispers and into open conversation.

Several brave souls have dared to ask, why are we celebrating the centennial anniversary of Eastern University this year?

I know what you’re thinking. Your brow has just furled. You grip the newspaper just a little tighter now, or if you’re reading online, you hold your phone close as your hand begins to shake. Your stomach might even be in knots. What does this mean? Is this not Eastern University’s 100th anniversary?

Well, my dear fellow students, deeply appreciated faculty members and all other esteemed readers of this fine newspaper, it is my sad but necessary duty to inform you that 2025 does not actually mark Eastern University’s Centennial anniversary.

Before you gather your pitchforks, and threaten to burn me at the stake with all those fire-starters that are not allowed on campus, allow me to explain.

This is a simple matter of mathematics.

The roots of Eastern University as we know it today are found in Eastern Baptist Theological Seminary, which began in 1925, in Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia. For those of you who didn’t know (or, didn’t feel the need to do the math, it’s okay, I get it), 1925 was exactly one hundred years ago. Why does this matter? This matters because when Eastern University announces that this year, 2025, marks our 100th anniversary, they equate the beginning of the university with the beginning of the seminary.

This doesn’t seem too strange, right? The seminary just morphed into Eastern, and so sure, it seems like some details might have been fudged a little bit in order for it to make sense that the university as a whole is 100 years old, but that’s not too big a problem. I understand your confusion, my friend. Let’s return to the story together, shall we?

The seminary itself did not develop an undergraduate program until seven years later. So, the seminary did not even approach becoming a college until 93 years ago. The Bachelor of the Arts degree, which solidified the undergraduate program, was developed in 1938. This undergrad program separated from the seminary around 1951, and after the separation, morphed into Eastern Baptist College. Eastern Baptist College then moved to the Walton estate, the campus we live on today.

Alright, let’s take a quick break to do the math. Eastern Theological Seminary was created in 1925. Eastern Baptist College became its own entity around 1950. Eastern as a college did not officially exist until only 75 years ago. Furthermore, if it could be argued that location was the continuity between the seminary and college, Eastern didn’t exist on the campus that we know until the college separated from the seminary.

Fast forward another 25 years (approximately). In 2001, Eastern Baptist College became a university. So, it’s only been 25 years since the actual entity Eastern University began. Keep in mind, at this point, Eastern University was still separate from Eastern Theological Seminary. In 2003, Eastern University assumed charge of Eastern Theological Seminary, now known as Palmer Theological Seminary.

What this means is that for over 50 years of the existence of Eastern as a college, Eastern Theological Seminary wasn’t actually part of it. So, if we’re basing our centennial anniversary on the beginning of a program that wasn’t even part of our university for over half the time the university has existed…perhaps something is amiss.

My dear friends, I regret to inform you that the evidence is conclusive.

Eastern University is indeed not 100 years old. It’s not even really 75 years old. It didn’t even become a university until 25 years ago. And, the whole 100 year count is based on the existence of Eastern Theological Seminary, which was only part of the Eastern college for about 25 years, spent 50 years wandering the streets of Philadelphia alone, until it was adopted back into the Eastern family in 2003.

What implications does this have for our celebration? That, my lieges, is up for you to decide. I hope you will choose wisely. After all, this is only a simple matter of mathematics, but how you choose to respond could affect the rest of your life.

Now that we are quickly approaching Eastern University’s Centennial Celebration, it is only fitting that we reflect on the history of one very special part of our university: our Turning Point vocal ensemble.

For those who are unfamiliar, Turning Point is a prestigious, audition-only vocal ensemble, composed of students who are truly committed to honing their craft, learning and creating beautiful music together. Turning Point has traditionally been made up of upperclassmen, but in recent years, more sophomores and freshmen have joined the ranks of these students pursuing musical excellence together.

In order to learn more about the history of our talented choir, I sat down with the current director, Dr. Perry Brisbon.

Turning Point began in 1975 as an outreach for the college. At this time, Eastern was still known as Eastern Baptist College, and the music department didn’t even yet exist. While admissions and administration orchestrated the ensemble’s beginning and event schedule, the ensemble itself was entirely led by students and their instruments. The ensemble primarily performed contemporary praise and worship music. The students bore the responsibility of structuring their own performances, and representing the university at churches, retirement homes and other events.

Turning Point has since slowly developed into the more classical choral group we know now. Much of this development took place under the leadership of our university president, the former music department director, Dr. Ron Matthews. As the music department gained its footing in the ‘90s, Turning Point was incorporated into its administration, leading it to its current state as a formalized, directed choir. Brisbon credits Matthews with firmly establishing the structure and culture of the choir. Matthews’ time as the director brought much of the organization and musical repertoire that is so important to Turning Point today. Furthermore, because of his work, the ensemble director’s role is not just to steward the students’ musical talent, but to come alongside them in their spiritual growth during their time in the choir. This development in the structure and organization of the ensemble has not detracted from student leadership, but rather further enhanced it with more established roles and responsibilities. Students still take on the role of President, Vice-President, and as necessary, the social media manager.

Turning Point has performed extensively, even joining other choirs at prestigious locations like Philadelphia’s own Kimmel Center. In 2022, the choir recorded two songs: one, a rendition of Psalm 57, and the other, a song for Ukraine. Yet, Brisbon pointed to the smaller, more personal moments with members of the ensemble as the true, marking events of Turning Point. He described a breakfast with the ensemble’s then-President, Vice President, and the soon-to-be Vice President as one of these such moments. “We weren’t singing a note. It was just the fact that there was such love for the group. Here’s a young lady who’s graduating [the then-President]…she could have said, you know, I’m out, I’m graduating, and leave it to the next group. But now we’re all sitting there, strategizing on the direction for Turning Point. And it’s like those are the moments I remember,” Brisbon said. The pillar moments that now make up Turning Point’s legacy were not necessarily the brightest or most flashy, but instead, the more ordinary times where the ensemble came together in beautiful ways.

Turning Point turns 50 years old with our university’s Centennial anniversary, and since its beginning, has represented students who deeply care about music, excellence, and growing together. Their legacy is one of ownership of their work, commitment to their craft and appreciation for each other, a legacy that will hopefully be continued on until the ensemble celebrates their Centennial anniversary.

From the early moments of your youth, you were likely exposed in some way to the wonderful world of fairy tales. However, as you grew up, you also likely began to question the merit of these stories. No one ever lives happily ever after, do they? In real life, the Beast stays the Beast. The stepsisters and stepmother win. Snow White never wakes up from her sleep. Fairies are just figments of childhood naïveté, and certainly Red Riding Hood never escapes the Wolf. Hansel and Gretel are lost to us forever, and the shard of glass in the little girl’s heart leaves a scar that will never be healed.

If this is true, why do we then tell our children fairy tales? If they merely postpone the recognition that ‘the real life’ is full of broken, horrendous evils, and trick children into believing that happily ever after is indeed possible, why do we continue on sharing these stories?

Perhaps fairy tales teach us more about reality than we think. And, perhaps they awaken our imagination to see the world in a more full way: recognizing both what is, what can be, and all the in-between. Indeed, perhaps looking at the world through the lens of fairy tales is the best way to look at the world.

Before we can make a definitive statement about the merits of a fairytale vision of the world, it is probably in order to consider several key features of this view: Enchantment, virtue, and wonder.

Enchantment suggests to us an idea of mystery. We learn from fairy tales that there are spells that come over us, and can only be broken by certain requirements. However, these spells reveal to us, or if not us, those around us, something about ourselves, and the nature of the world. Spells, though a form of disguising reality, often bring out that which is true which we like to hide. Think of the spell the Beast is put under in “Beauty and the Beast”–the witch puts him under a spell, transforming a handsome prince into the form of a monstrous beast. However, this enchantment reveals to us, and to himself, just how monstrous his vanity is. Funny how it is that a spell, which might seem like a disguise, actually reveals to us key truths about reality. Perhaps re-enchanting our view of the world can have a similar effect: We look for the moments when we are overcome by feelings, thoughts, situations, and see that even these ‘spells’ we are under can reveal to us something about reality that we might never discover otherwise.

Oftentimes, it is through the enchantments we encounter and the mysteries we are forced to consider that we learn virtue. We come to understand that there are such clear distinctive things as good and evil. We learn that things are not always what they seem–something might seem good, it might be disguised by some sort of allurement or elsewise, and it could be very dangerous. From this we learn discernment, but also, we learn about the nature of good and evil. Evil likes to hide itself, to pretend that it is good. However, its disguise ultimately fails, every time. Consider the witch’s house in “Hansel and Gretel” as an example of this: a house made of candy seems to be the best situation to find yourself in as a starving child in the woods. A strange, yet seemingly nice lady, invites you in for more goodies. However, she shows her true colors when she locks you and your sister in a cage to fatten you up before she cooks you for her supper. Evil and good are clear, distinctive standards. Evil tries to disguise itself as something good, but ultimately fails every time.

Wonder: Fairy tales teach us that all is not what it seems. However, they do teach us that reality can be known, and known through discovery. In order to make these discoveries, we need to be discerning, we need to act virtuously, but we also need to explore. We need to go on adventures, and we need to gaze at the world with eyes wide open, ready to experience whatever beauty we come across. We need to understand our failure to recognize illusions, but to continually seek for reality, and to be open to wonder and delight at the possibilities this adventure opens up to the world.

From fairy tales, we learn about enchantment, wonder, and virtue. Now, you might say that none of these qualities really help us in real life–except for virtue, but even that isn’t necessarily the most helpful if evil likes to disguise itself as good. Why, after all this, ought we to value the vision of fairy tales so much?

Fairy tales teach us about virtue so that we know, in the words of Alasdair MacIntyre “to act well in the story that we are in.” Enchantments teach us that all is not as it seems, but that sometimes ‘spells’ cast over us reveal reality in a way that could not be otherwise accessed. Wonder teaches us to delight in Beauty, and to keep our eyes wide open to possibility. This helps us to both recognize illusions and reality. (After all, it’s rather hard to recognize if something is an illusion if your eyes are shut tight in the first place).

So, where ought we go from here? I would suggest choosing every day to practice gratitude, wonder, and searching for truth, even in some small ways. Remember that all is not as it seems, and this means you can find beauty in places where you least expect it. Allow yourself to be changed by what you discover, formed into a more delighted human. And perhaps, in and through this, you shall wake up one day to discover that indeed, the world is a more beautiful and wonderful place, all because you took the time to truly observe it.

Recently, I’ve been pondering how to best balance the active and contemplative life. As a student, my role is primarily to contemplate and engage in the life of the mind. However, I often wonder how this is best balanced with the active life–the life of outward-facing pursuits, deeply rooted in physical work. How do I take the ideas that I’m contemplating and truly live them out, much less live them out well? While I’ve been considering this particularly in the context of student life, this role will not last forever. This tension between the two lives carries over into the broader career and vocational world, no matter where I am or what I do. Thus, I think it important to ask, how ought we to balance the life of the mind and the physical life that we are given?

Perhaps the best place to start is to recognize that both the active and contemplative lives are gifts. It is a gift, not a given, that we have the capability to engage in the life of the mind and the life of activity. Our mental and physical faculties are subject to natural deterioration over time, as well as the potential of grave injury or disaster, even death. From this, we understand that every breath is a gift. Furthermore, as we are given the fundamental, biological necessities for life, we are also given an opportunity to contemplate, to study, to learn, to engage in intellectual pursuits. Throughout history and our modern day world, it is truly a privilege to have the leisure to commit so much time to intellectual pursuits and studying.

We are given the opportunity to participate in the life of the mind, and we are also given the active life. We are given bodies to move with, places to dwell in and communities to serve in. We are given opportunities daily to step outside of ourselves and love those around us. All of these beautiful things–biological life itself, the life of the mind, and the life of action and service–are not givens, but blessings we get to receive, steward, and further pass along. Thus, the framework from which we ponder the balance between contemplation and action ought to be one of gratitude, gratitude that we even get to consider how to best balance these two wonderful aspects of living. Our very capabilities to engage in life in such a way are gifts, not givens, and so perhaps this should also motivate us to invite others into receiving these gifts alongside us.

As we gratefully seek a balance between the active and contemplative life, the Ancient Roman philosopher and orator Cicero, in his discourse “Laelius: On Friendship”, poses a potential answer to our question:

“If a man ascended into heaven and gazed upon the whole workings of the universe and the beauty of the stars, the marvelous sight would give him no joy if he had to keep it to himself. And yet, if only there had been someone to describe the spectacle to, it would have filled him with delight. Nature abhors solitude, and always demands that every thing should have some support to rely upon. For any human being, the best support of all is a good friend.”

Cicero implies that the life of the mind–a life of wonder and contemplation of the cosmos–would not just have something missing, but would be devoid of joy if it could not be shared. Thus, in order to fully experience the contemplative life, we must engage in the active life so that we can cultivate the friendship required to live well. Friendship must be cultivated, pursued and cherished in order for it to grow. Cultivating, pursuing and cherishing–these are all active states. According to Cicero, through the active state of friendship, our capacity grows to contemplate well. We can finally delight in pondering the universe and the Great Ideas when we do it with others. However, in order to preserve our friendships, our contemplative living and our active living in service must be interwoven. In order to either contemplate or act well, we need friends to rely on.

Thus, perhaps, it is through living out true, dedicated friendship, that we balance the active and contemplative lives.

After all, if Cicero is right and we are made to share life with others, then the Good Life is comprised of the active pursuit of friends who will contemplate and delight in Beauty with us, and this active sharing of Beauty then deepens our friendships and opens new, distinct possibilities in the life of the mind. Through friendship, we learn to balance our intellectual lives and our lives of service, as in order to maintain true friendship, we must be the friend that can be relied upon–just as we rely upon our friends.

Friendship enables us to experience the beauty of the world around us and the wealth of the life of the mind. Friendship forces us to toe the line between the active and contemplative lives but gives us a fellow pursuer of Truth, a friend, to lean on as we learn the balance. Friendship gives us a space to both contemplate ideas and to live them out.

So, no matter what balance of active and contemplative living your career or vocation promotes, I ask you to ponder what it looks like to invest deeply in your community. Consider choosing the hard road of human relationships–for within the framework of friendship, the world unfolds with new possibilities and beauty in unexpected places. Give the gift of friendship as the gift of life is given to you, knowing that contemplation holds infinitely more joy when actively pursued in relationship with other beautiful people.

It is not good that man should be alone. This is the Good Life, the active and contemplative lives intertwined by friendship.

To quote Wendell Berry, “Its hardship is its possibility.”

One of life’s greatest blessings and many frustrations is the wealth of incredible thought and philosophy that we have inherited. This leads to the sad reality that many of our most brilliant thinkers and philosophers lie buried underneath the tangled ivy of the sheer bulk of history’s literary work. Unfortunately, this is especially true regarding many of the brilliant female minds of the Middle Ages. And yet, it doesn’t have to be. My intention today is to offer to you an underrated, thinker, composer, doctor, visionary and Christian whom you likely haven’t heard of, but whose work is worth the investment to enjoy.

If you’ve ever heard of this 12th-century German nun, it was likely within the context of her impressive musical composition repertoire. St. Hildegard von Bingen’s extensive composition of Medieval plainchant and other liturgical hymns won her much respect in the historical music world. She’s also credited with having written the first morality play, the musical Ordo Virtutem.

While St. Hildegard’s many musical accomplishments are rightfully astounding, far fewer people seem to recognize the plenitude of her other intellectual endeavors. St. Hildegard belonged to the Benedictine monastic order, an order which highly emphasized the contemplative life and development of the mind. Through the mentorship of her fellow resident at the monastery, Jutta, St. Hildegard learned to read and write. Even from her early writings, we can see her deep roots in the already rich intellectual tradition she had access to through monasticism. Her literary repertoire extends across genres and themes, containing apocalyptic, visionary masterpieces such as the Scivias, treatments of virtue and vice such as Liber Vitae Meritorium, theological commentary on portions of the Bible in Liber Divinorum Operum and scientific, medical treatises like Causae et Curae. She’s also referenced as having gracefully stepped into political issues by writing eloquent letters to the different parties involved.

St. Hildegard’s work also extended past the intellectual, as she recognized the deep importance of physical life. She worked as a nurse for years within her convent, and her experience in the medical field both greatly influenced her community and writings. Even just reading her more visionary works, such as Scivias, I’ve been struck by how she conveys the unity of a person, and the importance of the relationship between the body and soul. One example of this is when she uses the analogy of an arm and fingers, with all their veins and marrow, to describe the relationship between the will and the intellect. While this might seem a rather weak example of her medical work’s impact on her visionary life, this is only one of many instances where she uses her understanding of the body to convey spiritual concepts. And, the fact that she uses the body as her metaphor for the soul in the first place is rather unique within her historical and philosophical context.

From her first biography on, Hildegard was considered a saint, and remains a saint in both the Church of England and the Roman Catholic Church. However, it wasn’t until 2012 that she was officially canonized by the Roman Catholic church. In 2019, she was proclaimed a Doctor of the Church, a title only held by three other women.

All in all, St. Hildegard’s work is expansive, covering the musical, medical, political, ethical and theological. Her ability to write winsomely and eloquently on so many topics, particularly at a time when basic education was not as widely proffered as it is now, is particularly remarkable. Based on the bit of St. Hildegard’s background that I’ve provided you with, you can probably agree with me at this point that she was a very accomplished woman. However, I’ve yet to explain why we, common folk, ought to appreciate her work. After all, what sort of impact can a nun’s almost a thousand-year-old writings have on our lives? Since her choral pieces are so representative of the excellence of her work, why should we seek out any of her other work?

One of my professors, Dr. Moser, lent me his copy of St. Hildegard’s Scivias at the beginning of the semester. While this reading is slow going at times, I can assure you that it’s worth it to give a chance to St. Hildegard’s more dense writings simply based on the beauty of her language and writing–and much more because of the intellectual and spiritual richness of her work.

St. Hildegard ought to be thought of more highly and widely than a passing mention distantly associated with music. While her writings are not the most widely known, they are highly representative of the beautiful work of many Christian female Mystics who were influential in their communities through their physical, spiritual and intellectual presences. From women like this, but especially St. Hildegard, we learn not just spiritual truths, not just new ways to marvel at the wonders of this world and of faith, but also much about life dedicated to pursuing the true, good, and beautiful. We learn that the intellectual life does not need to be divorced from a deep understanding and appreciation of the physical life. We become more fully human as we witness the picture of the fullness of creation and humanity that particularly St. Hildegard presents. So, I invite you to join me in brushing off the ivy that covers St. Hildegard’s work, and recovering the thoughts of this brilliant woman, so that we might weave her wisdom into our lives and witness the world anew as a result.