Burning Daylight

What’s the point of this game we call “Life”? That’s the question that drives Jack London’s most profitable and well-read novel (at least during his lifetime), called Burning Daylight. I was familiar, of course, with The Call of the Wild and White Fang, his best-known tales. But I did not know the story of Elam Harnish, aka “Burning Daylight,” the subject of this 1910 work.

I was attracted to the title based on a simple search of the Web. Over the last decade and more, I had adopted the cliché that “we’re burning daylight.” In other words, time is fixed, finite, and flying, falling away at breakneck speed. Not a moment is to be wasted. Not a second is to be lost. There is so much that can be done and experienced and known and so little time to pack it all in.

As I searched the cliché for a different project, I came upon London’s book. Here is, of course, another example of my perspective. How many more great books have I missed simply because I have not been paying attention? A whole universe full, in fact. But that’s another conversation.

Elam Harnish comes on the stage as a brawny, brawling, larger than life prospector in the years leading up to the Yukon gold rush. Part I of the book details how he builds a fortune of eleven million dollars based on daring, Yukon-sized gambles that risk life and limb and contain a vision as big as the man himself.

Daylight, as the main character is known, is not particularly interested in the wealth as such. For him, it’s the “game.” The higher the stakes the better. “A man played big,” London wrote of his protagonist. “He risked everything for everything, and anything less than everything meant that he was a loser” (page 5). The big game produced big bucks. But Daylight learned that the winnings were really of a different sort – the real game was played for power.

In Part 2, Daylight heads south to San Francisco. He brought his money and his nerve to a far bigger playground and to a game called “high finance.” “Big man as he had been in the Arctic game,” London wrote, “it merely showed how much bigger was this new game, when a man worth eleven millions, and with a history such as his, passed unnoticed” (page 105).

Daylight did not remain unnoticed for long. In this second act of London’s morality play, Daylight takes on the robber barons of both coasts. He faces a steep learning curve and doesn’t always win. But in the end, he doubles his millions and more. Yet, the game takes its toll on him in heart, soul, mind, and strength.

“Finance was poker on a larger scale,” London observed, through Daylight’s musings. “The men who played were the men who had stakes. The workers were the fellows toiling for grubstakes. He saw the game played out according to the everlasting rules, and he played a hand himself. The gigantic futility of humanity organized and befuddled by the bandits did not shock him,” Daylight observed. “It was the natural order. Practically all human endeavors were futile” (page 136).

The price to play was steep. His heart became hard to the suffering of others. His soul became bitter and cynical after seeing so much greed, venality, cowardice, and malice. His mind would not rest, because there was always another play, another deal, another crisis, or catastrophe. His strength waned from lack of exercise, too much booze, too little sleep, and too much cruelty. It was not so much that he played the game. The game was playing him.

This was, Daylight thought, simply in the nature of things. “It was life, and life was a savage proposition at best. Men in civilization robbed because they were so made. They robbed just as cats scratched, famine pinched, and frost bit” (page 136). Equipped with that perspective, Daylight made a killing as a financier, and was slowly killing himself in the process. I would not presume to improve on London’s own assessment.

“The grim Yukon life had failed to make Daylight hard. It required civilization to produce this result. In the fierce, savage game he now played, his habitual geniality imperceptibly slipped away from him, as did his lazy Western drawl. As his speech became sharp and nervous, so did his mental processes. In the swift rush of the game, he found less and less time to spend on being merely good-natured. The change marked his face itself” (page 137).

Part II of the book takes a more human turn as we come to know Dede Mason, the one great love of Daylight’s life. Spoiler alert! If you want to read the book for yourself to find out how things end, you should probably skip down a few paragraphs.

Dede leads him to see the truth of his life. “And was it worth it?” Daylight wondered to himself. “What did all his money mean after all? Dede was right. It could buy him no more than one bed at a time, and at the same time it made him the abjectest of slaves” (page 263). Winning the game, Daylight discovers, is a losing proposition in the end.

What is the point of the game? Is it consuming or communing? Elam Harnish played the consuming game for all he was worth. He played according to the few “rules” of that game, and he came out the winner. What he discovered was that in consuming others, he was himself consumed by the game, playing it simply for something to do.

And he discovered that the game took away his humanity.

We are created by God for communing, not for consuming. God desires to have all of me – my whole heart, whole soul, whole mind, and whole strength. Thus, the only appropriate response to God is to give my whole self to God.

This is the language either of consuming or communing. If it’s consuming – if I am to be eaten whole – that’s the work of sin, death, and the devil. God seeks self-giving union with all of me. We are made to give ourselves completely to God. That’s why we find such satisfaction and meaning in complete self-giving. That will be salvation for Burning Daylight at the end of the story (not to give too much away).

Such complete communion is nearly as scary as being consumed. The Markan composition has a remarkable play on words that is lost in the NRSV translation (unnecessarily so, in my humble opinion). This complete union with God (and as a consequence with neighbor) is worth more than “all whole burnt-offerings and sacrifices.”

The play comes with the word “whole.” It’s not just all our heart, soul, mind, and strength that God desires. It’s the “whole” of our selves that God calls into union with God in Christ, like the “whole burnt-offerings” (you might want to think of the “living sacrifice” language in Romans 12 in this regard). Just as the “whole burnt offering” is completely consumed on the altar in the Temple, so we are to be taken up into God as a “whole.” That could mean that we evaporate into oblivion, and that’s what scares us.

Or it could mean that we are transformed completely into what God created us to be from the beginning.

That, of course, is what God intends. The point of the game is union with God and with one another. In that union, we become most fully ourselves. If, on the other hand, the point of the game is consuming (winning), then everyone loses in the end. And, as Burning Daylight discovers to his chagrin, that winning makes us progressively less human – less whole in heart, soul, mind, and strength.

What prompts this question about the point of the game? It can certainly be prompted by losing – by losing a loved one, a job, a dream, a child, an illusion. If a person has been working to win and the work doesn’t pan out, we can be driven to seek meaning and purpose elsewhere. I suspect that at least part of the current “Great Resignation” in the job market involves people who were losing at this game and have been forced to wonder if it’s the right game at all.

The question can, paradoxically, also be prompted by winning. No matter how banal the insight, it is indeed true that the one who dies with the most toys still dies. This is part of the point of London’s book, I think. Daylight wins the game, repeatedly. But he cannot claim what matters most to him in the end, even though he has won. He can only find real victory by resigning from the game.

If this reminds you of our conversation about the rich man in Mark 10, that’s not accidental. I think that one way to read the Markan composition from Mark 8:26 through the end of Mark 13 is with this question in mind. What’s the point of the game? Perhaps it is a political restoration of Israel. Perhaps it is accommodating the Roman imperial regime. Perhaps it is wealth and possessions. Perhaps it is raw power – even in Jesus’ glorious reign.

But none of these strategies produces a real “win” in the Kin(g)dom of God. It is as my dad often wondered. What would that dog do if he ever actually caught the car he was chasing? Then what’s the point?

It is the losers who win in the Markan composition – climaxing with our hero, Blind Bartimaeus, dancing with Jesus toward the cross. Perhaps this is the real revolution of Luther’s Reformation – the insight that the Church of his time was simply playing the wrong game. That’s a question for the White church in our own time and place as well. White male supremacy and the racist status quo are simply the wrong game for Jesus followers.

It is even more a question for the political and economic players of our time. Will we resign from consuming one another and consider communing with one another? It’s clear that we must answer soon, one way or another. After all, we’re burning daylight.

References and Resources

Campbell, Antony F., SJ. God First Loved Us: The Challenge of Aceepting Unconditional Love. Paulist Pr. Kindle Edition.

Freeman, Tzvi. https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1438516/jewish/Mitzvah.htm.

Furnish, Victor Paul. “Love of Neighbor in the New Testament.” The Journal of Religious Ethics, vol. 10, no. 2, [Journal of Religious Ethics, Inc, Wiley, Blackwell Publishing Ltd], 1982, pp. 327–34, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40017773.

Greenlee, Mark B. “Echoes of the Love Command in the Halls of Justice.” Journal of Law and Religion, vol. 12, no. 1, Cambridge University Press, 1995, pp. 255–70, https://doi.org/10.2307/1051616.

HEIL, JOHN PAUL. “The Narrative Strategy and Pragmatics of the Temple Theme in Mark.” The Catholic Biblical Quarterly, vol. 59, no. 1, Catholic Biblical Association, 1997, pp. 76–100, http://www.jstor.org/stable/43723803.

Hurtado, Larry. Mark (Understanding the Bible Commentary Series). Grand Rapids, MI.: Baker Books, 1989.

London, Jack. Burning Daylight. Kindle Edition.  

Tuomo Mannermaa; Kirsi Irmeli Stjerna. Christ Present In Faith: Luther’s View Of Justification. Kindle Edition.

Tuomo Mannermaa. Two Kinds of Love: Martin Luther’s Religious World (Kindle Locations 201-203). Kindle Edition.

Manning, Brenna. The Furious Longing of God. Colorado Springs, CO.: David C. Cook, 2009.

Powery, Emerson. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-31-2/commentary-on-mark-1228-34-4.

Wilson, Sarah Hinlicky. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-31-2/commentary-on-mark-1228-34-5.

Wright, N. T. Mark for Everyone (The New Testament for Everyone). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.

Say What?

Let’s begin by situating our text in the larger structure and context of the Markan composition. There is no end to the proposals for how to structure the Gospel of Mark as we have it and how the various pieces of the account fit together. Many of the proposals have their relative merits, and none should be taken as reflecting the “mind of Mark.” We don’t have access to that insight, and it’s not obvious from the text we have. So, any proposed structure or outline is really a heuristic device – a tool to assist our study and interpretation. That is certainly true of what I’m going to propose.

It appears that Mark 10:46 is the conclusion of and punchline for the “Way of Following” section of the Markan account (from Mark 1:16 to the end of chapter 10). Mark 11 leads off with the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem. I think this story serves as the mini-prologue for chapters eleven through thirteen. This section focuses on the Jerusalem Temple and the related political and religious establishment. The section concludes with the Markan “Little Apocalypse,” which helps the audience of the composition to interpret and deal with the destruction of the Temple and the defeat of the Jewish rebels in 66-70 C.E.

If you’ve read some previous posts on the Markan composition, you will know that chiasm is one of the Markan composer’s favorite techniques for organizing material. It’s always worth looking for chiastic structures, both large and small in the composition. I am reading Mark 11:11 through the end of chapter thirteen as a loose sort of chiasm with some small structural elements thrown into the mix.

The reason for examining and analyzing such structural elements is not merely to show off (although I’m certainly not above that failing with some frequency). Instead, the purpose is to try to discern some of the emphases and purposes of the Markan composer in telling the story. As I have noted in the past, these structural elements helped those who presented and performed the Markan composition to keep things organized in their memories.

I want to suggest this loose sort of structure.

Unit	Text	Theme	Details
A	Mark 11:11-25	Fig Tree and Temple Incident	Intercalation
B	Mark 11:27-33	Jesus’ authority (in the Temple)
C	Mark 12:1-12	Parable of the Wicked Tenants (who kill the son)	Allegory
D	Mark 12:13-34	Questions in the Temple	Rule of 3 with a twist
C’	Mark 12:35-37	David’s Son	Note son in the Parable
B’	Mark 12:30-44	Jesus critiques Temple/Scribes
A’	Mark 13:1-32	Little Apocalypse	Fig Tree image as climax

Just as the Triumphal Entry serves as a connection to the previous section (especially the story of Blind Bartimaeus), so Mark 13:32-37 serves as a connection to the Passion account proper, especially with the emphasis on keeping awake. In just a few paragraphs, the central disciples will not be able to keep their eyes open while Jesus prays in the garden.

The center of a chiasm usually contains the most important theme in that section of the Markan composition, whether the chiastic structure is large, as in this case, or small. I read the set of three questions in the Temple as the center of the structure, so we need to pay close attention to what is happening here.

In addition to the chiasm, we get another example of the Markan composer’s use of the Rule of Three, but with a striking twist. The chief priests, the scribes, and the elders, in Mark 11:27-33, have challenged Jesus’ authority to interpret scripture and to attack the Temple system. So, they are the primary audience for the Parable (Allegory) of the Wicked Tenants.

They sought to restrain and/or arrest Jesus, and they were afraid of the crowd, the Markan composer tells us. They were afraid because they perceived that he spoke the parable for, against, or about them (the preposition is ambiguous). As a result, they vacated the scene.

Different sets of debate partners now come onstage for honor jousts with Jesus. These debates are still happening in the Temple. There is no indication of a scene change. The original “odd couple” in the Markan composition, some Pharisees and Herodians, try to trap him with a political question. The Sadducees pose a riddle about the Resurrection – a possibility they regard as scripturally impossible.

We would expect the third question to be another hostile challenge to Jesus (and it is portrayed as such, for example, in Luke). But it is not. That’s the really interesting piece here. “Nothing in Mark’s story prepared the reader for this conversation between Jesus and this Jerusalem scribe,” Emerson Powery writes in his workingpreacher.org commentary. “Nothing!” The scribes, for the most part, align themselves with the opposition. The listeners are reminded that the scribe overhears the previous dispute.

We are prepared, as were (I assume) the first listeners, for this scribe to be the most critical and obtuse of all. Yet, this one is not far from the Kingdom of God. Apparently, the joke’s on us this time around! The scribe appreciates Jesus’ responses to the other debaters, both in terms of content and style. The scribe noted that Jesus answered “well” – which can mean both of good quality and honorably.

“Part of the shock of this story was the agreement of the Jerusalem scribe,” Powery writes. This scribe chose to engage with Jesus rather than to trap him. The scribe takes Jesus’ critique and analysis even further when he argues that the love Jesus describes is of a value surpassing all the whole burnt offerings and sacrifices. Powery notes that this seems to be “an implicit temple critique.”

Why does the Markan composer choose this particular story/memory to include in the composition, and why does the composer put it in this place in the narrative? “The answer is probably that Mark wanted to show that the conflict between Jesus and the Jewish establishment was not based on a rejection of the OT or a complete disavowal of the law by Jesus,” Hurtado proposes, “but instead on the refusal of the Jewish authorities to accept Jesus as the final interpreter of the Jewish law” (page 201).

Was there a constituency among the Temple establishment that held an anti-Temple bias? Powery wonders this but dismisses it. “It is hard to imagine an anti-Temple scribe in Mark’s narrative, so it is better to assume otherwise,” he argues. But that doesn’t mean he disagrees with Jesus at this moment. “In fact, this individual scribe, in a collectivist society, probably represented many Jewish leaders who appreciated Jesus’ teaching,” Powery suggests. “We find hints elsewhere in the Gospel narratives (cf. Luke 7:3-5).”

The punchline in this three-part joke is that a scribe agreed with Jesus. Powery notes that this should give us pause about assuming the mindset of those who might debate with us, at least on matters of faith. “Stories like this one, rare as they are within the Christian canon, must drive us to become more willing to open up to the other,” Powery argues, “including the faithful people within our own religious tradition and those without.”

The larger question in this section of the Markan composition is the basis and nature of Jesus’ authority – especially when it comes to challenging the administration of and practices in the Jerusalem Temple. Scribes were essential to maintaining both that administration and those practices. Thus, Hurtado argues, “the point of this passage seems to be to show that Jesus’ criticism of scribal tradition did not amount to a rejection of the validity of the OT law as a revelation of God. Rather,” he continues, “Jesus’ reply to the scribe…shows what Jesus saw the proper point of the law to be” (page 201).

“This isn’t designed as a ‘new religion’, a way of life somehow different from what pious Jews sought after,” N. T. Wright agrees, “This is the fulfilment of the law and the prophets” (Kindle Location 3039).

Certainly, one of the things to take from this text is that we are listening in on an intra-Jewish debate. This is not an attempt on the part of the Markan composer to portray Jews as bad and Gentiles as good. The debates about the Temple, in the actual time of Jesus, had to be about reform rather than replacement. Of course, by the time the Markan composition achieves written status, reform is no longer an option. The Temple in Jerusalem has been destroyed.

Yet, the debates about the authority and meaning of the Hebrew scriptures must have remained live issues for the Markan community. For the composer to have a story at hand in which a Jewish authority figure commends Jesus for his accuracy and orthodoxy must have made a significant impact on those debates within the Markan community – especially if we locate that community in the fraught environment of Rome following the Neronian persecutions and the Jewish War.

“There is no limit to the amount of work to be done in the church in correcting anti-Old Testament bias,” Sarah Hinlicky Wilson writes in her workingpreacher.org commentary. “The habits of disdain toward Judaism and the faith of Israel run very deep, almost as old as the church itself, and will not be corrected easily. But preachers can and should take every opportunity,” she urges, “to inculcate a better take on the Hebrew Scriptures within the Christian canon.”

References and Resources

Freeman, Tzvi. https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1438516/jewish/Mitzvah.htm.

Hurtado, Larry. Mark (Understanding the Bible Commentary Series). Grand Rapids, MI.: Baker Books, 1989.

Tuomo Mannermaa; Kirsi Irmeli Stjerna. Christ Present In Faith: Luther’s View Of Justification. Kindle Edition.

Powery, Emerson. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-31-2/commentary-on-mark-1228-34-4.

Wilson, Sarah Hinlicky. https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-31-2/commentary-on-mark-1228-34-5.

Wright, N. T. Mark for Everyone (The New Testament for Everyone). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.