End-of-the-Era Muse

As the .7 regular readers of this blog will have noticed, I haven't posted in over a month.  A number of other projects and life events have decided to catch up with me all at once.  (One of them is here.)  I will likely continue to post occasionally at the Register, but at least for the time being this shop is shuttered.  Have fun in the archives, and remember …

A Homily on Cana

For the most part, these Monday digests are thoughts about the homily of the day before.  However, since yesterday’s Gospel was on the Manifestation at Cana, I couldn’t resist digging up an old homily which I heard some years ago.  It is a wedding homily, as the reader will discern; but I have removed the personal elements, and I think the meditation on marriage that remains is worth the read.

St. John tells us that the first of Jesus’ miracles took place at a wedding in the small town of Cana in Galilee. There are many lessons to be drawn from this—but the first and most obvious one is that a wedding was important enough to Jesus for him to be there. And he was not there just as a guest: he saved the day. The wine had run out at that wedding. The wine which had been produced by human effort—growing the grapes, picking them in season, crushing them, fermenting the juice—this wine was depleted; it had run its course and was gone. Jesus was asked to do something, to intervene. In order to produce more wine, he converted ordinary water into wine, a wine of superior vintage and quality. And so he turned what could have been a moment of embarrassment for the bride and groom into a moment of triumph for them. His presence at the beginning of their married life together was a source of relief and of joy—and ultimately was the promise of good things to come in that marriage.

This couple wants Jesus to be present in a special way here at their wedding. All the affection and good will of their friends means a great deal to them—but that is the human wine, a wine which ultimately is depleted. They want our Lord’s presence so that, as at the wedding in Cana, he may provide the good wine, the gift of his grace and blessing.

They realize that it takes three to get married—not a man, a woman, and a photographer, but a man, a woman, and God. In a few moments, during the marriage ritual, you will hear the words, “What God has joined, men must not divide." What God has joined. For ultimately, it is God who joins the couple in marriage here this afternoon. God joins them in married love because, He, God, is love. He is not just a great master of love, he is the personification of love. He is a family of three persons who live only for one another—none of whom has a private life apart from the other two, no separate “space.” The only differences among them are the relationships which distinguish the way in which they love one another: a Father, a Son, love personified in the Holy Spirit. This family life of the Holy Trinity is shrouded in a great mystery, as, I suppose, all great love is shrouded in mystery [Eph 5:32].

We too are all called to a love such as this, to this kind of selflessness, to make a gift of ourselves in love. In fact, as Pope John Paul wrote in his first letter to the world, we “cannot live without love. [We] remain … incomprehensible for [our]self, [our] life is senseless, if love is not revealed to [us], if [we] do not encounter love, if [we] do not experience it and make it [our] own, if [we] do not participate intimately in it.” [RH10] St. Augustine wrote: “Our hearts are made for God and they cannot rest until they rest in God.” Hence if human love is to begin to satisfy the human heart, it must imitate God’s love. To love as God loves, to make a total gift of our self to another as God does is, strictly speaking, unreasonable—indeed, humanly speaking, impossible, for why to love one can allege no cause [Shakespeare, 49]. But it becomes possible and reasonable with God’s help and grace—the good wine of Jesus.

Love comes from God [1Jn4:7]. Consequently, when love seems to be running low in our life… when one kills the spirit of love with a perpetual dullness [Shakespeare, 56]… in addition to whatever objective human difficulties there may be, the problem at bottom is—always—that we have not been turning to God to draw upon his help, to seek the good wine which he alone provides to enable us to love. […] And the solution, above and beyond whatever human means need to be taken, ultimately is to turn back to God and to pray to ask help to learn once again to love—to forgive and to give of oneself anew. And thus “kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, / Still constant in a wondrous excellence” [Shakespeare, 105].

Finding love, falling in love is the most significant thing that can happen in the life of a man or a woman. Love enables us to overcome impatience and unkindness and selfishness; it transforms our tendency to be boastful and conceited and rude. Being loved frees the heart to love, to run the risk, the adventure of love. It brings the joy of discovery and at last the freedom to escape the selfishness of selflove. Discovering true personal love opens the eyes of the heart toward the discovery of God. And so it often happens that although God is Love, the Great Lover and source of love in us, and the one who leads us to love, it often takes falling in love to be led to God and be transformed by God. The world looks different to a person in love, and that person look different to the world. There is a difference in the eyes, in the look, in the voice, in the demeanor. The Song of Songs reminds us, “My lover belongs to me and I to him.” It has been a great joy, a wonderful thing for all of us to see this couple fall in love and witness the transforming effect their love has had upon them—and on others. Such a love grows without growing old and without coming to an end. Our prayer today for them is that their love may never die—fortis est ut mors dilectio [Song 8:6]—which we might translate: “Love is stronger than death.”

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Coming to marriage as a bright and mature couple, the bride and bridegroom have experienced the challenge of love and perhaps already the cost and even some of the pain of love. Hence as you pledge yourselves to one another here this afternoon, you come with a love that is strengthened in the forge of loyalty through suffering and hardship. “O benefit of ill, now I find true / That better is by evil still made better, / And ruin’d love when it is built anew / Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater” [Shakespeare, 119].

The road ahead which you walk together to discover God’s love in your lives is, in reality, a double boulevard, each side of which bears a different name. Your avenue, Bridegroom, is named “Bride.” And yours, Bride, bears the name “Bridegroom.” You will grow in love for one another as you learn to discover God coming to you in each other. Like most streets, with time and heavy traffic there may appear potholes, and the street will need some repair… “Let me not to the marriage of true minds / Admit impediments; love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds, / Or bends with the remover to remove. / O no, it is an ever-fixed mark / That looks on tempests and is never shaken; / It is the star to every wand’ring bark, / Whose worth’s unknown, although his highth be taken” [Shakespeare, 116].

Welcome God when he comes to you with his cross in the challenges and difficulties, as well as when he comes to you in the bliss of shared happiness and joy—and perhaps most especially when he comes to you with an infant’s face, in the mystery of a new life and love in each of the children he may send you.

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As a reminder of these fundamental truths upon which your love will grow, you will carry with you your wedding rings. In times of old, a ring was the sign of royalty, the mark of a king and queen. It bore the royal seal and was a stamp of authority. For you it is also a sign of the authenticity of your commitment to each other and a reminder of the aristocracy of loyalty in love to which you are called.

Your rings are a circle—the perfect form of unity. Like the ring, your love is always beginning anew with every act of love and service, with every moment of forgiveness; and this should have no end. It must ever continue and develop, for love, like every living thing, dies when it ceases to grow. Thus, you will learn to love not once for all, but continually, not taking one another for granted, but always winning each other through newly found details of love and affection and service.

Your rings are a link—the bond of union and fidelity and mystery. This link integrates joy and suffering, which must always go together in this life, to help you grow in integrity. With the years of your fidelity to one another, your love and awe for each other will grow, you will know each other better, and yet each to each will be evermore a mystery.

Finally, your rings are a crown—the crown of the promise of children, which are a token of God’s confidence in you as parents, and the reason for continued courage in bringing the mystery of new life into the world.

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Concluding, I would like to remind all of you here that this is also a moment of grace for you who have come to witness this marriage and give the couple your support. I hope you will indulge me for a moment and forgive me for drawing this parallel, but for those who attend—that is, all but the persons who are most intimately involved and the focal point of the ceremony—coming to a wedding is, in many ways like attending a funeral. You stand on the sidelines witnessing a significant moment of transition in the life of a loved one. A funeral moves you to think of the life and history of the deceased person, to think of the eternal reward to which the person is going, and ultimately to reflect upon your own life: Where you are going, where you have been, what you are living for.

So also, at a wedding, you are not mere spectators, passive participants at the pageant of others’ love. This is a moment of grace for all of you, an invitation to reflect on your love, on your capacity to love, how you have loved, the challenge of giving yourself in love, the love in your life—and for many of you, the love in your own marriage. And it is also a moment in which God gives each of you a grace to grow in your capacity for love and fidelity. That is God’s gift to you for your generosity in coming here this afternoon to witness and support these pledges of love to each other before God at the beginning of their married life.

And this afternoon that gift is a very special gift, for I think I express the sentiments of all of you here when I say that this is a special wedding for a very special couple, and for all of us. As those of you who are older look upon this handsome couple you will find your own love rejuvenated; those who are younger will find an inspiration. “Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm: fortis est ut mors dilectio. This couple, with their example of love and kindness, of loyalty and faithful love, will be an example and encouragement to many of their friends and peers—to lead them to God and to teach them how to love, with a love that goes beyond the grave.

Let me end by reminding you that Jesus’ first miracle took place at a wedding in Cana of Galilee, where he transformed water into very fine wine, and thus came to the aid of a young couple on their wedding day. Jesus was at that wedding because his mother Mary was there. He interceded to help the couple at her request. Mary is also present at this wedding. We ask you, Mary, to intercede here today and forever that your Son may bring the good wine of his grace and his blessings upon this couple.

Bobeche

Does your Advent wreath need these as badly as mine always seems to?  Thank the French for having a word for everything.

bobeche, a usu. glass collar on a candle socket to catch drippings or on a candlestick of chandelier to hold suspended glass prisms

“Because there was no room for them at the inn.”

Those words, some of the most poignant in all of Western literature, words which have inspired countless treasures of music and iconography and devotion, may be a mistranslation.

That is the suggestion of Ian Paul, an Anglican theologian who argues that the Greek word kataluma which St. Jerome rendered diversorium and most English Bibles translate “inn” may well mean simply, as it does elsewhere in the Gospels, “upper room.”

… the actual design of Palestinian homes (even to the present day) makes sense of the whole story. … most families would live in a single-room house, with a lower compartment for animals to be brought in at night, and either a room at the back for visitors, or space on the roof. The family living area would usually have hollows in the ground, filled with straw, in the living area, where the animals would feed.

—mangers, that is, which would provide a natural place to rest a baby.

Paul provides a few other reasons, aside from the philological one, as to why the traditional picture of the Holy Family alone in a stable or cave may be lacking in historical accuracy: most notably, the hospitality customs of the Middle East would have made it nearly impossible for St. Joseph not to have been received by some of his relatives.

Read the rest at the Register.

Jesus Grew Up

At Mass yesterday Father observed that the Christmas season ends with Jesus the man.  All at once, a week after Epiphany, we fast forward from baby Jesus to the thirty-year-old Son of the Carpenter being baptized by his cousin.  It’s fast, but as any mother can tell you, kids grow so fast.

Children grow fast, and rightly so.  For as charming as children are, a child who never ceases to be a child would be a pitiful thing.  Jesus in the manger is wondrous because He is the King of Glory; if He never advanced to the full manifestation of his glory, then the manger scenes would not be wondrous but pathetic.  That is why much of the best Christmas art and music already hints, like the feast of the Baptism, at Jesus’s mission.  Without that overtone or undertone of awe and sadness, the manger scenes become sentimental, kitschy.  With it, they contain all the complexity of human life: its threat and its promise.

Beaten to a Pulp

We interrupt our usual Monday morning considerations for something equally literal.

Scene: Subway, inside a Walmart in a midwestern city

Time: 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning in Christmastide

As customers pass by, their thin plastic bags wishing against parkas and jeans, two black men sit in Subway.  One of them is asleep, the other one talking on his cell phone in a firm, intense, though not a loud voice.

Man: … I’m telling you, he was beaten to a pulp.  You’ve gotta understand that.  People just don’t know.  He was beaten to a pulp.  You ever seen a lamb, slaughtered?  That’s just what he was like.  He was beaten.  None of the people standing by … they didn’t do anything, nobody lifted a finger to stop them, they just let it happen.  He was beaten, man, beaten to a pulp.  All beaten and bloody.  That’s just what it was like.  You’ve gotta understand.  He was beaten to a pulp, so bloody … all his face and everything were so bloody you couldn’t even recognize him when you saw him.  You couldn’t recognize him.  That’s how badly he was hurt, and he was beaten.  And he was just like a lamb, that’s how they slaughtered him, like you kill an animal, he didn’t do a thing, didn’t lift a finger.  … You ever seen the Passion of the Christ?  That’s what it was like.  You see it, you see when they beat him, they’re taking flesh out of his back, I mean digging the flesh out of his back.  They beat him, and he got up again, and that’s what he did, and they beat him to a pulp.  … That’s what he was, he was both God and Man, but see as he was Man he was beaten to a pulp.  That’s what I’m telling you.  He was God, but he was also beaten.  When you see him, you are not going to know him, because he was beaten to a pulp …

No one else notices; and after about fifteen minutes of this, his conversation concluded, the man gets up and leaves behind a clean napkin on the Subway table.

Not the Perfect Family

Not the Perfect Family

At Mass Saturday night Father chanced to remark that Jesus, Mary, and Joseph are referred to as “the Holy Family” rather than “the Perfect Family.”

The principle can, of course, be taken too far.  “Perfect” in its Latin root means thoroughly or completely made—as we might say in modern English, “finished” or perhaps “perfected.”  And in that sense, the Holy Family was quite likely the most perfect family in history, because they totally fulfilled their roles (to use traditional terminology) or totally fulfilled themselves (as we have said since the sixties)—which, if both phrases be rightly understood, comes to the same thing.

But of course, not every family looks like the Holy Family.  Indeed, they had what might well be described as a nontraditional arrangement, inasmuch as Joseph was Jesus’s foster father, etc., etc.  And from that fact, broken and blended families can take heart.  There is a normal, a normative arrangement of father, mother, and biological children; but exigencies ranging from death to any number of lesser evils can change that shape.  And when need imposes a different order upon a given family, it is comforting to think that they still have as good a chance (speaking supernaturally, though certainly not by nature) of being a “perfect family.”  Not the “perfect” arrangement of a father, mother, and two or twelve children; but perfect in the way that the Holy Family was perfect: in their dedication to “My Father’s business” which is summed up in that other line: “Little Children, love one another.”

Spiritual Childhood

"... We must conclude then that the Divine Master was particularly anxious that His disciples should see in spiritual childhood the necessary condition for obtaining life eternal.
"Considering the insistence and the force of this teaching it would seem impossible to find a soul who would still neglect to follow the way of confidence and abandonment, all the more so, we repeat, since the divine words, not only in a general manner, but in express terms, declare the mode of life obligatory, even for those who have lost their first innocence.  Some prefer to believe that they way of confidence and abandonment is reserved solely for ingenuous souls whom evil has not deprived of the grace of childhood.  They do not conceive the possibility of spiritual childhood for those who have lost their first innocence.
…
"Any such thought as that of reassuming the appearance and helplessness of early years would be ridiculous; but it is not contrary to reason to find in the words of the Gospel the precept addressed alike to men of advanced years to return to the practice of spiritual childhood.  During the course of centuries, this teaching was to find increased support in the example of those who arrived at heroic Christian perfection precisely by the exercise of these virtues."~~Pope Benedict XV, quoted in Boylan, This Tremendous Lover, ch.17.

"Unless a man be born again …"

In Excelsis Gloria

When you have children, you rediscover things.

For example: the Wee Sing recordings (the older ones, anyway), some of which can be found on YouTube and Archive.org.

And other things you discover for the first time, like their Christmas recording, which like any good Christmas album contains a mixture of predictable standbys and mildly exotic old folk songs.  Among the latter was one I hadn’t heard before, but which the narration explained had been written by a priest in the 1600s to teach the Indians about Jesus.

I liked the song enough that, a brief internet search later, I had my title: the “Huron Carol,” also known as “’Twas in the Moon of Wintertime.”  It is the oldest Canadian Christmas hymn, having been written by the Jesuit missionary and martyr Jean de Brébeuf.

At some point in my research the cynical thought occurred to me that, were anyone to do what Brébeuf did today, and adopt another culture’s language and forms to convey their culture’s information, it would be deemed both cultural appropriation and colon(ial)ization.  On the other hand, one generally imagines appropriators to be casual users; Brébeuf’s commitment to learning the language and culture of the Indians he sought to convert was anything but lackadaisical.  And however great his temerity in proselytizing, one can hardly come up with a greater penalty than martyrdom …

On the other hand (for it is Christmas), it is interesting to consider that the most universally appropriated culture on earth is Christianity.  Oh, I know the history of forced conversions; I am referring to the main of Christianity’s spread.  From a slaves’ religion two thousand years ago to the courts of the empire by 300 A.D. to wherever we are now …

But Christians have always wanted to share their “culture,” their cultus.

And Christianity has a way of revenging itself upon those who appropriated it merely to mock it.  The story of St. Genesius is instructive.

But this is straying far from Jean de Brébeuf and the Hurons.  Here is a solid recording of the song.  The usual English lyrics are not an especially good translation; the one below the video is supposedly more accurate.

 

 

Have courage, you who are humans, Jesus, he is born
Behold, the spirit who had us as prisoners has fled
Do not listen to it, as it corrupts our minds.
Jesus, he is born, he is born; Jesus, he is born.

They are spirits, coming with a message for us, the sky people
they are coming to say, "Rejoice" (ie., be on top of life)
"Marie, she has just given birth. Rejoice."
Jesus, he is born, he is born; Jesus, he is born.

Three have left for such a place, those who are elders
A star that has just appeared over the horizon leads them there
He will seize the path, he who leads them there
Jesus, he is born, he is born; Jesus, he is born.

As they arrived there, where he was born, Jesus
the star was at the point of stopping, he was not far past it
Having found someone for them, he says, "Come here"
Jesus, he is born, he is born; Jesus, he is born.

Behold, they have arrived there and have seen Jesus
They praised (made a name) many times, saying "Hurray, he is good in nature"
They greeted him with reverence (i.e., greased his scalp many times), saying "Hurray"
Jesus, he is born, he is born; Jesus, he is born.

"We will give to him praise for his name"
"Let us show reverence for him as he comes to be compassionate to us."
"It is providential that you love us and wish, ‘I should adopt them.’"
Jesus, he is born, he is born; Jesus, he is born.

The Demonization of Authority

My dear Wumpick,

So. The patient is questioning her attitude towards authority, and you are not sure what to do with it? I can almost hear your tremulous stutters as you pour out your concern. Never fear, Wumpick. Change is always dangerous for us—we prefer the slow, steady, stable road to the depths of Our Father Below. But changes present opportunities for us as well as for the Enemy, and with a little finesse you can make good use of this one.

The first thing is to get your facts straight. You must remember that authority, like so many other things, is neither here nor there for us demons: it is what the human beings make of it. This great rule, dubbed by its discoverer Screwtape the “Principle of Relativity,” is simply a practical extension of one of the first doctrines promulgated by Our Father Below, that all things are subjective, meaning subject to him (or else they soon will be).

You, it appears, have forgotten this fact, being misled by the human beings’ endless debates on the topic of authority, and how much of it is good for them, especially in the political arena. Monarchy, democracy, republic, anarchy—can you not see, Wumpick, it is none of our business? The point is to get the patient to make it her business. See if you cannot drive her into some extreme on the matter. Extremes are always to be desired.

Past ages had a tendency to valorize authority. The current age by and large decries it. Only in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries would anyone dare, as the anarcho-libertarians have done, to commend the absence of all authority! (Of course, even while the Left and the Right are in various ways demonizing “authority,” there is plenty of good old authoritarianism going around, in the Church and in government and the universities. But don’t allow them to notice that.)

One of the most useful things about this demonization of authority is that we can get people to blame all sorts of sins on it. Where past ages might have recognized lust or greed or pride at work, this age looks rather at the station of the lusty, greedy, and proud man and concludes that everything would be solved if only there were enough oversight to prevent “that kind of person” from doing any harm. Of course, the real answer would be to make sure that no child grows up to be “that kind of person” in the first place. But by having Authority to blame rather than the vices really at fault, we evade ever having to face such a surplus of virtuous people.

Read the rest at the Register.

To Let One's Pride Appear

"In the practice of humility, it is a very sound principle never to display a humility that is not sincere.  It is far better and far more humble to let one's pride appear where there is no danger of scandal, than to assume a humility that is not ours.  For that reason, the cultivation of humility should commence in the interior.  It will be learned by keeping good company, and the best company is that of Jesus and Mary.  If we but read the life of our Lord as that of a friend, we cannot help being influenced by His constant example.  Frequent meditation on the Passion will bring us more quickly to humility than anything else, and while humility is dependent upon true self-knowledge, such knowledge is better obtained by studying what God is, than what we ourselves are.  The continual remembrance of God is one of the best ways of ensuring humility, for humility is really reverence for God, and advance in humility means advance in reverence for God.  Here again we find that the Christian life is but a continuation of the Mass."~~Boylan, This Tremendous Lover, ch.17.

Cf.: https://girlwhowassaturday.blogspot.com/2017/08/order-our-days-in-your-peace.html

To have the Doing of It Ourselves

"The truth is that we do not understand the value of our own weakness.  We want to be conscious of our strength, and we want others to be conscious of it also; we want to do great things--for God, we say--and we want others to know that we have done them: we want to acquire a store of merit and an armory of virtues so that we can feel secure in our own spiritual riches; we want good to be done--but we want to have the doing of it ourselves so that we may be rich in what we think are good works.  We forget what the Holy Spirit writes:
"'There is an inactive man that wanteth help, is very weak in ability, and full of poverty: Yet the eye of God hath looked upon him for good ...'"~~Boylan, This Tremendous Lover, ch.17.

In the Desert a Highway

At Mass yesterday, Father drew the familiar connection between the Old Testament injunction, repeated in the New in the Sunday Gospel, to “make straight in the desert a highway” (HST, Handle Standard Translation) and our need to prepare our own souls to receive Christ this coming Christmas.  That the Bible has a personal as well as a historical and a communal application is, of course, no news to any Christian.  But something from Father’s emphasis struck me this time: we are to make straight our lives, yes, by clearing away any impediments that stand in our souls preventing Christ’s passage; but the area we are making straight is a desert.

The soul and barren land: here is an old pairing indeed.  John goes into the wilderness, the Fathers into the desert; seed is dropped on rocky ground; the dark night of the soul; sicut cervus desiderat ad fontem aquarum, ita desiderat anima mea ad te deum … etc., etc.  Behind all the pairs, one way or another, stands the idea of the utter poverty and nakedness of the soul before God.

A comforting idea, actually.  It’s that moment when, as you face the dinner party with mild social anxiety and the stress of too much to do, the host says, “Just bring yourself.”  Of course, you’ll haul along a bottle of wine or a batch of muffins to show your good will, but it is a comfort to know You don’t need to bring anything.

It’s alright to be a desert.  You are one, whether you know it or not.  You don’t need to bring anything—just to strip a few of the cacti away.

Learning to Create

One of the rules of good parenting seems to be to allow oneself to be interrupted.  I am not, of course, talking about permitting older children to blatantly interpose their questions and comments into the middle of adult conversations; rather, I am thinking of those moments in the day when one is in the middle of some household task—washing, weeding, folding, cleaning, cooking—and is asked to “Build somefing” or “Draw somefing.”  Sometimes it may be good for a child to learn to wait; but sometimes it is good to be a child with the child.

I recently realized, though, that while these requests are frequently vague invitations to companionship (make “somfing”), I rarely succumb to producing an offering of my own brain.  I do not, in other words, offer to draw a train, a car, or an airplane, or indeed any specific thing.  Rather, I say, “Tell me what you want, and I’ll draw it.”

I suppose the impulse was born of the tired creativity of a creative writer who needs some part of life to be mere direction-following.  It was certainly not intended to be a way of ensuring that the budding young artiste gets exactly what he or she wants.  But I realized recently that it had an unintended side effect.  Oftentimes, after hearing the magic words (“Tell me what you want, and I’ll draw it”), Young Monet will stand and contemplate for as long as a minute.  What does he want?  Then, usually, eventually he comes up with it, and it is drawn, to be further embellished with strokes from his own marker or chalk.

~~~

It struck me the other day that this is The Problem with higher education.  (I know it is as riddled with The Problems as a Swiss cheese with holes, but hear me out.)  For two years I taught Freshman composition at a moderately-sized university attended by above-average students.  My job was to teach them how to write.  Their job at the university, as far as they were concerned, was to get a diploma so they could get a job.  Usually after a day or so I had managed to convince the doubtful that learning to write was an important part of their twofold goal, so they were at least willing to try to succeed in my class.

Most of them didn’t.  I was not an exceptionally difficult instructor.  Nor am I willing to blame our materials, for though there were certain base level requirements that instructors were supposed to follow, we had a fair amount of leeway to tailor the class to our ideas of what would work.  Nothing did.  Oh, we all had splendid successes with a student here or there, and frequently small successes with the majority of our students.  But they could hardly be said, upon leaving the one-semester course, to be writers, let alone good writers.

Without a doubt, the single greatest issue was their inability to come up with stuff.  They simply had no ideas.  No matter how creative the prompt or assignment given to them, and no matter how interested they were in it, it failed to spark material of their own.  (The sole exception in my experience was a paper I gave instructing the students to write about some change in their childhood, such as moving, and explain the causes for it.  Well over a third of my students went with “moving,” and the cause was “divorce.”  Those papers could tell a sad story all of their own.)

Nor was the students’ inability to come up with ideas merely a benign problem.  All sorts of things are blamed for plagiarism: lack of time, lack of understanding of what constitutes academic dishonesty, lack of moral fiber.  In my experience—and, I think, that of most of the instructors I knew, including instructors in other subjects—the greatest cause is the student’s inability to have an idea of his own.  Lack of time may sometimes be the immediate cause, but even when that is the pressure-builder, it is usually not because the student cannot physically write the paper fast enough to turn something in, but because he cannot conceive of himself creating ideas fast enough.

Creating ideas is hard.  Tell me what you want, and I’ll draw it.

…

…

…

“A mowble home.”

“A mobile home?”

“OK.”

So we draw a mobile home.

Of course, Young Monet only knows about those from books or parents anyway: it is not as if he is creating the concept of “mobile home” de novo.  But he is creating an idea in the moment of what he wants to draw right now, by searching through his memories and deciding what should be produced from this blue chalk on this patch of concrete this morning … All creativity is combining what we already know.  The magic lies in the combinations.

But to learn to make those combinations, to tap what we know so as to make something quasi de novo, is a long and difficult process.  And I can only guess that most students, at least the students I saw as college Freshman, aren’t being put through the process often enough or early enough or consistently enough.

Maybe the fault is not enough free play, and too much structured learning.  Maybe it’s helicopter parents and teachers.  Maybe it’s video games and social media.  Maybe it’s an all-of-the-above cocktail.  Regardless, the solution seems clear.

Let the kids (at least partly) figure it out.  Let them be a little bored.  Don’t abandon them to their picture-less fate, of course (not if you want them to grow up human, anyway).  But do let them figure out how to fill the somefing-hole in their brains.  If they aren’t learning how to do it at two, how on earth will they learn to do it at twenty?

No Other Hope for Their Happiness

"One of the reasons why men are so anxious to exalt themselves--to overestimate their own value and their own powers--to resent anything that would tend to lower themselves in their own esteem or in that of others--is because they see no other hope for their happiness save in themselves.  That is often why they are so 'touchy,' so resentful of criticism, so impatient of opposition, so insistent on getting their own way, so eager to be known, so anxious for praise, so determined on ruling their surroundings.  They clutch at themselves like drowning men clutch at a straw.  And as life goes on, and they are still far from being satisfied, their attitude borders on the feverish and the hysterical; whatever they may have got, they are certainly far from having found peace."~~Boylan, This Tremendous Lover, ch.17.

God's Ocean

At Mass yesterday, Monsignor quoted saying: “God’s ocean is so big, and our boat is so small.”  He called it as “a prayer,” which initially struck me as an odd description.  But in a way, it is precisely the sort of prayer of which the Old Testament, especially the psalms, are full.  Sometimes, of course, when we acknowledge God’s tremendousness, we do so as a preface to requesting something of Him: Grant us this or Spare us that.  But sometimes the prayer of God’s largeness is just that: an acknowledgement that He is big.  It is the sort of thing one must have well implanted in one’s psyche before one can appreciate the fact that He became small.

And of course, while the prayer of greatness may be a prelude to the prayer of petition, it works the other way around also.  A prayer of petition is, ultimately, only answerable by an exercise of God’s greatness, either in righting the situation about which heaven is stormed, or in resolving that situation into its place in the sea.  In either case, whether the petition is answered with a “yes” or the “no” which widens perspectives, the thanksgiving tends towards that acknowledgement of God’s tremendousness, the tremendousness that is so great that to voice it gratefully “is itself [His] gift” (Common Preface IV).

And the Lord answering Job out of the whirlwind, said: Gird up thy loins like a man … Behold behemoth whom I made with thee, he eateth grass like an ox.  His strength is in his loins, and his force in the navel of his belly. He setteth up his tail like a cedar, the sinews of his testicles are wrapped together. His bones are like pipes of brass, his gristle like plates of iron. He is the beginning of the ways of God, who made him, he will apply his sword. To him the mountains bring forth grass: there all the beasts of the field shall play. He sleepeth under the shadow, in the covert of the reed, and in moist places. The shades cover his shadow, the willows of the brook shall compass him about. Behold, he will drink up a river, and not wonder: and he trusteth that the Jordan may run into his mouth. In his eyes as with a hook he shall take him, and bore through his nostrils with stakes. Canst thou draw out the leviathan with a hook, or canst thou tie his tongue with a cord? Canst thou put a ring in his nose, or bore through his jaw with a buckle? Will he make many supplications to thee, or speak soft words to thee? Will he make a covenant with thee, and wilt thou take him to be a servant for ever? Shalt thou play with him as with a bird, or tie him up for thy handmaids? Shall friends cut him in pieces, shall merchants divide him? Wilt thou fill nets with his skin, and the cabins of fishes with his head? Lay thy hand upon him: remember the battle, and speak no more. Behold his hope shall fail him, and in the sight of all he shall be cast down. (Job, 40:1-2, 10-28)

The End of the World, the End of Marriage?

As the liturgical year draws to a close, the gospels offer one insight after another into what to expect at the end of time. Mostly, they suggest that it is not something that can be expected: that whatever we imagine will be grossly insufficient preparation for what is to come. Nonetheless, we are encouraged to try to envision it as best we can (or else, surely, the Church would have selected a different set of readings!). It’s a bit like telling a one-year-old you’re moving house: the vastness of the change is so great that any words used to convey it will surely be beyond comprehension; yet it is better to give some notion of the coming upheaval, however inadequate such preparation will prove. So it is with us, and the end of (our) time.

One of the things that boggles the adult mind when it sets to contemplating mansions is the abolition of marriage in heaven. Marriage on the natural level is so much a part of life—if not a part of yours, at least a part of most lives around you—that a life without marriage is for many people well nigh inconceivable. No doubt there are some for whom this inconceivable appears in the light of a blessing. But for most, to the extent that we can conceive of life without marriage, many of our attempts paint a sad, dull picture. Marriage is a sacrament (Ephesians 5:32); a spouse is (in the words Milton puts in Adam’s mouth about Eve), “Heaven’s last best gift, my ever-new delight.” Yet Christ assures us that heaven has no marriages.

Jesus said to them, “The children of this age marry and remarry; but those who are deemed worthy to attain to the coming age and to the resurrection of the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. They can no longer die, for they are like angels; and they are the children of God because they are the ones who will rise.” (From the Gospel of Friday, November 24.)

The story (invented by the Sadducees) to which Jesus replies is designed to make the idea of heaven sound ridiculous; Jesus suggests that their mistake is to conceive of heaven as a glorified earth. Heaven is not ridiculous, but it is radically different.

Given the radical difference of heaven, and the error of imagining earthly marriages in heaven, what ought we to imagine will be the relationship there between those who were married on earth? Will formerly fond couples be indifferent to one another, either because the Beatific Vision is so consuming, or because they have equal charity for all the Blessed?

Read the rest at the Register.

The Real Fruit of Our Labors

"It is true, especially where we have a clear duty to strive for a particular purpose, that we have to use prudence in choosing means which are likely to achieve that purpose.  But that is the end of our obligation.  It is God who giveth the increase, and if He does not give it, that is His business.
"It very often happens that the real fruit of our labors is gathered elsewhere.  Some priest, perhaps, wearing himself out in a non-Catholic district and failing to produce any conversions, may be drawing souls into the Church in great numbers out in the mission field as the result of his apparently fruitless labors.  Such a form of apostolate is quite common, and is obviously the only way which at present is available for the conversion of Russia.  If, therefore, the efforts of apostolic zeal are frustrated in one particular place, that is no reason to be despondent; if they are done according to God's will, they will surely bear fruit somewhere."~~Boylan, This Tremendous Lover, ch.16.

How to Say “Thanks” for that Honorary Degree

But it’s Wednesday, you’re saying.  But it’s time for MidWeekMuse!

Ah, mon frères, I am glad that you pay attention to these details.  It indeed time for midweek muse.  Today, it comes to you with a story.

When Johannes Brahms was in his late forties, the University of Breslau (now the University of Wrocław, Poland) awarded him an honorary doctorate of music.  “The degree came with a pompous Latin sentence describing Brahms as ‘the foremost composer of serious music in Germany today.’”  (Source.)

Usually these days one gets honorary degrees in return for speaking at a commencement or some such occasion, but Brahms was a composer, rather than a public speaker, so they expected him to do what he did best: write music.

“Apparently he initially wrote them a simple thank you note but the conductor Bernard Scholz, who had nominated him for the degree, convinced him that protocol required him to make a grander gesture of gratitude. The University expected nothing less than a musical offering from the composer. ‘Compose a fine symphony for us!’ Scholz wrote to Brahms. ‘But well orchestrated, old boy, not too uniformly thick!’” (Source.)

Can you imagine writing that to a world class composer, as if you were ordering up a pudding?  No, neither can I.

Alas, no new symphony was forthcoming.

“Rather than composing some ceremonial equivalent of Pomp and Circumstance—a more standard response—Brahms crafted what he described as a ‘rollicking potpourri of student songs,’ in this case mostly drinking songs. It is easy to imagine the amusement of the assembled students, as well as the somewhat less-amused reaction of the school dignitaries, to Brahms’s lighthearted caprice.

“The Academic Festival Overture showcases four beer-hall songs that were well known to German college students. … It was the first melody, however, that was most notorious in the composer’s day. ‘Wir hatten gebauet’ was the theme song of a student organization that advocated the unification of the dozens of independent German principalities. This cause was so objectionable to authorities that the song had been banned for decades. Although the proscription had been lifted in most regions by 1871, it was still in effect in Vienna when Brahms completed his overture. Because of this ban, police delayed the Viennese premiere of the Academic Festival Overture for two weeks, fearing the incitement of the students.”  (Souce.)

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, what what?

Play by play of the songs (pun intended?) can be found here.

I’ve always (by which I mean, for at least a few years now) wanted to found my own university, which will be practically perfect in every way and one hundred percent free of politics and only hire my friends.  Now I have reached a further decision: Our graduates and deans and boards will never, never march to “Pomp and Circumstance.”  Gaudeamus juvenesdum summus!

And a final fun fact: This is the piece that is used as a leitmotiv for the delightful and very Chestertonian movie People Will Talk, which I described some time ago in another blog post.  (There, I called the music Beethovenian—my sincere apologies to both composers.)  If you haven’t seen the movie, find a copy—it is delightful.  Kitschy?  Only if you decide it’s kitsch as opposed to brilliance that you happen to enjoy.

And so it is with the Brahms.  Play on, Johannes.

Bonus on top of the boni: Bernstein a delight to watch.