Flos Carmeli

You Can All Blame Dylan--Gethsemane--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

If blame is to be assessed. However if plaudits and acclaim, I gladly accept them. His off-hand mention sent me plunging into the American Verse Project (see left-hand column) to find and remind one of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. This came to hand:

GETHSEMANE
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

IN golden youth when seems the earth
A Summer-land of singing mirth,
When souls are glad and hearts are light,
And not a shadow lurks in sight,
We do not know it, but there lies
Somewhere veiled under evening skies
A garden which we all must see —
The garden of Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways,
Love lends a halo to our days;
Light sorrows sail like clouds afar,
We laugh, and say how strong we are.
We hurry on; and hurrying, go
Close to the border-land of woe,
That waits for you, and waits for me —
Forever waits Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams,
Bridged over by our broken dreams;
Behind the misty caps of years,
Beyond the great salt fount of tears,
The garden lies. Strive as you may,
You cannot miss it in your way.
All paths that have been, or shall be,
Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey, soon or late,
Must pass within the garden's gate;
Must kneel alone in darkness there,
And battle with some fierce despair.
God pity those who can not say,
"Not mine but thine," who only pray,
"Let this cup pass," and cannot see
The purpose in Gethsemane.

Seasonally Appropriate--Why I like Dana Gioia

This little song from the opera Nosferatu which I have never heard nor seen performed, and yet which I would very much like to enjoy is at the tail end of an essay on metrical verse. It is an example of how metrical verse works, and it is also quite a lovely poem in itself.

Vampire's Nocturne from Nosferatu
2001
Dana Gioia

I am the image that darkens your glass,
The shadow that falls wherever you pass.
I am the dream you cannot forget,
The face you remember without having met.

I am the truth that must not be spoken,
The midnight vow that cannot be broken.
I am the bell that tolls out the hours.
I am the fire that warms and devours.

I am the hunger that you have denied,
The ache of desire piercing your side.
I am the sin you have never confessed,
The forbidden hand caressing your breast.

You've heard me inside you speak in your dreams,
Sigh in the ocean, whisper in streams.
I am the future you crave and you fear.
You know what I bring. Now I am here.

For more of Dana Gioia's work, look here. I particularly recommend the very touching "Planting a Sycamore" written on the death of his infant son.

[Note later: I do this every time, so I leave the error here to remind me. The title of the poem is "Planting a Sequoia", now, Steven repeat after me, "Sequoia, not Sycamore" ... "Sequoia sempervivens" ... "Gosh darn it, they aren't even in the same Division of Plantae. . ."

An Introduction to Samuel Taylor

An Introduction to Samuel Taylor Coleridge

For sheer lushness of language and richness of imagery this poem-fragment must stand alone in the gathering of the Romantic Poets. I present this as a taste of Coleridge as I mull over whether or not to present the wonderful "Rime of the Ancient Mariner," or the truly dark and interesting "Cristabel." Both are quite long, so I approach them with some apprehension for the patience of my gentle audience. But I continue to consider as I present this wonderful poem:

Kubla Khan Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

"For he on honey-dew hath fed,/And drunk the milk of Paradise." I love the end of the fragment, and truly thank God for that visitor (though the story may be apocryphal) who interrupted the construction of this poem. Had it gone on, I am not sure it would stand as surely as it does today. Sometimes grace transforms might have been a mediocre work into a masterpiece simply by staying the poet's hand.

Two New Blogs out there

Two New Blogs out there

With a great title, but a trifle too much baseball for my taste (though we must allow people their enthusiasms, mustn't we--after all them as live in brick houses stones should neither gather nor throw) Inn at the End of the World (sounds more that a trifle William Morrisy) is well worth your time. Alos, I wonder about the URL, could we have another Aubrey and Maturin fan onboard? (Not that I am, but when one's spouse is attendant upon every mailing list and group related to the two, it can't help but seep into consciousness.) Also, one must note, the blogmaster seems to be very interested in and knowledgeable about the saints of many calendars, and he appears to have a profound interest in, and perhaps even makes his lliving or part thereof as one who plays the bagpipes.

The second is a man who could do with our very best apologetics help and understanding. Metanoia hosted by Mr. Jim Kalb is one very interesting series of questions and observations after another.

I believe I shall be keeping an eye on these two. Gives me something to do when the lazy-bones bloggers enter their torpor.

Reading the Bible in the

Reading the Bible in the Catholic Church

I pick on T.S. O'Rama yet again. He posted this provocative note:

Now since I wasn't alive pre-Vatican II, I have no idea if what I am about to say is completely true. It is what I've heard. Second-hand. So correct me if I'm wrong. But what I've heard is that the Church, paternalistically, told the faithful just to read the Baltimore Catechism and accept the answers unquestioningly. My understanding is that there were not bible study classes; which is understandable given that scripture in the wrong hands is dangerous (i.e. it fractured the Church). Not to mention that form criticism and historical criticism has weakened many a faith (my mother's among them - she said her faith was much stronger in the 50s..especially before she decided the infancy narratives were 'made up'). So...is it better to be dumb with a strong faith or smart, in the ways of biblical criticism, and have a weak faith? I leave it to another mother, Mater Ecclesia.

I cannot speak to the truth of the first part of this. I have heard both that it was discouraged and that it was encouraged in the pre-Vatican II Church. Certainly it was permitted and to some extent expected among religious--witness St. Thérèse's compiled little book of the gospels. However, whether lay people participated or were encouraged to do so, I do not know and I would like to find out.

What I wished to note was the question with regard to Form Criticism and most particularly the historical-critical method. I read Fr. Raymond Brown's "Birth of the Messiah" and arrived at a different conclusion. This is not to fault those who did swallow the whole argument or what they may have seen as the argument. What I concluded from a careful reading the entire work is that the historical-critical method was a tool insufficient to the job in the case. Fr. Brown basically concluded that based on the evidence of the historical-critical method the infancy narratives could not be shown to be historical. And my answer to that was, "So?" I decided that the method was hampered by its essential tenets and that given that form of study there was a limit to what it could say or prove. In fact, it functioned merely to say whether a given set of propositions is supported by evidence outside the Bible itself. It cannot be use to "prove" something was made up or untrue, it can only be used to say that given the limitations of the method we cannot show something to have been historical. T.S. is correct in saying that such material should be handled very carefully and not simply disseminated for the faithful without a good and truthful guide that spells out clearly what a method can and cannot accomplish. To read Brown's book without this knowledge is a serious endangerment of Faith, although I am certain Fr. Brown did not intend this. I believe that as a scholar he was often terribly ignorant of the possible effects of reading the book. Many scholars are so cocooned in their ivory towers that they have little sense of what a lay person reading their work might conclude.

So, I say we need not choose one or the other, but if something poses a real danger to faith, it should be avoided at all costs. It is one of the reasons I avoid certain types of argument and controversy, and I avoid reading even the "good work" of people who later had dubious work--Haring, Rahner, Schillbeckx, and de Mello come to mind. I know that there is much to enrich the faith there. But, it is also easy to become so used to the tone, argument, and influence of the person that you follow them straight into the errors that led them astray from Orthodoxy. It is also why I am very cautious about people like de Lubac and von Balthasar. There is still the lingering stigma of the Garrigou-Lagrange school. However, I have seen sufficient evidence that the majority of what these two theologians thought and taught is fairly orthodox.

I also know that certain practices properly undertaken are probably faith enhancing; however, centering prayer has always struck me as not particularly Christian in its initial axioms. If I am asked, I always express this caution and avoid the practice of the prayer myself. However, others may find it very helpful under the guidance of a truly gifted and God-discerning spiritual director. Sometimes living in such a privileged and educated society carries a tremendous price of caution. Jesus told us, "To whom much is given, much is expected."

It's a shame that some have been led astray and their faith weakened. But in all things, if eyes are firmly focused on Christ, if we allow ourselves to be guided by the Holy Spirit, the teaching of the Magisterium, and the unalloyed (non-NAB) teaching of the Bible, we cannot go wrong. Christ Himself promised that the good shepherd would leave the ninety-nine and go in search of the single stray lamb.

Oriana Fallaci Once Again For

Oriana Fallaci Once Again

For whatever reason, I find this writer absolutely fascinating. We're treated to a review of her most recent book at The Weekly Standard. An excerpt of that review follows:

ITALIAN JOURNALIST and professional provocateur Oriana Fallaci may once have embodied enlightened postwar Western Europe. But with the release of her new book, "The Rage and the Pride"--a biting polemic against anti-Americanism, political correctness, and Islam's "reverse crusade"--she has managed to become a pariah in European intellectual circles.

A self-declared "political refugee," Fallaci broke her ten-year refusal to comment on political issues after the terrorist atrocities committed by Islamic fundamentalists on September 11. Sick with cancer, the seventy-two-year-old Fallaci, who spends most of her time in New York City, let her fury erupt in an "anger that eliminates every detachment." Only days after the attacks, the Milan newspaper Corriere della Sera published Fallaci's scathing essay entitled "La Rabbia e l'Orgoglio." The article was a sensation, igniting bitter controversy all over Europe. Soon after, the Italian publisher Rizzoli persuaded her to extend her essay into a small book, which has sold one million copies in Italy, and has now been translated into English by Fallaci herself.

Fallaci's antagonists have accused her of being a xenophobe and Islamophobe. In France, an anti-racist group has attempted to have her book banned. Two other groups demanded disclaimers that the book doesn't accurately portray Islam. The head of Editions Grasset, one of France's most prominent publishers, said: "It's a regressive book, which will be read by people with reptilian brains." Rana Kabbani wrote, "Fallaci's hatred and fear of Muslims is both visceral and hysterical."

Fallaci--an anti-Fascist resistance fighter as a teenager and a war correspondent for most of her career as a journalist--is unlikely to have been motivated by fear. "The Rage and the Pride" is unfocused, but it is not hysterical, and, though uncompromising, is certainly not visceral. "War you wanted, war you want?" she declares. "Good. As far as I am concerned, war is and war will be. Until the last breath."

With words like those above coming from French critics, you know it must be worth reading.

Now I'm Incensed Okay, I've

Now I'm Incensed

Okay, I've complained about the NAB before, but now I'm seriously incensed. I read some of the readings for next week when I stumbled upon this atrocity:

Brothers and sisters: Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is head of his wife just as Christ is head of the Church, he himself the savior of the Body. As the Church is subordinate to Christ, so wives should be subordinate to their husbands in everything.

Now, we all know what the word should be in place of subordinate. But because subordinate sounds so much more corporate and politically correct, we have this gross alteration of biblical text to accommodate modern sensibilities. I am distressed, chagrined, and overall torqued. By what right does anyone tinker with the word of God to adjust to anyone. The Word of God is a constant challenge to all of us. Here is a quote from an e-mail I sent that nicely encapsulates what I thought at the time and still think.

I am profoundly offended at this sneaky revision of translation that disguises itself as NAB. The Ephesians reading substitutes the more political correct, softer, and utterly inane "be subordinate" for "be submissive." They are not the same either denotatively or connotatively, and it is undermining all that gets taught. I am subordinate to God, whether I act it or not--subordination is a fact of life, submission is an act of will.

As I said, subordination is a fact of life, a reality--women are NOT naturally subordinate to men, but to be subordinate indicates nothing of the will. I can be subordinate but utterly deprecating of those in power. I can do as they ask and undermine them at the same time. Subordination is about power. Submission is about love--it is an act of will that joins two persons in a relationship. If one is submissive, one not merely does the will but goes beyond to try to do what may lie in the future. Submission requires not only the action but also the intent behind the action in the doer. We do what we do for love of God, not merely to fulfill a commandment. I am seriously distressed at this infelicity of language and at the revision that has taken place over the course of a couple of years, slowly and subtly replacing difficult texts. I know that the old NAB had the word submissive in these lines. So the question comes down to, why aren't the defenders of the faith minding the store a bit better. It's one of the reasons that some groups of protestants prize the KJV. Admittedly, there have been changes through the years, but it's difficult to pull some of this subtle language shifting and wholesale slaughter of intent.

I guess more correctly what I'm asking, is what can I do about this? How can I contribute to stopping this creeping modernism that assaults, disassembles and dissects a text reassembling it into some Frankenstein's monster of its original. Altering the words of scripture is altering the deposit of faith and it is occurring now, as we watch, beneath our very noses, and most of us don't even notice it. I've pointed out before the atrocity of the translation--the sheer lack of facility with the language that seems to dominate the translation council.

Where is the loyalty to tradition in this constantly shifting translation? How can I make this travesty known to those who do care about these things? To quote from one of my favorite films--so apropos in so many situations: "Is anybody there? Does anybody care?"

Reading Difficult Books Here, thanks

Reading Difficult Books
Here, thanks to Minute Particulars an interesting quote from Jonathan Franzen, who, I think desires that his novel, The Corrections be numbered among those "difficult to read" and thus "literary." Haven't quite gotten over his snit at Oprah for choosing him and making for him a small fortune among her legions of fans. Oprah's books are, you know, according to this great mind of our age, "Middlebrow."

Jonathan Franzen has an interesting article in the 9/30/02 issue of The New Yorker magazine on hard-to-read books. He describes his reading of William Gaddis's The Recognitions as follows:

Every morning for a week and a half I went from the breakfast table to a beige ultrasuède sofa module, turned on a lamp, and read non-stop for six or eight hours. I had some professional curiosity about Gaddis, but a few hundred pages of "The Recognitions" would have satisfied it. I sat and read the extra seven hundred pages in something like a fugue state, as if planting my feet on a steep slope, climbing. I was reluctant to leave my ultrasuède perch for any reason. The only way I could justify sitting there and spending borrowed money was to make a regular job, with regular hours, out of climbing the mountain.

(I can't help but point out the pretentiousness and even the preciousness of adding that darling little accent to suede. We have immediately marked ourselves head and shoulders above the crowd. Very likely we also pronounce Sidney Lanier's last name lahn-yea. It's just too too.)

The Recognitions IS difficult to read. I won't compare it to Ulysses as that would serve no purpose to a person who has read neither. However, I would like to address the question T.S. O'Rama asks (by whom I found this link).

I'm not sure I get the point of needful obscurity. Obscurity can be beautiful; sprinkled words of a foreign language even look beautiful on the printed page. But some of it I think appeals to the pride of the reader - I got this allusion! It's art as a glorified crossword puzzle I guess. Shakespeare wrote plays that sound obscure to us only because of the antiquated language. To people of his day, it was plainly understood, albeit laden with rich prose, foreshadowings, symbolism, etc. The very beauty and comprehensiveness of Shakespeare perhaps spoiled the broth for later generations who could not compete. Ultimately, the moderns often have less to say but have very creative ways of saying it. But perhaps this is merely sour grapes for not "getting it".

I am not certain that obscurity is so much needful as ingrained. There are people who write what is in their heads, and what is there is obscure. The point is not to be obscure, but perhaps to convey a richness of expression and vision. I must concur, that reading these obscure books can give rise to "pride," I would say rather a certain rich pleasure. For example, in The Corrections (the title of which is deliberately patterned on The Recognitions) one of the characters has an email address that ends in gaddisfly.com. Of course, this is making a deliberate allusion to one of the monoliths of modernism. Perhaps second only to Ulysses this book is revered by those who would abscond away with literature and lock it in an ivory tower well secured from all the "middle-brows" out there who would pretend to better themselves. They will of course never be first rate intellects, and the test of The Recognitions can readily demonstrate that.

Now, in defense of The Recognitions I agree with part of what Franzen said, but I didn't find the point particularly difficult to grasp. I thought the work interesting, involved, entertaining, and yes, partly obscure, but nothing truly beyond the capabilities of a reader dedicated to the task. But then, I believe the same of nearly every work I've encountered. Gaddis wrote the book that he alone was capable of, and I found it a good deal more relevant and comprehensible than say, Gravity's Rainbow the praises of which elude me entirely.

Okay, so I didn't answer T.S. O'Rama's question. But I hope this has been obscure enough to live up to its progenitors.

A Poetry Choice I Can Enthusiastically Endorse

Dana Gioia has been nominated to be the next head of the National Endowment for the Arts. Gioia is an accomplished poet who has steadily insisted upon a return to the basics of poetry and whose work shows the fruit of such an endeavor.

This information found via Mr. Bell's Notes from a Hillside Farm, q.v. for more.

A New Apocalypse Yes, part

A New Apocalypse

Yes, part of my "West Virginia Sequence." I offer this apocalyptic view of the world:

Apocalypse of the Foxes

First time I saw a triangle head and
an orange-red body and long tail, I thought
a frightened animal had, in the dark run
and found in a jump the razor wire. Caught
by its neck, the fox hung there paws aloft
sharing with all its surprise at the end
it had found.
                       But another had been dropped
nearby, and further on my heart began
to dread some lemming plague that felled a field
of foxes, killing them one fearful night,
a vengeful divine hand had closed and sealed
the fate of all their world.
                         I asked what might
have been the cause of all this death, and heard
a woman close by say, "It's the farmer's
way out here. Kill them and leave them to scare
off others."
            "And does it work?" I asked her,
looking once again. She shrugged and then stared
into the distance saying, "I'd say not."
Tracing her gaze, I saw half a dozen
foxes in a troupe through thigh-high fields trot
away into hidden brush, a fat hen
grasped tightly in the jaws on one of them.

© 2002 Steven Riddle

The Raven--The Grand Finale So

The Raven--The Grand Finale

So now, the end of one of the wonderful narrative poems in English. I'm seriously considering serializing "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" next. Great for our slide toward Hallowe'en. Let me know what you think about "Rime"

The Raven (part 4 of 4)
Edgar Allan Poe

               "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
           By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
                Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
               It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
           Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
                       Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

               "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
            "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
                Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
              Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
          Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
                      Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

              And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
          On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
              And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
              And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
          And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
                      Shall be lifted--nevermore!

What a great dismissal--"Take thy beak from out my heart, and thy form from off my door. . ." Great line for the next Jehovah's Witness or Mormon Invasion of the community.

Representative Poetry Online

Representative Poetry Online
Representative Poetry Online, or RPO as they are calling themselves, has change not only its URL but its format. It's great, take a look.

Proportionality and Sin [snicker] This

Proportionality and Sin [snicker]

This story from T.S. O'Rama amused me beyond all proportionality. Do you suppose amusement beyond proportionality is a sin? Are we waging "just hilarity?" Should we define this? After all, Eco reminds us in Name of the Rose Jesus never laughed. (Or at least the Gospels don't tell us He did.)

Words from Samuel Daniel Here's

Words from Samuel Daniel

Here's a bit of philosoophy from Elizabethan times that might be carefully considered in our own. I particularly like the ultimate conclusion despite the railing of the first part of the paragraph. Daniel basically grasps the idea that language in a living entity, subject to change, to additions and deletions, and ultimately to become something completely other than what it was.

from "A Defense of Rhyme" Samuel Daniel

    Next to this deformitie stands our affectation, wherein we alwayes bewray our selues to be both vnkinde, and vnnaturall to our owne natiue language, in disguising or forging strange or uvnvsuall wordes, as if it were to make our verse seeme an other kind of speach out of the course of our vsuall practise, displacing our wordes, or inuesting new, onely vpon a singularitie: when our owne accustomed phrase, set in the due place, would expresse vs more familiarly and to better delight, than all this idle affectation of antiquitie, or noueltie can euer doe. And I can not but wonder at the strange presumption of some men that dare so audaciously aduenture to introduce any whatsoeuer forraine wordes, be they neuer so strange; and of themselues as it were, without a Parliament, without any consent, or allowance, establish them as Free-denizens in our language. But this is but a Character of that perpetuall reuolution which wee see to be in all things that neuer remaine the same, and we must heerein be content to submit our selves to the law of time, which in few yeeres wil make al that, for which we now contend, Nothing.

I Guess It's Poetry Morning

I Guess It's Poetry Morning

Just what happens when you stumble across a patch of poetry that you really, really like. Surveying some Elizabethans, I came upon Good Sir Henry Howard and this delight:

  Complaint of a Lover Rebuked Sir Henry Howard

LOVE, that liveth and reigneth in my thought,
That built his seat within my captive breast ;
Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
She, that taught me to love, and suffer pain ;
My doubtful hope, and eke my hot desire
With shamefaced cloak to shadow and restrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.
And coward Love then to the heart apace
Taketh his flight ; whereas he lurks, and plains
His purpose lost, and dare not shew his face.
For my Lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pains.
    Yet from my Lord shall not my foot remove :
   Sweet is his death, that takes his end by love.

The Ever-Delightful Countess of Pembroke

The Ever-Delightful Countess of Pembroke

Yes, she's back for another of her wonderful translations of the Psalms. I have yet to find a complete Psalter, but from various sources I may be able to piece one together eventually. In the meantime, enjoy the rhythms, cadence and rich language that turns this Psalm back into a singable song.

  Psalm 75 :  Confitebimur Tibi Mary Herbert, Countess of Pembroke

Wee O God to thee do sing
Wee to thee do prayses bring
        For thy name is nigh
When our cause assistance needs
        Us with succour to supply
Therfore saved wondrously
We recount thy wondrous deeds.

As for me, when so they shall
Under my direction fall
        Who to me pertain
Righteous doome shall banish wrong
        This loose hand I will again
        Into sounder site restrain,
I will make her Pillars strong.

I will say to braggards then
Bragg no more to wicked men,
        Set not up your horn,
Set not up your horn on high
        Be no more perversely born
        Onward with rebellious scorn
Thus to speak repiningly!

East when climing sun ascends
West when sliding sun descends
        South his standing tide
Can to no man honour bring
        Only God who all doth guide
        Makes men climb, or stand or slide
Makes the caitife and the King;

Then not me, God you understand
Him whose ever right right hand
        Holds a filled cupp:
Not of wine by winy lees
        Of the which they all shall supp;
        Supp said I, nay suck it up
Whom unjust his justice sees.

So then I will spend my dayes
In recording still his prayse
        Still my song shall flow
From the land of Jacobs God.
        I will crop ill doers low
        I will make well-doers grow
Spreading branches from abroad.

"The Raven", Part III

"The Raven", Part III

"The Raven" (part 3 of 4)
Edgar Allan Poe

      Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
  "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
      Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
      Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
  Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
              Of 'Never--nevermore'."

      But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
  Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
      Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
      Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
  What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
              Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

      This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
  To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
      This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
      On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
  But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
              She shall press, ah, nevermore!

      Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
  Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
      "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
      Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
  Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
              Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

      "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
  Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
      Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
      On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
  Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"
              Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Note the tone. Note how the questions seem to change gradually. Charles Baudelaire translated Poe into French. Much of the decadent school of poetry derives from Baudelaire and his school, and thus indirectly from Poe. What a shame he has so much to account for even indirectly.

"The Raven", Part II The

"The Raven", Part II

The Raven (2 of 4)
Edgar Allan Poe
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Note the internal rhyme in lines 1 and 3 of each stanza. Also note that lines 4 and 5 are often repetitions of the same idea. Something about that recursive rhythm makes this a particularly haunting poem in the hallways of memory.

Oh Those Wacky Domincans! Nuns

Oh Those Wacky Domincans!
Nuns face charges in missile protest Apparently a group of nuns representing something called Jonah House decided to damage government property to make their point.

Sorry John da Fiesole, couldn't resist the temptation. I know I should, but to quote my good friend Oscar, "I can resist anything but temptation." And since it seems unlikely that anyone will ever again see posts from me, given the blogger server blogjam, I figured, why not? Also my first test of "blog this." I conclude therefrom that it works--too bad it isn't available for Mac.

Blogger fun again Records a

Blogger fun again

Records a successful transfer, then it doesn't show on sight. Not useful.

Heisenberg and Free Will In

Heisenberg and Free Will

In the post below, Kairos Guy says:

Heisenberg's uncertainty principle should answer the boy: It is impossible to know both the state of an object and its vector.

In other words, free will cannot help but be true within our universe.

As for God, He lives outside of time, where every possibility unfolds in a way that makes "the knowing" much less certain. Though it is vain to quote oneself, I will risk it. Look here for my answer from back in June:
http://godstime.blogspot.com/2002_06_02_godstime_archive.html#77285393

I have two problems with this invocation of Heisenberg. (1) Heisenberg's uncertainty principle can only be invoked with respect to someone who is not omniscient. It IS possible to know these two things in an act of knowledge without measuring, which leads to point two. (2) The reason one cannot know both the velocity and position of a particle (subatomic) with accuracy is that the act of measuring one alters the other. In the subatomic realm, even bouncing a photon off of a particle alters the momentum of the particle because even if mass is not imparted, energy/momentum is. Thus Heisenberg's Uncertainty principle is primarily a principle that states the act of observation can/does alter what is observed. It is often improperly invoked to say that nothing can be certain. Or it pertains to objects in the macroscopic world, when for all practical purposes it does not. For example, you can know both the position and the velocity of a soccer ball. Bouncing a photon off a soccer ball does alter its velocity, but so minutely as to not be measurable for any practical, calculable purpose. You would have to have a great many more than thirty decimal places in your calculation of velocity to see the effect a photon would have on the velocity of a soccer ball. Since all practical measurement requires no more than three or four decimal places, you do not need this precision of description. Before that amount of velocity change would be macroscopically exhibited, the object would have already accelerated due to friction with the grass or another kick.

Because God does not use instrumentation to know the velocity/position of a particle, it is possible for God to know both. Free will in not assured by Heisenberg. In a similar way, when Gödel's Theorem is used as much more than metaphor, it is also misemployed in argument.

As to the remainder of the argument, I find it plausible, and essentially I restated the same (without realizing it--as I had not previously read the argument.) However, Heisenberg is not a useful principle in the question of free will.

All that said, I may have misunderstood the original intent, and will be happy to entertain further consideration of the proposition. Also, look for more on Gödel's Theorem in the near future.

Geoffrey Hill Although Mr. Hill

Geoffrey Hill

Although Mr. Hill received a rather negative review for The Orchards of Syon in a recent issue of Crisis, I have paid attention to what is being posted chez Dylan and I have looked into a couple of poems. First impression is favorable. My conclusion from this--Crisis, usually trustworthy in these matters, may be wrong. Or, they may be right about the particular work and I have improperly generalized their conclusion. Whatever the case may be, the following poem, a spectacularly well-wrought sonnet, is presented for your edification and delight.

Lachrimae Amantis
Geoffrey Hill

What is there in my heart that you should sue
so fiercely for its love? What kind of care
brings you as though a stranger to my door
through the long night and in the icy dew

seeking the heart that will not harbor you,
that keeps itself religiously secure?

At this dark solstice filled with frost and fire
your passion's ancient wounds must bleed anew.

So many nights the angel of my house
has fed such urgent comfort through a dream,
whispered, 'your lord is coming, he is close'

that I have drowsed half-faithful for a time
bathed in pure tones of promise and remorse:
'tomorrow I shall wake to welcome him.'

A Poetic Guilty Pleasure--"The Raven," in 4 Parts

Yes, I like "The Raven." In fact, Poe's poetry in general appeals to me. I love narrative verse and Poe's has a strong, some might claim overly strong, sense of rhythm, cadence, and weight. His subject is nearly always the same--a lost love--in this case "Lenore," but in others "Annabel Lee," and "Ulalume." So without further ado, Poe's most famous poem.

The Raven (Part 1 of 4)
Edgar Allan Poe
        Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
        While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    "'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
                Only this and nothing more."

        Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
        Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
  For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
              Nameless here for evermore.

      And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
  Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
      So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
      "'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
  Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;--
              This it is and nothing more."

      Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
  "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
      But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
      And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
  That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door;--
              Darkness there and nothing more.

      Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
  Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
      But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
      And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
  This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
              Merely this and nothing more.

At one time I had much of this poem committed to memory--alas no more, merely this and nothing more--I still retain the first two stanzas or so. What I love in the construction of this poem are lines like this one:

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
  Thrilled me--filled me

Poe is so unabashedly over the top with the alliteration and assonance in the line. I treasure that greatly--it seems a sign of great craft, great care, and great time to make a line that unwinds so beautifully to its finish. Yes, the whole thing is rather melodramatic--but then television was not an entertainment available at that time, and the written word needed to include whole realms of things we would dismiss. Come back tomorrow for part II and more thoughts about Poe's dead women.

Jewels in the Reliquary I

Jewels in the Reliquary

I was thinking about prayer, dryness, and trials. Why is life so difficult for so many people? And why are there so many ways for life to be difficult? Why so many trials?

An analogy--we are all gems of God's creation--jewels in the rough. We are all significantly flawed as well. The flaw is different, just as each person is different. When a jewel cutter encounters a stone with a flaw there are two choices--recut the stone or discard it.

God will not willingly discard any stone. We choose that for ourselves. So the only alternative is that the stone must be recut. This requires work with hammer, chisel, saw, and grinder, depending on the type of stone. In addition, we resist the Stone Cutter, we vibrate, buck, and shift, so that He is constantly having to recut and reshape.

We will know when we get to heaven the extent of that recut by the size of the jewel that we are. Great saints who started early and ended quickly, St. Thérèse for example, are huge stones that put the Hope Diamond to shame. We are such that the diamonds in most women's wedding rings will be far larger than we.

The Underground Grammarian The hyperactively

The Underground Grammarian

The hyperactively observant among you probably noticed the addition of The Underground Grammarian to the side column. Thanks to Mr. Miller of De Vertutibus for the link. I also saw it in another location, my apology to the blogger I am presently forgetting.

Recommended. No, strongly recommended. No, required. Just as Orwell's essay, "Politics and the English Language" is required. And what's more--enjoyable. So go, enjoy. Come back to your blog and tell everyone about it.

Mathematics and God T. S.

Mathematics and God

T. S. O'Rama comments below:

My stepson is fascinated by mathematics and God but reaches a different conclusion - that free will is an illusion. That if all variables are known, every human action is predictable. And he adheres to the famous complaint: "how can there be free will if God knows how it turns out?". I pointed out that Jesus knew that Peter would deny Him three times but that it did not impinge on Peter's free will to deny him.

And this is an interesting proposition, but it is contingent upon a hidden axiom which is integral to the conclusion. The stepson assumes that all reality is a single closed system and not a series of infinitely contingent systems. If the former is true, the conclusion holds; however, if the latter is true, then a choice, or a bifurcation point, can be known, but the spinning out of the system totally contingent upon it. In other words, God knows all the pathways, all the bifurcations, and our choices are free, but the end result is still known in God's mind without restricting free will. God knows the end results of every single choice and does not dictate (in the vast majority of cases) which choice is made.

In this sense free-will can be called an illusion, but it is an illusion with the depth of reality of imaginary numbers, which are, in no way, imaginary. We do not know the depths of the mysteries of God, and our minds encompass only a small portion of the reality that God knows in its entirety. Further, all of this is argument by analogy, the weakest form of argument, presenting but a flawed mirror in which to view what is happening. Mathematics is only a way to begin to examine the mysteries of God, it is not a system whereby God may be proven or even "coaxed out of hiding." We can convince ourselves of anything, but we encounter propositions within this system that cannot be proven with the tools within the system.

A Brief Summary of the

A Brief Summary of the Entry Below
As anyone who visits will see this entry first, here's a brief summary of the blathering below:

When you choose to open your eyes and see God, you will see Him. When you choose to remain ignorant of His action, you will remain ignorant.

With rare exceptions (road to Damascus) God is a gentleman who forces His attentions on no one, but who provides ample demonstrations of His Divine love to those who choose to receive love.

Mathematics and God Mathematics offers

Mathematics and God

Mathematics offers a lot of wonderful and weird corners to kick around in thinking about God. I'll share one of my favorites.

It has been shown that in iterative systems of non-linear equations certain sets of things can happen. Systems can immediately stabilize, or have an "orbit" of 1. That is if f(x)=x^3 and you start with a value of 1 and use the solution for the next iteration of the function, you will discover that the solution is always 1.

Another thing that can happen is that the value can waver between 2 numbers and you can have an orbit of period 2 in which the two are always feeding back and forth, or you can achieve a "hopf bifurcation" in which as the value approaches the bifurcating point it eventually "lands" on one of two options and then follows a trajectory from that point, no longer wavering between two values. Up to the value of bifurcation, there is a tendency of the value to "wobble" back and forth. Many other things can happen as well. There are stable orbits of periods 2, 4, and higher numbers, where the values in the system will always be one of two or four numbers.

But the number three is particularly important. If a system achieves an orbit of period 3, it is considered the gateway to chaos. Technically chaos looks a lot like randomness, but it is nothing of the sort. Chaos might be better termed weak determinism. That is, if you knew every factor affecting the system, and factored them all in, you would be able to predict what would happen for the next two or three cycles of the system, but then your predictions would become less and less accurate. This is one reason why long-term weather forecasting is unfeasible. We don't know all of the factors affecting the system AND even if we did, our ability to model weather mathematically has a finite limit defined by how many decimal places we use to calculate the next cycle, and it is in a place beyond the last decimal used that there is enough variation to create wildly different scenarios.

I once modeled the logistical difference equation using double precision (so about 16 decimal places) and starting the model with an initial difference of point 15 zeros 1. What this means is that I ran a "mathematical experiment" twice. You plug a value into the equation, then you take the results and put them back into the equation. You do this for as many rounds as you like. I did this for one hundred rounds on the first trial. I started the second trial with a value infinitesimally different. After only 5 repetitions, small differences had emerged. At ten repetitions the graphs of the two experiments looked like I had started with diametrically opposed numbers. From that point on, there was no similarity in the graphs.

Now, what I find most interesting in this is the number of different systems that can be modeled using non-linear dynamics. In fact, it seems, almost anything can be modeled in this way. Computer "random-number generators" are in fact, weakly deterministic in this way.

For the theologically minded this whole complicated mess appears to suggest that behind the apparent chaos at the surface of things, in fact, most systems are "weakly deterministic" that is weakly predictable, given all possible information, and ultimately guided very strictly along their paths, although these paths are never seen.

Okay, so I've guided you through the morass to this conclusion--it appears that many systems are both governed and guided by some overarching considerations and if one could know all possible parameters affecting the system at all times, one could predict what would happen in the system.

To me, that speaks profoundly of the action of God. He is, after all, omniscient and omnipotent. So He indeed can know every factor that affects a system, and He can know the outcomes that are hidden from all of us. Now, admittedly, we are talking merely metaphorical references here. But the study of Chaotic Dynamics was only one of the things that profoundly convinced me of the presence of God's guiding hand in all that is.

This is NOT a proof of the existence of God. Or, if it is, it is flawed in the way many such proofs are by presupposing elements that would tend toward that existence anyway. In other words, if one starts by believing, this simply is an element of reinforcing belief, but if one is an unbeliever, this argument by analogy and metaphor is not a convincing proof, or even a very good support for one's contention.

But I am stunned by these "hidden jewels" that open up worlds of thought, speculation, and appreciation for the Divine Grace that penetrates and permeates all that is. In thinking through these complex questions, one catches a glimpse of Divine Action as one allows the Divine to enter into one's way of perceiving the world. As I said, in the course of my studies, this was only one among many of the marvelous "proofs" or evidences of God's action in the world. I hope in the future to share others.

Teilhard de Chardin Dylan asks

Teilhard de Chardin

Dylan asks a question below that begs more space than a mere comment box reply and touches deeply two areas of profound interest for me. So I repeat his question below, and then fumble my way toward an answer:

Original Question from Dylan

Are you "pro" or "con" Teilhard de Chardin? He's spoken-well-of by both Abp Fulton Sheen (see Footprints in a Darkened Forest) & by the Holy Father JP2 in that wonderful small book Gift and Mystery. But I think he (T de C) needlessly complicates things! I struggle to understand half a word he writes.

My feelings are tied up in a complex assembly of things. I am not entirely certain whether Teilhard de Chardin (TDC henceforth) was unjustly maligned or had a significant role in the perpetration of one of the most significantly harmful scientific frauds of the 20th century--the construction of the so-called "Piltdown" Man. One way or the other, I must fault either his integrity or his lack of scientific objectivity. Perhaps he was not so expert in these things as he ought to have been, but surely then, he should have refrained from involvement and comment. So there's a significant black mark against him whether or not he actually assisted in the perpetration of the fraud.

I am very leery of the attempt to combine evolution and theology that seems to pervade much of his work. I see no reason why the two must be joined and find the attempt somewhat odd and not particularly conducive to a clear understanding of the truth. I was somewhat surprised by John Paul II's seeming approbation of TDC, and I am equally surprised to hear of Archbishop Sheen's remarks. However, neither of these men, intelligent though they are, can be considered empirical scientists and so they are not evaluating the work in the same way I do.

I find that by attempting to have theology make sense in light of evolution, odd twists occur, particularly in TDC notion of the human person. Very honestly, I am probably not competent to judge all these things because he may be teaching very traditional material, but every time I run up against a "Spirit-of Vatican-II" avatar, TDC seems to be a chief tool in the bag of tricks--so unfortunately does some of the later Merton. So TDC is tainted with this generally wide acceptance among those who do not accept a particularly Catholic view of the faith as it is presently. That may have nothing whatsoever to do with the content of Teilhard de Chardin's teaching, but because there are so many more interesting and less controversial figures, I have given TDC fairly wide berth.

So, my conclusion--his science is colored by a spectacular failure. Either a failure of imagination or a failure of integrity. His theology seems an odd attempt to combine religion and science, which is unnecesary for either and detrimental to both. But when asked straight out, pro or con, I have to answer, for myself, I steer clear, but I bow to the judgment of those in a better place than I to know.

Robert Herrick Again

Robert Herrick Again

Robert Herrick is included in both the group of metaphysical poets and the group of cavalier poets--probably one of the reasons he seems to be the center of study of nearly any seventeenth century poetry class. Here is an example of one of the less secular works.

His Litany to the Holy Spirit
Robert Herrick

IN the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drown'd in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but on his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When his potion and his pill
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill ;
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When the passing bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When, God knows, I'm toss'd about,
Either with despair, or doubt ;
Yet before the glass be out,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When the tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When the judgment is reveal'd,
And that open'd which was seal'd,
When to Thee I have appeal'd,
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

I can't help but admire the two stanzas concerning Doctors. In his time, and not infrequently in our own, they are too true.

When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but on his fees, And his skill runs on the lees,                  Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

When his potion and his pill
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill ;
                 Sweet Spirit, comfort me !

Favorite Disorienting Interview Questions from

Favorite Disorienting Interview Questions from the Past

Try facing these delights in an interview situation. Feel free to provide your own responses, who knows, I may need them in the future:

(1) German Chocolate Cake or Key Lime Pie?

(2) A patron returns an expensive art book which she announces she has "made suitable" for the public. Among the items removed is a print of Botticelli's Birth of Venus. What do you do?

(3) Name an age-level appropriate (age 5-8) book about nuclear holocaust.

(4) What is the appropriate term for the conflict occurring between 1860 and 1865 in the United States? (In some states and portions of states the correct answer to this one is a make-or-break)

(5) What is your greatest weakness and how would you market it as a strength? (And they didn't take any of those answers that are strengths wrapped up in weaknesses from a business point of view--you know the "I"m a workaholic" kind of answers.)

(6) If you were constructing a CD-ROM for an audience of blind people, how would you design the interface to indicate interactability of several colored pieces in forming a tessalated surface?

(7) Goya or Van Gogh?

(8) Bach or Mozart? (My answer here--do I have to choose?)

On the Blessed (?St.)

On the Blessed (?St.) Niels Stensen

If paleontology is to have a patron, it will have to be this great holy man. He was a great scientist, having made contributions in anatomy, Paleontology, sedimentology, crystallography, and other disciplines. In addition, He was Bishop in an extremely hostile see. So much so that I have often seen him regarded as a "Missionary" Bishop in Holland.On October 23, 1988, Pope John Paul II conferred the title "blessed" on him.

Steno's primary contribution to paleontology was an explanation of how things like shark's teeth came to be embedded in rocks. In this way he established a foundational understanding of the principles of sedimentology and paleontology. After all, until one could understand how once-living things became part of a rock, you could make no sense of the meaning of things embedded in the rock.

I suppose I point to Steno because I hear how backward and anti-science the Church is. People toss up the Galileo issue all the time; and yet, it seems without a deep understanding of what actually led to the condemnation. While the condemnation may have been ill-considered and wrong-headed, it was more a personal statement about the exceedingly unpleasant Galileo than it was a statement about "how the heavens go," to quote the second half of Bellarmine's famous aphorism.

Stensen (Steno) was also the discoverer of one of the foundational laws of crystallography. Called Steno's Law, it states simply that the angle between the sides of a given crystal (if left to grow without interference) is always the same. Thus, the similarity one sees among the shapes of quartz crystals that form in voids in rock but do not infill it.

From time to time I will probably mention other Saints who contributed, directly or indirectly, to the fields of science in which I was involved. Men of God are not necessarily opposed to Science. One needs to remember that it was the Church which provided a foundation for the modern sciences, not vice versa. With the proposition that God existed came the corollary that His universe was ordered and explainable. This, in fact, is critical for the pursuit of any knowledge. If everything occurs at random, there is no point in seeking to explain how it occurs. In holding to the inner conviction of an ordered universe, the Church held firm the foundation set by Greek and Roman scientists (in the western world) but threatened by the ransacking of the Old Empire.

I do not know if Blessed Niels Stensen has yet been canonized, but it is my prayer than it happen soon--an acknowledgment that faith and science need not be in conflict. (Nor for that matter, in case it wasn't obvious by this blog, do Science and the Arts--although to judge from some University Campuses one would not suppose this to be a truth.).

From Rosarium Virginis Mariae One

From Rosarium Virginis Mariae

One thing I find interesting is a constant reference to what appears to be "course correction" or "focus" constantly uttered by the Popes to the faithful. In the course of this letter, there must be dozens of references to the Christological aspects of the Rosary. I'm certain all the readers of things like blogs have the "proper" focus when praying the Rosary. However, I know of people for whom that focus is not so clear, and for whom, in fact, the communion of the Saints is not terribly clear. When St. Teresa or St. Anthony obtains something for these people, one gets the impression that the given saint is granting some gift, no matter how carefully worded the petition. If this is rampant in the total communion of Saints, how much more true for that greatest of Saints. The reiteration of the Christological focus of the Rosary is an anodyne to many of the anxieties about it that come from converts from more evangelical or fundamentalist mentalities. While the Rosary opens the opportunity to see Christ through the eyes not only of a loving mother but of his Chief disciple and primary Apostle, it remains intently, narrowly focused on the Life , Mission, Death, and Glories of Jesus Christ.

With regard to the new mysteries of the Rosary, to put everyone at ease, article 19 clearly spells out the Pope's intent in promulgating these:

from Rosarium Virginis Mariae
His Holiness Pope John Paul II

I believe, however, that to bring out fully the Christological depth of the Rosary it would be suitable to make an addition to the traditional lpattern which, while left to the freedom of individuals and communities could broaden it to include the the mysteries of Christ's public ministry between his Baptism and his Passion.

(bold-face emphasis mine)

Thus, clearly delineated for even the most skeptical, our Pope makes clear he is offering new mysteries that do not have to be said. But I know that for me the proposed additions do precisely what the Pope would like them to do , "This addition of these new mysteries, without prejudice to any essential aspect of the prayer's traditional format, is meant to give it fresh life and to enkindle renewed interest in the Rosary's place within Christian spirituality as a true doorway to depths of the Heart of Christ, ocean of joy and of light, of suffering and glory."

Where We Find God Some

Where We Find God

Some post the beauty of the stars.
Others (i.e. here) choose the small and intricate things of Earth.
All things show His glory.
All things sing His praise in their beauty.
All things relentlessly prove the existence of God
and the falseness of a Dawkins.
Let us pray that the Dawkinses of the world
see His hand, before they come to stand before Him.

Let us pray that we who see His hand in all,
follow His commands in all.

Leperditia Okay, I promise I

Leperditia

Okay, I promise I won't bore you to death with these, but this is a particularly important one because it marks a watershed bad fieldtrip. I recall that we traveled over 250 miles in the course of this three-day fieldtrip and this was the largest, most interesting fossil in the lot. These little guys are ostracods, an animals somewhat similar to Daphnia which is an aquatic bivalved arthropod.

scale in cms--
Images from the Paleontological Research Institute

These are from New York, but the ones I saw were in West Virginia in approximately coeval rocks--the Salina member of the Tonoloway Formation. We inferred that the Salina member was from a highly saline depositional environment because these little ostracods often, as you see only an eighth to a quarter inch cm, were monstrously large at about half to a full cm. This often happens in modern saline stressed environments, either in brackish or in hypersaline waters, and is otherwise virtually unknown (it is not caused, for example, by sexual dimorphism).

However, 250 miles of travel for a lesson in stratigraphy and no fossils may have been the least profitable field trip I'd ever taken. After all, when we got there and surveyed the outcrop we at first thought someone had been by with a bag of lentils.

All that said, and all that in retrospect, I must say that the first time I ever saw these little ones, I was astounded at their number, their simplicity, and yes, frankly, their beauty. Even the little things of the Earth sing His praises and call us all to join them.

Praise Him!

Tullimonstrum gregarium I promised from

Tullimonstrum gregarium

I promised from time to time I would write about something outside of literature and spiritual concerns, and today, for some reason, the Tullymonster has been on my mind a lot. I suppose I should preface the whole discussion below with the note that I don't expect many of you to care, but it will give your brains a break from the usual twisting they must receive upon arriving at my site.


Reconstruction from the Illinois State Museum Webpage.


It's the state fossil of Illinois, for one thing. And no one can quite figure it out. Some think it to be some sort of vertebrate, others claim that it represents a long extinct group. One thing for certain, there's been nothing else found quite like it. Because of the unusual conditions present during the time that the Mazon Creek Formation was being laid down, soft-bodied fossils were preserved with enormous amounts of detail. Our Tullimonstrum is one of the results of that unusual mode of fossil preservation. It is sometimes called saponification, and I leave it to our Latin experts out there to explicate the word.

I love the Tullimonstrum. It is, in fact, exemplary of Hopkins's:

All things counter, original, spáre, strange; Whatever is fickle, frecklèd, (who knows how?) With swíft, slów; sweet, sóur; adázzle, dím; He fathers-forth whose beauty is pást change: Práise hím.

from "Pied Beauty"
Gerard Manley Hopkins

Take one look at this thing and tell me it doesn't meet the criteria!

In addition, the Latin name is a delight. This isn't just Tully's monster, but it is the gregarious one--in part because a large number of fossils of this strange creature were found, but probably also in part due to the sense of humor of the namer.

So a little view into another corner of my world--hope it provides perspective.

Two Faces of Volunteerism Yesterday,

Two Faces of Volunteerism

Yesterday, while leading my small class on the Catholic Novel (for those interested the next book will be The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne) I ran into some member of the parish's St. Vincent de Paul Society, as well as some of the people they serve. We both meet in a smallish outbuilding, originally designed to hold the Parish Offices. As I came in through the foyer, there were about four people crowded in, waiting in chairs for something. I realized this was a service day.

It occurred to me that I could likely join this group of men and help in service of the poor. And for a moment the idea sparkled and then faded.

That afternoon, I went to a board meeting of a group dedicated to starting a new publication for the local historical society. They want to start publishing a small journal dedicated to our region's History. (Very frankly, I didn't realize it had any, which is one of the reasons I volunteered to help with this endeavor). Anyway, they need peer reviewers, editors, selectors--you name it, they need it. They even need submissions. They want to publish the first edition in February (given that there is nothing in place yet, it seems ambitious, but it is doable). As I left, I told the woman in charge that she could feel free to call me for anything she needed--advise, editor, writer, etc.

Now I look back on these two opportunities--after all, the possibility of working with the St. Vincent De Paul society has not slipped away, and I wonder at my reactions. Why was one so immediately appealing and the other so appealing, and then unappealing. I find several factors:

(1) Familiarity--I know a great deal about the editorial process and publishing. This is the environment in which I thrive. There is an intellectual stimulation in that I will learn something about the local area, and history is utterly fascinating to me--that way that it leaves nearly invisible and yet profound imprints on things all around me. St. Vincent de Paul is not familiar, nor is it comfortable. And everyone in the society appears to be thirty to forty years older than me. In this church, at least, it's a whole bunch of ex-New York, hale-fellow-well-met, possibly beer-drinking buddies from way-back. That's perception. But let me define how many things I dislike about the perception: don't like anything that smacks of "fraternities" (won't join Emmaus or Knights of Columbus or any such organization). Don't drink beer, wine, or any alcohol. I am not now nor ever will be a "hale-fellow-well-met." At best I'm an extremely cautious, "Pleasant sort of day isn't it." No back-slapping please! New York is a wonderful place, but I passed a set of exceedingly difficult years there and unfortunately my feelings about the place are tainted by the years. (In other words, couldn't share any fond reminiscences.)

(2) The fear factor--in encountering those less-well-off that I am, I am nearly overcome with dread. It has nothing to do with fear for my person or goods, it is more a "there but for the grace of God go I" fear. I suppose some deep, dark, superstitious pocket of my soul identifies poverty with the flu and wonders if it is catching (particularly in the present economy).

(3)Showy vs. silent--My involvement with the historical center can and will be done without fanfare, with anyone other than the few on the council and the person who helped me to get involved knowing anything about it. In the St. Vincent de Paul society, every volunteer action is know by a bazillion people--the entire society and their entire network of friends. The friendly, but much to be avoided, eye of the pastor would pass over me noting my presence in this group (along with the five million other groups). He does frown on multiple participation, but sometimes laments that the entire mission of the parish seems to revolve around a core of about 50 people, even though we have 10,000 enrolled.

(4) The tenor of the two groups. I'm sorry, I'm just not a good joiner for boisterous, enthusiastic, loud groups. Chamber music over marching band any day of the week.

So what is the point of all this? I wanted to share some of my imperfection in a confessional sort of way. But I also wanted to talk myself into seeing this opportunity in a better light. I know that I am being called more and more to service--and while I do a great deal, much of my work is "preaching to the converted." I run the formation for my group of Carmelites, am, at least ostensibly in charge of coordinating the regional formation. I give lecture on spiritual journaling, prayer, and just about any other topic the church happens to need talk on. I work with RCIA in both supporting the Catechumens and in giving some of the teachings. One might say I live a fair life of the mind. But perhaps the time has come to move from that to more substantive work, work more meaningful to those with less firm connection to the Church. And the Vincent de Paul society may be a leg up. Many of the things I could do are precluded by being weekday things--Soup Kitchen, Volunteer Health Center, Crisis (Domestic Abuse) center, etc.

I suppose the time has come to stop merely buying my way out of these activities and finding a way to truly support them. But rather than leaping into them, I will be praying about this a while. I ask all of you who read this to pray for me for discernment. I don't want to start and stop in this walk, as it would be too easy not to bother starting again.

Feast Day of St. Gaspare

Feast Day of St. Gaspare del Bufalo

Just wanted to remind/tell every who doesn't frequent the New Gasparian, that that this is the feastday of the founder of founder of the Missionaries of the Precious Blood. To find out more visit Fr. Keyes C. PP. S here. To all such Missionaries who visit here, have a blessed feast day. I will remember you in my prayers for the day.