Ron Hansen--Hitler's Niece
Book:Hitler's Niece
Author: Ron Hansen
Recommendation: Not for everyone, in fact, not for very many
Comments:
Let's start with the good points: as usual with Hansen the book is well-written, but full of idiosyncratic blips that may throw some readers off. You know how in every creative writing assignment you were ever given the teacher told you to "show" don't "tell." You were always advised to chop out lumps of sheer indigestible expository. Well, this book shows that the author knows how to break those rules without serious consequences. There are large lumps of sheer expository writing every time an historical figure walks on the stage. And there are lumps of blatant foreshadowing. Hansen knows you know what happened in the big picture, so there's no harm in letting you know as the story goes along.
Some of the prose is exquisitely beautiful, as in Mariette in Ecstasy. One wanted to be in some of the countryside described, and to see some of the apartments and their furnishings.
Finally, Hansen has a strong grasp of the historical material and really helps the reader to understand some of the rather confusing events in Hitler's rise to power--the Beer Hall Putsch, the Horst Kessel martyrdom, and so on. Further, so far as I could tell with my limited exposure, he painted a very true picture of between-the-wars Germany and particularly Berlin Decadence.
Therein lies the chief reason I cannot recommend this book without extremely strong reservations. One cannot expect a book about Hitler to be pleasant. And to be honest, I didn't know quite what to expect when I started reading. For the first two thirds of the book, the action of the main story is largely repellent, but not quite enough for me to warn readers away. The last third of the book sends it skyrocketing way over the top with some of the most nauseating depictions and perhaps worse, implications, of perverse sexuality. I understood the need to help the reader see why events transpire the way they do. I even can buy that this may be further propaganda in the anti-Hitler camp (I find it hard to believe that there can be a pro-Hitler camp). But something in this last 100 pages of the book really made me question what Hansen was up to and whether it was necessary. I may revisit and revise this opinion. But presently, I cannot recommend this book to anyone without grave reservations.
One of the criteria I apply to anything I read is a question: Am I a better person (closer to God) for having read this. For the most part, I am at least not further from God. (We must remember the Red Queen's advice--"we must run just as fast as we can to stay in the same place.") Some few books, profit me immensely, opening the doors to God's grace and love. And some few books send a cloudbank skittering into the path of divine light. I'm afraid that's how I feel about this. Perhaps there was a point about grace, faith, the group-mind and many other things. But I fail to see it at this point. Over the next few days, I shall reflect upon it. However, I do not expect that my view of it will change.
Plot synopsis: The story follows Hitler's rise to power and his progressive infatuation with his niece Geli. For at least part of the time Geli is strongly attracted to Hitler and to his charismatic personality. Eventually, she comes face to face with yet another repellent aspect of Hitler's character and seems to be one the way back to grace. To say more would ruin the book for those hardy souls that have not already been dissuaded by other comments.
Will I Talk About the Music?
One asks. And the answer--yes. It had slipped my mind in the press of other things--Dylan's definitions and all manner of thinking about beauty, truth, goodness, contemplation, attachment, detachment, you name it. Tomorrow morning or afternoon, I shall talk about the musical choices in somewhat more detail.
For those intrigued already--I will answer the query regarding Bartok. While solidly twentieth century, he uses such a rich tonal pallette, and the music is so suggestive of celestial beauty--both emptiness and a ringing fullness at the same time. There are such subtle shades in the music. Harmonies? Suggestions of non-western tonalities? I don't really know. But I do know that for all the varied sounds and mixtures in the music, it does not ever enter into downright dissonance. Everything seems to work so perfectly together to create something unheard before or since--unique in its utter strangeness and perfection. Now--that's just an opinion, and not a particularly informed one. But compare it to Alban Berg, Anton Webern or later Schoenberg, and you'll understand immediately its appeal.
Bloggstic?
So says one of the kinder voices in blogdom. I fully expected to be under Bloggbastic--those who produce interminable ruminations about just about everything. Subject unimportant, only length matters.
Scripture of the Day
Remarked out because it was slowing the page to a crawl. I'll look into replacing it later today.
Souls! Souls!
Mystics, as you all know, do not live in the realm of foggy visions and unrealistic daydreams. Recall the wonderful St. Teresa's advice to the Carmelites of her foundation, "If you think you are having visions, perhaps you should eat more." Practical, down-to-earth, and deeply in Love with God.
So too, I take from the writings of Cabrera de Armida (who by the way is not a Carmelite, but a lay member or associate of the Missionaries of the Holy Spirit (or so I infer from the introduction). We should not be surprised that what she says echoes so many great saints--as St. Thomas Aquinas points out, God is simple and there is only one such God to focus on.
from Before the Altar Concepcion Cabrera de ArmidaSouls! Souls!
This is the cry of my heart whenever I approach your Tabernacle, O my Jesus! It is also the echo of your divine and loving Heart which is constantly resounding in mine. O my Eucharistic Jesus! My greatest suffering is at the thought that you asked me for these souls and that I haven't a million at my disposal to offer you.
All the things that I see, that I hear and that I touch all seem to repeat the cry for souls, souls! That cry awakens me at night. O Lord of my life. I have none to offer you but one which is my own, but which is ready to offer itself in sacrifice in order that millions of others may be saved and obtain your glory.
How hard it is for the heart that love you and is full of zeal for the salvation of souls to be unable to exercise it. What a cruel martyrdom.
O grief, above all other pains, to see my Jesus outraged, forsaken, wounded and despised by those souls ransomed by him!
We hear the same refrain for every mystic I have read, and I suspect from every true mystic. The love they enjoy is something they want to shower over the entire world. Often they are confined to little works in little places, but the outwardly expanding ripples from such work build to a rogue wave that can and does shake the entire world. Witness the power of a little Carmelite Nun from an obscure town in France who spent nine years in a convent and vanished from the world at the age of twenty-four. How many call upon her for help, and how many more does she help through her constant intercession, her constant seeking of souls?
Detachment, Once Again
We do not revel in creation for the sake of the creature, but for the image of the creator. All things point to God, the object is to leave the pointers behind and move toward God.
Yet More on Attachment
Below, in the comments, Tom asks if it is possible that an attachment to the Blessed Virgin can get in the way of spiritual progress. As with St. Thomas Aquinas, this is simply a matter of definitions, and I have written so much for so long that I take for granted that everyone knows the definition. While it is not formally and scholastically defined, it is generally understood to mean --"an inordinate desire for." Now, is it even possible to form an attachment to the Blessed Virgin? The answer is yes. The Blessed Virgin, as exalted as she is in Heaven, Mediatrix of Grace, Mother of God, is still a creature. If the attention that rightfully belongs to God is focused on the Blessed Virgin (if we choose saying the Rosary over going to Mass, for example) we have an inordinate desire for the Blessed Virgin, because she has superseded her creator.
Here's a way to think about attachment and to figure out if you are attached. Think of attachment as "addiction." For example, if someone passes around a box of chocolates and when it reaches you, you quietly slip it into your backpack, one might say you are attached to chocolate.
One way to evaluate attachment is to look at what you do in pursuit of an object or event. Do you neglect, reschedule, or reshuffle things that are part of your normal vocation and state in life in order to obtain these things? If yes, you are attached to them--they own a piece of you. If you "cannot live" without the object or event, you are attached. Start with something innocuous--if you postpone cooking dinner, lock the children in their rooms, and shuffle your spouse off to a different location so that you can watch Dharma and Greg (no animus) you are probably attached. If you feel that in the absence of something, you simply "cannot go on," you are attached. Attachment is always unhealthy, and detachment, the proper attitude to all created things and their products.
I have pondered the question of whether you can be attached to God. And my conclusion is, probably not in normal circumstances. Some may be able to think of ways that you are attached to certain things of God, but is it possible to have an inordinate desire for the creator of all.
Another way to think about attachment is that each thing to which you are attached owns a piece of you. That dress that you've had for the last five years but have never worn and never thrown away, probably represents an attachment.
The difficulty with attachments is their progressive subtlety. It's relatively easy to recognize material things to which we are attached (achieving detachment may not be easy, but as with any such situation, recognizing the attachment is the first step.) But things become more difficult in the realm of ideas and other intangibles. For example, it is possible to become to the idea of detachment--to look at detachment as an end in itself and the supreme goal. Obviously, that is not so. Detachment is only a means to an end--Union with God. We can become attached to the consolations associated with prayer. When we pray we may feel calm and at ease, the universe may open up for us. If we begin to pray in search of that feeling, we are attached.
On the other hand, detachment isn't mere rejection of these things. The rejection of things becomes an attachment in itself. Refusing certain foods or certain ideas becomes a form of attachment.
People can become attached to very, very good things indeed. For example, when the Holy Father suggested that we might add a new set of mysteries to the recitation of the Rosary, many were out lighting the bonfires to burn the heretic. Many were upset that anyone should suggest an alteration. These many were probably attached to the Rosary, they probably felt some personal "ownership" of the prayer, and how dare anyone change it. Many who are quite vocal in their denunciation of things that have received the approval of the church (I think here of the Novus Ordo) are probably attached to the other Mass.
The important thing to remember is that there is nothing wrong with most of the things to which we are attached (pornography and other damaging things are exceptions), they are not bad or evil. But with respect to God, they are lesser goods--things to relinquish as we head onward toward union. Material things are not evil (although sometimes mystical language would make you think so) and we should not hate them absolutely, but relatively. That is the explanation of the mysterious statement Jesus makes that unless a man hate mother and father he is not worthy to follow me. Jesus would not violate the ten commandments calling us to Honor Mother and Father. This hatred means only that when Mother and Father choose to interfere in the pursuit of God, they must be let go, and the pursuit of God must continue. This doesn't mean that you don't talk to them or love them, but you reject the impulse that would have them control you and you move on. This "hatred" mysteriously becomes an overpowering love that urges the person moving toward union to pull others into their torrent and riptide. (See chapter 10 or 11 of Story of a Soul for St. Thérèse's marvelous analogy).
So, mystical language is often overstated--hyperbole. It doesn't aim at precision but at exhortation. It is the language of the prophets, and sometimes of the Savior Himself. It seeks not to prove, but to point the way, and so must be read in a way similar to poetry. It is challenging and quite difficult and does not lend itself to fine parsing before it falls apart and blows away.
Hopefully some of these notes will better help those who are looking into detachment and seeking to understand what it is about. As with all these matters, imperfections in the explanation are due not to the subject, but to my feeble understanding.
Attachment and Detachment
This is hastily written during a lunchbreak, and hopefully I will be able to return to it this evening and spell it out more (last night no internet service). But a quick read shows that Therese is really on track in the comments below.
Let me try to spell out attachment and detachment with an analogy.
I went out to my front yard this morning and saw six snow-white ibises strutting their way across the more-brown-than-green St. Augustine turf searching for food.
Let's first turn to attachment. Attachment says, "Oh, aren't they lovely, let me build a cage so I can always have six ibises on my front yard."
On the other hand, let us start with what detachment is NOT. It is not saying, "so what?" and then turning away and ignoring them, as it might seem to be. That is indifference, and, if not a sin, at least an imperfection. On the other hand detachment is, "Glory be to God for snow-white Ibis." And then, when they walk or soar away, we soar away with them, thankful for a brief moment, a "consolation" if you will from God, who sent us a message of the beauty of creation.
This is, admittedly, inept and rapid, please forgive me, but I will try to say more later. Though, the comments that are being made with respect to this are so profound and astute, I'm pleased to think that I probably won't need to say much.
But I do wish to further address Tom's concern in the comments below. Thanks for the great discussion everyone!
More on Rahner
Whatever the end result of his theology, whatever his accuracy or lack thereof in speculation, a very generous, relatively quiet visitor to St. Blog's kindly enriched my life with the following:
from Encounters with Silence Chapter 6: God of My Daily Routine Karl Rahner, S.J.I should like to bring the routine of my daily life before You, O Lord, to discuss the long days and tedious hours that are filled with everything but You.
Look at this routine, O God of Mildness. Look upon men, who are practically nothing else but routine. In Your loving mercy, look at my soul, a road crowded by a dense and endless column of bedraggled refugees, a bomb-pocked highway on whch countless trivialities, much empty talk and pointless acitivity, idle curiosity and ludicrous pretensions of importance all roll forward in a never-ending stream.
When it stands before You and Your infallible Truthfulness, doesn't my soul look just like a market place where the second-hand dealers from all corners of the globe have assembled to shell the shabby riches of this world? Isn't it just like a noisy bazaar, where I and the rest of mankind display our cheap trinkets to the restless , milling crowds?
(p. 45)
What a gem, worthy of returning to time and again. And I suspect much of the remainder of the work is likely to consist of similar material. Thank you!
The Fascination of Diaries
I trust you are all stopping occasionally to view the Pepys Diary online. Remarkable document. Throughtout will see the phrase "and so to bed" with such frequency that it could almost serve as a subtitle for the diaries.
So too with the Diaries of William Byrd of Westover, one of the FFV, and a remarkable document in its own right--written I believe in a coded script that had been left undeciphered until the middle 1930s (though I could be mistaken in this) and approximately contemporaneous with Pepys (perhaps a few years later). There we have the phrase, "I danced my little dance" along with a great many phrases to denote amatory dalliances with the diarist's wife. The two of them make for great reading side by side--pictures of almost exact opposites--city life in England, and rural life in the New World. If you have the opportunity, enjoy Pepys--Byrd you will have to seek out on your own.
A Joycean Jem
[Yes I know it is "misspelled." See Finnegan's Wake for an explanation.]
Thanks to Dylan for this link to Joyce's works online. Joyce nearly became for me the subject of the Ph.D. dissertation. And I would have taken the Wake as my subject of choice--one of the most arcane, self-involved, difficult, fascinating, disturbing, wonderful works of literature. I don't know how good it actually is, but it is completely intriguing and full of all sorts of fascinations and intricacies.
Much of the Wake was written during the time when Joyce was fuctionally blind. He dictated the work to Samuel Beckett. There is an anecdote that relates that they were involved in one of these dictation sessions and someone knocked on the door. Joyce had them enter and a brief conversation ensued. Beckett transcribed all of this and when he read it back, Joyce retained it in the work. Fascinating.
Also Ulysses, while there may be some debate about it being the "best" book of the twentieth century, there can be no doubt that it is among the most influential--affecting modern prose (and creating Modernist prose) down to its very marrow. There are remarkably few great writers post-Joyce who do not in one way or another reflect the influence of this major work--another of my favorite works despite its very negative portrayal of the Catholic Church.
What Should We Desire?
In a comment on the excerpt from the Venerable Concepcion, one person said:
I can't help but think that we should desire the very best for all whom we meet. That in encountering us, their minds and hearts are lifted towards the Lord. That should we do kindness that they see the Lord. That should they respond in rudeness or even hate, that still they see the Lord. We should not rejoice in the failings of others especially if it is so that we can get our spiritual exercise.
To which my comment is--almost. The first part I think reflects what I believe to be true--we should desire what the Lord desires, we should will what the Lord wills, we should leave off self and be detached, but caring. (Some think this is an oxymoron--but it is not. The only way to truly be loving and caring is to be detached. Detachment is not distance. It is recognizing the sovereignty of the will of another and recognizing the unique relationship an individual shares with the Lord, and it is relinquishing our "rights" and "holds" over another so that the truly important, powerful relationship with the Lord can grow. Detachment is not indifference, it is powerful, overpowering love and desire for True and ultimate good. ) Detachment is necessary so that we will nothing other than what the Lord wills for the person. Now, I believe that the commenter makes the point that the Lord always wills that we turn toward Him. And if we pray for that for the individual, we must surely be in the Lord's will. Again, probably true. Of course, I haven't a road map of the Lord's will, so some thoughts must necessarily be speculative. But there certainly does not seem to be anything of attachment in praying and hoping that a person's heart always turn toward the Lord.
Where I actually disagree is the last sentence, and probably not with the intent of the last sentence but rather with its structure. I will use what amounts to a semantic difference (I believe) to make my point:
"We should not rejoice in the failings of others especially if it is so that we can get our spiritual exercise."
In fact, we should rejoice and welcome whatever it is the Lord sends us in any particular moment because that is His will for us. We should "rejoice" in the failings of others--not for their failings, but for the glimmerings of the failings that we can then recognize in ourselves--our attachments, our sinfulness, our pettiness, our selfishness. So I see this as rejoicing in the evils uncovered in us so that God may look upon them and heal them, and we may recognize our true worth with respect to His Majesty. The commenter is correct is that we should not revel in the fact that others may have sinned, or may have mistreated us (if it is possible to mistreat without sinning). But we should thank the Lord that it happened, and even be thankful to the person who inflicted it, while praying for all good for them.
I am virtually certain (the only way to be certain over the net) that the commenter was not thinking in the direction I pointed and was referring rather to egging someone on to abuse us, wishing that others might fail so that we might be strengthened. In this regard I agree. We should not encourage others to fail. However, I think of Concepcion's statement more in the light of experience. " We know there are rude, self-involved, pushy people. So send them my way to allow me to do good work for them and not receive the human reward of appreciation." Concepcion does not continue into a dangerous territory which must also be in her mind (because I doubt she would have been made Venerable otherwise), which is, and so that my service to them bring them to the Lord. Because then we get close to the borders of another attachment--an attachment to good works that brings people around.
All attachment, even to the very best things, gets in the way of progress toward the Lord. If we become attached to the notion of good works and evangelical actions, we are distancing ourselves from God. So, I suspect the meditation is treading a very fine line, and saying simply--because there are those who will ill-use people, let them come to me so that the work I do go unremarked--with the incidental benefits that they may be brought somewhat closer to the Lord and others will be shielded from their ill-will. In such a way, I can do what I do for the love of Jesus alone, and not look to mere human recompense. But if the prayer were such that it said, "Make more people nasty and snarly so I can do good spiritual things," it would be appropriate to decry and renounce such actions. We should never pray for others to do ill. And you'll note that the prayer is more reflective--not "increase the amount of ingratitude," but "send me those who are not grateful." "May I do all the good I possibly can, and yet may no one ever be grateful to me for it. " Later, there is a phrase suggestive of the problematic, but I read it in light of the previous, "render service to others and to be repaid with ingratitude." I think she is not praying for an increase in ingratitude, but rather that if there must be ingratitude, let her experience so that she may detach from expectations. It is slightly more problematic, but contextually, still on the same thought--let me not seek mere human awards and plaudits, but let what I do be done for the love of Jesus.
I will further offer that mystical language, unlike the language of philosophy, is very poetic and very vague (at times) and thus quite subject to misuse and misinterpretation. This may be part of the reason why mystical Doctors take a lot longer to confirm than those who are more known for their teaching. (Although ultimately, I believe, all true saints partake in some measure of being mystics.)
Detachment as Seen by Concepcion Cabrera de Armida
The following passage is very difficult, and it is phrased in a spirituality that like that occasionally of St. Thér&egrace;se can be off-putting. But I think the essential impulse is mostly correct.
from Before the Altar Concepcion Cabrera de ArmidaSend me experiences of deception, misfortune; let me treated with indifference and ingratitude; let me be forgotten and forsaken, in your mercy, so that all that is earthly may be removed from my heart. Do this for the good of my soul which is so inclined to attach itself to creatures and which, nevertheless, desires only to belong to you, my Jesus.
May all that is evil in my heart be taken far way from me, O my adorable Jesus! May the bad seeds which lie within my heart perish, and may the first fruits of my sufferings be always for you alone.
May I do all the good I possibly can, and yet may no one ever be grateful to me for it.
Slaves are made use of, and then they are forgotten; on, how I envy them!
O my Jesus! What I want, however much pain it may bring me, is to render service to others and to be repaid with ingratitude in exchange for my kindness.
It is a glorious ideal, and I am unworthy to attain it, nevertheless I will pursue it; whatever be the cost!
In this way, with my soul detached from creatures, and purified by sacrifice and voluntary humiliations, I shall fly to you, my Jesus and you alone shall be my reward and my all.
As might once have been said, "Strong meat." But the impulse underlying all of this is true, and here is an exposition of one of those places where we all are so attached we don't even realize it. You know when you hold open a door for someone and they just barge through, completely ignoring the courtesy and nearly running you down in the process? You know how you want to just say, "You're welcome," as they hurry to whatever pressingly urgent engagement they have? These result from an attachment--an expectation that a service receives a reward. Common courtesy dictates this. However, it is so much the better for us when the service is overlooked, and yet we have done it gladly for love of Christ. Not from convention, not from expectation, not from habit, but out of the knowledge that when we do any service for any of our brothers and sisters, we are rendering that service to Christ. When anyone acknowledges that service, in a sense we have been repaid for it. And when we have come to expect that acknowledgement and receive it, we can mark the bill "Paid in Full" and expect no favor from Jesus for it, because we have done it for ourselves.
That is the impulse behind this writing--the understanding that all too often in whatever service we render, in whatever praying we do, in whatever action we take, we are preeminently self-serving. Only through detaching ourselves of the expectations associated with the service to we begin to advance. That doesn't mean that we become rude and cold, but simply that what we do is done for Christ, whether we a thanked, noticed, or remarked upon or not. Every action becomes oriented to the love of Christ and what can be a better font of courtesy and of True Love?
Hearth and Home
After a brief sojourn in the spirited company of Mr. da Fiesole and St. Thomas at Disputations, I am glad to come home to St. John of the Cross--the familiar, the comfortable, and the comprehensible. I am in considerable awe of those who can derive more than intellectual stamina from the careful perusal of St. Thomas--it requires a makeup far different from mine. A sign of the great Grace of our Lord is the many mentors He has sent to us to serve the many different kinds of people that we are. St. Thomas, St. Francis, St. Benedict, St. Dominic, St. John of the Cross, St. Gaspar, and countless others all help those who seek God.
One of the reasons I am a Carmelite is that I have always enjoyed the gentle warmth and convivial company of St. John of the Cross, even when I don't completely understand all he is trying to tell me. Still, he always strikes me as a gentle father, ever patient but ever firm, allowing no deviation along the difficult road--a good and faithful aspect when you are ascending mountain paths without guardrails.
Returning to his company last evening, I took particular consolation (I know, I know, we're not be looking for consolations--but when they come, we can accept them) in this second paragraph of the Prologue.
from "Prologue" to The Ascent of Mount Carmel St. John of the Cross 2. Therefore, in order to say a little about this dark night, I shall trust neither to experience nor to knowledge, since both may fail and deceive; but, while not omitting to make such use as I can of these two things, I shall avail myself, in all that, with the Divine favour, I have to say, or at the least, in that which is most important and dark to the understanding, of Divine Scripture; for, if we guide ourselves by this, we shall be unable to stray, since He Who speaks therein is the Holy Spirit. And if aught I stray, whether through my imperfect understanding of that which is said in it or of matters uncollected with it, it is not my intention to depart from the sound sense and doctrine of our Holy Mother the Catholic Church; for in such a case I submit and resign myself wholly, not only to her command, but to whatever better judgment she may pronounce concerning it.
There is so much in this brief paragraph it is difficult to articulate it all. But ultimately what appeals to me here is the understanding of the limitations of human reason and experience in dealing with the things of God. While both are necessary and useful in their proper place, they are insufficient to give rise to the quality necessary for union with God. In fact, they become an obstacle to that Union if they are attachments. (Of this, I may speak from personal experience--how weak I am when I rely solely upon my intellect and experience.)
Any attachment, no matter how truly good the object, no matter how worthy the activity--this can mean an attachment to saying the Rosary, for example, or an attachment to praying before the blessed Sacrament--impede the progress of the soul in prayer. They do this because they are instances of disobedience, in a sense. God draws us on or in different directions, but we stubbornly adhere to our habits and our patterns.
Also here I see the great humility of a truly great mind that bows before the correction and teaching of Holy Mother Church, as indeed all the great Saints did and all the great heretics refused to do. It is wrong to insist upon your own way in any aspect of church life. For example, it is wrong to insist that one form of Mass is necessarily more holy and more complete than another. While our subjective experience may be better at one Mass than another, and while we may "feel" better, or recognize greater artistry and aesthetic appeal, if the form of Mass has been duly instituted by the Church and duly administered by the pastor, then we are in the presence of Jesus Christ in the Word and in the Eucharist. One Mass may seem to better honor Him, but He comes to us regardless of honor, still the Lamb of God, still the servant/master, still our Brother and our Lord.
Also, I see here the reliance on Holy Scripture inspired by the Holy Spirit and duly interpreted and understood in the context of the teaching of the Church, as a wonderful, salutary habit. Too often we rely upon our own resources. Even if we do not fully understand scripture (and there is no one on Earth who encompasses all the meanings and all the variations of scripture in their person) we can ask the Holy Spirit for guidance and read in His presence--all redounding to our benefit--so much so, in fact, that in the general grants of plenary indulgences, the active reading of scripture for at least one-half hour is one of three activities that can merit such an indulgence. More, the Church is so certain of the value of reading scripture that such a indulgence may be received once a day.
St. John of the Cross teaches us even when the intent is not so much to teach but explain. His Prologue, intending merely to outline the path up the slopes of Mount Carmel, actually sets the stage for much of what is to come. It encourages the habits necessary for the ascent, and it begins to instill in us the real desire to make the whole trek.
The Mighty Barrister
I'm pleased that I finally remembered to find my way to the main page of this weblog. I have long intended to add it, but each time I find a link it is usual to a specific post and truncating the URL did not deliver the proper address. So, after much idiotic fumbling around, I went chez Dylan and harvested this address.
Something Familiar--for "Not for Sheep. . ."
The blogmistress of Not for Sheep. . . would probably find something quite familiar about the tone/content of the following words:
from "Prologue" to The Ascent of Mount Carmel St. John of the CrossIn order to expound and describe this dark night, through which the soul passes in order to attain to the Divine light of the perfect union of the love of God, as far as possible in this life, it would be necessary to have illumination of knowledge and experience other and far greater than mine; for this darkness and these trials, both spiritual and temporal, through which happy souls are wont to pass in order to be able to attain to this high estate of perfection, are so numerous and so profound that neither does human knowledge suffice for the understanding of them, nor experience for the description of them; for only he that passes this way can understand it, and even he cannot describe it.
The translation is the sometimes less than felicitous E. Allison Peers, but the point is still clear. But it is very much like what many zazen Masters have said of Zen, "He who talks about it does not know it." The experience is indescribable precisely because it is divine and human language can only approximate what pertains to the divine.
What I find interesting is that St. John of the Cross refers to the "darkness and . . . trials" that "happy souls" pass through on the way to this union. One hardly associates the words darkness and trials with "happy." (And even if the word "happy" is being used in the archaic sense of those whom chance has favored--it's difficult to associate the favoritism of chance with dark and trials). And yet these trials are trials I would willingly face if there were the certainty that I was treading the road to union, because no trial on Earth is so great that I would abandon the opportunity to attain Divine Union. However, part of those trials is very likely the uncertainty of the road. Prayer is vast and dry and yields no return--is this because of increasing perfection or innumerable venial sins interfering in the contact with the Divine? That question is one of the difficulties of the road. But what difficulties are not worth facing, if at the end of the road we can experience what St. John of the Cross, St. Teresa of Avila, and St. Therese of Lisieux all experienced? And I don't refer here to visions, locutions, and consolations, but I refer to becoming as nearly as possible the perfect human vessel and spouse of Our Lord. (Obviously, being sinful, we would fail in the perfection that the Mother of God attained--but still and all we would attain the perfection that God has in mind for us.)
So, we start our Ascent of Mount Carmel with the notion that it is an ascent. Thus, it will involve work, hardship, privation, and other human sufferings in the process of purification. Perhaps tomorrow I will post something from Concepcion Cabrera de Armida that reflects on this from a non-Carmelite perspective, but presents a view quite consonant with Carmelite Spirituality.
Our Blessings
By my recent discussions with Dylan and with Mr. da Fiesole, I have been put in mind of the many blessings God bestows upon us in the course of an ordinary day. Humorously, at the end of a long chain of discussion that included Mr. Da Fiesole, Mark of Minute Particulars (another incisive, and occasionally mind-bending, brain-hurting blog--highly recommended) Kathy the presently blogless OCDS (whom I hope comes to the realization that everybody needs a blog--and thus swells the ranks of the blogging Carmelites) and Mr. Kairos, one of the correspondents wrote to say, "My brain hurts." And that is perfectly understandable. But, mine does not. It feels strangely energized and refreshed as though cobwebs have been swept from it.
So too with Dylan's carefully nuanced, wonderfully understated expositions of Church teaching on the Death Penalty and Pacifism. I thank God for moments like these that remind me that the world is more than my petty web of concerns--that there are great beauties in the mere open exchange of ideas, and we are tremendously blessed to exist in a society where such an exchange is both possible and frequent, even if it is not necessaily encouraged. I thank God for those courageous enough to present views that may be unpopular. And I thank Him for people who care enough to take the time to teach, to lead, and to encourage every one of us in the blogworld.
Of course there are a great many more than those listed here--my side column is filled with such people, and there are a great many others. Today and each day it would be good to remember each of the people who has helped to show us the way by saying a special prayer in their behalf. Thank you all, visitors, commentors, and blogkeepers--you have created a virtual library of inspiration and of praise to God. I cannot encourage or implore you enough to keep up the magnificent, generous work that so buoys up a great many visitors.
Shalom to all.
Back to Beauty
The webmaster at Disputations has been a very charitable, accommodating, and wonderful host for this discussion of beauty, will, and desire. Through his example, he has shown how it is possible to disagree and argue points without resorting to ad hominem attacks or useless side issues. In addition, this post and its queries and responses show a very socratic and restrained approach to the education of hoi polloi (among whom I must count myself in this issue). I am a mere upstart pursuing the track of a single notion with the conviction (intuition) that resides deep within me. This makes logical argument occasionally quite difficult because I am acting on intuition rather than argumentation for some of the points made. It is all to Mr. da Fiesole's credit that he draws from such an opponent a reasonable stream of thought rather than mere mumblings on "knowing it is so." By his careful ministration he has forced intuition to find supporting reasoning and assisted me in thinking through this difficult problem. Please go and see this, it is quite wonderful (not my own meanderings, but the direction pointed by the blogmaster). Mr. da Fiesole has earned my eternal (or at least temporal) gratitude. So gracious and charitable a host should be well rewarded for spending so much time with so unprofitable an endeavor, he has my prayers and thanks.
Query for the Musically Inclined
Is anyone out there familiar with the Glagolitic Mass by Leos Janacek? I heard part of it (probably just the Introit) and it was fantastic. Is the remainder of the Mass similar? I hadn't heard anything quite so lovely in a long time.
Some Thoughts on Beauty
All those who care to do so have had the opportunity to respond, and now I will try to spell out my answers and some of the reasons for the choices of pieces that I made.
1. Pablo Picasso's Guernica--No
2. Pablo Picasso's Les Desmoiselles D'Avignon--Perhaps
3. Dali The Persistence of Memory--Yes
4. Joan Miro Festival of the Harlequin--Yes
5. Georgia O'Keefe Iris--Probably not
6. Monet Impression:Sunrise--Yes
7. Courbet The Seacoast--Probably
8. Debussy La Mer--Yes
9. Schönberg PIerrot Lunaire--No
10. Schönberg Verklarte Nacht--Yes
11. Hindemith Mathis der Mahler--Yes
12. StraussAlso Sprache Zarathustra--No
13. Holst The Planets--Yes
14. Webern Five Pieces for Small Orchestra Bonus question: did he really encode secrets in his music?--No
15. Bartok Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta--Transcendantly yes
16. Rachmaninoff Variations on a Theme by Paganini--Yes
17. Vaughn Williams The Lark Ascending--Yes
As we have all seen, tremendously subjective evaluations. I included Guernica because while it is important, powerful, and disturbing, I do not think its moral outrage is sufficient to make it beautiful.
Les Desmoiselles D'Avignon is an intriguing piece that seems to be trying to do more than simply portray the women involved. The idea gets in the way, but the canvas comes closer to capturing that elusive element of beauty than does the other work by Picasso. This may be beautiful in a distant, not-particularly-inviting way.
I think the next two works are frighteningly beautiful. They attempt to capture, and largely succeed something entirely beyond human experience, yet somehow in accord with it and impinging upon it. In that sense they aim at the Divine, and miss by a good deal, but they convey to me a sense of the artist's striving.
The Georgia O'Keefe was included as an example of something that is quite pretty, but I don't know if it qualifies as beautiful. It is certainly intimate and quite close, but I don't know that it reaches to beauty.
Impression Sunrise while not by any means my favorite Monet (probably "Woman with a Parasol" [don't mistake this with "Woman with a Parasol Turned to the Left"]or "La Japonaise") is a beautiful piece because it capture more than just the Sunrise or the artist's impression of the sunrise. It moves beyond the mere subjective in an attempt to find something about all sunrises in painting.
Once again the Courbet is pretty, but I do not know if it reaches to beautiful.
With the exception of the first, these are all paintings that if I were able to buy them at a reasonable price, I would have them in my home. Not for their monetary value, but because they are all pleasant enough to look at, and some are more.
Tomorrow I will comment on the music.
But I see that beauty is an interesting interprise and topic and I am coming to some conclusions via discussion with Mr. da Fiesole about what constitutes beauty--although knowing this is probably insufficient to begin saying why it has the effect that it does.
Come One, Come All
To the great and good debate on good and pleasure, hosted at Disputations. I am being very challenged (beyond the initial "being challenged" I suffer every day) to think well beyond anything I had considered in detail, and as a result am discovering what I actually believe, right down at the core. It is a genuine pleasure.
Probably not a fascinating spectator sport, but it certainly is a rewarding experience! Join in and see where you sit/stand/fall/roll/tumble/or iceskate depending on seasonal and geomorphic contingencies in your area.
Happenings About Town
Mr. O'Rama demonstrates a far greater capacity for the prose of Mr. MacFarlane than yours truly. (That, by the way, is a compliment, not a slight. Intolerance is not always wrong, but it is most often, even when correctly applied ugly. Tolerance is not necessarily a virtue, but in this case it is)
And Dylan or the artist formerly known as Dylan regales us and challenges us with some sharply worded, carefully considered arguments concerning the death penalty and pacifism. Start at the top and look down through Monday and Sunday.Enjoy!
Oh, and there are some about who are astounded at my quiz and apparent knowledge of art and music. While they have been very complimentary and kind, we all know that the only reason for so profound a knowledge in so impractical a matter is simply lack of a life. And then once you have lack a life long enough, it's just long habit. So while I appreciate the kind words, I am a mere dabbler in all of these things, pretending no greater or more certain knowledge than anyone out there. I just haven't done much of the kind of stuff the rest of you describe, so I lead a vivid life of mind.
A Summary of the Discussion Thus Far
Mr. Luse has contributed an important, condensed version of the discussion on beauty as it has transpired thus far. You would all do well to read it. It will give you a leg-up on the next part of the discussion--whenever and wherever that may occur.
My Own Survey Answers
Will be published late this evening or early tomorrow to give those who have a weekend life a chance to answer before I answer. Obviously the items chosen were at random and to try to get a sense of whether or not there was among the items something that ever respondent thought was beautiful. We have yet to see. But the question of beauty is one that I find tremendously intriguing and will probably talk about on and off as I continue along in my studies. So far I have been about 1 for 3 in my speculations and thoughts on the matter--but that is good because it means that I am still learning and still capable of learning.
So, those of you who have not yet taken the plunge and answered, please do so. The more people heard from, the more interesting the final result.
This resonated when I read it:
from Before the Altar Venerable Concepcion Carera de ArmidaThere are immense areas of neglect in my life: I have not always done my duty to my neighbor, or to the members of my family, nor have I fulfilled the most holy obligations of religion.
Instead of seeking God, I have sought myself, I have desired comforts, I have been vainglorious and obstinate in defending my own opinion, I have taken pleasure in worldly friendhsips, and have sought my own gratification even in my special prayer time with you!
How often have I yielded to a desire to have others approve of me, to being too easily hurt, to culpuable weaknesses!
How much self-indulgence, what excuses, what idleness, pleasure seeking, and sluggishness in the service of God; what imprudence, what vainglory, touchiness, cowardice and uncharitableness! O my Jesus, it makes me tremble when I consider that it is the end of the day a, that night is coming on, and that my heart, alas, remains full of vices, stains, and iniquities.
Have not envy, jealousy, and pride invaded even my life in religion, which should have been a life of sanctity; and angelic life, on one of self-immolation?
Where are the humility, the patience, the obedience, the gentleness, the costly victories; where the sacrifice, which was to be the very essence of my life in this community?
All of this from a mother of nine who had written approximately 148 books in her life. All of the saints record these feelings. And they record them not from a masochistic desire to chastise self, but from the true realization of all the opportunities they have missed for loving God completely. Each chance to serve, while often an exercise in humility, is also an exercise in being IN God, of living within Him and His Kingdom.
When we reflect on our omissions and sins, the reflection should be primarily one of how much we have lost by not being available to God. Certainly there are other considerations--heaven, hell, death, and judgment--but all of these seem to pale in the face of the tremendous crime of not living life as it was meant to be lived--in the joy of union with God.
These last things swing like the sword of Damocles over us--impending with threat, but they are considerations that force the sullen flesh into action. We who claim to be of Christ, who do have some vague sort of religious life (at least), do not need them to inspire us to action or to keep us on the right path--though they are always there. What we need to be more in mind of is the infinitely sad missed opportunities to be present to God and to be One with God in His service.
On the Topic of Beauty
As we're talking about beauty, I wanted to recommend a truly beautiful piece of music--Josquin des Prez (variously spelled) Missa Mater Patris. Gregorian Chant is beautiful, but so too are many of these older settings for Mass. Music does spell out the Glory of God almost better than other human activity.