What about it, Archbishop Nichols? Dr Rowan Williams speaks out. How about YOU?

As reported on Mercatornet, Dr Rowan Williams has stated without ambiguity, 'nuancing', shilly-shallying, or any pretence of tact, that "the law has no right to legalise same-sex marriage”.


As a former member of the Church of England with happy and affectionate memories of what it once was (or seemed to be), I rejoice at the courage and forthright honesty of this much-maligned man.


Contrast Arcbishop Nichols's reported remarks (Catholic Herald) on civil unions.

 We know that Archbishop Nichols was very disappointed at the government's plans for same-sex 'marriage', but we're sick of Horlicks and shandy from the Catholic Hierarchy. We want the hard stuff, straight, no soda water.



What about it, Archbishop Nichols?

Objective moral evil without subjective moral guilt. Thank you for explaining that so clearly.

Thank goodness we have a plain speaker in Archbishop Vincent Nichols, who tells it as it is.

As reported in the Guardian of 22nd February 2012, the Archbishop said,

Phrases like "abstract moral evil", he said, are not aimed at any individual. "One talks about objective moral evil, you might say today, that's racism. No matter what's intended or understood, that, objectively, is wrong. In a similar way, you can say, in every sphere of life there is objective moral evil. But that does not imply subjective moral guilt. That does not imply guilt on an individual."

So now you know.

Fr Brian Boru up and running

Fr Boru's first post (very characteristic) on the The League of Torquemada.

I hope he can stay out of trouble long enough to write more.

Guardian Angel, I thank you!

I think the year must have been 1943 or 1944. Perhaps there are still records where I could check the details. If there are, I do not know how to find them.

One morning I was sitting in my push-chair outside the Welling baker and general grocery shop which is the furthest but one on the left in the picture. My grandmother was inside the shop. I heard the sound of a plane and, saw one overhead. It was, in fact, probably a German VI. Bricks started to fall from the shop parapet. I thought someone was playing games. Next I remember blackness, but no sound. When I was again aware, my grandmother was standing by me, her hair and face white with plaster. She was laughing, and showed me a tin of sardines which she had been holding at the time of the explosion, completely flattened by the blast while her hand was unhurt.

The dome of the cinema on the other side of the road was without its copper cladding, and a railway signal (you can see the railway and Welling station in the distance) was lying on the embankment. There were bricks scattered over the pavement and three men lay covered with black sheets. 

I was very upset at the sight of their shiny black shoes protruding from the sheets, thinking how sad it was that they had polished their shoes, as my grandfather did every day, and were now dead and beyond enjoying their beautiful shinyness. A boy of about 14 was sitting in the shop window, crying. His arm was open from wrist to elbow, and pouring blood. I think the bone was visible.

I had a slight scratch on my left knee.

I have rehearsed this memory probably every day of my life since then, and will swear to its accuracy. It has left me with the conviction that I have a reason to be alive, and that God must have some work for me to do.

Or, as Blessed John Henry Newman put it:

God has created me to do Him some definite service;
He has committed some work to me
which He has not committed to another.
I have my mission—I never may know it in this life,
but I shall be told it in the next.

My great fear is that I shall fail to know what task God has allotted me.

Beautiful Irish Lament posted by Carol

A beautiful Irish lament, Róisin Dubh (the dark Rose) has been posted by Carol on The Tenth Crusade. The words are enough to move one to tears:

Little Rose, be not sad for all that hath behapped thee:
The friars are coming across the sea, they march on the main.
From the Pope shall come thy pardon, and from Rome, from the East-
And stint not Spanish wine to my Little Dark Rose.
Long the journey that I made with her from yesterday till today,
Over mountains did I go with her, under the sails upon the sea,
The Erne I passed by leaping, though wide the flood,
And there was string music on each side of me and my Little Dark Rose!
Thou hast slain me, O my bride, and may it serve thee no whit,
For the soul within me loveth thee, not since yesterday nor today,
Thou has left me weak and broken in mien and in shape,
Betray me not who love thee, my Little Dark Rose!
I would walk the dew with thee and the meadowy wastes,
In hope of getting love from thee, or part of my will,
Fragrant branch, thou didst promise me that thou hadst for me love-
And sure the flower of all Munster is Little Dark Rose!
Had I a yoke of horses I would plough against the hills,
In middle-Mass I'd make a gospel of my Little Dark Rose,
I'd give a kiss to the young girl that would give her mouth to me,
And behind the liss would lie embracing my Little Dark Rose!
The Erne shall rise in rude torrents, hills shall be rent,
The sea shall roll in red waves, and blood be poured out,
Every mountain glen in Ireland, and the bogs shall quake
Some day ere shall perish my Little Dark Rose.
 
Thank you, Carol. This was new to me.

A Clarification from Catholic Yackers

Catholic Yackers have been widely reported as saying:

Bishop Piquant Pickles was absolutely tight when he brayed, "Let us accept with open arms the government's brave decision to legalise same-sex marriage".

Correction at 2.15 p.m. Unfortunately this is not what the Yacker in question intended to say, and the statement should read:

Bishop Piquant Pickles was absolutely right when he prayed "Let us accept with open arms the government's brave decision to legalise same-sex marriage".

Correction at 4.20 p.m. We apologise for the misprints in our last correction. What the Yacker actually intended to write was:

 Bishop Piquant Pickles was absolutely right when he prayed "Let us consider carefully and charitably the government's firm decision to legalise same-sex marriage".
 
Happy now? Then lay off the backbiting.

Distant connexions, the contagion of acquaintance

I read in the Times some twenty years or so ago, a letter from a man who, in his youth in the 1920s, had met a woman in her nineties, whose first husband's first wife's first husband had been a friend of Oliver Cromwell. The long time scale was the result of very young people marrying very old people for dynastic reasons.


I forget the names and details, but if anyone can supply them, I shall be very grateful. It would have been very interesting to know her and learn what she had learned about Cromwell from her husband. Also interesting is the idea of being five removes from meeting Oliver Cromwell.


There is I am sure something to be learned from everyone we meet.


I think it was the poet and classicist Robert Graves who told the story of being patted on the head when still a baby by Swinburne, who had been similarly honoured by Wordsworth. Graves's sister, Rosalind Cooper, was my doctor in the 1950s, so I can claim (as who, perhaps, cannot?) a physical connection with Wordsworth, a poet whom I do not much like.



While injecting me in the backside with anti-typhoid vaccine in 1963, she was anxious that I should think well of her brother.



"People think he's very pseudo," she said, "but he's really quite sincere."

Chiddeock Tichborne, recusant Catholic 1563 - 20th September 1586

Tichborne wrote this poem, probably on the night before his execution at the age of 23 for his involvement in the Babbington plot.

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,

My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,

My crop of corn is but a field of tares,

And all my good is but vain hope of gain;

The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,

And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard and yet it was not told,

My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,

My youth is spent and yet I am not old,

I saw the world and yet I was not seen;

My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,

And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death and found it in my womb,

I looked for life and saw it was a shade,

I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,

And now I die, and now I was but made;

My glass is full, and now my glass is run,

And now I live, and now my life is done.

Have you ever wondered? - The Tenth Crusade

The Tenth Crusade has a beautiful picture  which reminds one of Eamonn Duffy's The Stripping of the Altars, where he describes the vision often described by pre-"reformation" Catholics of Christ's Blood flowing during the Consecration.

Polish plumber confesses to literary forgery

Mr Krzystof Mistrz, a self-employed Polish plumber, has confessed to forging the sonnet which has fooled Shakespeare scholars, and was referred to in my penultimate post.


Mr Mistrz, a former English teacher in Poland, said at a press conference yesterday, "It was very easy to do. After all, I trained as a palaeographer, and love English renaissance poetry.


"So, ok, maybe there were a few anachronisms in the Mandeville and Chaucer texts. I'm sorry if I embarrassed anybody. I certainly wasn't trying to cheat anybody - just having a bit of fun.


"Must dash. I have work to do in the British Museum."


Mr Mistrz confessed to more forgeries - the recently discovered manuscripts of hitherto unknown chapters of Mandeville's travels, dealing with the mediaeval author's journeys in the Americas and Australia, a Chaucerian poem, "The Milton Keynes Tales", and an Old English poem, "The Battle of Croydon". All were found in bizarre locations.


The revelations will undoubtedly lead to resignations amongst British and American palaeographers and scholars.

New sonnet claimed to be by Donne, Shakespeare, or Marvell discovered behind Bodleian lavatory cistern

News of a manuscript sonnet, discovered behind a lavatory cistern during recent plumbing work at the Bodleian Library, Oxford, is puzzling scholars of English Renaissance literature. Everything in the handwriting and paper indicates authenticity, but the punning use of the word “crust” to mean "armour", and also “cheek, brass neck, chutzpah” seems an anachronism, as does the non standard rhyming scheme (ABBAACCA) of the octet. 

The reference in the last line to the song "I Did It My Way", now popular at funerals, is also causing experts to re-examine the question of the dating of that song.

You may read it here (spelling modernised) and make your own judgment.

Viewing the ashy desert of my lust
As I lie here abed, awaiting death,
I pray not. Tis a waste of noisome breath
To plead with unhearing gods. I put my trust
Rather in my unconquerable crust,
The steely corselet which sustained my joys
When I, like child besotted with its toys,
Pursued fair wenches, now long turned to dust.

I had my times, gamesome and hot they were.
My bastard brood in every parish grew.
My quarry? Women, and my lust the spur,
A merry hunt! My friends, to me be true:
No “Dies Irae” sing, death’s path to ease.
But “I did it my way” – at my funeral, please.

New manuscript found in Bodleian - bad enough to be by Coleridge

Another manuscript has been found by Krzystof Mistrz, a Polish plumber, while working on the ablutions in the Bodleian Library, Oxford.


It appears to be an anonymous (and deservedly so) XIXth century draft of a Romantic or Gothic poem in the style of R. H. Barham on an off-day, or Coleridge at his worst. With apologies I reproduce it below.




Warty Nell


Down in a deep, dark dungeon
Beneath the castle keep,
Where many souls lie starving,
A soulless ragged heap
Of skin and bone,
An aged crone,
Lies brooding while men sleep


Her aged cat and broomstick
Prove she is born of Hell,
And e'en black-hearted Satan
Would fain not guard her cell.
A devil's crew
From evil brew
Concocted Warty Nell.


Any reasonably able child of 9 could have written this: competent, certainly, but jejune.


By way of comparison, I append the opening stanzas of Coleridge's Christabel, of which even a 9 year old would have cause to be ashamed.

CHRISTABEL Part the First

'T is the middle of the night by the castle clock,
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock;
Tu--whit! --Tu--whoo!
And hark, again! the crowing cock,
How drowsily it crew.

Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff bitch;
From her kennel beneath the rock
She maketh answer to the clock,
Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour
Ever and aye, by shine and shower,
Sixteen short howls, not over loud;
Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.

Is the night chilly and dark?
The night is chilly, but not dark.
The thin gray cloud is spread on high,
It covers but not hides the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full;
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chill, the cloud is gray:
'T is a month before the month of May,
And the Spring comes slowly up this way.

-- SAMUEL COLERIDGE 

Chesterton and Hitchens

I've just read this, from The Catholic Thing. Aware as I am of Craig Prostak's accusation that I deride those cleverer than I, and reasonably happy with the way the author deals with Chesterton, I yet can only wonder that so much ink is still being spilled over Hitchens. In an age when most journalism is ill-written and slipshod, I suppose one can expect even a moderate talent to be hailed as brilliant. 

The author of the article, Robert Royal writes,

I knew Hitchens only slightly. He was a charming rogue, especially to the ladies, from a certain British epoch – the passing of the great English dominance. That, plus his obvious brilliance earned him a prominent place in Washington journalism.

Ah! A 'charming rogue'! And there we have it - the almost universal admiration for the successful womaniser. One wonders whether, had Hitchens been an unattractive figure like Alexander Pope, or from a less privileged background, his brilliance would have been so obvious, and whether he would have enjoyed such universally adulation.

Perhaps, as with the serpent in Eden, charm got him a very long way.

Having wasted time reading a few articles by Hitchens which would have been better spent changing the month on the garage calendar, my regrets concern only his wasted talents, the appalling effect such a literary popinjay had on his uncritical admirers, and the fact that his siren voice, if it could not sing a different song, was not silenced earlier.

Will that do, Mr Prostak?

A tree without roots

From Mercator, an excellent illustration here of Chesterton's dictum that when people stop believing in God, they will believe in anything.

It seems that Alain de Botton has proposed the building of an atheists' temple and wants the sentiment, religiosity, and morality without the theology which created it. As the great sage is reported to have said,

One can be left cold by the doctrines of the Christian Trinity and the Buddhist Fivefold Path, and yet at the same time be interested in the ways in which religions deliver sermons, promote morality, engender a spirit of community, make use of art and architecture, inspire travels, train minds and encourage gratitude at the beauty of spring.

This is simply sentimentality, and as Oscar Wilde wrote,

A sentimentalist is one who desires to have the luxury of an emotion without paying for it.

This kind of non-thinking reminds me of the scene towards the end of  Huxley's Brave New World in which the Savage, a Catholic, whips himself penitentially, and the Ford-worshiping onlookers copy him, without understanding, in an orgy of sado-masochistic self-flagellation. 

If (as God forbid) I were to lose all religious belief, morality, apart from unenlighened self-interest, would have no appeal whatsoever.

Disgrace! Back to school!

After nearly seven years in Poland, a kindly and learned correspondent has rightly pulled me up for grammatical mistakes in an earlier post. Disgrace! My only excuse is that I am self-taught through reading and conversation, and Poles are far too polite to correct me, so I go on, a blundering linguistic oaf.

So, back to grammar and syntax, and about time too!

Ttony on "How did we get here - an essential read

Three essential posts, the first is here by Ttony on what happened after Vatcan II.

If you haven't read them, you should. The comments too are very interesting.

Disgusting

A disgusting story in the Daily Telegraph airs the possibility that during the First World War, Hitler seduced or, more likely in my opinion, raped a sixteen year old French girl while on leave, and that she later gave birth to his son.

One has to hope, in charity, that she was either raped, drunk, or feeble-minded to engage in sexual activity with an enemy soldier.

The Telegraph, by the way, has sunk to describing the girl in question as a "teen", a word proscribed on these pages. My apologies for reproducing it.

On being a gentleman

I have an excellent memory, and this story is true, perhaps word for word.

In 1962, in the suggestions book in the library at New College, a undergraduate request appeared for the works of Nietsche in English. The Librarian, Harry Bell, wrote that they would be ordered.

The next request, from another undergraduate, was for the works of Flaubert in English. This was refused.

The man who wrote the second request asked why. Was the Librarian an anti-French racist?

"Quite the reverse." wrote Harry Bell, "Every gentleman should be expected to read French. No gentleman can be expected to understand German. "

Loathsome, bigoted racist Harry Bell! (irony here) May God rest his soul.

In those days, at Oxford and perhaps Cambridge, the idea, if not the practice, of being a gentleman was still very much alive. Letters came addressed to one by name, with Esq appended. There were none addressed to Mr.

In Poland Pan and Pani , lord and lady are the normal forms of address, and only in Spain and amongst Somalis have I met with such a naturally aristocratic, in the best sense, people.

In my first week here I was walking to Mass when I saw, lying at the side of the road under his bicycle, an oldish man holding a vodka bottle.

I walked over to where he lay, and asked, "Czy mogę pana pomóć?" (Can I help the lord?)

"Nie, dziekuję, panu. Wszystko porządku. Proszę." (No, thank you, Sir. Everything's in order. Please have a drink.) and he proffered the half-full bottle. A gentleman to the core.

The Massacre of the MacPherson

Just for fun, one of my favourite comic poems:

Mic-Mac Methusaleh, a man after my own heart.

If you wear contact lenses, or are a bird, read this!

Voices from Russia (Varvara) has uploaded this fascinating chart on the effects of low temperatures.

Saints for today's big society

Admonished today by none other than Bishop Piquant Pickles, I recant my previous post, and propose the following ecumenical or secular saints:

1 The Protestant Martyrs of England and Wales, who bravely died for a lie,

2 Thomas Cranmer, martyr and patron of turncoats,

3 Ghandi, well, whatever,

4 Margaret Sanger, dedicated her life to the improvement of the gene pool,

5 Marie Stopes, unholy fool,

6 Joe Orton, a martyr for SSA,

7 Freddie Mercury, a martyr for love,

8 Federico García Lorca, a martyr for love and for antifascism,

9 The Spanish Martyrs, victims of the Spanish Inquisition, martyrs for Islam or NCEB (non-Catholic ecclesial bodies),

10 Tony Blair, a true ecumenist (to be canonised after his death of course).

11 Che Guevara, great lover of and fighter for the poor,

12 David ('Lord') Steel, compassionate and humane pioneer of women's reproductive health,

13 Lord Portimbibe, a martyr to gout.

Your further suggestions are welcome, but please, keep 'em nasty.

Ecumenical martyrdom and sainthood - phooey!

Joint commemorations

A letter in the current issue of the Tablet reads (my comments in red):

With reference to the sermon preached by Cardinal Connor Murphy O'Connor at Chester Cathedral to mark the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity (The Tablet, 28 January), could we not begin to remove his "three enemies of ecumenism, suspicion, inertia and impatience" (I make that four enemies, or perhaps Dr S*****n's punctuation is at fault. I certainly agree that fudge ecumenism is an enemy of the Truth) by extending the Feast of English Martyrs to include the Protestant martyrs (Martyrs die bearing witness to the Truth, not to heresy) as well as their Catholic counterparts?


On the say (sic) day, we could hold ecumenical services at, for example, Tyburn and Smithfield to celebrate all who suffered appalling deaths in defence of their faith. Perhaps we could include followers of all religions in such ecumenical services?


Dr K.J. S*****n, St Hugh's, Chesterfield

Chesterton on German "higher" Biblical criticism

I am working on my contribution to Mulier-Fortis's meme (hate that word, coined by Dorkins) and, if no one else has already done so, will propose one of the most re-readable books I know, Chesterton's The Flying Inn. Written over a hundred years ago, it describes an ultimately unsuccessful Muslim takeover of England. 

If you are as sceptical as I am of the value of German "higher" Biblical criticism, and are not already familiar with it, read Chapter IX of Chesterton's book. It reflects my views entirely. It is also extremely funny.

I see Trevor Philllips is at it again

I see that Trevor Philllips is at it again - Daily Telegraph report, reportedly saying,

“To me there’s nothing different in principle with a Catholic adoption agency, or indeed Methodist adoption agency, saying the rules in our community are different and therefore the law shouldn’t apply to us. Why not then say sharia can be applied to different parts of the country? It doesn’t work.”

Keith Porteous Wood, director of the National Secular Society, said Mr Phillips was “absolutely right”. “If society has decided that it wants to ensure by law that every citizen of this country has equal rights, then there cannot be endless exemptions for religious bodies or anyone else,” he said.“There is no such thing as partial equality, and every time an exemption is made, someone else’s rights are compromised."

One might ask these two great thinkers to consider, whether there is a right to adopt, as opposed to a right to be adopted. The first relates to the adopter as the primary possessor of a right and the child as a commodity to which everyone is entitled. The second makes the welfare of the child paramount.

Or have I missed something?

The League of Torquemada, an answer to "Catholic Voices"

I am very happy to announce the formation of a new media response group, The League of Torquemada, who have the backing of no U.K. Bishop, but will, I am sure, be a jolly good thing. The members so far are:

Sister Medea Nemesis renowned and redoubtable hammer of liberal "Catholics", former alligator wrestler and shark fisherwoman, currently writing a biography of Torquemada.

Her remit is Cleaning up the Church.

Fr Brian Boru, fluent in Latin, Greek (New Testament and Ancient), with an Oxford double first in Greats, Blues in Rowing and Rugby, and service as both a military and prison Chaplain, describes his leisure pursuits as "hunting foxes and heretics, shooting, and fishing."

Fr Boru has several convictions for assault causing actual bodily harm, the last dating from the thrashing he dealt out during a doctrinal argument at a bus stop with one Fajka Dottle, from Cheering the Quurch. His Current ASBO bans him from approaching  nearly everywhere.

His remit is Survival in a Godless country.

Ks Konan Barbariański from Poland, nuclear physicist and Priest, former all-in wrestler and concert cellist, whose Bach concerts drew enthusiastic audiences from all over Europe.

His remit is Arguing with Idiots and Richard Hawker-Dawker.

The Hon. Tulip Credo-Slackly, a lightweight liberal "Catholic" twerp and son of a labour peer was kicked off the rival group Growing in Doubt for his risible faux pas on matters of Faith and Morals. He will be spilling the beans about his former colleagues, making the coffee, and cleaning the lavatories. If he's very good, we may let him answer the telephone.

We would welcome applications from those who may wish to work in the group, but would remind them that we require:

• Total Orthodoxy
• An exceptionally perceptive and sharp intellect
• The ability to think, write, and speak clearly and unambiguously under pressure
• For men, a tie when appearing on television, and no chummy grin
• The ability not to get up the noses of the current members
• The ability to hold their liquor

"Catholic Voices" are doing their best - probably.

The UCL brouhaha has brought out Catholic Voices in fine form. I am indebted to That the Bones You Have Crushed May Thrill for his latest three posts on this matter.

Their first attempt to explain Catholic attitudes, episcopal and lay, to ending abortion, England and Wales was:

1 'But in reality, Catholics on campus have nothing to fear. The motion contains no definition of "pro-choice"; if it means simply someone who accepts that abortion should be legal, most Catholics -- including the bishops of England and Wales, who advocate incremental restrictions, but not yet a total ban -- would fit that description.'

Really?

Their second go was as follows:

2 The motion contains no definition of "pro-choice"; if it means simply someone who accepts that abortion cannot be prohibited immediately, most informed Catholics -- including the bishops of England and Wales, who advocate incremental restrictions, but not yet a total ban -- would fit that description.'

And their third attempt to explain what they mean is here:

3 'But in reality, Catholics on campus have nothing to fear. The motion's definition of pro-choice ideology is so narrow and extreme, and its actions so brow-beating and authoritarian, that it will show informed pro-lifers who accept that abortion cannot be prohibited immediately -- including the bishops of England and Wales, who advocate incremental restrictions, but realise that a total ban is currently impossible to achieve -- to be the true advocates of moderate, rational and humane principle.'

I understand that "Catholic Voices" as a group offer training to aspiring Catholic apologists, and are said to be quite selective in their choice of speakers and writers.

You could have fooled me.

QUIS CUSTODET IPSOS CUSTODES?

Revisited: a Remedy for Blogger's Block

Six months ago to the day, I offered this in all seriousness. When I was suffering from the condition, the following remedy never failed:



For costive bloggers with THE BLOCK
Faced with a sullen, empty page,
The laxative that will unlock
Your literary bowels is RAGE.


To specify, Vin Rouge's blather,
Dawkins, or Beattie will suffice
To get your brain-cells in a lather
- You'll be raging and blogging in a trice.

Unfortunately the usual Aunt Sallies have fallen silent, and I am left with nothing to say.

Glad you are a Catholic...

and not a Muslim? Then this piece at New Liturgical Movement, dealing with the restoration of the Virgin of Lepanto, should interest you.

Great News from Marco (Confessions of a Thirty-Something Cybertronian)

Some great news from Marco on his blog (Confessions of a Thirty-Something Cybertronian). He is on the road to Priesthood and it's a privilege to be praying for him.

Also well worth reading is his OptimusWorkout. I guess it would kill me, but is a great routine for younger men.