Amo, Amas, Amat and Heresy!

In the little spare time I am allowed, I am currently translating something I have always wanted to translate in toto, namely, St Leo the Great's Tome to Flavian, Bishop in Constantinople, and written in the Year of Our Lord 449. I have done parts of it before, if you remember, and enjoy doing so, since the Latin is at once both Late (one can glean this from Leo's strange use of words like ''dispensatio'' which refers to Our Lord's Incarnation: in Classical Latin, this has nothing whatsoever to do with the concept of incarnations!) and very melodious. The Epistle was written to address the problem of Eutyches, who was an influential monk at Constantinople, who erroneously taught that ''after the [Hypostatic] Union, I confess two Natures, after the Union, I confess only one Nature.'' I have read the Epistle in English translation, and Leo rightly judged that Eutyches was an idiot. It is a masterly treatise on complex Christology. So far, however, due to want of spare time, I have only done the Synopsis, which was quite hard, particularly points IV and V:

I. Quod ignorantia Sanctarum Scripturarum Eutychen haereticum fecerit. (''Because ignorance of the Holy Scriptures made Eutyches heretic'' - I initially thought that ''fecerit'' was in the Future Perfect Tense, whose case endings are ''ero, eris, erit'' etc, but since ''quod'' introduces the sentence as a causal clause, ''fecerit'' is in the Perfect Subjunctive).

II. Contra eos qui in duos Filios dispensationis Dominicae mysterium scindere moliuntur. (This one was the easiest - ''Against those who strive to split into two Sons the mystery of the Lord's Incarnation.'')

III. Contra eos qui passibilem Divinitatem Unigeniti Filii Dei audent asserere. (''Against those who dare to assert the passibility of the Divinity of the Only-Begotten Son of God.'')

IV. Contra eos qui coelestem aut alterius cuiusque substantiae existere formam servi, quam ex nobis assumpsit, insaniendo asserunt. (This one was maddeningly difficult because on first glance, the words don't mean anything when strung together in such a manner, but the sentence says this, roughly: ''Against those who by insanity assert that there is a heavenly form or some other being of a servant he [Christ] took from us'' or perhaps better rendered: ''Against those who in their madness assert that the servant-form he [Christ] took from us is of a heavenly or other substance.''

V. Contra eos qui duas quidem ante adunationem naturas Domini delirant, unam vero post adunationem confingunt. (''Against those who babble/speak nonsense [''delirant'' is hard to translate in the context, but ''deliro'' means ''I speak deliriously,'' we get delirious from this of course] about two natures of the Lord before the union [''adunatio'', it took me a while to work this out], but fabricate/imagine a single one after the union.'')

This is an interesting view of heresy, that it comes from ignorance of the Holy Scriptures. Does this disposition exalt the Scriptures above their actual place in the Tradition of the Church? Perhaps ignorance led Eutyches into heresy, but his Pride in refusing remonstrance at Chalcedon confirmed it - if you read the Acts, the Fathers ask him to anathematize his heresy, and he responds by saying that if he does so, he will anathematize the Holy Fathers [of Nicaea, Constantinople and Ephesus]. My view is that these are very complex questions of Christology. I remember learning about the Christological controversies of the 5th century and being amazed that the philological significance of words like hypostasis, ousia, homoousion, substantia, consubstantialem Patri etc were all bitterly fought out. When I think of this, the Church's struggle for orthodoxy amidst the tempests of heresy, and that there were Martyrs for its sake, I am made very angry when I listen to people at New Rite Masses mindlessly reciting the Nicene Creed, making it all sound very boring and trivial. When I finish my translation of the Tome, I shall devote several posts to them.

Oscar Wilde...

I have always been haunted and fascinated by the life and works of Oscar Wilde. The general consensus is that he was ''homosexual'' - a label he would undoubtedly repudiate - indeed, he would define himself as enamoured of the Classical Graeco-Roman pederastic tradition. He was married though, and sired two sons. Readers may already have read it, but there is an interesting article here about Wilde's person and his fascination with the beauty and mystery of Catholic ritual - quite scandalous in those days, even decades after the Emancipation (the wrath of Mabel Tolkien's Baptist and Unitarian family at her conversion is sufficient to show this). The general thrust of the article is that his life was marked by a long and arduous conversion. He was received into the Church on his deathbed, exhausted from persecution and a long exile. Do read the article!

Stabat Mater dolorosa...

Sto, Stare, Steti, Statum! I enjoyed doing those chants (the Four Principle Parts of the Verb) in Latin classes; I stand, To stand, I stood (or more accurately, I have stood), the Supine has no direct equivalent in English, but I suppose Statum could mean something like ''the act of standing'' or ''in order to stand'' or in it's Ablative form statu ''in standing.'' Anyway, today is the Feast of the Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and it has its own Sequence, the Stabat Mater, which is one of the most exquisite of the five remaining in the Roman Rite (although it was not, incidentally, composed as a Sequence). Even in the ''poetic'' English version the Stabat Mater is quite moving to hear; we have it at Blackfen during the Stations of the Cross on Friday evenings during Lententide. My favourite version is Anerio's twelve voice Stabat Mater, which is an example of the trend in Rome at the end of the 16th century towards the use of immense vocal force in choral works (a reflection of the ''triumphal'' spirit of the Counter-Reformation), which culminated in the grand Baroque styles of the 17th century. Anerio's Stabat Mater is a masterpiece of harmonic rhythm; its clever manipulation of rhythm and its texture never leave me bored, in spite of its length. I am in fact listening to it as I write!

Although Our Lady's Seven Sorrows spanned her life with her Divine Son, the culmination of her sorrow was when she stood near the Cross weeping while her Son was hanging. Devotion to Our Lady's Sorrows is a praiseworthy devotion, and is a clear indication of the ''universal'' dimension of Catholic orthopraxis. The Church is Catholic in all senses of that term, encompassing (rightly) the sad as well as the joy, and sometimes blending them together, if that doesn't sound too odd - such as the Rogation Days, the use of Violet Vestments for them, and even, arguably, the Rose Vestments for Gaudete and Laetare Sundays - something there to remind us that joy is qualitatively like sorrow, since true joy and true sorrow induce the same reaction - tears (or at least they perhaps ought to). Did not Christ say that our sorrow would be turned into great joy? And does not St John write that God will wipe away all the tears of our eyes? The joy, Christian joy as Tolkien put it, becomes therefore all the more poignant because we are at once aware of what life is like without it. And so, in these days of Darkness and profound Apostasy, it is fitting that we unite all our sorrows to those of Our Lady at the foot of the Cross, for only then will they be made truly Holy - when on the Day of Judgement, we arise again from the Dead facing Jerusalem and make account for all our misdeeds.

Unrequited Love...

In the pub last night, I spoke to a friend of mine about the liturgical English of the Book of Common Prayer. I then compared it's influence to the evolution of modern Italian, which was due to the published works of Dante (who wrote not only in Latin but also in Medieval Italian, which, while not entirely novel for his time, was uncommon for serious works). I adore the works of Dante, a supreme poet, (except De Monarchia, which was put into the Index Librorum Prohibitorum), especially when he writes of Beatrice Portinari, his love. I am fascinated by the phenomenon of ''unrequited love'' - to love someone without hope of reciprocation, which Dante felt. I have felt love which can be said to be ''unrequited'' twice in my life (''undeclared'' would be more accurate now that I think of the former, since we were both good friends and did Irish Dancing together - I still think of her fondly, even over a decade later). I will say naught of the latter. It is bittersweet, the feeling is as sharp as a sword - at once frustratingly bitter, to love in vain, but also incomparably sweet, to have something to love. The hardest thing to cope with is to live in the ever-evident knowledge that it will never be. This is what robs one of all joy, although there were odd moments of supreme blessedness - even perhaps the faintest glimpses of the Beatific Vision, unclouded by the mire of sin - such as a kind word, a Christmas card, or even the touch of her hand. I am very ''stiff'' and upright (good posture is imperative for Irish dancing) and perhaps my trembling wasn't evident, although I believe that the eyes reveal more of the interior sentiments of mind and heart than we would otherwise willingly reveal of our own volition. I'd like to share these beautiful words from one of Dante's most famous works, La Vita Nuova (The New Life):

''After the lapse of so many days that nine years exactly were completed since the above-written appearance of this most gracious being, on the last of those days it happened that the same wonderful lady appeared to me dressed all in pure white, between two gentle ladies elder than she. And passing through a street, she turned her eyes thither where I stood sorely abashed: and by her unspeakable courtesy, which is now guerdoned [recompensed] in the Great Cycle, she saluted me with so virtuous a bearing that I seemed then and there to behold the very limits of blessedness. The hour of her most sweet salutation was certainly the ninth of that day; and because it was the first time that any words from her reached mine ears, I came into such sweetness that I parted thence as one intoxicated. And betaking me to the loneliness of mine own room, I fell to thinking of this most courteous lady, thinking of whom I was overtaken by a pleasant slumber, wherein a marvellous vision was presented to me: for there appeared to be in my room a mist of the colour of fire, within which I discerned the figure of a lord of terrible aspect to such as should gaze upon him, but who seemed therewithal to rejoice inwardly that it was a marvel to see. Speaking he said many things, among the which I could understand but few; and of these, this: 'I am thy master.' In his arms it seemed to me that a person was sleeping, covered only with a blood-coloured cloth; upon whom looking very attentively, I knew that it was the lady of the salutation who had deigned the day before to salute me. And he who held her held also in his hand a thing that was burning in flames; and he said to me, 'Behold thy heart.'

''But when he had remained with me a little while, I thought that he set himself to awaken her that slept; after the which he made her to eat that thing which flamed in his hands; and she ate as one fearing. Then, having waited again a space, all his joy was turned into most bitter weeping; and as he wept he gathered the lady into his arms, and it seemed to me that he went with her up towards heaven: whereby such a great anguish came upon me that my light slumber could not endure through it, but was suddenly broken. And immediately having considered, I knew that the hour wherein this vision had been made manifest to me was the fourth hour (which is to say, the first of the nine last hours) of the night. Then, musing on what I had seen, I proposed to relate the same to many poets who were famous in that day: and for that I had myself in some sort the art of discoursing with rhyme, I resolved on making a sonnet, in which, having saluted all such as are subject unto Love, and entreating them to expound my vision, I should write unto them those things which I had seen in my sleep. And the sonnet I made was this:

''To every heart which the sweet pain doth move,
And unto which these words may now be brought

For true interpretation and kind thought,

Be greeting in our Lord's name, which is Love.

Of those long hours wherein the stars, above,

Wake and keep watch, the [fourth] was almost nought

When Love was shown to me with such terrors fraught

As may not carelessly be spoken of.

He seem'd like one who is full of joy, and had

My heart within his hand, and on his arm

My lady, with a mantle round her, slept;

Whom (having waken'd her) anon he made

To eat that heart; she ate, as fearing harm.

Then he went out; and as he went, he wept.''

Forgive me if this all seems incomprehensible, unduly ''solemn'' or even pompous, but it speaks volumes for me. Since actual Love (in the sense of the Greek eros) is unthinkable for me, I think that the correct orientation of all my loves ought to be towards the Blessed Sacrament, and this may, perhaps in time, assuage the pain of unrequited Love, even years afterwards. It is hardly surprising, given my social inadequacy, that most of my attention and love have been devoted to characters (even places) in works of fiction, particularly Tolkien. In his works, there are two prominent cases of ''unrequited love,'' although both cases don't quite match the description accurately - namely, the love that Maeglin had for Idril (although she was his first cousin, and this was seen as perverted by the Eldar), and the love of Gimli for the Lady Galadriel. On Gimli's departure from Lothlórien, he wept as he spoke to Legolas of his pain; saying that he had looked the last upon that which is fairest. But Legolas counted him blessed, for his loss he endured of his own free will, and it might have been otherwise. Am I then ''blessed'' for having felt unrequited Love? Perhaps such questions are unanswerable. It is, however, an ineffable mystery of the Divine Majesty that pain can bring forth good (even the interior working of Grace); I guess that just depends on how we respond to it. May the Lord open my heart to His Wisdom.

The above image is a painting by Henry Holiday, and depicts Dante looking longingly at Beatrice.

Mass this evening...

I have just got in from the pub and I feel quite content. Mass at Maiden Lane this evening was quite splendid, the Ordinary was sung to the plainchant melodies of Mass IV, and we sang the Te Deum afterwards - truly uplifting; alas, no organ accompaniment though. In the pub afterwards, I was reprimanded for not saying the Confiteor before the Communion of the lay-folk, but I took it in good humour! Imagine such a faux pas at Maiden Lane! I think the general consensus in the pub was that we ought to sing the Te Deum whenever 14th September comes around. We all drank to the health of the Holy Father and had a nice long chat about things. A most splendid Feast Day.

The Atheist and his T-Shirt...

I have noticed on the blogs of Fr Finigan and Fr Blake that there is this new trendy T-shirt with a silly atheist slogan. I cannot quite understand why anyone would boast of ignorance, but I guess we live in a Fallen World where Truth is scorned and Virtue mocked. On 17th March 1953, C.S Lewis wrote a letter (in Latin) to Don Calabria, a Catholic priest living in Verona, on the subject of atheism. He wrote:

''Quae dicis de praesenti statu hominum vera sunt: immo deterior est quam dicis. Non enim Christi modo legem sed etiam Naturae Paganis cognitam negligunt. Nunc enim non erubescunt de adulterio, proditione, periurio, furto, ceterisque flagitiis quae non Christianos doctores, sed ipsi pagani et barbari reprobaverunt. Falluntur qui dicunt 'Mundus iterum Paganus fit.' Utinam fieret! Re vera in statum multo periorem cadimus. Homo post-Christianis non similis homini pre-Christiano. Tantum distant ut vidua a virgine: nihil commune est nisi absentia sponsi: sed magna differentia intra absentiam sponsi venturi et sponsi amissi!''

Which means:

''What you say about the present state of mankind is true: indeed, it is even worse than you say. For they neglect not only the law of Christ but even the Law of Nature as known by the Pagans. For now they do not blush at adultery, treachery, perjury, theft and the other crimes which I will not say Christian Doctors, but the Pagans and the Barbarians have themselves denounced. They err who say 'the world is turning pagan again.' Would that it were! The truth is that we are falling into a much worse state. 'Post-Christian' man is not the same as 'pre-Christian' man. He is as far removed as virgin is from widow: there is nothing in common except want of a spouse: but there is a great difference between a spouse-to-come and a spouse lost.'' (The Latin Letters of C.S Lewis, pp.82-83).

J.R.R Tolkien never (to my knowledge) directly addressed the problem of Atheism, although he does say in relation to his work than an Ainu such as Sauron could not be a sincere atheist, since he has knowledge of God according to his stature - although he can, if he is evil, preach atheism, since it weakens opposition to himself. The only thing I can think of is this letter which he wrote to the daughter of Rayner Unwin (the son of Stanley Unwin, Tolkien's publisher) Camilla, who asked him: ''what is the purpose of life?'':

''Human curiosity soon asks the question HOW: in what way did this come to be? And since recognizable 'pattern' suggests design, may proceed to WHY? But WHY in this sense, implying reasons and motives, can only refer to a MIND. Only a Mind can have purposes in any way or degree akin to human purposes. So at once any question: 'Why did life, the community of living things, appear in the physical Universe?' introduces the Question: Is there a God, a Creator-Designer, a Mind to which our minds are akin (being derived from it) so that It is intelligible to us in part. With that we come to religion and the moral ideas that proceed from it. Of those things I will only that that 'morals' have two sides, derived from the fact that we are individuals (as in some degree are all living things) but do not, cannot, live in isolation, and have a bond with all other things, ever closer up to the absolute bond with our own human kind.

''So morals should be a guide to our human purposes, the conduct of our lives: (a) the ways in which our individual talents can be developed without waste or misuse; and (b) withour injuring our kindred or interfering with their development. (Beyond this and higher lies self-sacrifice for love).

''But these are only answers to the smaller question. To the larger there is no answer, because that requires a complete knowledge of God, which is unattainable. If we ask why God included us in his Design, we can really say no more than because He Did.

''If you do not believe in a personal God the question: 'What is the purpose of life?' is unaskable and unanswerable. To whom or what would you address the question? But since in an odd corner (or odd corners) of the Universe things have developed with minds that ask questions and try to answer them, you might address one of these peculiar things. As one of them I should venture to say (speaking with absurd arrogance on behalf of the Universe): 'I am as I am. There is nothing you can do about it. You may go on trying to find out what I am, but you will never succeed. And why you want to know, I do not know. Perhaps the desire to know for the mere sake of knowledge is related to the prayers that some of you address to what you call God. At their highest these seem to simply praise Him for being, as He is, and for making what He has made, as He has made it.'

''Those who believe in a personal God, Creator, do not think the Universe is in itself worshipful, though devoted study of it may be one of the ways of honouring Him. And while as living creatures we are (in part) within it and part of it, our ideas about God and ways of expressing them will be largely derived from contemplating the world about us. (Though there is also revelation both addressed to all men and to particular persons).

''So it may be said that the chief purpose of life, for any one of us, is to increase according to our capacity our knowledge of God by all the means we have, and to be moved by it to praise and thanks. To do as we say in the Gloria in Excelsis: Laudamus te, benedicimus te, adoramus te, glorificamus te, gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam. We praise you, we call you holy, we worship you, we proclaim your glory, we thank you for the greatness of your splendour.'' (The Letters of J.R.R Tolkien, no.310, To Camilla Unwin, 20th May 1969).

Forgive the length of the letter, but it makes interesting reading. As for me, I pity atheists, and my sentiments are exactly those of Lewis'; that they are without God's Grace by their own choosing, and are therefore lost (perhaps even irretrievably so). It is heart-breaking reading their works, or reading about their merciless and cruel deeds - such as that incident with the friend of Richard Dawkins. I once had a conversation with someone I work with about God and the nature of things, and she was amazed when I said that God was more ''real'' to me than she was (at least in the philosophical sense that God is a Necessary Being). I'm afraid that I didn't manage to convert her by my own feeble means - I am exactly the wrong person for that purpose. But since Faith is a gift from God, perhaps conversion is impossible by purely human means?

I think that Tolkien has won the argument. Although Tolkien's letter was addressed to a young girl, it could well be used against the atheist and his foolish T-shirt. Tolkien has used a theistic argument from Design and has said plainly that knowledge of God is possible, one just has to look. I guess that atheists looked but didn't see, as Christ said in St Marks Gospel (8:18).

Of Men in Beleriand...

Last time we witnessed the moving encounter of Men by Finrod Felagund and how by his advice, the Men of Bëor's House left the land of Ossiriand and removed to Estolad nigh to the borders of Nan Elmoth. Felagund himself departed and returned to Nargothrond, and thither went Bëor also.

After the departure of Finrod, the other Men of whom Bëor had spoken came into Beleriand over the Blue Mountains. First came the Haladin, the people later known as the Folk of Haleth, but they were waylaid by the Green Elves and went to dwell in Thargelion, the realm of Caranthir. Caranthir's people knew indeed of their presence, but paid little attention to them, and thus the Haladin had peace. Next came the people of Marach, but they came in great numbers and ordered companies and the Green Elves, who maintained themselves and their land by secrecy and poisoned darts from afar, hid themselves and did not withstand them. They joined Bëor's people in Estolad.

Finrod visited the Men of Estolad and other kindreds often, and so also did others of the Eldar, eager to see the fathers of Men, whose coming was long foretold in Valinor. In the lore of Valinor, they were named Atani, the Second People, but this was rendered Edain in the Sindarin tongue (from which we get Dúnedain, Men of the West), but this name was only used of the Three Houses of the Elf-friends, the House of Bëor, the House of Haleth and the House of Hador (the descendants of Marach). It is told, however, that Men did not dwell at ease in Estolad, and the lords of the Eldar, seeing hope in the new strength of Men, sent messengers to Men saying that if any would they had leave to come and dwell among the Eldar. And so, the migration of Men began, and many hundreds of thousands entered the realms of the Noldor. The people of Bëor's House dwelt in the highlands of Dorthonion. The people of Marach (although not the old chieftain himself, who went to his long home in Estolad) removed to dwell in Hithlum among Fingolfin's people. Others went to dwell in the vales south of Ered Wethrin.

It is said that none save Felagund took counsel with the Lord of Beleriand in these matters, and Thingol was displeased, for he had had nightmares concerning the coming of Men. And so, he commanded that only in the North did Men have leave to dwell, and that the lords of the Noldor should be answerable for their deeds, and he added: ''Into Doriath shall no Man come while my realm lasts, not even those of the house of Bëor who serve Finrod the beloved.'' Melian the Wise said nothing of Men to Thingol, but she turned to Galadriel and said: ''Now the world runs on swiftly to great tidings. And one of Men, even of Bëor's house, shall indeed come, and the Girdle of Melian shall not restrain him, for doom greater than my power shall send him; and the songs that shall spring from that coming shall endure when all Middle-earth is changed.'' Indeed, those of you who have read The Lord of the Rings will perhaps recall that wonderful pericope in which Aragorn sang to the Hobbits, under the fear of the Ringwraiths, the story of that coming, some 6,600 years after the events themselves.

Miscellaneous updates...

Sorry for the lack of posts, but I have been very tired (I still am) lately, and I have only just got in from church. I walked home with Chris, and when we got to my house, there was a car in the driveway, and I assumed that it was my brother's girlfriend's. It actually turned out to belong to someone who went to my old school, a boy (well he is a man now) called Liam. I never much liked him, and he did in fact make fun of me on several occasions (when I started to need glasses for instance) but I never disliked him cordially, and it was not unpleasing for me to ''catch up'' in the kitchen. He asked whether I saw anyone from school and I said no - I would have added ''Deo Gratias,'' but I thought that he might construe that as undue bitterness or something, so it was better left unsaid. Having made my tea, I went upstairs and here I am now.

My ''disciplinary'' went as well as could be expected, and I was given a ''verbal warning.'' I came out with all the clap-trap they wanted to hear, and I think it didn't sound too spurious, and afterwards I found out that I have three weeks holiday owed me, so I am actually quite pleased with my job. One thing I must remember when performing my duties at work is that Christ was crucified for my sins, and that if I weren't so full of Pride, I might be able to cope with it better. Christ reigned from the Cross, and the power of God was most clearly and poignantly shown in the impotence of the Man Christ. Saying all this rather reminds me of lectures in historical theology, learning about all the Christological disputes in the Early Church, the Hypostatic Union, homousion, Christ suffered impassably in the flesh in that He made the suffering His own and all that! I'd like to have attended early Ecumenical Councils, where doctrinal disputes were not just academic quibbles debated over a cup of tea but were fierce disputes (even to the point of physical fights). Reading the Acts of various Councils is great fun.

I forgot to blog about this but on Friday morning we had Jehovah's Witnesses at the door (unfortunately I was overcome with weariness and was still in bed). My mother answered the door and was asked about various ''Bible study'' (what a monstrous notion!) classes, and was given a Bible. She asked whether they were JWs, and they answered yes, and she said: ''well, this is not a Bible then!'' and shut the door on them (giving them the Bible back of course). Would that I were there! I am not exactly sure how I would deal with them now though. The last time I personally dealt with them was when I was a boy, and I politely shut the door on them. This is probably the best way, just charitably let them know that we are not interested in renouncing the True Faith in order to follow a made-up and very bizarre sect. I wonder if they're still drawing odd dates out of the bag for the Second Coming?

University tomorrow, and I shall be at Maiden Lane to celebrate two years of Summorum Pontificum. I wasn't there last week so I am not sure exactly what is in store. Hopefully a nice High Mass...

The Hobbit ''films...''

Read this article for news about the legal disputes between the heirs of The Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinema. Apparently, they are now over - Tolkien's two surviving children Christopher and Priscilla being happy with the settlement. New Line Cinema are apparently now free to commence with their plans to make The Hobbit into a film, into two films in fact. I wonder why they have decided to make two films? The book isn't that long - I expect for pecuniary reasons. Also, I have heard of plans to ''fill the gap'' (with what clap-trap I wonder?) between the end of The Hobbit and the beginning of The Lord of the Rings. 40 years ago, Tolkien (stupidly in my opinion) sold the film rights to United Artists. I can't think why - he had heavily criticized an early film attempt by the American Morton Zimmerman. Most of his criticisms can be found in The Letters (no. 210) and make very amusing reading! I say amusing, but they are reasonable and deal mostly with unwarranted tampering with the story, distortions of the characters and deliberate contracting of the time-scheme.

I wonder what Tolkien himself would think of the film trilogy? I expect he would think much the same as I do...

The above painting is by the Tolkien artist John Howe, and depicts Gandalf's arrival at Bag End. Not exactly as the book has it, since it appears to be raining in the image, and Gandalf's attire doesn't exactly correspond to the description given in the book, but I am a hopeless pedantic afterall...

Worst...ever...

Comic Book Guy, Science Fiction buff, obese nerd (he apparently has a Masters Degree in ''Folklore & Mythology'' - his thesis being his translation of The Lord of the Rings into Klingon!) and sarcastic proprietor of The Android's Dungeon & Baseball Card Shop, is one of my favourite characters from The Simpsons (some others being Mr Burns and Homer). What do you reckon he's thinking in the above image (assuming he is a Catholic blogger)? Suggestions in the Comment box please...

Visitors to this Blog...

I am rather surprised by these statistics, since I sometimes think I say things altogether frivolous or just generally not worth reading (with the odd insightful or witty remark), but I guess my Site Meter graph proves that I have managed this week to retain a steady readership of about 50 a day; which proves that perhaps others don't think so. Many thanks to my readers for putting up with me!

Your fellow servant in Christ, Patricius (Hobbit of the Shire - I am a distant cousin of Bilbo you know...)

Sister, you make a beautiful Nun...

Readers may have noticed when scrolling down the ''side-bar'' thingy that there is a photograph of Audrey Hepburn, along with a quotation (admittedly not the most astute or profound among the many that I could have chosen, but it more or less encapsulates - I'll have to stop using that word, it'll be worn out before long! - how I feel sometimes, especially about people). The photo comes, of course, from her best-known film Breakfast at Tiffany's. I can't remember exactly where the quotation comes from (I think I just googled Audrey Hepburn quotes or something), but it may resonate with other people as well as myself.

Anyway, Audrey Hepburn was a beautiful woman. I first saw her in The Nun's Story (incidentally, now in its 50th year), when I was very little, and if I stretch back my memory as far as I can go, I think I can vaguely remember hearing the news of her death in 1993. It took me a while to memorise her name - which is quite lovely too - for years, all I knew her as was ''the pretty Nun from that old film.'' She did indeed make a ''beautiful Nun,'' which was how one of the elderly patients at the Convent hospice described her as. She was convincing as a Nun, probably because in her ''offscreen'' life she was full of charity. This often makes me grieve that she did not herself become a Catholic in her life. To my knowledge, she was some sort of non-Conformist Protestant. She went to her long home tragically in schism with Rome. I wonder if a ''sincere'' Protestant, sincerely professing error, counts as ''invincibly ignorant'' of the Truth? Perhaps these are matters beyond me, but I only wish that she had lived longer, in the vain hope that maybe she might come to the Truth.

The Coming of Men...

I shall now turn my attention to The Silmarillion, which for one reason or another I have neglected for ages. Not since I started writing this absurdly long ''synopsis'' did I realise exactly how succinct the tales in The Silmarillion are presented. I much prefer the lengthy and poetic The History of Middle-earth, especially the Lost Tales, to what we have in The Silmarillion, but that is beyond the scope of this blog, not just this post (unless readers would like me to write something on The History of Middle-earth?)

We have seen how by the guidance of Aradhel, Maeglin came to Gondolin and was there shown honour as kin of the King. Also how secret and unknown (until too late) the Dark Elf Eöl had followed them and so, as foreseen by Curufin, met his doom. Our attention must now be drawn away from the Encircling Mountains and towards the rest of the wide lands of Beleriand. When about three hundred years had passed since the return of the Noldor to Middle-earth, in the days of the Long Peace, Finrod Felagund journeyed east of the river Sirion and went hunting with the sons of Fëanor, Maglor and Maedhros. But he wearied of the chase and he rode by way of the old Dwarf-road into the north of Ossiriand.

At evening, he came into a valley of the Ered Lindon and saw far away a light among the trees, as of a fire burning far away, and he heard the sound of singing. At this he wondered much, for the Laiquendi of that land kindled no fires and moreover they did not sing by night. And so, thinking that a raid of Orcs had broke the leaguer of the North, he crept towards the encampment, and standing in the night-shadows of the trees, he beheld a strange people.

These were indeed Men, the kin of a chieftain among them called Bëor the Old. After many generations of wandering out of the dark lands of the East, they had at last scaled the Blue Mountains and came into a land of peace (at least they deemed it to be so, and they sang for this reason). Long the Elven-king watched them, and he loved them, until they were all fast asleep, then, entering their camp, he picked up a rude harp that had been set aside, and he began to play music upon it such as the untutored ears of Men had never heard. And the men of the camp each awoke as Felagund harped and sang, and each thought that he had wandered into some beautiful dream, until they looked around and noticed that all others of the camp were also awake and were intent upon the music. Felagund sang to them of many things little known among Men, of the Creation of the World, of the land of Aman over Sea, and these fair things came as clear visions to their minds.

Since the Men of Bëor's people had had contact and little tuition from the Dark Elves in the wild lands of Eriador, the tongue of these Men resembled the Elven-tongue of Beleriand in many words and devices. And so, Felagund learned much of these Men, for he spent much time among them. Of Men, he learned somewhat of their history (but of that they had little to tell), and he perceived that some shadow of fear lay on the fathers of Men, and concerning the lands of the origins of Men, Bëor said nothing. With after-knowledge, the Wise have declared that Morgoth, whose spies and spells stretched out like a great shadow over all Middle-earth, was first aware of the coming of Men, and so great a matter did this seem to him that secretly he himself left his dark throne in the North and went forth into Middle-earth, leaving to Sauron the command of the War. The History of Middle-earth has some very interesting material about Morgoth's dealings with the fathers of the fathers of Men, but since that stuff isn't canonical or even reliable in some respects, we must leave that alone. It was Morgoth's primary intent, no doubt, to conceal the knowledge of God from Men, and to bring them out of the East in war against the Eldar.

Finrod Felagund learned from Bëor that other kindreds of Men had also been seen along the western marches of the Mountains, and in the valleys and foothills. The Green Elves of Ossiriand, however, were troubled by the coming of Men, for they felled trees and kindled fires and moreover were hunters of beasts. And beseeching Felagund to dissuade others of the kindreds of Men to enter Ossiriand and to persuade the Men of Bëor's following to depart, they threatened to afflict Men by any means if they did not do so swiftly. You must understand that since the death of their lord Denethor in the First Battle of the War, the Green Elves maintained their lives from the terror of the North by secrecy, and they saw that Men would ruin that. And so by the advice of Felagund, Bëor gathered all his people and departed from the land of Seven Rivers and led his people to the east banks of the river Celon, south of Nan Elmoth. After a year with the Men of Bëor's following, Felagund desired to return to Nargothrond, but Bëor went with him, so great was his love and reverence for the Elven-king (indeed, on their first meeting, he had mistook him for one of the Valar). Leaving, therefore, the leadership to his son Baran, he went into the service of the Elven-king, and was never seen in Estolad (that is, Encampment) again.

Appreciating that all these ''strange names'' are rather difficult to understand without a map, I think that from now on I shall include a link to a map for the convenience both of myself and my readers. Here is the link. The above painting is by Ted Nasmith and depicts the singing of Felagund among Bëor's Men, first of the Eldar to see and love Men. It is a touching story, I have often found.

Quomodo Discatis Linguam Latinam...

Gaudeo quod scriptores huius commentarii optimi me meminerunt. De consuetudinem Latine scribendi legendique eos rogavi, et recte responderunt: ''puto necesse esse ut discamus linguam Latinam vivam;'' toto corde consentio! Quamquam vernacula Anglica facilior est mihi (diu dixi, haudquaquam sum peritus in lingua Latina), ''Quomodo Discatis Linguam Latinam'' multo gaudio perlegi. In toto historia Ecclesiae et Liturgiae, lingua antiqua (etiam antiquissima) Romanorum usus est, sed discere difficile est. Ironice, decorum est Magistro Caerimoniario Latinam scire! Cursos (Latine) lectionem incipere adhuc non potui, quia occupatus sum (numquam otiosus sum!). Futura otia expecto; sed hoc tempore primi nostri parentis maledictionem (in sudore vultus...) sentio!

Since they wrote their response to my question in Latin, I thought it fitting to respond likewise. This is what I have written (at least this is what it's supposed to say! If I have incurred the wrath of any clever Latinist by these stammerings, then I beg indulgence - I was, afterall, not actually taught to compose complex Latin extempore):

I rejoice because the writers of this excellent blog have remembered me. I asked them about the practice of writing and reading in Latin, and they have rightly responded: ''I think it is necessary that we learn living Latin;'' I agree with my whole heart! Although the English vernacular is easier for me (I have long said that I am by no means an expert in the Latin language), I have read ''How do you go about learning the Latin Language?'' with much joy. In the whole history of the Church and of the Liturgy, the ancient (even the most ancient) language of the Romans has been used, but it is difficult to learn. Ironically then, it is fitting for a Master of Ceremonies to know Latin! I have not yet been able to begin reading the Latin courses, because I am occupied (I am never at leisure!). I look forward to a time of future leisure, but at this time I feel the curse of our first parents (in the sweat of thy face...)!

At the moment, I am busy writing essays, so I have to content myself with basic Latin comprehension and a bit of grammar here and there (usually on the train to college or on my lunch breaks at work). I was, however, more or less coerced into composing some Latin at the weekend, but I shall say no more of that! Anyway, back to work for me...

The above painting depicts the great St Jerome, patron Saint of Latinists (at least I hope he is, I do have a special devotion to him), in his study by the artist Domenico Ghirlandaio.