‘Dig in the narrow place which has been given you’

You feel you are hedged in; you dream of escape; but beware of mirages. Do not run or fly away in order to get free: rather dig in the narrow place which has been given you; you will find God there and everything. God does not float on your horizon, he sleeps in your substance. Vanity runs, love digs. If you fly away from yourself, your prison will run with you and will close in because of the wind of your flight; if you go deep down into yourself it will disappear in paradise.

- Gustave Thibon

This speaks to me at the moment. I came across it while searching for more information about Thibon, whose name was cited approvingly in the appendix to Josef Pieper’s Leisure the Basis of Culture, which I was just reading. I can’t seem to find many of Thibon’s writings translated into English, or very much information about him, aside from his edition of Simon Weil’s writings.  The little I’ve read, I find very appealing. Can anyone help me to find more?

‘The real soul-mate is the one you are actually married to’ – Tolkien on love

The Catholic English Teacher is one of my favourite blogs. Written by Roy Peachey, it not only discusses Catholic writing, but provides a thoughtful and deeply orthodox Catholic perspective on literature and literary history. I often turn to it when I’m finding it difficult to reconcile my shaky, newly-rediscovered faith with my interest in literature and culture.

Among the unexpected gems I discovered recently at Roy’s blog were these reflections by J.R.R.Tolkien on love and marriage. In a week when yet another member of our family has left their (second) marriage to be with another partner, the author’s words offer a profoundly sane and deeply Catholic vision of lifelong commitment that will strike a chord with those who have been married for a while, however much they love their partners:

When the glamour wears off, or merely works a bit thin, they think they have made a mistake, and that the real soul-mate is still to find. The real soul-mate too often proves to be the next sexually attractive person that comes along. Someone whom they might indeed very profitably have married, if only -. Hence divorce, to provide the ‘if only’. And of course they are as a rule quite right: they did make a mistake. Only a very wise man at the end of his life could make a sound judgement concerning whom, amongst the total possible chances, he ought most profitably to have married! Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes: in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world, or even with a little more care in this very imperfect one) both partners might have found more suitable mates. But the ‘real soul-mate’ is the one you are actually married to.

‘Here we are, fallen into the ditch’

I rather like this:

Of gentleness towards ourselves…

One of the good uses we should make of gentleness, is that whereof the subject is in ourselves, never fretting at ourselves or at our imperfections; for though reason requires, that when we commit faults we should be displeased and sorry for them, yet we must restrain ourselves from having a displeasure which is bitter and sullen, fretful and angry. Wherein many commit a great fault, who, when they have given way to anger, are annoyed at having been annoyed, are vexed at having been vexed, and at having fretted; for by this means they keep their hearts preserved and steeped in anger: and although the second anger may seem to destroy the first, yet it serves as an opening and passage for a new anger on the first occasion which presents itself; and, moreover, these fits of anger, fretfulness and irritation, which we have against ourselves, tend to pride and have no other source than self-love, which is troubled and disquieted at seeing ourselves imperfect.

(…)

For myself, if for example I had a great desire not to fall into the sin of vanity, and if, notwithstanding, I had fallen deeply into it, I would not seek to reprove my heart in this manner: ‘Art thou not miserable and abominable, that after so many resolutions thou hast suffered thyself to be carried away by vanity? Die of shame, raise no more thy eyes to heaven, blind, shameless that thou art, traitor and disloyal to thy God!’ and such-like things; but I would rather reprove it in a reasonable and compassionate manner: ‘Well! my poor heart, here we are, fallen into the ditch which we had made so firm a resolution to avoid; ah! let us arise and leave it for ever; let us implore the mercy of God and trust that it will help us to be more steadfast in the future, and let us place ourselves again on the path of humility; courage! henceforth let us be more on our guard, God will help us, we shall do well enough.’

St Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, translated by Allan Ross

Musical interlude

I’m a day late with this, but I recently discovered the music of the Ukrainian-American Byzantine Catholic composer Roman Hurko (via), and this haunting extract from his Divine Liturgy of St John Chrysostom would have been appropriate for yesterday’s celebration of the 4th century saint:

The Alban – Bartholomew dialogues

To help me work through some of my inner debates about faith, I’ve decided to present them in the form of a dialogue – between two aspects of my self. The ‘secular’ aspect I’m calling ‘Bartholomew’ and the ‘spiritual’ one ‘Alban’, after the two parts of my pseudonym (a reminder: the 17^th century saint and martyr Alban Roe was called Bartholomew before his conversion). Although this is outward embodiment of an interior dialogue, anyone join in – and I hope you will, in the comments.

The ‘secular’ Bartholomew gets the first slot:

Bartholomew: 

Here’s my basic problem with religion. As I look around the world today, and reflect on my study of history, it seems to me undeniable that life has improved immeasurably, for most people in the world, in the past two hundred years or so – and that very little of this is thanks to religion. On the contrary, much of the social progress that we take for granted has been achieved in spite of religion, and often in the teeth of religious opposition and resistance.

Thanks to scientific and medical advances, most people born today live longer, healthier lives than their ancestors. A combination of technological advancement, industrial development and political progress means that, certainly in the industrialised world, we now enjoy a standard of living that would have been unimaginable even a hundred years ago.

And if you object that the good life is about more than mere material wellbeing, well it’s also undeniable that the majority of people, certainly in the western world, enjoy much greater personal and political freedom and opportunity than their predecessors. At the same time, social attitudes have continued to progress, meaning that the discrimination and intolerance experienced by many people in the past, whether on the basis of their gender, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or physical or mental impairments, are gradually being eliminated.

Most of these material, intellectual and moral improvements have their roots in the Enlightenment, that great burst of intellectual and moral ferment that erupted in the 18^th century – and which was, at heart, a reaction against religion, irrationalism and superstition. It is almost wholly thanks to this and associated secular intellectual movements that the scientific, political and moral transformations took place that are responsible for the greater health, happiness and opportunity enjoyed by a majority of people in the world today.

Of course, most world religions now accept these social changes as a ‘good thing’. But my argument is that they were extremely late to the party – the Catholic church only belatedly accepted freedom of conscience, for example, while women have had to wait a long time (and in some cases are still waiting) for the major religions to concede that they are equal to men. And if it had been left to the religious, many of these changes just would not have happened. Put it this way: would we now have freedom of religion, democratic rights for workers, or equal pay for women, if the Church had been been in society’s driving seat, rather than secular movements? And to anticipate another objection – that all of this social progress was actually based, at its root, on religious –that’s to say, Judaeo-Christian – values. Well then, why didn’t these changes happen in societies where the institutional Church still dictated social mores, and only occurred in societies that, whatever their origins, had left their religious roots far behind and were more motivated by secular visions of the human good?

To conclude: for all its faults and shortcomings (and they are many), modern, secular society is a huge improvement on any social system in which the Church has had the upper hand.

(Alban’s reply will follow shortly)

Update: 17th May 2013

The observant among you will have noticed that Alban’s reply did not, in fact, follow. This is probably because, having got all of the above off my chest, I didn’t have the energy to reply. Or it could be because I’ve moved on, and don’t find these criticisms as powerful as once I did. Or maybe it’s just that I have a short attention span, and get bored quickly. Anyway, apologies.

‘The world must be touched at its heart’

Just back from a trip to France. En route I read Francois Mauriac’s brilliant Le Noeud de Viperes (‘Knot of Vipers’). A few brief extracts:

I felt, I saw, I had it in my hands – that crime of mine. It did not consist entirely in that hideous nest of vipers – hatred of my children, desire for revenge, love of money; but also in my refusal to seek beyond those entangled vipers. I had held fast to that loathsome tangle as though it were my very heart – as though the beatings of that heart had merged into those writhing reptiles.

It had not been enough for me, throughout half a century, to recognise nothing in myself except that which was not I. I had done the same thing in the case of other people. Those miserable greeds visible in my children’s faced had fascinated me. Robert’s stupidity had been what struck me about him, and I had confined myself to that superficial feature. Never had the appearance of other people presented itself to me as something that must be broken through, something that must be penetrated, before one could reach them.

…

In fact, nobody goes through life with his face uncovered – nobody at all. Most people ape highmindedness, nobility. Unknown to themselves, they are conforming to types, literary or otherwise. The saints know this: they hate and despise themselves because they see themselves as they really are.

..

If I were younger, the lines would be less marked, the habits less deeply rooted; but I doubt whether, even in my youth, I could have broken the spell of this enchantment. One needed some strength, I said to myself. What kind of strength? Someone.

Yes, Someone in Whom we are all one. Who would be the guarantor of my victory over myself, in the eyes of my family; Someone Who would bear witness  for me, Who would have relieved me of my foul burden, Who would have assumed it…

Even the elect do not learn to love all by themselves. To get beyond the absurdities, the failings, and above all the stupidity of people, one must possess a secret of love which the world has forgotten. So long as this secret is not rediscovered, you will change human conditions in vain.

I thought that it was selfishness which made me aloof from everything that concerns the economic and the social; and it is true that I was a monster of solitude and indifference; but there was also in me a feeling, an obscure certitude, that all this serves for nothing to revolutionise the face of the world. The world must be touched at its heart. I seek Him Who alone can achieve that victory; and He must Himself be the Heart of hearts, the burning centre of all love.

A daughter’s love

Holbein’s painting of Sir Thomas More and his family

I didn’t get round to posting this yesterday, which was the memorial of Saint Thomas More. More’s last encounter with his beloved daughter Margaret, just after he has been condemned to death, is surely one of the most moving moments in English history. It’s beautifully captured in John Guy’s brilliant book, A Daughter’s Love:

A phalanx of armed guards stepped forward from the sides of the hall to escort the condemned man back to the Tower. Swiftly placed in a waiting barge, More was rowed downstream to the Old Swan Wharf, half a mile short of his destination, so that he could finish his journey on foot. Now following an executioner, the blade of an axe pointing towards him, he walked along Thames Street until he reached the curtain wall of the Tower, where he turned right into Tower Wharf, making for a narrow drawbridge used solely by important prisoners and already lowered into position. When almost there, he suddenly caught sight of Margaret, who’d been waiting, patiently, anxiously, for hours, knowing he must pass that way. Seeing him, she rushed forward, forcing her way through the soldiers, oblivious to her own safety. Throwing her arms around her father’s neck, she kissed him again and again, so overcome by emotion she could hardly speak.

‘Margaret’, he said, ‘have patience, do not torment yourself any more. This is God’s will. You alone have long known the secrets of my heart.’ 

Ordered to step aside and let the men pass, she reluctantly withdraw, but scarcely had her father set a foot upon the drawbridge than she ran back to kiss him again for the very last time. Holding her tight and fighting back his tears, he begged her to pray to God for the salvation of his soul. Then, his face impassive, he released her and walked into the fortress. He didn’t look back.