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A moment of truth 1943 / 2013

June 4, 2013 by Myrmicat Forever

So, yesterday, I blogged from the National Gallery. Today, I am in a pub called The Pavilion End in Cheapside. I’ve been reading my biography of Patrick Leigh Fermor by Artemis Cooper.

The Pavilion belongs to the Fullers Brewery but the size, cleanness, contemporary music droning in the background and soulless character of the place makes me think that it must really be owned by Wetherspoons. At least the barmaid is pretty.

Anyway, back to Leigh Fermor. He served as an SOE agent in Crete during WWII. During his time on that ancient and noble island, a young man who was a member of the Cretan resistance, Siphi Alevizakis, was captured and tortured by the Nazi occupiers. Not long after Siphi’s capture, Fermor and fellow SOE agent, Xan Fielding, met Siphi’s father, Fr John Alevizakis who was also a resistance member. Fermor and Fielding tried to sympathise with Fr Alevizakis over what had happened, and what they knew would happen – Siphi’s execution. The priest, however,

… brushed aside our expressions of sympathy with a phrase that came constantly to his lips: “God is great”.

God is great, of course, is the English translation of Allahu Akbar, which is what sundry Islamist terrorists have been said to shout before committing their acts of terror. The phrase, therefore, or rather, our – the West’s – understanding of what it means, has in a sense become rather corrupted. If you doubt this, imagine hearing someone shout it on the underground or in aeroplane. What would your first reaction be? But here we see it used in a much more positive way, as a declaration of trust, if you like, and of faith. It is a timely reminder of terrorists’ corrupt use of the phrase; just like the Nazis use of the swastika was a corrupt use of an ancient and venerable symbol of peace.

Posted in British History, British Literature | Leave a Comment »

Caravaggio in Room 32

June 3, 2013 by Myrmicat Forever

I’m writing this on the couch in Room 32 of the National Gallery. You’re not allowed to take photographs here but I assume there isn’t a rule against blogging. I’ll soon find out.

Room 32 is a large hall, and at this moment in time also a quiet one. There are people milling about but happily not so many. I say happily because I went to the Pompeii exhibition at the British Museum last weekend and, while I wouldn’t say it was overcrowded, there were – at times – a few more people than was really useful in the relatively small rooms that the exhibition was held in. One or two of the rooms were very small indeed.

So, I am glad not to be having to peer over people’s shoulders at the paintings. Not that I would be doing that at this moment because I am currently sitting down on one of the rather nice couches in here. I wonder what the people nearby are thinking; I have done a fair bit of walking today so am rather sweaty! I wonder if the people sitting near me realise this.

There are numerous (religious) paintings, large and small alike, portraits and Biblical scenes, in this room. I am looking at Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus. It is a large painting, with a young, and I have to say, well fed looking Jesus at the centre blessing the bread on the table. There are three other men with him: one is standing on his right and looking down at him – perhaps he is the host serving the travellers? The two other men are seated, one in the foreground and with his back to us, and the other on Jesus’ left. I think they are the two whom Luke tells us about (Lk 24:13-35), resting while being served.

The man in the foreground has chestnut hair and a beard while the other has receding hair and a grey beard. Of the two people Jesus met on the road, Luke only names one – Cleopas. Luke doesn’t say how old he was. In a way, it doesn’t matter because the reaction of the two seated men as Jesus blesses the bread, and as they recognise him for the first time (he has been walking with them all day), is astonishment.

Chestnut hair man has his hands on his seat, I think he is about to get up to prostrate himself or do whatever the Jewish equivalent was. Greybeard man has outstretched arms – as if in prayer. His right hand, which is near Jesus’ shoulder, looks a little dark to me; this makes it look like it is moving; perhaps to touch Jesus to see if it is really him a la Thomas. Greybeard man’s left hand is stretched out towards us. I think Caravaggio is pulling us into the scene; inviting us to share in the men’s incredulity and joy at the return of the Risen Lord.

There is no decoration on the well behind the table. Caravaggio wants us to be totally focused on the unfolding drama. The table, by-the-bye, doesn’t just have bread on it but – what seems from here – to be a bowl of fruit. Almost hidden by chestnut man on the left is also a jug – wine, maybe. I have no idea how well off the residents of Emmaus where in AD 33 but it does look a nice little feast the host has laid out.

As I write, people continue to flit past me, some taking a moment to rest on the couch, others taking the paintings in, others still just content to ramble on. The National Gallery room guard (I can’t think what their proper name might be!) has had to ask for two playful children to be removed from behind the green rope that divides us from the paintings.

Caravaggio loved his play between dark and light – the chiaroscuro effect – and I have to say that the tall angled and windowed (albeit with blinds covering them) ceiling, white curved upper walls with their in built ‘columns’ of what seem like bound up oak leaves and flourishes that look like the capitals of Corinthian columns together with the light green patterned wallpaper provide a big challenge to Caravaggio’s darkness.

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Catholic blogger Interpretology

May 29, 2013 by Myrmicat Forever

After Pope Francis was elected I wrote about how I was ‘wary’ of the new pontiff because he was not a supporter of the Extraordinary Form of the Mass. After writing the post, I read this one on the Hermeneutic of Continuity blog which, as I mentioned in an update to the post, ‘greatly comforted’ me.
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However, not long after reading the Hermeneutic post, I read one at Rorate Caeli that poured cold water on the idea that Francis was in any way for the Extraordinary Form. I can’t remember which post it was, but I should think it was likely this one.
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Fast forward a couple of months and history seems to be repeating itself. The Hermeneutic of Continuity is reporting that the Holy Father recently told an Italian bishop who complained to him about the ‘divisions’ that the old rite was causing that ‘they should treasure tradition and create the necessary conditions so that tradition might be able to live alongside innovation’. The Hermeneutic post is here.
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Once again, however, Rorate Caeli is having none of it, claiming that Francis did not say the words attributed to him. Rather than promise that the motu proprio Summorum Pontificum, which liberalised the use of the Extraordinary Form in the Church, would not be repealed, the pope called upon the bishops to let tradition and innovation come together in the way they celebrate the Novus Ordo of the Mass (i.e. the Mass that is celebrated every Sunday in your parish church). You can read the Rorate report here.
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Back in the days of the Cold War the West played the game of Kremlinology. This involved a close watching of the senior Communist Party officials on May Day, for example, to see who was present and who was absent, who was standing next to the General Secretary and who was at the fringe, and so on to try and work out where the power lay in the country.
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Since the fall of the Soviet Union, however, we have had to content ourselves (by “we” I mean interested Catholics and writers on the Church) with Vaticanology – working out from Rome’s mercurial statements and handling of appointments who is on the way up and who is on the way down. It is a complicated business. For example, a promotion can actually be a demotion.
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It now seems to me, though, that even before we get to discussing Rome, there is a new game to play: Catholic (blogger) Interpretology; which Catholic writers are interpreting the Pope correctly?
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I am not a fan of Rorate Caeli – its shrill response to Francis’ election (headline: “The Horror!”) damaged its credibility very severely in my eyes – but I think it does raise a good point about what the Holy Father is supposed to have said to the Italian bishop. I’m not going to say that it trumps The Hermeneutic of Continuity, however, as Catholic blogger Interpretology is played on ever shifting sands. For all I know, someone is even now writing another interpretation of Francis’ words.

Posted in Catholicism | Leave a Comment »

Some thoughts on what might be required

May 27, 2013 by Myrmicat Forever

Last night a friend and I enjoyed the sunny weather with a beer in the pub. While talking, we both lamented the popularity of modern British television programming, which seems very reliant on shallow reality shows and talent contests at the expense of good quality dramas.

I find the BBC’s commitment to talent shows particularly disappointing. I can understand why ITV shows them – they are very popular and so bring in advertising revenue – but as the BBC has a guaranteed income from the licence fee, surely it can afford to be a little more cultured in its approach. I know it must be attentive to its audience but I’m not sure it is doing the best job at the moment.

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Yesterday, I downloaded John Keats’ Collected Poems to my iPad. I said to my friend it seems a shame that poets today are not as radical as some of the Romantic poets, for example, were. I was thinking particularly of Byron who fought in the Greek War of Independence, Shelley’s radical politics and atheism, Wordsworth’s radical politics and so on. There’s nothing wrong with not being a radical of any description but it does seem a shame that when one thinks about contemporary poets one thinks of poet laureates and writers-in-residence rather than those who have stepped out of their study and fought for what they really believe in like some of their forebears did. Maybe they don’t believe in anything or have seen that fight already won.

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I suppose I am part of the problem. Although I have no poetic ability, I can stitch a few words together, but rarely do I do so with a particular political or apologetic purpose. I am trying to write a book at the moment that touches upon Pro-Life issues but whether I will finish it and whether it sees the light of day thereafter I don’t know. So, I am thinking, maybe this blog should be a little more controversial? I think I ought to commit myself to something.

I don’t watch reality or talent shows, but I do enjoy video games very much; my evening favourite is racing in Grand Theft Auto IV online, but as fun as it is I know it is as shallow a form of entertainment as Big Brother or The Voice. Maybe it is time to move on even if just a little – to commit some more of my time to saying something rather than hiding in simple fun.

This post has been written quite quickly so I hope the above makes some sort of sense.

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Reminds Me of a Book (7): The Campaigns of Alexander

May 6, 2013 by Myrmicat Forever

So, we come to the end of this second week of themed blog posts. A few days ago, I took a stroll though the New River Walk in Islington, north London. The river, recently drained, had been looking a bit wretched and ripe for some graffiti and vandalism so I was delighted to see that it was nearly full again; indeed, the refilling process was still going on, and as I wended my way along the winding path, I saw a couple of fountain style taps shooting water four or five feet into the air. It was all very pleasing.

But if the fountains were pleasing, something else was interesting – bags stuffed with hay floating in the water. Here they are:

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and closer up,

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Why these bags of hay were present in the river I do not know but what I can say is that they immediately reminded me of a moment in Alexander the Great’s early career as king.

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Before setting off on his mission to overthrow the Persian Empire, Alexander had to first pacify the troublesome tribes on Macedonia’s northern borders; these included one called the Getae, Thracians, who lived on the northern side of the Danube river in what is now Bulgaria. This was so they did not cause trouble for Macedonia while he was in Asia and thus threaten his lines of supply.

Alexander set out from Pella (I presume), the Macedonian capital, and – predictably enough, in light of later events – won his first engagements against the enemy. After one such battle, a mixture of Thracians and Triballins took refuge on an island in the middle of the Danube. Alexander tried to reach it but the first moving current would not be gainsaid; the island was also well protected both naturally and by the tribesmen.

In light of this, Alexander decided to ignore the island and cross the river to deal with the Getae tribe who had a settlement on the other side.

But how was he to get his army – comprised of 1,500 cavalry and 4,000 men – across?

Arrian explains how he did it,

[Alexander] joined the fleet… having left instructions for the tents under which the men bivouacked to be filled with hay [my emphasis], and for all available dug-outs to be collected. There were a great many of these boats in the neighbourhood, for they are used by natives for fishing, and for visiting neighbouring tribes up the river and – fairly generally – for plundering expeditions. As many as possible of them were collected, and the troops, or as large part of them as was practicable with this sort of transport, were ferried across.

Alexander crossed the Danube in 336; ten years later, he would employ a similar trick to cross the Hydaspes River in ancient India (modern day Pakistan) on his way to fight the Indian king Porus in what would be Alexander’s last great battle; and which, as you might expect, he won.

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At the Hydaspes, which is called the Jhelum river today, Arrian reports that the hay stuffed floats were used to carry the mounted troops across. I presume this is what they did in 336 although Arrian doesn’t say.

So, there we are; now I have to think of another theme for these posts. I shall see you as and when I do!

Posted in Alexander the Great, Reminds Me Of A Book | 1 Comment »

Reminds Me of a Book (6): The Power and the Glory

May 5, 2013 by Myrmicat Forever

While serving Mass this morning, I thought to myself (see yesterday’s blog post about how easily I get distracted) that today’s Reminds Me post really ought to be about the Bible. However, we then started the Lord’s Prayer and as soon as I said the above doxology I thought of another book, namely, Graham Greene’s classic of the same name.
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The Power and the Glory is about an unamed priest who remains in Mexico in the 30s to administer the sacraments to Catholics during the Government’s persecution of the Church. He is also an alcoholic and the father of a child – whose conception he does not regret. The priest’s commitment to his work, despite the danger to himself and his personal failings, is admirable, although his lack of remorse for failing to keep his commitment to celibacy is less so. With that said, I hope the day never comes when I regard a man’s failings as more significant as the good that he has done who ever and where ever he is. The world is unforgiving enough without one adding to this most serious defect.
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To go back to Graham Greene’s priest, he continues his ministry until he is captured and executed at the end of the book. The priest is a most fallible human being but becomes a martyr. In real life, he would be in heaven right now; I daresay there are many people – not just priests – who enjoy the Beatific Vision despite seeming to fail in their lives weather it is in respect of their theology or things they have (or haven’t) done.
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What makes the priest’s fidelity to his priestly calling all the more amazing is that, if I recall correctly – and It has been a long time since I read The Power and the Glory so my memory of it is dim – his faith is either very weak or not really there; he keeps going because he feels compelled to. If I have remembered this correctly, it sounds like Greene was writing about a priest who goes through a long dark night of the soul such as John of the Cross wrote about. On this point, though, I would need to read the novel again to see if I have judged it correctly.

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Reminds Me Of A Book (5): A Time To Keep Silence

May 4, 2013 by Myrmicat Forever

I was saying Lauds this morning and, as often happens, I got distracted; this time, it was by the question of what to write about for today’s Reminds Me blog post. I thought of a book, but unfortunately, I have forgotten which one it was. Instead, I’m going to tell you about Patrick Leigh Fermor’s A Time To Keep Silence.

In the late 50s Fermor visited the Abby of St Wandrille de Fontanelle in France. He did so because he was looking for somewhere cheap and quiet to finish a book he was writing. Not very holy! Around the same time Fermor visited a number of other monastic establishments, and he wrote about them to a correspondent who, as Fermor wonderfully relates in his introduction, later became his wife! I wonder if anyone has ever met their future wife via a blog comments box.

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Anyway, I have read that up till World War II Fermor described himself (I cannot bring myself to use the ugly phrase ‘self identified’) as a Catholic but from what I have read about him his interest in the Faith appears to have had more to do with a liking for the Church’s ‘exotic’ nature rather than a belief in her teachings. Either way, I believe he ceased writing ‘R.C.’ on official forms after the war.

This did not mean he ceased to be interested in aspects of Catholicism, however, as the mere production of this book proves. Further to that, and again, in his introduction, Fermor states that although he visited the various monasteries as an outsider his appreciation of them went deeper than feeling a simple peace and quiet when in situ.

I was given my copy of A Time To Keep Silence by a priest friend last year; yesterday, I started my second reading of it while on the train to a friend’s house. At the end of the evening, I lent it to him. Really wanting to read it, though, I have downloaded a copy for £4.99 onto my iPad for I tell you this little book is an honest, elegance, vibrant, nostalgic treasure. I commend it highly to you and if any monks in France or Italy would like to invite me to their monasteries to write a few blog posts then I would dearly love to hear from you as I am in a very monastic mood right now

Posted in Reminds Me Of A Book | Leave a Comment »

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