1. I had a whim to watch some Youtube videos of stand-up comedy this evening, as I was making dinner. Being a lover of the seventies, I typed in a random year from that decade, reckoning that would get me past all the "trending" stand-up routines of the moment.
It brought me to this 1976 performance from Steve Martin. It's amusing that, about one minute and fifteen seconds into the act, he brings up the (then) novelty of hand dryers in airport bathrooms, complaining how long they take to dry your hands and how paper towels (which had apparently been removed in favour of the automatic driers) are infinitely superior.
Isn't it funny that, more than my whole lifetime later, hand dryers are still terrible? I mean, truly terrible? I've never used one that was a fifth as good as a paper towel. And few public bathrooms wouldn't give you the choice of a towel now. I take considerable satisfaction in the fact that the boffins haven't been able to make a machine that dries your hand better than paper in all these years. The breakneck pace of technological progress, my eye.
2. Tonight I also found myself asking my father what card games we had played in our house when I was a child. I was told that one of them was Twenty-Fives, which the online Encyclopedia Brittanica lists as "Ireland's national card game". I never suspected we had a national card game, but the fact delights me. And it occurred to me that someone should try to compile an absolutely exhaustive list of all the things that are unique or distinctive to Ireland-- especially little things like that, things that are usually forgotten when we come to listing the things that make our country different from the rest of the world.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
I Like This Quotation
"It is very much our mission to transform the prose of this life into poetry, into heroic verse."-- Jose Maria Escriva, founder of Opus Dei.
Talk on Apologetics
As the snazzy poster above explains, I will be giving a talk on the subject of Catholic apologetics in the light of Evangelii Gaudium, the Pope's recently-issued apostolic exhortation. It's a week from today and it's organized by the Blessed John Paul II Theological Society in St. Patrick's College, Maynooth. All welcome!
Monday, February 17, 2014
A Book Well Worth Reading
My wife has been learning the Lord's Prayer in Irish. She picked it up pretty quick. I wasn't the best teacher, as I didn't get it exactly right, despite having regularly recited it in the last few years, and despite having had fourteen years of my schooling through the Irish language.
Listening to her say it, I found myself thinking about a particular book that I feel like reading, but that I can't get a hold of right now.
It's simply called The Lord's Prayer. It was written by an E.A. Somerville, who was an Anglican and a professor of English, writing in the thirties or forties.
The book is about three hundred pages long and looks at the Lord's Prayer from various angles. It begins with a discussion of the textual sources in Luke and Matthew, especially the exact meaning of "supersubstantial bread", and how this was translated by various translators. Another chapter goes into the writings of the Church Fathers on the subject. But the historical stuff isn't laboured, and it's written with a light touch.
Then there is a long chapter analysing the prayer itself, its centrality to Christian life and culture, and the ways in which it both harmonizes and contrasts with pre-Christian ethics and morality.
The later chapters are the cherry. The writer looks at the influence of the Lord's Prayer upon English poetry and fiction, from medieval times to the time of writing. He lets his pen wander through his own experiences and ruminations, most entertainingly. He describes how he heard the prayer recited and drawn upon by schoolchildren in Birmingham (he was a school inspector at one point), by his fellow soldiers in World War One, and by farmers that he drank with in a Somerset pub.
Finally, the book expands to a long and lyrical exploration of the spiritual life and the condition of man in the twentieth century, all seen through the lens of the prayer Jesus gave us.
The edition I have in mind is a rather weathered library copy, bound in blue-grey cloth, with ink stains on the cover and various scribbled notes, highlighted passages and thumb-prints inside. The print is dark and rather large.
The author's style is what makes the book. He is by turns reverent, drily humorous, poetical, scholarly, anedoctal, personal, and mystical. He is a representative of a type that I think belongs especially to the England of that time-- cultured, no-nonsense, whimsical, well-travelled, wearing his scholarship lightly.
This is the book I yearn to read right now. There is only one problem. The book does not exist.
Reader, I swear that this is exactly the book that I suddenly felt a craving to read as I listened to Michelle recite the Lord's Prayer in Irish. It came to me in a flash. I won't claim that every detail was fleshed out in my mind, but it was all latent in the picture that popped into my head-- the same way you might imagine a fictional house, and readily describe every item of furniture within that house, if a friend were to press you. Or you might imagine a particular character and be able to describe their political views, tastes in food and turns of phrase with minute precision, without even having to think about it.
This is the book I want to read. This is the exact book I want to read. Down to the ink stains on the cover.
Why doesn't it exist?
And why do we have such strange cravings?
And why is imagination so very mysterious?
Listening to her say it, I found myself thinking about a particular book that I feel like reading, but that I can't get a hold of right now.
It's simply called The Lord's Prayer. It was written by an E.A. Somerville, who was an Anglican and a professor of English, writing in the thirties or forties.
The book is about three hundred pages long and looks at the Lord's Prayer from various angles. It begins with a discussion of the textual sources in Luke and Matthew, especially the exact meaning of "supersubstantial bread", and how this was translated by various translators. Another chapter goes into the writings of the Church Fathers on the subject. But the historical stuff isn't laboured, and it's written with a light touch.
Then there is a long chapter analysing the prayer itself, its centrality to Christian life and culture, and the ways in which it both harmonizes and contrasts with pre-Christian ethics and morality.
The later chapters are the cherry. The writer looks at the influence of the Lord's Prayer upon English poetry and fiction, from medieval times to the time of writing. He lets his pen wander through his own experiences and ruminations, most entertainingly. He describes how he heard the prayer recited and drawn upon by schoolchildren in Birmingham (he was a school inspector at one point), by his fellow soldiers in World War One, and by farmers that he drank with in a Somerset pub.
Finally, the book expands to a long and lyrical exploration of the spiritual life and the condition of man in the twentieth century, all seen through the lens of the prayer Jesus gave us.
The edition I have in mind is a rather weathered library copy, bound in blue-grey cloth, with ink stains on the cover and various scribbled notes, highlighted passages and thumb-prints inside. The print is dark and rather large.
The author's style is what makes the book. He is by turns reverent, drily humorous, poetical, scholarly, anedoctal, personal, and mystical. He is a representative of a type that I think belongs especially to the England of that time-- cultured, no-nonsense, whimsical, well-travelled, wearing his scholarship lightly.
This is the book I yearn to read right now. There is only one problem. The book does not exist.
Reader, I swear that this is exactly the book that I suddenly felt a craving to read as I listened to Michelle recite the Lord's Prayer in Irish. It came to me in a flash. I won't claim that every detail was fleshed out in my mind, but it was all latent in the picture that popped into my head-- the same way you might imagine a fictional house, and readily describe every item of furniture within that house, if a friend were to press you. Or you might imagine a particular character and be able to describe their political views, tastes in food and turns of phrase with minute precision, without even having to think about it.
This is the book I want to read. This is the exact book I want to read. Down to the ink stains on the cover.
Why doesn't it exist?
And why do we have such strange cravings?
And why is imagination so very mysterious?
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Some of my Favourite Historical Quotations
By "historical quotation", I don't mean a quotation that is taken from history, since that would encompass everything. I don't even mean a quotation about history.
What I mean are those quotations that are made at the time but that capture the drama of a historical moment.
Of course, I am only hailing these as great quotations, not endorsing the sentiments. Nor do I know (or much care) whether any of them are apocryphal or not.
"We will now proceed to construct the socialist order." Vladimir Lenin, Second All-Russia Congress of Soviets, 1917.
"Early this morning I signed my death warrant". Michael Collins, on the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty, 1921
"The lamps are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our life-time." Lord Edward Grey, English Foreign Secretary, at the outbreak of war in 1914. Said while looking at the street lamps being lit in the street outside as dusk fell.
"I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." Robert Oppenheimer, on the detonation of the first nuclear explosion.
"May it please your Majesty, I have neither eyes to see nor tongue to speak in this place but as the House is pleased to direct me, whose servant I am here." William Lenthall, speaker of the House of Commons, to King Charles I, 1662
"There's an end of an old song." the Earl of Seafield, signing the Act of Union between Scotland and England, 1707
"The Pope? How many regiments has he got?." Stalin, 1935
"We have resolved to pave the way for a grand peace for all the generations to come by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is unsufferable." Emperor Hirohito, 1945
"We are all socialists now." William Harcourt, British MP, 1888
What I mean are those quotations that are made at the time but that capture the drama of a historical moment.
Of course, I am only hailing these as great quotations, not endorsing the sentiments. Nor do I know (or much care) whether any of them are apocryphal or not.
"We will now proceed to construct the socialist order." Vladimir Lenin, Second All-Russia Congress of Soviets, 1917.
"Early this morning I signed my death warrant". Michael Collins, on the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty, 1921
"The lamps are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our life-time." Lord Edward Grey, English Foreign Secretary, at the outbreak of war in 1914. Said while looking at the street lamps being lit in the street outside as dusk fell.
"I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." Robert Oppenheimer, on the detonation of the first nuclear explosion.
"May it please your Majesty, I have neither eyes to see nor tongue to speak in this place but as the House is pleased to direct me, whose servant I am here." William Lenthall, speaker of the House of Commons, to King Charles I, 1662
"There's an end of an old song." the Earl of Seafield, signing the Act of Union between Scotland and England, 1707
"The Pope? How many regiments has he got?." Stalin, 1935
"We have resolved to pave the way for a grand peace for all the generations to come by enduring the unendurable and suffering what is unsufferable." Emperor Hirohito, 1945
"We are all socialists now." William Harcourt, British MP, 1888
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Some Letters in the Irish Times Just Make Your Jaw Drop
A chara, – May I respectfully suggest that if someone is upset by being called homophobic, they refrain from espousing homophobic views. Problem solved. – Is mise,
EMILY NEENAN,
George’s Quay, Dublin 2.
So there you go. The persecution of Jews through the centuries must have been justified, because why would their persecutors have accused them of child murder and treason and all those lovely things unless it was true? School bullying is no longer a problem because the victims wouldn't just get bullied for nothing, would they? We no longer have to feel bad about the victims of Stalin's purges because, well, they would have been just fine if they weren't actually Trotskyists and saboteurs. No smoke without fire, after all.
How doesn't everybody else see this? It's so insanely simple when you get it! It cuts through so many ethical, jurisprudential and philosophical Gordian knots with one swift flash of steel!
The writer may object that she is condemning expressed views, which are publicly aired, as homophobic, as opposed to deeds or actions which have to be discovered through investigation. And this is true, and my satire does indeed rather overstate the case for that reason.
But how does it make her comment any more superfluous and cheap? The point of the whole correspondence is whether an expression of opposition to same-sex marriage makes you homophobic or not. To say, "We wouldn't say you were homophobic unless it was true" is adding nothing at all to the debate. It's what a frustrated father says to a smart-alecky seven-year-old daughter when he's tired of arguing with her.
Another letter on the same page is touching in its naivety:
Sir, – Breda O’Brien (Opinion, February 8th) seems to think that a Yes vote in the forthcoming referendum on marriage equality will be an endorsement of those who seek to stifle the expression of dissenting views on the issue. I can assure her that it will be nothing of the sort. The only outcome of a Yes vote will be that same-sex couples will finally be afforded the same rights that other couples currently enjoy in society. Nothing more, nothing less. – Yours, etc,
ADAM LONG,
Ballina-Killaloe,
Co Tipperary.
How can he say this, when the very correspondence in which he is entering brims over with letter-writers eager to pathologize their opponents, and a recent article in the same paper (I think it was the same paper) called for a government body that would be a watch-dog against "homophobia"? It's like you can hear the knives being sharpened already.
EMILY NEENAN,
George’s Quay, Dublin 2.
So there you go. The persecution of Jews through the centuries must have been justified, because why would their persecutors have accused them of child murder and treason and all those lovely things unless it was true? School bullying is no longer a problem because the victims wouldn't just get bullied for nothing, would they? We no longer have to feel bad about the victims of Stalin's purges because, well, they would have been just fine if they weren't actually Trotskyists and saboteurs. No smoke without fire, after all.
How doesn't everybody else see this? It's so insanely simple when you get it! It cuts through so many ethical, jurisprudential and philosophical Gordian knots with one swift flash of steel!
The writer may object that she is condemning expressed views, which are publicly aired, as homophobic, as opposed to deeds or actions which have to be discovered through investigation. And this is true, and my satire does indeed rather overstate the case for that reason.
But how does it make her comment any more superfluous and cheap? The point of the whole correspondence is whether an expression of opposition to same-sex marriage makes you homophobic or not. To say, "We wouldn't say you were homophobic unless it was true" is adding nothing at all to the debate. It's what a frustrated father says to a smart-alecky seven-year-old daughter when he's tired of arguing with her.
Another letter on the same page is touching in its naivety:
Sir, – Breda O’Brien (Opinion, February 8th) seems to think that a Yes vote in the forthcoming referendum on marriage equality will be an endorsement of those who seek to stifle the expression of dissenting views on the issue. I can assure her that it will be nothing of the sort. The only outcome of a Yes vote will be that same-sex couples will finally be afforded the same rights that other couples currently enjoy in society. Nothing more, nothing less. – Yours, etc,
ADAM LONG,
Ballina-Killaloe,
Co Tipperary.
How can he say this, when the very correspondence in which he is entering brims over with letter-writers eager to pathologize their opponents, and a recent article in the same paper (I think it was the same paper) called for a government body that would be a watch-dog against "homophobia"? It's like you can hear the knives being sharpened already.
Monday, February 10, 2014
To Blog or not to Blog
Yes, it's been a long time since I updated this blog. The truth is, I spent a long time mulling over whether I should keep going with it. It's been going for a good few years now and its readership has remained at the same level for a lot of that time. Very few other blogs or websites link to it (though I don't actively canvas these). I do have a lot of fun-- an enormous amount of fun-- writing it, but that's not all a good thing as I am tempted to put too much energy into it, to the detriment of other important things. The GK Chesterton Society has been on ice for far too long now, and the success of the Belloc Society has shown me what is possible in that regard (and I do think such Societies are important).
I also had a personal tragedy in my own life recently, which has obviously taken my attention off other things.
I told my wife Michelle that I was thinking of giving up the blog, and she counselled me very strongly to keep it up. So that's what I'll do. (My wife has an uncanny knack of giving the best advice.)
I also learned this week (and not for the first time) that the blog is read more widely than I suspected. Readership statistics and volume of comments don't paint a full picture, as I realize from time to time but always seem to forget. I appreciate everyone who reads, and I pray for them.
So, this is just to let the world know that this blog is not a dead blog. There's life in the old blog yet, to misquote an Irish song. But it will probably take me a little while to get back into the swing of things.
(Incidentally, I have been rediscovering Chesterton. I've noticed a regular pattern whereby, every once in a while, I begin to find his idiosyncrasies and hobby-horses and mannerisms irritating, and stop reading him. Then I pick up a Chesterton book and all the love and affection and gratitude I feel for him comes flooding back. I was reading the Autobiography recently-- a book he finished weeks before he died-- which I'm beginning to think is even better than Orthodoxy, which I've long considered not only my favourite Chesterton book, but my favourite book of all time. The Autobiography is more intimate and mellow-- all the enfant terrible provocativeness of Orthodoxy has been left behind. In fact, I find later Chesterton much mellower and generous and deeper than early Chesterton, despite the common claim that he was a shadow of his former self after his breakdown during World War One.
Why are an old man's reminiscences considered to be so proverbially dull? To me, nothing is more exciting than to hear an old man reminisce. I love to listen to my own father's memories. I guess it has to do with our lack of appreciation for old age. Rather than valuing old age, we try to deny it. Why should sixty be "the new forty"? What's so wrong with being sixty? Or seventy? Or eighty?)
I also had a personal tragedy in my own life recently, which has obviously taken my attention off other things.
I told my wife Michelle that I was thinking of giving up the blog, and she counselled me very strongly to keep it up. So that's what I'll do. (My wife has an uncanny knack of giving the best advice.)
I also learned this week (and not for the first time) that the blog is read more widely than I suspected. Readership statistics and volume of comments don't paint a full picture, as I realize from time to time but always seem to forget. I appreciate everyone who reads, and I pray for them.
So, this is just to let the world know that this blog is not a dead blog. There's life in the old blog yet, to misquote an Irish song. But it will probably take me a little while to get back into the swing of things.
(Incidentally, I have been rediscovering Chesterton. I've noticed a regular pattern whereby, every once in a while, I begin to find his idiosyncrasies and hobby-horses and mannerisms irritating, and stop reading him. Then I pick up a Chesterton book and all the love and affection and gratitude I feel for him comes flooding back. I was reading the Autobiography recently-- a book he finished weeks before he died-- which I'm beginning to think is even better than Orthodoxy, which I've long considered not only my favourite Chesterton book, but my favourite book of all time. The Autobiography is more intimate and mellow-- all the enfant terrible provocativeness of Orthodoxy has been left behind. In fact, I find later Chesterton much mellower and generous and deeper than early Chesterton, despite the common claim that he was a shadow of his former self after his breakdown during World War One.
Why are an old man's reminiscences considered to be so proverbially dull? To me, nothing is more exciting than to hear an old man reminisce. I love to listen to my own father's memories. I guess it has to do with our lack of appreciation for old age. Rather than valuing old age, we try to deny it. Why should sixty be "the new forty"? What's so wrong with being sixty? Or seventy? Or eighty?)
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