Book XI
Book XI can be seen as giving more information about Confucius's school, in the sense of his teaching and how he interacted with his students. We get some indication of the major subjects discussed and considered important (11.3), for instance: virtuous conduct, speech, administration, culture and learning.
We also get a better sense of Yan Hui, Master Kong's greatest student, who unfortunately died relatively young. He was one of the students who excelled at virtuous conduct (11.3), and was the one student Master Kong considered genuinely fond of learning (11.7). (You will remember that 'fond of learning' was a key summary phrase 1.14.) Master Kong lamented his death deeply (11.9; 11.10), but honored him not with showy externals but with proper regard for the rites (11.8; 11.11). The famous comment at 11.12 about ghosts and death is often treated alone, but I wonder if it should be included with the loosely group comments concerned with Yan Hui's death: here too, Master Kong takes our proper concern in the face of death to be simply good and appropriate behavior. We also get a poignantly ironic anecdote about him from an important time in Master Kong's life (11.21).
We also see a number of other interactions between Confucius and his more extreme students. We have a rare, if limited, defense of Zilu (=Zhong You) (11.15), who is often presented as the primary instance of the what-not-to-do student: no matter how small it may be, his genuine progress is not to be despised. We have a sharp criticism of Ziyou (=Ran You, = Ran Qiu) (11.17), one of the most important students, and some remarkably strong criticisms (11.18) of various students, although not attributed Master Kong himself. A very interesting anecdote shows Master Kong giving opposite advice to Ran You and to Zhong You alike, in which he gives them opposing advice, thus tailoring his teaching to the personality of each (11.20), and another in which he assesses their weaknesses and merits (11.22).
Most interesting of all, perhaps, is the long anecdote in which Confucius asks four of his students, Zilu, Ran You, Gongxi Hua, and Zeng Xi, what their ambition is. Zilu and Ran You we have by this point met in spades. Zeng Xi was the father of Master Zeng, whose reflections we got in Book I. Gongxi Hua was praised by Master Kong in Book V for his familiarity with ritual. Each of the students gives their description of the life they would like to live if someone were to shower reward on their merits. After Zeng Xi gives his own scenario, which involved a very simple life, Confucius affirms the excellence of that ambition. Afterward, Zeng Xi asks him what the difference is, and the difference is that the other three's ambitions were equivalent to wanting extraordinary power in a state.
Book XII
Book XII opens and closes with ren, humanity to oneself and others. The first three analects consist of students asking about ren and getting different answers from Master Kong. The first answer (12.1), given to Yan Hui, is to subdue oneself and return to li (ritual or appropriate behavior); as Yan Hui is Master Kong's best and most virtuous student, this answer seems to give us something like the most complete or adequate understanding of how to cultivate humanity. The second answer (12.2), to Zhonggong (=Ran Yong), focuses on practical tasks rather than general practical principles, giving several maxims the following of which would in some way require subduing oneself and conforming to ritual, including a maxim of reciprocity ("Do not impose on others what you would not like yourself"). The third answer (12.3), to Sima Niu, is simply to hesitate in talking; Sima Niu is baffled by the answer, but Master Kong says that achieving ren is difficult and, recognizing that, one could hardly avoid hesitating to talk about. Part of what seems to be going on here is Confucius's standard practice of tailoring his teaching to the student. Yan Hui, as the most virtuous of the students, does not require particular tasks to follow; even when he asks for clarification, Master Kong stays at a general level. Zhonggong gets more pragmatic advice, presumably because he needs it. And with Sima Niu the advice ultimately boils down to insisting on treating ren with the seriousness it deserves, using an external behavior as a sign of this internal disposition. (Sima Niu also seems to have had a reputation among Confucius's students for talking, so it could very well that there is an implicit criticism here.)
With its consideration of humaneness, the chapter interweaves discussions of government (12.4, 12.7, 12.9, 12.10, 12.11, 12.14, 12.17, 12.19, 12.20, 12.21) and the noble person or gentleman (12.4, 12.5, 12.8, 12.16, 12.19, 12.24). The interweaving is so thorough it does not seem to be wholly accidental. While it may be dangerous to impose too rigorous a pattern on the book, there does seem to be a sort of unified thematic tapestry here. All of these matters -- humanity, government, nobility -- are interlinked in Confucian thought. One of their key elements is captured in the last three analects of the book, which bring us back to the ren discussed in the first three analects. Asked what ren is, Master Kong says it is to love others, and to understand is to understand others (12.22). The primary actions of all the major ideas discussed in this book are other-directed. This leads to a comment by Master Kong about friends (12.23) and another comment by Master Zeng linking culture, friendship, and the noble person (12.24).
to be continued
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Brushing Up on Languages
One of the things I am doing this summer is brushing up on languages. Something I came across that has turned out to be quite useful is Duolingo, which is free and actually quite effective. Each Duolingo course aims to cover roughly the same ground as about a year at the college-level, and does so mostly by drilling dressed up as a game. It's especially good for a refresher. I started the French course on June 1, and am about two-thirds of the way done, and have found it reasonably good at stitching up patches in my memory. I liked it enough that I've also been taking the Bokmal (Norwegian) course, to see how useful it would be for learning a language almost from scratch (I knew a few words and phrases of Norwegian, but that's about it), and while this is obviously a much slower process than simply using it to review, it seems to be reasonably effective. I started the Bokmal at the same time as the French and I am about ten percent of the way through; but already can handle basic and generic sentences, at least, like Mange lærere leser bøker, "Many teachers read books". I'll be starting the Spanish tree a little later this month, also for a review, and the German tree (my German proficiency would be somewhere between my Norwegian and my French proficiency, since it's more advanced than nothing, but very patchy) a little later.
The languages they currently have are: Spanish, French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Dutch, Irish, Danish, Swedish, Esperanto, Turkish, Norwegian, Ukrainian. There are several others that are in the process of being developed. There will eventually be a Vietnamese course available, so probably this fall I'll start using it for my on-again-off-again Vietnamese study. The courses are all crowdsourced, which means you occasionally run into odd translations, but this hasn't been a serious issue.
To brush up on Latin, I've been using some of Evan der Millner's YouTube videos, particularly his Latin in Latin course (Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV). He summarizes his approach here.
There are other online resources, of course, like this Norwegian mini-course that I'll be starting next week, as well as standard offline book approaches (e.g., I'm currently reading through Lingua Latina Per Se Illustrata), but I've found these to be both reasonably accessible and useful. So what online language resources have you found useful?
The languages they currently have are: Spanish, French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Dutch, Irish, Danish, Swedish, Esperanto, Turkish, Norwegian, Ukrainian. There are several others that are in the process of being developed. There will eventually be a Vietnamese course available, so probably this fall I'll start using it for my on-again-off-again Vietnamese study. The courses are all crowdsourced, which means you occasionally run into odd translations, but this hasn't been a serious issue.
To brush up on Latin, I've been using some of Evan der Millner's YouTube videos, particularly his Latin in Latin course (Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV). He summarizes his approach here.
There are other online resources, of course, like this Norwegian mini-course that I'll be starting next week, as well as standard offline book approaches (e.g., I'm currently reading through Lingua Latina Per Se Illustrata), but I've found these to be both reasonably accessible and useful. So what online language resources have you found useful?
Sunday, June 14, 2015
First Principle of Wise Government
The first principle of every wise government is to tend towards the substantial good and not to waste its power in collecting the accidents and thus diminishing it. Thus for example, a commander who should prefer collecting the spoils left upon the battle-field, to pursuing the enemy and completing his rout, would manifestly lose precious time; his tactics would be quite opposed to the principle of the greatest celerity.[Rosmini, Theodicy, volume 2, 363-364.]
With this established, we can immediately determine the first of all rules of good government, that is, the first criterion for evaluating the means for governing any society whatever. This first rule and criterion is indubitably the following: That which constitutes the existence or substance of a society is to be preserved and strengthened, even at the cost of having to neglect that which forms its accidental refinement.[Rosmini, Philosophy of Politics, Volume 1, Chapter 1]
When this self-evident rule is applied to civil society, it becomes the first norm of sound politics.
In the same way we can also deduce the greatest errors in government. They are those by which the government of a society loses sight of all that constitutes the subsistence of the society because of its excessive concern for the society’s progress towards accidental perfection.
Poem a Day XIV
Gold and Green
A tree is rooted in the earth,
an earthy thing, a mattered thing,
but spreads its branches to the sky,
and drinks the sun, and grows in light.
How strange the one who with a smirk
insists the sun is but a fruit,
or that it cannot be at all
because it is not formed by tree.
So look, O man! For in the dawn
that shines through branches richly green,
a gold that lightens with a fire
is seen, beyond the earthy tree.
A tree is rooted in the earth,
an earthy thing, a mattered thing,
but spreads its branches to the sky,
and drinks the sun, and grows in light.
How strange the one who with a smirk
insists the sun is but a fruit,
or that it cannot be at all
because it is not formed by tree.
So look, O man! For in the dawn
that shines through branches richly green,
a gold that lightens with a fire
is seen, beyond the earthy tree.
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Old English Wisdom
Those of you on Twitter may like the Old English Wisdom feed, which tweets Anglo-Saxon proverbs, precepts, and advice:
It is run by the same person who runs the excellent A Clerk of Oxford blog.
Se anweald næfre ne biþ god, buton se god sie þe hine hæbbe.
Power is never good, unless the one who possesses it is good. #OEBoethius
— Old English Wisdom (@OEWisdom) June 10, 2015Ne deah eall soþ asæd ne eall sar ætwiten.
It does no good to tell all truths or blame all wrongs. #DurhamProverbs
— Old English Wisdom (@OEWisdom) June 13, 2015It is run by the same person who runs the excellent A Clerk of Oxford blog.
Poem a Day XIII
The Lap-Donkey
True talent is not formed by force;
sheer will is not the path of grace.
A foolish man will rush the course
and end up flat upon his face.
An ass saw a lapdog favored well;
he his master wished to please.
"What is the secret of its spell,
that He will stroke and pet and tease?
This pup does nothing save to sit
and sing with yips as easy-pie;
so I will do the same as it
and get my favor by and by."
And so the clumsy donkey fool
jumped on his master's lap with haste
and brayed and sprayed with donkey drool;
it was not to his master's taste.
So hear the moral, heed its point,
for we all try to be all things
and bend good sense all out of joint,
like a donkey in your lap who sings.
True talent is not formed by force;
sheer will is not the path of grace.
A foolish man will rush the course
and end up flat upon his face.
An ass saw a lapdog favored well;
he his master wished to please.
"What is the secret of its spell,
that He will stroke and pet and tease?
This pup does nothing save to sit
and sing with yips as easy-pie;
so I will do the same as it
and get my favor by and by."
And so the clumsy donkey fool
jumped on his master's lap with haste
and brayed and sprayed with donkey drool;
it was not to his master's taste.
So hear the moral, heed its point,
for we all try to be all things
and bend good sense all out of joint,
like a donkey in your lap who sings.
Friday, June 12, 2015
Sui Juris Churches XX: The Chaldean Catholic Church
(on sui juris churches in general)
Liturgical Family: Chaldean
Primary Liturgical Language: Syriac (Christian Aramaic)
Juridical Status: Patriarchal
Approximate Population: Somewhere in the vicinity of 500,000. Due to the situation in Iraq, it is difficult to be more precise.
Brief History: Two major 'superpowers' were entangled in the early days of Christianity: the Roman Empire and the Persian Empire. The refusal of a large number of Persian Christians to accept the Council of Ephesus led to a slow splitting of Christians in the Persian Empire, from the those in the Roman Empire. The Persian Empire eventually became Muslim, and eventually the Ottoman Empire arose, but the Church of the East continued. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, however, it underwent a highly contentious internal argument. The problem arose in the fifteenth century, when the Catholicos of the Church of the East, Shemʿon IV Basidi, made the Catholicate hereditary: it was to be passed on from uncle to nephew. The dangers of this are obvious; it was difficult to guarantee that there would be any successor at all, and it subjected the position to all the problems of any ordinary blood sucession system. Mixing dynastic politics with ecclesiastical politics has never been a recipe for stability (as the history of the Church of the East has shown in spades). A sufficiently strong and popular Catholicos could certainly handle such problems, but the system was not particularly designed to guarantee strong and popular Catholicoi. Things came to a head in the reign of Shemʿon VII Ishoʿyahb, who managed to infuriate pretty much everybody; in 1552 the Church of the East underwent its most serious schism ever.
The rebel bishops elected Yohannan Sulaqa as their new Catholicos. There was a problem, however: while there were a lot of bishops in the rebellion, there were no metropolitan bishops. He could not be consecrated without one. Thus a fateful step was taken: Yohannan Sulaqa and a delegation approached Franciscan missionaries and asked for a letter of introduction to Pope Julius III. The Pope seems to have been rather startled at the hereditary succession of Catholicoi, and Sulaqa was willing to make a profession of faith. Thus in 1553 Sulaqa became Shimun VIII, and recognized by the Pope as patriarch of Mosul and Assyria, although he quickly came to be known as Patriarch of the Chaldeans (probably following the usage of the Council of Florence); all of his section of the Church of the East entered into communion with Rome. His reign was relatively short, however, because the Ottoman government tended not to like religious groups in the Ottoman Empire seeking Western backing. He was arrested in 1555 and apparently tortured and executed.
This line of the Chaldean Patriarchate lasted until 1600, when Shimun IX Dinkha decided to reintroduce the principle of hereditary succession again. This was absolutely unacceptable to Rome, and the Shimun line continued, no longer Catholic. It in fact became the patriarchal line of what is now known as the Assyrian Church of the East, and only ended in 1975. There were thus two Churches of the East at this point, the older one whose patriarchal line is usually called the Eliya line, and the one that had arisen from the schism of 1552, governed by the Shimun line of patriarchs.
However, in the seventeenth century the bishop of Amid, whose name was Yousip, entered into communion with Rome. Amid was in communion with the Eliya line, and the patriarch at that time was less than amused. He went personally to Amid and had Yousip imprisoned. Yousip was able to raise the money to pay a ransom and was freed; he fled to Rome, but he returned a few years later, and the Ottoman government eventually recognized him as independent. In 1681 Rome recognized him with the somewhat obscure title of 'Patriarch of the Chaldean Nation Deprived of Its Patriarch'. The resulting church was small and kept in line by the Ottoman government by the tried-and-true Islamic method of preventing religious groups from expanding: very heavy taxation.
In the 1770, Rome began corresponding with the Church of the East lines that were not in communion with it. The result was that Eliya XII Denkha, whose see was in Alqosh, made a Catholic profession of faith in 1771. Eliya XII Denkha, however, had created a problem that could not immediately be resolved. The Eliya line was hereditary, and his nephew Ishoʿyahb was originally designated his heir; however, for reasons that are not entirely clear, Eliya XII chose to switch heirs, and made his nephew Yohannan Hormizd successor. Both nephews had made a profession of Catholic faith. Ishoʿyahb became Eliya XIII, without initial opposition from Yohannan, but as soon as he was recognized by the Ottoman government, he broke communion with Rome. The bishops who still wanted to be Catholic gathered and elected another to be Patriarch; but he refused. So they fell back on Yohannan, who had been active in opposing his cousin. Thus Yohannan VIII Hormizd was elected Patriarch in 1780, and his supporters managed to get him recognition from the Ottoman government.
Rome faced a significant puzzle. It was absolutely opposed to hereditary succession, and recognizing Yohannan could be seen as condoning it. There was also the complication that there was already a Chaldean line in communion with Rome, and how the two would relate was an uncertain question. On the other hand, the attractions of another Chaldean line in communion with Rome were obvious and considerable. It seriously considered refusing recognition, but in the end Rome did what it usually does when faced with complicated political problems: it temporized. It recognized Yohannan as archbishop of Mosul and named him administrator for the Chaldean patriarchate. Thus not Patriarch, but not completely a non-Patriarch, either. Like much of Rome's temporizing, this would cause some serious headaches down the road, but it may also have given enough time for the Chaldean communion with Rome to be consolidated.
Problems began to arise between Yohannan Hormizd and Rome. In 1796, a group of Malabar Christians arrived asking for a bishop, something that they usually received from the Church of the East; Hormizd attempted to get the go-ahead from Rome, but could not get a reply since Rome was at that point under occupation by the French. So he went ahead and did it; word got back to Rome, and Rome demanded that he account for it. His explanation was accepted, and the possibility of naming him patriarch came up again, but opponents of Yohannan managed to raise questions about his orthodoxy, leading Rome to delay again. In the meantime, his cousin died, leaving Yohannan the sole heir of the Eliya line.
Over the next several years, Hormizd would end up opposing various projects on which Rome looked with favor, to such an extent that in 1812 Rome suspended him. Yohannan vehemently opposed the suspension, leading to constant struggle among Chaldean Catholics, which did not endear him any further in the eyes of Rome. However, Rome in the meantime continued to investigate, and in 1826, he was absolved he was absolved of any wrongdoing; Rome, however, wanted him to retire. The ever-active Yohannan was not the retiring kind, and he absolutely refused. However, he had managed to develop certain allies, and in 1830, Rome made him Patriarch of Babylon of the Chaldeans. Yohannan was 74 years old.
There was, remember, another Chaldean line. Joseph IV Timotheus Lazar Hindi had been Patriarch of the Chaldean Nation Deprived of Its Patriarch beginning in 1757. He was worn down by it, and resigned in 1780, appointing his nephew, Augustine Hindi. Needless to say, Rome was less than pleased with this action, and Lazar Hindi decided to withdraw his resignation. He would eventually have to flee the Ottoman authorities because of tax debts -- remember, the Ottoman authorities were taxing the Amid Chaldeans very heavily. This was in the 1790s, and Rome decided to appoint Yohannan administrator of that line of Chaldeans, as well. Lazar Hindi vehemently objected, as did many of the Amid Chaldeans, so Rome rescinded the appointment, and Augustine Hindi in 1802 was appointed administrator for that Chaldean group, a few years after the death of Lazar Hindi. During Yohannan's suspension, Augustine Hindi was appointed apostolic delegate for the entire Patriarchate of Babylon of the Chaldeans. In 1804, Augustine Hindi began calling himself the Patriarch, and was widely recognized as Patriarch. This was never officially given, but it may well have been the case that Augustine thought it had. In any case, it had the effect of uniting the Chaldean lines in communion with Rome under a popular leader, which is what Rome clearly had been hoping for all along, and may be a reason why Rome never protested the action.
Augustine died in 1827, so when Rome finally (and by every indication reluctantly) named Hormizd Patriarch of Babylon of the Chaldeans, it was a united Chaldean church; Alqosh and Amid Chaldeans were both part of it, the Eliya and Josephite lines both terminated in it, and the only Chaldean branch outside was that schismatic Shimun line.
As Yohannan's death clearly approached, Rome took steps to make sure that the hereditary principle of succession would not rise again; in particular, it named on its own authority who would be Yohannan's successor: Nicholas Zayʿa. It ended up being an error; the Chaldean metropolitan bishops were irritated at not having even been consulted, and the only thing that prevented them from electing their own patriarch was that they could not come to agreement on who it should be. Zayʿa ended up being able to do very little effectively, and he resigned in 1846.
His successor, Joseph Audo, had been one of the most active opponents of both Hormizd and Zayʿa, and he would clash with Rome even more intensely at times than Hormizd had; he was, however, strong enough to put things in order in the Chaldean Catholic Church, and under his hand it flourished. Audo also attended the First Vatican Council, where he was one of the major figures in the party opposed to definition of papal infallibility, and, after the Council, he was the very last Eastern patriarch to accept it. All of his actions irritated Pius IX so much that Pius IX devoted an entire encyclical to criticizing him. But he would never actually push Rome to the furthest limit, and seems to have been respected by the Roman Curia, albeit sometimes grudgingly.
The twentieth century would bring stormy times for Chaldean Catholics. Significant parts of the Church were swept away in the aftermath of World War I in what has often been called the Assyrian Genocide. In 1933 many Chaldean Catholics would die in the Simele Massacre in Iraq, and persecutions continued to pop at various intervals. The American-led invasion of Iraq in 2003, however, would end up being perhaps the greatest disaster for the church. Chaldean Catholics became visible and easy targets for Muslim extremist groups, and they have been more recently hunted down in the expansion of ISIS. Chaldean Christians had been the primary inhabitants of the Nineveh Plains around Mosul for literally over a millenium; many of them have been forced to flee for their lives and the lives of their families. Chaldean Catholics are a significant portion of the tens of thousands of Iraqis who have had to flee Iraq in the past twelve years. And the clergy in Iraq face daily risks. Their bishops and priests have often been kidnapped for ransom or murdered. The Chaldean Catholic Church is in a state of extraordinary crisis. How things will turn out, no one can say.
Notable Monuments: Church of Mary Mother of Sorrows in Baghdad, Iraq.
Notable Saints: The Chaldean Catholic Church has a number of Persian saints on its calendar from the Church of the East calendar, such as St. Shim’un Bar Sabba’e, St. Qardagh, St. Sultan Mahdokt, St. Pithyon, and St. Jacob the Mutilated. In addition, there is a large crowd of martyrs, some of whom might at some point be beatified or canonized and placed on the general calendar.
Notable Religious Institutes: Antonian Order of Saint Ormizda of the Chaldeans; Congregation of the Chaldean Daughters of Mary Immaculate.
Extent of Official Jurisdiction: The Patriarchate of Babylon of the Chaldeans; nine archeparchies in Iraq (5), Iran (3), and Turkey (1); eleven eparchies around the world, including in Lebanon, Canada, the United States, and Oceania; and two patriarchal territories. (Sphere of influence always extends beyond the official jurisdiction due to members of the church living outside of any official jurisdiction of the church. As the Chaldean Catholic diaspora has been expanding at a prodigious rate, this is likely to become even more true of Chaldean Catholics in the future.)
Online Sources and Resources:
http://kaldu.org/
http://saint-adday.com/
http://www.cnewa.org/
Liturgical Family: Chaldean
Primary Liturgical Language: Syriac (Christian Aramaic)
Juridical Status: Patriarchal
Approximate Population: Somewhere in the vicinity of 500,000. Due to the situation in Iraq, it is difficult to be more precise.
Brief History: Two major 'superpowers' were entangled in the early days of Christianity: the Roman Empire and the Persian Empire. The refusal of a large number of Persian Christians to accept the Council of Ephesus led to a slow splitting of Christians in the Persian Empire, from the those in the Roman Empire. The Persian Empire eventually became Muslim, and eventually the Ottoman Empire arose, but the Church of the East continued. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, however, it underwent a highly contentious internal argument. The problem arose in the fifteenth century, when the Catholicos of the Church of the East, Shemʿon IV Basidi, made the Catholicate hereditary: it was to be passed on from uncle to nephew. The dangers of this are obvious; it was difficult to guarantee that there would be any successor at all, and it subjected the position to all the problems of any ordinary blood sucession system. Mixing dynastic politics with ecclesiastical politics has never been a recipe for stability (as the history of the Church of the East has shown in spades). A sufficiently strong and popular Catholicos could certainly handle such problems, but the system was not particularly designed to guarantee strong and popular Catholicoi. Things came to a head in the reign of Shemʿon VII Ishoʿyahb, who managed to infuriate pretty much everybody; in 1552 the Church of the East underwent its most serious schism ever.
The rebel bishops elected Yohannan Sulaqa as their new Catholicos. There was a problem, however: while there were a lot of bishops in the rebellion, there were no metropolitan bishops. He could not be consecrated without one. Thus a fateful step was taken: Yohannan Sulaqa and a delegation approached Franciscan missionaries and asked for a letter of introduction to Pope Julius III. The Pope seems to have been rather startled at the hereditary succession of Catholicoi, and Sulaqa was willing to make a profession of faith. Thus in 1553 Sulaqa became Shimun VIII, and recognized by the Pope as patriarch of Mosul and Assyria, although he quickly came to be known as Patriarch of the Chaldeans (probably following the usage of the Council of Florence); all of his section of the Church of the East entered into communion with Rome. His reign was relatively short, however, because the Ottoman government tended not to like religious groups in the Ottoman Empire seeking Western backing. He was arrested in 1555 and apparently tortured and executed.
This line of the Chaldean Patriarchate lasted until 1600, when Shimun IX Dinkha decided to reintroduce the principle of hereditary succession again. This was absolutely unacceptable to Rome, and the Shimun line continued, no longer Catholic. It in fact became the patriarchal line of what is now known as the Assyrian Church of the East, and only ended in 1975. There were thus two Churches of the East at this point, the older one whose patriarchal line is usually called the Eliya line, and the one that had arisen from the schism of 1552, governed by the Shimun line of patriarchs.
However, in the seventeenth century the bishop of Amid, whose name was Yousip, entered into communion with Rome. Amid was in communion with the Eliya line, and the patriarch at that time was less than amused. He went personally to Amid and had Yousip imprisoned. Yousip was able to raise the money to pay a ransom and was freed; he fled to Rome, but he returned a few years later, and the Ottoman government eventually recognized him as independent. In 1681 Rome recognized him with the somewhat obscure title of 'Patriarch of the Chaldean Nation Deprived of Its Patriarch'. The resulting church was small and kept in line by the Ottoman government by the tried-and-true Islamic method of preventing religious groups from expanding: very heavy taxation.
In the 1770, Rome began corresponding with the Church of the East lines that were not in communion with it. The result was that Eliya XII Denkha, whose see was in Alqosh, made a Catholic profession of faith in 1771. Eliya XII Denkha, however, had created a problem that could not immediately be resolved. The Eliya line was hereditary, and his nephew Ishoʿyahb was originally designated his heir; however, for reasons that are not entirely clear, Eliya XII chose to switch heirs, and made his nephew Yohannan Hormizd successor. Both nephews had made a profession of Catholic faith. Ishoʿyahb became Eliya XIII, without initial opposition from Yohannan, but as soon as he was recognized by the Ottoman government, he broke communion with Rome. The bishops who still wanted to be Catholic gathered and elected another to be Patriarch; but he refused. So they fell back on Yohannan, who had been active in opposing his cousin. Thus Yohannan VIII Hormizd was elected Patriarch in 1780, and his supporters managed to get him recognition from the Ottoman government.
Rome faced a significant puzzle. It was absolutely opposed to hereditary succession, and recognizing Yohannan could be seen as condoning it. There was also the complication that there was already a Chaldean line in communion with Rome, and how the two would relate was an uncertain question. On the other hand, the attractions of another Chaldean line in communion with Rome were obvious and considerable. It seriously considered refusing recognition, but in the end Rome did what it usually does when faced with complicated political problems: it temporized. It recognized Yohannan as archbishop of Mosul and named him administrator for the Chaldean patriarchate. Thus not Patriarch, but not completely a non-Patriarch, either. Like much of Rome's temporizing, this would cause some serious headaches down the road, but it may also have given enough time for the Chaldean communion with Rome to be consolidated.
Problems began to arise between Yohannan Hormizd and Rome. In 1796, a group of Malabar Christians arrived asking for a bishop, something that they usually received from the Church of the East; Hormizd attempted to get the go-ahead from Rome, but could not get a reply since Rome was at that point under occupation by the French. So he went ahead and did it; word got back to Rome, and Rome demanded that he account for it. His explanation was accepted, and the possibility of naming him patriarch came up again, but opponents of Yohannan managed to raise questions about his orthodoxy, leading Rome to delay again. In the meantime, his cousin died, leaving Yohannan the sole heir of the Eliya line.
Over the next several years, Hormizd would end up opposing various projects on which Rome looked with favor, to such an extent that in 1812 Rome suspended him. Yohannan vehemently opposed the suspension, leading to constant struggle among Chaldean Catholics, which did not endear him any further in the eyes of Rome. However, Rome in the meantime continued to investigate, and in 1826, he was absolved he was absolved of any wrongdoing; Rome, however, wanted him to retire. The ever-active Yohannan was not the retiring kind, and he absolutely refused. However, he had managed to develop certain allies, and in 1830, Rome made him Patriarch of Babylon of the Chaldeans. Yohannan was 74 years old.
There was, remember, another Chaldean line. Joseph IV Timotheus Lazar Hindi had been Patriarch of the Chaldean Nation Deprived of Its Patriarch beginning in 1757. He was worn down by it, and resigned in 1780, appointing his nephew, Augustine Hindi. Needless to say, Rome was less than pleased with this action, and Lazar Hindi decided to withdraw his resignation. He would eventually have to flee the Ottoman authorities because of tax debts -- remember, the Ottoman authorities were taxing the Amid Chaldeans very heavily. This was in the 1790s, and Rome decided to appoint Yohannan administrator of that line of Chaldeans, as well. Lazar Hindi vehemently objected, as did many of the Amid Chaldeans, so Rome rescinded the appointment, and Augustine Hindi in 1802 was appointed administrator for that Chaldean group, a few years after the death of Lazar Hindi. During Yohannan's suspension, Augustine Hindi was appointed apostolic delegate for the entire Patriarchate of Babylon of the Chaldeans. In 1804, Augustine Hindi began calling himself the Patriarch, and was widely recognized as Patriarch. This was never officially given, but it may well have been the case that Augustine thought it had. In any case, it had the effect of uniting the Chaldean lines in communion with Rome under a popular leader, which is what Rome clearly had been hoping for all along, and may be a reason why Rome never protested the action.
Augustine died in 1827, so when Rome finally (and by every indication reluctantly) named Hormizd Patriarch of Babylon of the Chaldeans, it was a united Chaldean church; Alqosh and Amid Chaldeans were both part of it, the Eliya and Josephite lines both terminated in it, and the only Chaldean branch outside was that schismatic Shimun line.
As Yohannan's death clearly approached, Rome took steps to make sure that the hereditary principle of succession would not rise again; in particular, it named on its own authority who would be Yohannan's successor: Nicholas Zayʿa. It ended up being an error; the Chaldean metropolitan bishops were irritated at not having even been consulted, and the only thing that prevented them from electing their own patriarch was that they could not come to agreement on who it should be. Zayʿa ended up being able to do very little effectively, and he resigned in 1846.
His successor, Joseph Audo, had been one of the most active opponents of both Hormizd and Zayʿa, and he would clash with Rome even more intensely at times than Hormizd had; he was, however, strong enough to put things in order in the Chaldean Catholic Church, and under his hand it flourished. Audo also attended the First Vatican Council, where he was one of the major figures in the party opposed to definition of papal infallibility, and, after the Council, he was the very last Eastern patriarch to accept it. All of his actions irritated Pius IX so much that Pius IX devoted an entire encyclical to criticizing him. But he would never actually push Rome to the furthest limit, and seems to have been respected by the Roman Curia, albeit sometimes grudgingly.
The twentieth century would bring stormy times for Chaldean Catholics. Significant parts of the Church were swept away in the aftermath of World War I in what has often been called the Assyrian Genocide. In 1933 many Chaldean Catholics would die in the Simele Massacre in Iraq, and persecutions continued to pop at various intervals. The American-led invasion of Iraq in 2003, however, would end up being perhaps the greatest disaster for the church. Chaldean Catholics became visible and easy targets for Muslim extremist groups, and they have been more recently hunted down in the expansion of ISIS. Chaldean Christians had been the primary inhabitants of the Nineveh Plains around Mosul for literally over a millenium; many of them have been forced to flee for their lives and the lives of their families. Chaldean Catholics are a significant portion of the tens of thousands of Iraqis who have had to flee Iraq in the past twelve years. And the clergy in Iraq face daily risks. Their bishops and priests have often been kidnapped for ransom or murdered. The Chaldean Catholic Church is in a state of extraordinary crisis. How things will turn out, no one can say.
Notable Monuments: Church of Mary Mother of Sorrows in Baghdad, Iraq.
Notable Saints: The Chaldean Catholic Church has a number of Persian saints on its calendar from the Church of the East calendar, such as St. Shim’un Bar Sabba’e, St. Qardagh, St. Sultan Mahdokt, St. Pithyon, and St. Jacob the Mutilated. In addition, there is a large crowd of martyrs, some of whom might at some point be beatified or canonized and placed on the general calendar.
Notable Religious Institutes: Antonian Order of Saint Ormizda of the Chaldeans; Congregation of the Chaldean Daughters of Mary Immaculate.
Extent of Official Jurisdiction: The Patriarchate of Babylon of the Chaldeans; nine archeparchies in Iraq (5), Iran (3), and Turkey (1); eleven eparchies around the world, including in Lebanon, Canada, the United States, and Oceania; and two patriarchal territories. (Sphere of influence always extends beyond the official jurisdiction due to members of the church living outside of any official jurisdiction of the church. As the Chaldean Catholic diaspora has been expanding at a prodigious rate, this is likely to become even more true of Chaldean Catholics in the future.)
Online Sources and Resources:
http://kaldu.org/
http://saint-adday.com/
http://www.cnewa.org/
Poem a Day XII
West Wind
The West Wind travels with speed,
calm and unhurried by need,
stirring pedestrian reed,
and yet itself is unmoved.
The West Wind travels with speed,
calm and unhurried by need,
stirring pedestrian reed,
and yet itself is unmoved.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Christopher Lee (1922-2015)
Christopher Lee died last Sunday at the age of 93. He did extensive work for Royal Air Force Intelligence in World War II, helped track down Nazi war criminals at the end of the war, and then got into acting. It was a tough market, so he mostly only got bit parts until he broke through in Hammer horror films. He became most famous for playing Dracula, although he often did not like it. He was the first choice of Ian Fleming (to whom he was related) for playing Dr. No, but didn't get that part; he did, however, get to play a Bond villain in The Man with the Golden Gun. He was getting tired of only being offered horror roles, however, so he decamped for America in 1977.
He is most famous recently, of course, for playing Saruman. Apparently he was a Tolkien fan; he was the only person in the production of the Lord of the Rings movies to have ever met Tolkien personally, and he claimed that he read The Lord of the Rings every year. He had wanted to play Gandalf, but, alas, his age was a problem, and so he took the role of Saruman, which involved less action and horseback-riding. But he was often like that; he voiced King Haggard in the animated version of The Last Unicorn and apparently showed up on the first day with the book in hand, having underlined all the speaking parts of King Haggard that he was going to insist should make it into the movie.
He also had a reasonably successful heavy metal music career late in life. The following, I think, captures some of his best work in this regard:
Rhapsody of Fire, with Christopher Lee, "The Magic of the Wizard's Dream",
Angels are calling
From divine lost crystal realms,
Riding from heaven
For the magic of the wizard's dream.
He is most famous recently, of course, for playing Saruman. Apparently he was a Tolkien fan; he was the only person in the production of the Lord of the Rings movies to have ever met Tolkien personally, and he claimed that he read The Lord of the Rings every year. He had wanted to play Gandalf, but, alas, his age was a problem, and so he took the role of Saruman, which involved less action and horseback-riding. But he was often like that; he voiced King Haggard in the animated version of The Last Unicorn and apparently showed up on the first day with the book in hand, having underlined all the speaking parts of King Haggard that he was going to insist should make it into the movie.
He also had a reasonably successful heavy metal music career late in life. The following, I think, captures some of his best work in this regard:
Rhapsody of Fire, with Christopher Lee, "The Magic of the Wizard's Dream",
Angels are calling
From divine lost crystal realms,
Riding from heaven
For the magic of the wizard's dream.
Thursday Vice: Odium
The Latin word odium is usually translated as 'hatred', but there is no exact English word corresponding to what Aquinas means when he talks about the vice of odium (2-2.34). It could be called 'hatred', but it is not a matter simply of disliking someone. Odium is disposition arising from both envy and wrath, so understanding what it is requires taking into account the essential features of each. And envy and wrath are both terrible vices, because they both, in different ways, treat good as evil; so you know from that alone that their progeny will be a terrible thing.
Since both wrath and envy treat the good of another as bad, there has to be some notion under which they can do so -- it is not possible to treat something one recognizes as good, simply speaking, as if it were evil. The notion under which wrath (ira) views the good of another is as a provocation due to its inconvenience for oneself. Excessive anger, on its own, is a vice, but it is not the vice of wrath; wrath is a tendency to attack the good in others, or the good of others, as if the good itself were a provocation, because their good is difficult for you in some way. Our proper attitude when someone has something good, or does something good, or receives something good, should be gladness at the good. But sometimes another person's good is not easy for us to be glad about; perhaps it takes away the possibility of getting what we were hoping to get, or introduces new problems for us. When we fail to handle this kind of situation properly, we are in danger of developing the vice of wrath: it is drive for vindication not against evil but against good.
Envy (invidia) is even more insidious. It is the vice in which the good of another is seen as a bad thing because it is not yours. In almost authors who discuss it, it is almost universally considered among the worse possible vices one can have. Its actions are spiteful and destructive, and generally the destruction is mutual: envious people will even harm themselves if it would prevent someone else from getting good or enjoying it.
Both wrath and envy are capital vices (the acts of these vices we often call the seven deadly sins). Capital vices are not necessarily the worse sins, although envy and wrath are quite serious on their own. Gluttony, for instance, is a relatively minor vice just considered in itself. But what makes a vice a capital vice, a chief vice, is that it is rarely on its own. Vices that are not corrected breed other vices, and capital vices are vices that are in just the right places in our personalities to breed lots of other vices. Thus wrath and envy, although quite serious on their own, are capital vices because the actions they motivate lead to the development of many other vices. The vice of odium or hatred grows naturally out of both, but especially from envy, whose connection to hatred Aquinas is getting from things Gregory the Great says in the Moralia. Wrath disposes us to odium, but it can never directly spill over into it, because wrath is limited by its very nature: it is a drive for vindication, and thus by its nature has to limit itself to the notion of 'righting a wrong', where the wrong is, in this case, a good. Odium does not limit itself; it gets this from envy, of which it is the ultimate daughter vice. Envy tends toward the spiteful, the malicious, the petty, the destructive; odium is what you get when these things actually develop in full.
Odium is thus a terrible vice. It is not a capital vice, however, because it does not particularly tend to breed vices. The reason for this, however, emphasizes how terrible it is: odium doesn't breed other vices because it is an end-of-the-line vice, a vice you get when the monstrous vice of envy has already become especially monstrous.
It is important in all of this to remember that vices and sins are not the same. Sins are actions; vices are stable dispositions of character, when sins become second nature. The vice of odium is not particularly easy to develop; but you can engage in the sins of hatred associated with odium even without having the vice -- indulging such sins is one way to get the vice associated with them.
Every vice opposes some virtue in some way, because vices are corruptions of things of which virtues are excellences. The virtue odium opposes, according to Aquinas, is charity. Now, charity is an immensely powerful virtue capable of many different acts (of which the primary are love, joy, peace, and mercy). Odium is the vice opposed to charity insofar as it is exercised in its most proper act, namely, love, and therefore has the same structure as the love that proceeds from charity. Charity is expressed most directly in love of God and love neighbor, so odium is expressed in odium Dei and odium proximi -- as they are usually translated, hatred of God and hatred of neighbor.
Odium Dei is a somewhat tricky idea. God is Goodness Itself, and considered precisely as such cannot be hated. But God can be hated under certain ideas in which God can be presented as bad. Aquinas gives two examples: God as prohibitor of sins and God as inflicter of penalties (peccatorum prohibitor et poenarum inflictor). This is not a mere matter of disliking a prohibition or punishment; it carries over to the source of the prohibition and punishment. Odium Dei is the worst sin. All sins can be treated as being aversions to God as Goodness Itself; but odium Dei is the most pure form of this kind of aversion.
Odium proximi is likewise not just any kind of dislike of someone. It is very far from disliking someone because of their faults. It involves instead hatred of their nature and grace (natura et gratia), both of which are good in themselves. As Aquinas notes, goods that our neighbor has received from God cannot really and truly conflict with our own good, so we should love the good of another. Sins against other human beings can be judged either in terms of the disorder involved in the sinner or in terms of the harm against others involved in the act. Seen in this light, there are sins much worse than odium proximi in terms of harm caused -- murder, for instance -- because, while odium might result in external action, its action never has to be more than internal, and internal sins harm others least. However, the disorder involved in odium is so great that no other sin against our neighbor can be as bad -- no matter how harmful an action is, it can derive from odium. With regard to sins of neighbor, Aquinas says, odium proximi est ultimum in progressu peccati: hatred of neighbor is the furthest point in the development of sin.
Since both wrath and envy treat the good of another as bad, there has to be some notion under which they can do so -- it is not possible to treat something one recognizes as good, simply speaking, as if it were evil. The notion under which wrath (ira) views the good of another is as a provocation due to its inconvenience for oneself. Excessive anger, on its own, is a vice, but it is not the vice of wrath; wrath is a tendency to attack the good in others, or the good of others, as if the good itself were a provocation, because their good is difficult for you in some way. Our proper attitude when someone has something good, or does something good, or receives something good, should be gladness at the good. But sometimes another person's good is not easy for us to be glad about; perhaps it takes away the possibility of getting what we were hoping to get, or introduces new problems for us. When we fail to handle this kind of situation properly, we are in danger of developing the vice of wrath: it is drive for vindication not against evil but against good.
Envy (invidia) is even more insidious. It is the vice in which the good of another is seen as a bad thing because it is not yours. In almost authors who discuss it, it is almost universally considered among the worse possible vices one can have. Its actions are spiteful and destructive, and generally the destruction is mutual: envious people will even harm themselves if it would prevent someone else from getting good or enjoying it.
Both wrath and envy are capital vices (the acts of these vices we often call the seven deadly sins). Capital vices are not necessarily the worse sins, although envy and wrath are quite serious on their own. Gluttony, for instance, is a relatively minor vice just considered in itself. But what makes a vice a capital vice, a chief vice, is that it is rarely on its own. Vices that are not corrected breed other vices, and capital vices are vices that are in just the right places in our personalities to breed lots of other vices. Thus wrath and envy, although quite serious on their own, are capital vices because the actions they motivate lead to the development of many other vices. The vice of odium or hatred grows naturally out of both, but especially from envy, whose connection to hatred Aquinas is getting from things Gregory the Great says in the Moralia. Wrath disposes us to odium, but it can never directly spill over into it, because wrath is limited by its very nature: it is a drive for vindication, and thus by its nature has to limit itself to the notion of 'righting a wrong', where the wrong is, in this case, a good. Odium does not limit itself; it gets this from envy, of which it is the ultimate daughter vice. Envy tends toward the spiteful, the malicious, the petty, the destructive; odium is what you get when these things actually develop in full.
Odium is thus a terrible vice. It is not a capital vice, however, because it does not particularly tend to breed vices. The reason for this, however, emphasizes how terrible it is: odium doesn't breed other vices because it is an end-of-the-line vice, a vice you get when the monstrous vice of envy has already become especially monstrous.
It is important in all of this to remember that vices and sins are not the same. Sins are actions; vices are stable dispositions of character, when sins become second nature. The vice of odium is not particularly easy to develop; but you can engage in the sins of hatred associated with odium even without having the vice -- indulging such sins is one way to get the vice associated with them.
Every vice opposes some virtue in some way, because vices are corruptions of things of which virtues are excellences. The virtue odium opposes, according to Aquinas, is charity. Now, charity is an immensely powerful virtue capable of many different acts (of which the primary are love, joy, peace, and mercy). Odium is the vice opposed to charity insofar as it is exercised in its most proper act, namely, love, and therefore has the same structure as the love that proceeds from charity. Charity is expressed most directly in love of God and love neighbor, so odium is expressed in odium Dei and odium proximi -- as they are usually translated, hatred of God and hatred of neighbor.
Odium Dei is a somewhat tricky idea. God is Goodness Itself, and considered precisely as such cannot be hated. But God can be hated under certain ideas in which God can be presented as bad. Aquinas gives two examples: God as prohibitor of sins and God as inflicter of penalties (peccatorum prohibitor et poenarum inflictor). This is not a mere matter of disliking a prohibition or punishment; it carries over to the source of the prohibition and punishment. Odium Dei is the worst sin. All sins can be treated as being aversions to God as Goodness Itself; but odium Dei is the most pure form of this kind of aversion.
Odium proximi is likewise not just any kind of dislike of someone. It is very far from disliking someone because of their faults. It involves instead hatred of their nature and grace (natura et gratia), both of which are good in themselves. As Aquinas notes, goods that our neighbor has received from God cannot really and truly conflict with our own good, so we should love the good of another. Sins against other human beings can be judged either in terms of the disorder involved in the sinner or in terms of the harm against others involved in the act. Seen in this light, there are sins much worse than odium proximi in terms of harm caused -- murder, for instance -- because, while odium might result in external action, its action never has to be more than internal, and internal sins harm others least. However, the disorder involved in odium is so great that no other sin against our neighbor can be as bad -- no matter how harmful an action is, it can derive from odium. With regard to sins of neighbor, Aquinas says, odium proximi est ultimum in progressu peccati: hatred of neighbor is the furthest point in the development of sin.
Poem a Day XI
St. Barnabas
On Cyprus shores did Barnabas
set down his knee to pray.
Perhaps his mind in memory
went back to mother's touch;
her loving calling of his name,
'Joseph', through the still air.
Or perhaps of a newer name,
giving comfort and hope,
a son of the true Paraclete.
Perhaps it was of Paul,
perhaps of Sergius Paulus,
or of a life's circle,
ending where it had once begun.
But on Cyprus shores Barnabas
set down his knee to pray.
On Cyprus shores did Barnabas
beneath carob-tree kneel,
in his hand a script of good news
by publican written.
In Rome and Alexandria,
In Milan, in Cyprus,
in Antioch, Pamphylia,
in Lycaonia,
throughout all of Pisidia,
the word spoke with his voice.
All human words will fail and fade,
to silence someday fall;
one Word alone endures always
to bring comfort and hope.
Thus on Cyprus shores Barnabas
beneath carob-tree knelt.
On Cyprus shores did Barnabas
kneel down to pray and die.
On Cyprus shores did Barnabas
set down his knee to pray.
Perhaps his mind in memory
went back to mother's touch;
her loving calling of his name,
'Joseph', through the still air.
Or perhaps of a newer name,
giving comfort and hope,
a son of the true Paraclete.
Perhaps it was of Paul,
perhaps of Sergius Paulus,
or of a life's circle,
ending where it had once begun.
But on Cyprus shores Barnabas
set down his knee to pray.
On Cyprus shores did Barnabas
beneath carob-tree kneel,
in his hand a script of good news
by publican written.
In Rome and Alexandria,
In Milan, in Cyprus,
in Antioch, Pamphylia,
in Lycaonia,
throughout all of Pisidia,
the word spoke with his voice.
All human words will fail and fade,
to silence someday fall;
one Word alone endures always
to bring comfort and hope.
Thus on Cyprus shores Barnabas
beneath carob-tree knelt.
On Cyprus shores did Barnabas
kneel down to pray and die.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
The Moral Grandeur of Humility
We are finite, and the object of morality is infinite (the essence of being). We have, therefore, continually to strive hard to overcome our limitation by reaching out to the infinite. Now, this effort of a finite being to measure itself with the infinite, is extremely irksome; because it entails, as it were, a disruption of itself, breaking down in a certain way the limits within which created beings are inclosed. And since these limits are natural to it, the result is that it loves them, and is naturally loth to pass beyond them, from a feeling that by thus allowing itself to fall into, and be absorbed by, the infinite, its individuality would be lost, and in a manner annihilated. Hence the moral grandeur of the act of Christian HUMILITY, or the continual annihilation of oneself before the Infinite Being.
Bl. Antonio Rosmini, Theodicy, Volume 2, p. 216. I'm not completely certain, but I suspect a bit of Bérulle in the background, directly or indirectly; Oratorian spirituality placed a heavy emphasis on the importance of anéantissement or annihilatio before God; if so, Malebranche is possibly the channel for it, since Malebranche, of course, is an Oratorian, and Rosmini is quite familiar with his work.
Rosmini also goes on to make an interesting connection to Indian philosophy, quoting the Manava-dharma-sastra (Laws of Manu), saying that it tries to ontologize this basic moral idea; while he thinks, of course, that this is an error, he says that it is also "a truth in disguise".
Poem a Day X
Lovers of the Sunset
They who love the sunset are all lovers true and right;
the only gold they treasure is the gold of dying light
as the sun dips down its head like a bull for sacrifice.
Yea, who can love more purely than who loves the light that dies?
The children of the sunrise burst with splendor in the dawn;
they have no fear or trembling when the battle-lines are drawn.
But the lovers of the sunset fight with all, for never-again.
Yea, who can fight more truly than who fights for glory slain?
The brothers of the noon will always make their joyful vows,
the mothers of the midnight in their shadows dream and drowse,
but the lovers of the sunset dance on sure and splendid feet.
Yea, who can dance more truly than who knows the light is sweet?
They who love the sunset are all lovers true and right;
the only gold they treasure is the gold of dying light
as the sun dips down its head like a bull for sacrifice.
Yea, who can love more purely than who loves the light that dies?
The children of the sunrise burst with splendor in the dawn;
they have no fear or trembling when the battle-lines are drawn.
But the lovers of the sunset fight with all, for never-again.
Yea, who can fight more truly than who fights for glory slain?
The brothers of the noon will always make their joyful vows,
the mothers of the midnight in their shadows dream and drowse,
but the lovers of the sunset dance on sure and splendid feet.
Yea, who can dance more truly than who knows the light is sweet?
Tuesday, June 09, 2015
The Analects, Books VII-X
Book VII
Book VII continues with the method of profiles, but focuses more on Confucius himself. As always, the profile is built up by several different means, rather than only one. In this way we get a rounded view of the kind of teacher he was.
(1) What Master Kong did. At several points we get merely a brief statement of how Master Kong organized his life. He was relaxed during his leisure time (7.4); restrained in eating when around mourners (7.9); careful not to mix mourning and singing (7.10). He took care in matters involving fasting, war, and illness (7.13). He used the standard pronunciation rather than his own dialect in ritual and related contexts (7.18). He did not talk about "prodigies, force, disorders, or spirits" (7.21), but he took as the subjects of his teaching "culture, conduct, loyalty, and good faith" (7.25). He expressed his approach even in matters like fishing and archery (7.27) or singing (7.32). In all things he acted moderately (7.38).
(2) What Master Kong said of himself. He characterizes his approach as one of admiration of antiquity (7.1; 7.20). This is an attitude of perpetual discovery and teaching, and thus not one that can grow dull (7.2; 7.22; cp. 7.28); it is also an attitude of perpetual self-improvement (7.3). He will teach anyone, however poor (7.7; cp. 7.24, 7.29) and for himself, money is not itself especially important (7.12; 7.16). He expects his students, however, to use what he says as a starting-point for their own thought rather than simply stopping at his own words (7.8). He himself does not pretend to have reached the goal he seeks (7.17; 7.33; 7.34).
In addition, we get general comments that perhaps can be taken as reflecting on him as a teacher, perhaps as clarifying his goals (7.6; 7.26; 7.30; 7.37).
My favorite part of this book, though, is the story of the Minister of Crime of Chen (7.31). Asked by the Minister whether the Duke of Zhao understood appropriate action or rites (li), he affirms that he does, but later, talking to one of his students, remarks in his usual way about an obvious violation of the rites by the Duke of Zhao in the matter of marriage, saying that if he understood the rites, everyone does. However, word gets back, and Confucius wryly remarks, "I am fortunate. If I have faults, other people are certain to be aware of them."
Book VIII
Much of Book VIII seems to be concerned with the high standards of public service. It takes an appropriate balance and moderation (8.2, 8.10, 8.16), requires eliminating arrogance from oneself (8.11), and a focus on the Way (8.13). If we do not fill a given office, it is not our task to plan what it should do (8.14). The ancients provide proper role models in this task (8.1, 8.18, 8.19, 8.20, 8.21).
Book IX
We return to the profile of Confucius.
(1) What Master Kong did. He rarely spoke of profit, fate, or ren (9.1). He avoided presumption, over-certainty, inflexibility, and arrogance (9.4). He always showed respect to those in mourning, those engaging in proper ceremony, and the blind (9.10).
(2) What Master Kong said of himself. He fulfilled his ritual obligations by regard for the spirit of the rite (9.3). He is not one of the genuinely noble because his circumstances have not given him focus (9.6) and his many accomplishments are the result of not having been tried in office (9.7). He has, essentially, failed in his work (9.9). The reason for this seems to be expressed in the tale of the jade box (9.13): you should put your talents to work, but one can only wait for the appropriate opportunity to do so. One continues the work anyway, because that is what is in one's power (cp. 9.19), but sometimes, as with the early death of Confucius's best student, Hui, things simply intervene before you can complete it (9.21). He does not have true understanding, but if a question is raised, he does whatever he can to think it through (9.8).
A particularly interesting passage (9.24) perhaps perfectly sums up the scholar's path as presented in The Analects. It is not enough to concur with exemplary sayings, which anyone can do; one must use them in self-improvement. It is not enough to be pleased with benefits, which anyone can do; one must ask what they are being given for. This is essential to being someone who can genuinely learn.
Book X
Book X has a greater obvious coherence than most of the other sections of the work. Itfocuses heavily on acting in accordance with the rites. We get a detailed description of how Confucius approached various ritual situations (10.1-10.4), then an extended description of the noble man's approach to rites in general (10.5-10.6), before returning to smaller comments on how Confucius approached various ritual situations (10.7-10.19). (The final sayings in the book, 10.20-10.21, are garbled and nobody knows exactly what the original was supposed to say.)
There are several notable points. Master Kong was more concerned for people than for horses, despite the expense of the latter (10.11; cp. 10.16), and he was careful to act appropriately toward a ruler (10.12-10.14). When participating in temple rites, he asked questions so that he might understand everything (10.15).
to be continued
Book VII continues with the method of profiles, but focuses more on Confucius himself. As always, the profile is built up by several different means, rather than only one. In this way we get a rounded view of the kind of teacher he was.
(1) What Master Kong did. At several points we get merely a brief statement of how Master Kong organized his life. He was relaxed during his leisure time (7.4); restrained in eating when around mourners (7.9); careful not to mix mourning and singing (7.10). He took care in matters involving fasting, war, and illness (7.13). He used the standard pronunciation rather than his own dialect in ritual and related contexts (7.18). He did not talk about "prodigies, force, disorders, or spirits" (7.21), but he took as the subjects of his teaching "culture, conduct, loyalty, and good faith" (7.25). He expressed his approach even in matters like fishing and archery (7.27) or singing (7.32). In all things he acted moderately (7.38).
(2) What Master Kong said of himself. He characterizes his approach as one of admiration of antiquity (7.1; 7.20). This is an attitude of perpetual discovery and teaching, and thus not one that can grow dull (7.2; 7.22; cp. 7.28); it is also an attitude of perpetual self-improvement (7.3). He will teach anyone, however poor (7.7; cp. 7.24, 7.29) and for himself, money is not itself especially important (7.12; 7.16). He expects his students, however, to use what he says as a starting-point for their own thought rather than simply stopping at his own words (7.8). He himself does not pretend to have reached the goal he seeks (7.17; 7.33; 7.34).
In addition, we get general comments that perhaps can be taken as reflecting on him as a teacher, perhaps as clarifying his goals (7.6; 7.26; 7.30; 7.37).
My favorite part of this book, though, is the story of the Minister of Crime of Chen (7.31). Asked by the Minister whether the Duke of Zhao understood appropriate action or rites (li), he affirms that he does, but later, talking to one of his students, remarks in his usual way about an obvious violation of the rites by the Duke of Zhao in the matter of marriage, saying that if he understood the rites, everyone does. However, word gets back, and Confucius wryly remarks, "I am fortunate. If I have faults, other people are certain to be aware of them."
Book VIII
Much of Book VIII seems to be concerned with the high standards of public service. It takes an appropriate balance and moderation (8.2, 8.10, 8.16), requires eliminating arrogance from oneself (8.11), and a focus on the Way (8.13). If we do not fill a given office, it is not our task to plan what it should do (8.14). The ancients provide proper role models in this task (8.1, 8.18, 8.19, 8.20, 8.21).
Book IX
We return to the profile of Confucius.
(1) What Master Kong did. He rarely spoke of profit, fate, or ren (9.1). He avoided presumption, over-certainty, inflexibility, and arrogance (9.4). He always showed respect to those in mourning, those engaging in proper ceremony, and the blind (9.10).
(2) What Master Kong said of himself. He fulfilled his ritual obligations by regard for the spirit of the rite (9.3). He is not one of the genuinely noble because his circumstances have not given him focus (9.6) and his many accomplishments are the result of not having been tried in office (9.7). He has, essentially, failed in his work (9.9). The reason for this seems to be expressed in the tale of the jade box (9.13): you should put your talents to work, but one can only wait for the appropriate opportunity to do so. One continues the work anyway, because that is what is in one's power (cp. 9.19), but sometimes, as with the early death of Confucius's best student, Hui, things simply intervene before you can complete it (9.21). He does not have true understanding, but if a question is raised, he does whatever he can to think it through (9.8).
A particularly interesting passage (9.24) perhaps perfectly sums up the scholar's path as presented in The Analects. It is not enough to concur with exemplary sayings, which anyone can do; one must use them in self-improvement. It is not enough to be pleased with benefits, which anyone can do; one must ask what they are being given for. This is essential to being someone who can genuinely learn.
Book X
Book X has a greater obvious coherence than most of the other sections of the work. Itfocuses heavily on acting in accordance with the rites. We get a detailed description of how Confucius approached various ritual situations (10.1-10.4), then an extended description of the noble man's approach to rites in general (10.5-10.6), before returning to smaller comments on how Confucius approached various ritual situations (10.7-10.19). (The final sayings in the book, 10.20-10.21, are garbled and nobody knows exactly what the original was supposed to say.)
There are several notable points. Master Kong was more concerned for people than for horses, despite the expense of the latter (10.11; cp. 10.16), and he was careful to act appropriately toward a ruler (10.12-10.14). When participating in temple rites, he asked questions so that he might understand everything (10.15).
to be continued
Grace Purifies Sin
Today is the Feast of St. Ephrem the Syrian, Doctor of the Church. I thought that the following was a remarkable passage (from his Hymns on Virginity, no. 46), worth some serious reflection:
[Quoted in Seely Joseph Beggiani, Early Syriac Theology, Revised Edition, CUA Press (Washington, DC: 2014) 77-78.]
Liberty persuaded Adam to scorn his honor
when he wished to become god while he was a creature.
Grace purifies sin.
God came, made himself man to save humanity from perdition.
Behold the Son who purified the sin of the servant
and made him divine as he desired.
[Quoted in Seely Joseph Beggiani, Early Syriac Theology, Revised Edition, CUA Press (Washington, DC: 2014) 77-78.]
Poem a Day IX
Joy
No moment blessed by joy can ever wholly die,
for joy is of love, and love does not cry
except tears of joy; it is sun against night,
and flows across heaven, splendid in flight,
with flurry of glory and grace in its rush.
As dawn with its warmth resounds in the hush,
as brightness with brilliance falls like the rain,
the world is made new, and fertile with grain:
so, too, in joy's spring do not expect snow,
nor fury of tempest in storms that will blow,
but newness, and greenness, a verdure of youth,
that stands, as unconquered as unending truth.
No moment blessed by joy can ever wholly die,
for joy is of love, and love does not cry
except tears of joy; it is sun against night,
and flows across heaven, splendid in flight,
with flurry of glory and grace in its rush.
As dawn with its warmth resounds in the hush,
as brightness with brilliance falls like the rain,
the world is made new, and fertile with grain:
so, too, in joy's spring do not expect snow,
nor fury of tempest in storms that will blow,
but newness, and greenness, a verdure of youth,
that stands, as unconquered as unending truth.
Monday, June 08, 2015
Sui Juris Churches XIX: The Syriac Catholic Church
(on sui juris churches in general)
Liturgical Family: Antiochene
Primary Liturgical Language: Syriac (Christian Aramaic)
Juridical Status: Patriarchal
Approximate Population (to Nearest 10,000): 160,000
Brief History: A broadly pro-Rome party had existed in the Syrian Orthodox Church since the Crusades; in the seventeenth century a significant number began entering communion with Rome, in part due to the influence of Jesuit and Carmelite missionaries and in part due to the influence of the Maronites. In 1656 they decided to elect their own Patriarch, Andrew Akijan. Akijan himself, interestingly, seems to have been somewhat ambivalent about his election, and worried about whether the rites used by the Syrian Orthodox were acceptable; he was also bothered by the fact that he only had the faculties for the Maronite rite. He also seems to have been bothered by the sheer amount of opposition he faced. Rome supplied the authority to use a rite different from that of the Maronites, but it could not resolve the opposition. Akijan fled to Lebanon and was only reluctantly persuaded to return. However, his doing so led to a slow increase in the number of bishops and priests received into communion with Rome.
On its own this might not have done much, but in 1662, the Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate fell vacant, and the Synod elected Akijan as Patriarch in Aleppo. Even the Ottoman government, always wary of Western influence among churches in its territory, recognized him as such. Ironically, Rome had already opposed any such maneuver and was slower to give its own recognition; it only did so because the things was already accomplished and there was little to be done about it. Likewise, the anti-union party could do very little about the matter; Akijan was backed by both the Ottomans and the French, so active opposition, while it occasionally occurred, was politically perilous.
Akijan died, however, in 1677, and after his death Abdul Masih was elected, in part with support of the pro-Catholic party. However, Abdul Masih broke communion with Rome immediately, and thus the pro-Catholic party elected Gregory Peter Shahbaddin, his nephew. The Ottomans played each side against the other as it suited them politically; Shahbaddin was deposed and then re-installed several times. A few months after he was recognized for the fifth time by the Turks, Shahbaddin and quite a few others in the Catholic party were arrested, beaten, and imprisoned. Shahbaddin died in prison in 1702; the exact circumstances are not clear, but it is commonly thought that he was poisoned. The bishops elected a new Patriarch, who was confirmed by Rome, but he refused the title. The church continued, but without a Patriarch until the 1780s.
In 1781, several bishops of the pro-Catholic party got together to elect a Patriarch, and they chose Michael Jarweh. Jarweh was closely tied with the Melkites, and had attempted to convince both of his predecessors to unite with Rome. This had resulted in an imprisonment and then a series of flights to escape his opponents. Rome eventually confirmed this in 1783, and the Syriac Catholic Church again had a Patriarch. This did not go well in Aleppo, though, and Jarweh had to flee to Lebanon, where, helped by Maronites, he eventually located his See at the monastery of Al-Sharfah.
Times would not be easy. The French government had done an extraordinary amount to alleviate the persecution of Catholics in the Ottoman Empire, but this all came to an end with the French Revolution, and persecution picked up again in a massive way. In the 1830s, however, Ottoman government found itself in a weak position, and the French began pressing the cause of Catholics again. Rome was able to negotiate the official recognition of the Armenian Catholics. The advantages were mutual: official recognition would alleviate the persecution, and it would also mean that Catholics in Ottoman territory would no longer be attending Latin churches, a constant worry for the Ottomans, who constantly attempted to reduce foreign influence on those residing in their territory. Other Catholics pressed for similar recognition, and the Syriac Catholic Church received it in 1843. This made it possible for the Patriarchal See to shift to Mardin.
The church began to grow and expand. But dark days were around the corner. After World War I, the Turks began a massive persecution of Christians through their territory. The most brutal of these persecutions is what is usually known as the Armenian Genocide, but the Armenians were not the only group to be targeted; Christians of all kinds were attacked, and while the Syriac Catholic Church did not undergo quite the decimation that the Armenian Catholic Church did, it was a brutal time. The Patriarchal See was moved to Beirut. It has since been slowly growing.
Notable Saints: There are a number of victims of the Assyrian Genocide, like Blessed Flavianus Michael Malki, who have a good chance of being raised to the universal calendar.
Notable Monuments: The Cathedral of Our Lady of Annunciation in Beirut; the Monastery of Al-Sharfeh (or Al-Charfet); the church of Santa Maria della Concezione in Rome.
Extent of Official Jurisdiction: The Patriarchal See in Beirut; two metropolitan archeparchies in Syria; four archeparchies in Syria and Iraq; three eparchies in Lebanon, Egypt, and North America; an apostolic exarchate in Venezuela; three patriarchal exarchates and a patriarchal territory. (Sphere of influence always extends beyond the official jurisdiction due to members of the church living outside of any official jurisdiction of the church.)
Online Sources and Resources:
http://www.cnewa.org/
http://www.syriaccatholicchurch.com/
http://syr-cath.org/
Liturgical Family: Antiochene
Primary Liturgical Language: Syriac (Christian Aramaic)
Juridical Status: Patriarchal
Approximate Population (to Nearest 10,000): 160,000
Brief History: A broadly pro-Rome party had existed in the Syrian Orthodox Church since the Crusades; in the seventeenth century a significant number began entering communion with Rome, in part due to the influence of Jesuit and Carmelite missionaries and in part due to the influence of the Maronites. In 1656 they decided to elect their own Patriarch, Andrew Akijan. Akijan himself, interestingly, seems to have been somewhat ambivalent about his election, and worried about whether the rites used by the Syrian Orthodox were acceptable; he was also bothered by the fact that he only had the faculties for the Maronite rite. He also seems to have been bothered by the sheer amount of opposition he faced. Rome supplied the authority to use a rite different from that of the Maronites, but it could not resolve the opposition. Akijan fled to Lebanon and was only reluctantly persuaded to return. However, his doing so led to a slow increase in the number of bishops and priests received into communion with Rome.
On its own this might not have done much, but in 1662, the Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate fell vacant, and the Synod elected Akijan as Patriarch in Aleppo. Even the Ottoman government, always wary of Western influence among churches in its territory, recognized him as such. Ironically, Rome had already opposed any such maneuver and was slower to give its own recognition; it only did so because the things was already accomplished and there was little to be done about it. Likewise, the anti-union party could do very little about the matter; Akijan was backed by both the Ottomans and the French, so active opposition, while it occasionally occurred, was politically perilous.
Akijan died, however, in 1677, and after his death Abdul Masih was elected, in part with support of the pro-Catholic party. However, Abdul Masih broke communion with Rome immediately, and thus the pro-Catholic party elected Gregory Peter Shahbaddin, his nephew. The Ottomans played each side against the other as it suited them politically; Shahbaddin was deposed and then re-installed several times. A few months after he was recognized for the fifth time by the Turks, Shahbaddin and quite a few others in the Catholic party were arrested, beaten, and imprisoned. Shahbaddin died in prison in 1702; the exact circumstances are not clear, but it is commonly thought that he was poisoned. The bishops elected a new Patriarch, who was confirmed by Rome, but he refused the title. The church continued, but without a Patriarch until the 1780s.
In 1781, several bishops of the pro-Catholic party got together to elect a Patriarch, and they chose Michael Jarweh. Jarweh was closely tied with the Melkites, and had attempted to convince both of his predecessors to unite with Rome. This had resulted in an imprisonment and then a series of flights to escape his opponents. Rome eventually confirmed this in 1783, and the Syriac Catholic Church again had a Patriarch. This did not go well in Aleppo, though, and Jarweh had to flee to Lebanon, where, helped by Maronites, he eventually located his See at the monastery of Al-Sharfah.
Times would not be easy. The French government had done an extraordinary amount to alleviate the persecution of Catholics in the Ottoman Empire, but this all came to an end with the French Revolution, and persecution picked up again in a massive way. In the 1830s, however, Ottoman government found itself in a weak position, and the French began pressing the cause of Catholics again. Rome was able to negotiate the official recognition of the Armenian Catholics. The advantages were mutual: official recognition would alleviate the persecution, and it would also mean that Catholics in Ottoman territory would no longer be attending Latin churches, a constant worry for the Ottomans, who constantly attempted to reduce foreign influence on those residing in their territory. Other Catholics pressed for similar recognition, and the Syriac Catholic Church received it in 1843. This made it possible for the Patriarchal See to shift to Mardin.
The church began to grow and expand. But dark days were around the corner. After World War I, the Turks began a massive persecution of Christians through their territory. The most brutal of these persecutions is what is usually known as the Armenian Genocide, but the Armenians were not the only group to be targeted; Christians of all kinds were attacked, and while the Syriac Catholic Church did not undergo quite the decimation that the Armenian Catholic Church did, it was a brutal time. The Patriarchal See was moved to Beirut. It has since been slowly growing.
Notable Saints: There are a number of victims of the Assyrian Genocide, like Blessed Flavianus Michael Malki, who have a good chance of being raised to the universal calendar.
Notable Monuments: The Cathedral of Our Lady of Annunciation in Beirut; the Monastery of Al-Sharfeh (or Al-Charfet); the church of Santa Maria della Concezione in Rome.
Extent of Official Jurisdiction: The Patriarchal See in Beirut; two metropolitan archeparchies in Syria; four archeparchies in Syria and Iraq; three eparchies in Lebanon, Egypt, and North America; an apostolic exarchate in Venezuela; three patriarchal exarchates and a patriarchal territory. (Sphere of influence always extends beyond the official jurisdiction due to members of the church living outside of any official jurisdiction of the church.)
Online Sources and Resources:
http://www.cnewa.org/
http://www.syriaccatholicchurch.com/
http://syr-cath.org/
Poem a Day VIII
Lunacy
The moon is maddening with its light --
O moon, I beg you, madden me! --
and casting shadows through the night
upon the cresting sands of shore,
now battered by the rumbling roar
of night, that tumbles like the sea.
In shadows, dark as depth of cave,
I'll dwell as though at hearth and home,
and dip my fingers in the foam
which moonlight sends upon the wave!
The moon is maddening with its light --
O moon, I beg you, madden me! --
and casting shadows through the night
upon the cresting sands of shore,
now battered by the rumbling roar
of night, that tumbles like the sea.
In shadows, dark as depth of cave,
I'll dwell as though at hearth and home,
and dip my fingers in the foam
which moonlight sends upon the wave!
Sunday, June 07, 2015
Fortnightly Book, June 7
After Eco, I want something a little less involved and faster-paced, so I am going with something by Gaston Leroux. Leroux's two most famous works are The Mystery of the Yellow Room, the most famous locked-room mystery novel of all time, and The Phantom of the Opera. The second will be the next fortnightly book.
Le Fantôme de l'Opéra was originally serialized in 1909 and 1910; it is based on both the history and legend of the actual Paris Opera House, although, of course, with plenty of literary license thrown in. Its popularity was quite extensive, but it became world famous with the 1925 production of the silent movie, The Phantom of the Opera. Multiple other adaptations followed, of varying quality. In 1986, of course, we got the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.
Looking around, it looks like there were two classic radio adaptations, from Lux Radio Theater and CBS Mystery Theater, so I might compare them if I have the time.
Le Fantôme de l'Opéra was originally serialized in 1909 and 1910; it is based on both the history and legend of the actual Paris Opera House, although, of course, with plenty of literary license thrown in. Its popularity was quite extensive, but it became world famous with the 1925 production of the silent movie, The Phantom of the Opera. Multiple other adaptations followed, of varying quality. In 1986, of course, we got the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.
Looking around, it looks like there were two classic radio adaptations, from Lux Radio Theater and CBS Mystery Theater, so I might compare them if I have the time.
Poem a Day VII
Cold and Empty Rooms
I walked through cold and empty rooms.
The dust was in the air, and sunlight chill
at times would pierce with ray the stuffy gloom
and slide across the floor to touch the wall,
as all the little flecks like drunkards wheeled,
like dancing debutantes at silent ball.
My footsteps echoed, muffled, in the calm;
I walked through cold and empty rooms.
I felt like ancient monk in fast and alm
preparing prayer in the vesper gloam
each breath writ in the air like chanted neume
that rises from the pilgrim seeking home.
Through endless rooms I wandered, dreading doom,
as cold took up my breath like sudden smoke.
I walked through cold and empty rooms,
through endless doors, as though some heavy yoke
were on my shoulders, as though disaster loomed.
To give my heart some strength I softly spoke.
"See how these quiet rooms, this endless maze,
with boundless silence waits in tranquil sloom
and does not count the years, or months, or days,
as if I could for lifetimes through it roam."
I walked through cold and empty rooms;
they did not hear, nor care for what I'd say.
As cemetery sounds seem fraught with sense,
as heavy seems the air once stained with crime,
I felt a weight invisible, immense:
The footfall soft seemed like some drum of doom,
the ruthless, steady metronome of time:
I walked through cold and empty rooms.
I walked through cold and empty rooms.
The dust was in the air, and sunlight chill
at times would pierce with ray the stuffy gloom
and slide across the floor to touch the wall,
as all the little flecks like drunkards wheeled,
like dancing debutantes at silent ball.
My footsteps echoed, muffled, in the calm;
I walked through cold and empty rooms.
I felt like ancient monk in fast and alm
preparing prayer in the vesper gloam
each breath writ in the air like chanted neume
that rises from the pilgrim seeking home.
Through endless rooms I wandered, dreading doom,
as cold took up my breath like sudden smoke.
I walked through cold and empty rooms,
through endless doors, as though some heavy yoke
were on my shoulders, as though disaster loomed.
To give my heart some strength I softly spoke.
"See how these quiet rooms, this endless maze,
with boundless silence waits in tranquil sloom
and does not count the years, or months, or days,
as if I could for lifetimes through it roam."
I walked through cold and empty rooms;
they did not hear, nor care for what I'd say.
As cemetery sounds seem fraught with sense,
as heavy seems the air once stained with crime,
I felt a weight invisible, immense:
The footfall soft seemed like some drum of doom,
the ruthless, steady metronome of time:
I walked through cold and empty rooms.
Saturday, June 06, 2015
Umberto Eco, The Island of the Day Before
Introduction
Opening Passage:
Summary: Roberto della Griva, a spy for Cardinal Mazarin trying to discover the details of a secret experiment for determining longitude, survives a shipwreck and finds himself cast up on a deserted ship anchored a way from an Island that is visible in the distance; but he cannot reach the Island because he is unable to swim. He will eventually meet up with Father Caspar Wanderdrossel, a German Jesuit, who is also castaway. They reason that they have actually reached the antipodal meridian, and that between the ship and the Island runs what we would call the International Date Line. Thus the title, of course: the Island is separated not just by space but by the fact that it exists in the day before. This gets us quite a few amusing bits, as when Father Caspar explains how God got all the water for the Flood, namely, by getting all the water across the line, thus adding to the oceans all of yesterday's ocean-water. A bizarrely mechanical and overly ingenious explanation, perhaps, but ingenious device and machination -- whether literal or metaphorical -- are major themes of the work.
For Roberto della Griva is the seventeenth century, and the novel is actually an exploration of the seventeenth century, the age that gets us to where we ourselves are. All of the seventeenth century comes before us, albeit in a jumbled form and not always named, in Roberto's increasing delirium aboard his deserted ship. We see the rise of modern astronomy and engineering and even the literary form of the novel. Kenelm Digby, Emanuele Tesauro, the great Jesuit scientists, Galileo Galilei, Rene Descartes, Blaise Pascal, Benedict Spinoza, all make some kind of appearance, just to give a small selection. And the seventeenth century can indeed be summed up in the Idea of the Machine: machines like clocks, the world as machine, the human being as machine, politics as machine, science as understanding of machines, and, most comprehensive of all, the attempt to reduce ingenuity, whether human or divine, to machine. The problem with this Baroque mentality, of course, is threefold: there always seems some residue of ingenuity that cannot be captured, the human ingenuity that is captured can never anticipate the full surprise of the world, and something always seems irretrievably lost in the attempt to capture ingenuity as a machine in the first place. All of the burgeoning technology and scientific discovery of the early modern period, and the Island is always just out of reach. Even the idea of the Island is in a sense out of reach; with its endless promise of providing the Fixed Point of the World, and the theological resonances of the mysterious Flame Dove, it is a medieval idea. The machines of the seventeenth century can never reach the promise of the day before. TRUTH, all capitals and glory, is a medieval notion. And the attempts to reach that Island get crazier and crazier until the Island has to be located on the other side of death itself.
One of the difficulties of the novel is that, despite its novelistic conventions and pretensions, it repeatedly verges very near allegory. This, I think, is a way in which the work is weaker as a novel than The Name of the Rose and Foucault's Pendulum. All three novels involve an implicit critique. The Name of the Rose put into question the idea that there was the sort of objective order to the world that the great medieval minds assumed there was. But it showed the divine, living beauty of that assumption, shining through despite all of human corruption and failing. The Island of the Day Before puts into question the idea that the rise of the modern age could reach the order of the world -- and we get so tangled up in the endless machinations of the age that Roberto and his contemporaries just look crazy. Foucault's Pendulum dealt with the same sort of incoherence in the modern age, but it showed us the human fascination of that 'psychosis of resemblances'. The Island of the Day Before gives us the incoherence of the age without all that much of its fascination. The characters never seem to stand out as more than allegorical representations, figures in a tableau, or (at best) goofy caricatures. Ironically, given the importance of the idea of the novel or romance to the story, tying everything together (as Descartes, in presenting his scientific ideas to the world, presented them explicitly as a kind of romance so as not to commit himself to the claim that they were True, and as the notion of progress can be seen as imposing the conventions of a novel on history), the book is the least successful of the three as a novel. Like the Baroque period it represents, it gets so caught up in ingenious representation and device that it is difficult to see it as anything other than highly artificial.
Nonetheless, this is Umberto Eco, and the ingenuity is a real ingenuity; the gimmicks are genuinely clever and the sheer torrent of images he pours into the book gives it a richness most novels lack. There are many charming episodes, many lovely passages, and genuine stretches of fun. It's just that the incoherence of the rise of what we call the modern age defeats even Eco's extraordinarily ingenious attempts to turn it into a coherent story that works as a story. Everything breaks down into a barely comprehensible delirium. The reader could very well be forgiven for concluding from the tale that in the post-medieval period the lunatics took over the asylum.
Favorite Passage:
Recommendation: Recommended, unquestionably, although, as everyone says, The Name of the Rose and Foucault's Pendulum are both better. I have to give kudos to William Weaver's translation, though; it is quite as good as we got with the other works.
-----
Quotations from Umberto Eco, The Island of the Day Before, William Weaver, tr., Harcourt Brace & Company (New York: 1995).
Opening Passage:
I take pride withal in my humiliation, and as I am to this privilege condemned, almost I find joy in an abhorrent salvation; I am, I believe, alone of all our race, the only man in human memory to have been shipwrecked and cast up upon a deserted ship.
Thus, with unabashed conceits, wrote Roberto della Griva presumably in July or August of 1643.
Summary: Roberto della Griva, a spy for Cardinal Mazarin trying to discover the details of a secret experiment for determining longitude, survives a shipwreck and finds himself cast up on a deserted ship anchored a way from an Island that is visible in the distance; but he cannot reach the Island because he is unable to swim. He will eventually meet up with Father Caspar Wanderdrossel, a German Jesuit, who is also castaway. They reason that they have actually reached the antipodal meridian, and that between the ship and the Island runs what we would call the International Date Line. Thus the title, of course: the Island is separated not just by space but by the fact that it exists in the day before. This gets us quite a few amusing bits, as when Father Caspar explains how God got all the water for the Flood, namely, by getting all the water across the line, thus adding to the oceans all of yesterday's ocean-water. A bizarrely mechanical and overly ingenious explanation, perhaps, but ingenious device and machination -- whether literal or metaphorical -- are major themes of the work.
For Roberto della Griva is the seventeenth century, and the novel is actually an exploration of the seventeenth century, the age that gets us to where we ourselves are. All of the seventeenth century comes before us, albeit in a jumbled form and not always named, in Roberto's increasing delirium aboard his deserted ship. We see the rise of modern astronomy and engineering and even the literary form of the novel. Kenelm Digby, Emanuele Tesauro, the great Jesuit scientists, Galileo Galilei, Rene Descartes, Blaise Pascal, Benedict Spinoza, all make some kind of appearance, just to give a small selection. And the seventeenth century can indeed be summed up in the Idea of the Machine: machines like clocks, the world as machine, the human being as machine, politics as machine, science as understanding of machines, and, most comprehensive of all, the attempt to reduce ingenuity, whether human or divine, to machine. The problem with this Baroque mentality, of course, is threefold: there always seems some residue of ingenuity that cannot be captured, the human ingenuity that is captured can never anticipate the full surprise of the world, and something always seems irretrievably lost in the attempt to capture ingenuity as a machine in the first place. All of the burgeoning technology and scientific discovery of the early modern period, and the Island is always just out of reach. Even the idea of the Island is in a sense out of reach; with its endless promise of providing the Fixed Point of the World, and the theological resonances of the mysterious Flame Dove, it is a medieval idea. The machines of the seventeenth century can never reach the promise of the day before. TRUTH, all capitals and glory, is a medieval notion. And the attempts to reach that Island get crazier and crazier until the Island has to be located on the other side of death itself.
One of the difficulties of the novel is that, despite its novelistic conventions and pretensions, it repeatedly verges very near allegory. This, I think, is a way in which the work is weaker as a novel than The Name of the Rose and Foucault's Pendulum. All three novels involve an implicit critique. The Name of the Rose put into question the idea that there was the sort of objective order to the world that the great medieval minds assumed there was. But it showed the divine, living beauty of that assumption, shining through despite all of human corruption and failing. The Island of the Day Before puts into question the idea that the rise of the modern age could reach the order of the world -- and we get so tangled up in the endless machinations of the age that Roberto and his contemporaries just look crazy. Foucault's Pendulum dealt with the same sort of incoherence in the modern age, but it showed us the human fascination of that 'psychosis of resemblances'. The Island of the Day Before gives us the incoherence of the age without all that much of its fascination. The characters never seem to stand out as more than allegorical representations, figures in a tableau, or (at best) goofy caricatures. Ironically, given the importance of the idea of the novel or romance to the story, tying everything together (as Descartes, in presenting his scientific ideas to the world, presented them explicitly as a kind of romance so as not to commit himself to the claim that they were True, and as the notion of progress can be seen as imposing the conventions of a novel on history), the book is the least successful of the three as a novel. Like the Baroque period it represents, it gets so caught up in ingenious representation and device that it is difficult to see it as anything other than highly artificial.
Nonetheless, this is Umberto Eco, and the ingenuity is a real ingenuity; the gimmicks are genuinely clever and the sheer torrent of images he pours into the book gives it a richness most novels lack. There are many charming episodes, many lovely passages, and genuine stretches of fun. It's just that the incoherence of the rise of what we call the modern age defeats even Eco's extraordinarily ingenious attempts to turn it into a coherent story that works as a story. Everything breaks down into a barely comprehensible delirium. The reader could very well be forgiven for concluding from the tale that in the post-medieval period the lunatics took over the asylum.
Favorite Passage:
But it was on that occasion, Father Caspar assured Roberto, that Noah and his family rediscovered the language Adam had spoken in Eden, which his sons had forgotten after the Fall, and which the descendants of Noah would almost all lose on the day of the great confusion of Babel, except the heirs of Gomer, who carried it into the forests of the north, where the German people faithfully preserved it. Only the German language--the obsessed Father Caspar now shouted in his native tongue--"redet mit der Zunge, donnert mit dem himmel, blitzet mit den schnellen Wolken," or, as he inventively continued, mixing the harsh sounds of different idioms, only German speaks the tongue of Nature, "blitzes with the Clouds, brumms with the Stag, gruntzes with the Schweine, zlides with the Eel, miaus with the Katz, schnatters with the Gandern, quackers with the Dux, klukken with the hen, clappers with the Schwan, kraka with the Ravfen, schwirrs with the Hirundin!" And in the end he was hoarse from his babelizing, and Roberto was convinced that the true language of Adam, rediscovered with the Flood, flourished only in the lands of the Holy Roman Emperor. (269-270)
Recommendation: Recommended, unquestionably, although, as everyone says, The Name of the Rose and Foucault's Pendulum are both better. I have to give kudos to William Weaver's translation, though; it is quite as good as we got with the other works.
-----
Quotations from Umberto Eco, The Island of the Day Before, William Weaver, tr., Harcourt Brace & Company (New York: 1995).
Fallacies and the Appearance Condition
Hans Hansen has a good discussion of fallacies at the SEP. One of the sections discusses what Hansen calls the 'appearance condition', namely, that to be a fallacy an argumentative error must have a semblance of correctness. This is one of the fundamental ideas of fallacy theory, going back to Aristotle himself, but it has received some pushback more recently as being too psychological. Hansen notes that two reasons to keep it:
(1) "It can be part of explanations of why reasonable people make mistakes in arguments or argumentation: it may be due in part to an argument’s appearing to be better than it really is."
(2) "The appearance condition also serves to divide mistakes into those that are trivial or the result of carelessness for which there is no cure other than paying better attention, and those which we need to learn to detect through increased knowledge of their seductive nature."
But these are both 'psychological' in the sense the critics mean, important as they in fact are. There are other reasons why the appearance condition is important, and at least one of these is, I think, a more direct answer to the claim that the appearance condition is too much a matter of psychology and subjective appearance: namely, that it is not psychological at all. Discussions of the mask of the sophism or the misleading character of the argument have rarely been conducted in terms focusing on psychological states. Rather, the appearance condition is concerned with the relation the fallacy has to other arguments.
This can be of importance in several ways. For instance, a common way of thinking about fallacies is to suggest that they are argument forms, or things purporting to be argument forms, that fall short of a standard of correctness. All well and good, but there are endlessly many standards of correctness one might have in reasoning. Even formal fallacies don't all answer to one standard, since (for instance) formal fallacies for a propositional logic are not necessarily the same as formal fallacies for a term logic. It's one of the first lessons anyone gets in validity that an argument may be invalid in one way and yet still be valid according to a more appropriate way of determining validity. We usually just check which standard of correctness to use by looking at which common standard would make the argument a good one -- but fallacies aren't made good arguments, or they wouldn't be fallacies. So how do we determine which standard of correctness is most appropriate for understanding the fallacy itself? By the relation of the fallacies to arguments that are correct under various standards. And, indeed, how does anyone actually study fallacies? By comparing them to good arguments. To be recognizable as a fallacy, the fallacy must be 'groupable' with good arguments in some way.
The appearance condition is thus a classification requirement, and it simply tells us, in practical terms, that we should understand fallacies by determining the relation of the fallacy to arguments that are good and correct. Analyzing an error requires recognizing what it falls short of; and that by its nature is equivalent to identifying what standard to which it 'appears', but fails, to conform. Conceivably this could involve some kind of psychological approach, but when one recognizes that the formal fallacy of denying the antecedent has the 'appearance of correctness' of being grouped with modus tollens and modus ponens, this is not a psychological matter at all: one can identify precisely the purely logical features involved. Thus the objection goes astray from the beginning.
(1) "It can be part of explanations of why reasonable people make mistakes in arguments or argumentation: it may be due in part to an argument’s appearing to be better than it really is."
(2) "The appearance condition also serves to divide mistakes into those that are trivial or the result of carelessness for which there is no cure other than paying better attention, and those which we need to learn to detect through increased knowledge of their seductive nature."
But these are both 'psychological' in the sense the critics mean, important as they in fact are. There are other reasons why the appearance condition is important, and at least one of these is, I think, a more direct answer to the claim that the appearance condition is too much a matter of psychology and subjective appearance: namely, that it is not psychological at all. Discussions of the mask of the sophism or the misleading character of the argument have rarely been conducted in terms focusing on psychological states. Rather, the appearance condition is concerned with the relation the fallacy has to other arguments.
This can be of importance in several ways. For instance, a common way of thinking about fallacies is to suggest that they are argument forms, or things purporting to be argument forms, that fall short of a standard of correctness. All well and good, but there are endlessly many standards of correctness one might have in reasoning. Even formal fallacies don't all answer to one standard, since (for instance) formal fallacies for a propositional logic are not necessarily the same as formal fallacies for a term logic. It's one of the first lessons anyone gets in validity that an argument may be invalid in one way and yet still be valid according to a more appropriate way of determining validity. We usually just check which standard of correctness to use by looking at which common standard would make the argument a good one -- but fallacies aren't made good arguments, or they wouldn't be fallacies. So how do we determine which standard of correctness is most appropriate for understanding the fallacy itself? By the relation of the fallacies to arguments that are correct under various standards. And, indeed, how does anyone actually study fallacies? By comparing them to good arguments. To be recognizable as a fallacy, the fallacy must be 'groupable' with good arguments in some way.
The appearance condition is thus a classification requirement, and it simply tells us, in practical terms, that we should understand fallacies by determining the relation of the fallacy to arguments that are good and correct. Analyzing an error requires recognizing what it falls short of; and that by its nature is equivalent to identifying what standard to which it 'appears', but fails, to conform. Conceivably this could involve some kind of psychological approach, but when one recognizes that the formal fallacy of denying the antecedent has the 'appearance of correctness' of being grouped with modus tollens and modus ponens, this is not a psychological matter at all: one can identify precisely the purely logical features involved. Thus the objection goes astray from the beginning.
Poem a Day VI
Highway
The cars go sailing past us;
the roar along the roadway
makes a thrumming, rumbling noise
from which we can never hide.
Always furious with speed,
driven by some inner need
to race beyond the ruthless tide
from which we can never hide.
The cars go sailing past us;
the roar along the roadway
makes a thrumming, rumbling noise
from which we can never hide.
Always furious with speed,
driven by some inner need
to race beyond the ruthless tide
from which we can never hide.
Friday, June 05, 2015
The Analects, Books IV-VI
Book IV
Much of Book IV is concerned with humanity to oneself and others (ren). We should live in that social setting that allows us to cultivate it (4.1). It gives one stability regardless of the circumstances (4.2; 4.5). Setting one's heart on humanity is the way to be without evil (4.4); but it is a high standard because, as Confucius says, he has never come across anyone who truly did, although no doubt they exist somewhere (4.6).
But what is clearly the major message of the book is repeated multiple times: The noble focus on the good and right and not on profit (4.10; 4.11; 4.12; 4.16).
Book V
Book V conveys its themes by having Confucius focus on people. We start out with comments about the men to whom Master Kong married his daughter and his niece (5.1; 5.2). Then we have Master Kong teaching by way of his evaluation of students: his compliments for several (5.3; 5.4; 5.9), his defense of another (5.5), his pleasure at the response of another (5.6), his criticisms of others (5.7; 5.8; 5.10; 5.12). He comments on other people to his students (5.15; 5.16; 5.17; 5.18; 5.19; 5.20; 5.21; 5.22; 5.23;. 5.24; 5.25). And he also talks of himself (5.26; 5.28). In a sense we can think of Confucius as doing ethics by building up profiles: the profile of the noble man or gentleman, the profile of the petty man, and the various ways in which different people approach the one or the other. One advantage of doing ethics this way comes up a lot in The Analects: it makes it easier to avoid confusing different kinds of character traits and practices (e.g., 5.19).
Book VI
The emphasis on persons begun in Book V continues into Book VI. We get three highly praised students, Yong, Hui, and Boniu (6.1; 6.3; 6.7; 6.10; 6.11) and more complex commentary on the students (6.6; 6.8). We also get Confucius's active concern for his students (6.10; 6.14) and his advice for others (6.12; 6.13).
We also get more general commentary on moral character, particularly humanity (ren). We get the contrast between wisdom and humanity (6.22; 6.23; and perhaps 6.26). Confucius also remarks on the absurdity of not focusing on moral life (6.17; 6.19; 6.24; and perhaps 6.25).
to be continued
Much of Book IV is concerned with humanity to oneself and others (ren). We should live in that social setting that allows us to cultivate it (4.1). It gives one stability regardless of the circumstances (4.2; 4.5). Setting one's heart on humanity is the way to be without evil (4.4); but it is a high standard because, as Confucius says, he has never come across anyone who truly did, although no doubt they exist somewhere (4.6).
But what is clearly the major message of the book is repeated multiple times: The noble focus on the good and right and not on profit (4.10; 4.11; 4.12; 4.16).
Book V
Book V conveys its themes by having Confucius focus on people. We start out with comments about the men to whom Master Kong married his daughter and his niece (5.1; 5.2). Then we have Master Kong teaching by way of his evaluation of students: his compliments for several (5.3; 5.4; 5.9), his defense of another (5.5), his pleasure at the response of another (5.6), his criticisms of others (5.7; 5.8; 5.10; 5.12). He comments on other people to his students (5.15; 5.16; 5.17; 5.18; 5.19; 5.20; 5.21; 5.22; 5.23;. 5.24; 5.25). And he also talks of himself (5.26; 5.28). In a sense we can think of Confucius as doing ethics by building up profiles: the profile of the noble man or gentleman, the profile of the petty man, and the various ways in which different people approach the one or the other. One advantage of doing ethics this way comes up a lot in The Analects: it makes it easier to avoid confusing different kinds of character traits and practices (e.g., 5.19).
Book VI
The emphasis on persons begun in Book V continues into Book VI. We get three highly praised students, Yong, Hui, and Boniu (6.1; 6.3; 6.7; 6.10; 6.11) and more complex commentary on the students (6.6; 6.8). We also get Confucius's active concern for his students (6.10; 6.14) and his advice for others (6.12; 6.13).
We also get more general commentary on moral character, particularly humanity (ren). We get the contrast between wisdom and humanity (6.22; 6.23; and perhaps 6.26). Confucius also remarks on the absurdity of not focusing on moral life (6.17; 6.19; 6.24; and perhaps 6.25).
to be continued
Poem a Day V
Puppies
Loyal,
leaping, rolling,
wagging, waggish, drolling,
all the universe extolling,
royal as they play.
Loyal,
leaping, rolling,
wagging, waggish, drolling,
all the universe extolling,
royal as they play.
Thursday, June 04, 2015
Thursday Virtue: Chastity
Chastity as such was relatively little discussed in the ancient and medieval periods; it gets mentioned, but most discussion that can be recognized as being in some way about chastity is focused on particular practical issues in specific social contexts -- consecrated virginity and marriage being the most common contexts. To find any extended discussion of chastity as such, rather than chaste actions, one must look at those who were deliberately trying to be very thorough.
Aquinas, of course, takes chastity to be a subjective part of temperance (2-2.143.1). Temperance is often the most difficult of the cardinal virtues to pin down because it only draws hard and fast lines at the extremes; this is because it is concerned primarily with restraint in matters of pleasure in order to promote beauty and avoid shamefulness in action. Like all cardinal virtues, Aquinas assigns it 'parts'. Subjective parts are just versions of the same virtue with a specific matter -- in this case, quite obviously, the matter is sexual pleasure. Everybody recognizes that the pursuit of sexual pleasure must be moderated in light of what is reasonable; thus it is clear that there would have to be some virtue of moderation with respect it (2-2.151.1). It's important to grasp that chastity understood in this sense does not concern sex alone; it concerns all things relevant to the pursuit of sexual pleasure, because moderation in that pursuit requires attention to all the major circumstances of the pursuit. So it also pertains to kissing, hugging, and the like, which can function as signs and circumstances of the pursuit of sexual pleasure.
The question arises, of course, of how chastity relates to virginity, which involves abstention from sexual pleasure (2-2.152). Virginity in the proper sense is a virtue, because it is not mere abstention from sexual pleasure but abstention in order more perfectly to fulfill a higher purpose, namely, in order to contemplate truth. (Aquinas says quite explicitly that abstention from sex solely out of aversion to sex is the action of a vice, namely, the vice of insensibility.) So how is virginity related to chastity? Aquinas says that virginity is to chastity as magnificence is to liberality, so his answer requires a brief detour through those virtues.
Liberality (2-2.117), a potential part of justice, is the virtue concerned with making good use of one's wealth; there are two ways one may do this, namely, by spending it an appropriate way or by giving it for the good of others, but the latter is the more perfect expression of the virtue. Magnificence (2-2.134), a potential part of fortitude, is the virtue concerned with accomplishing great works with one's wealth. One cannot have the virtue as such without the money it would take actually to accomplish a virtue; but it is inseparably linked to liberality in that the truly liberal person will either be actually magnificent (if the money is at hand) or have a proximate disposition to being so (if it is not). Note, incidentally, that the line is merely the material resources required to do great things, which one then does, not how much money one has. What distinguishes the two is that magnificence adds a special excellence to that of liberality, namely the notion of something difficult to achieve (which is why it ends up as a potential part of fortitude despite being so closely linked with a potential part of justice). Liberality provides the formal part of magnificence; but magnificence as such requires a material element that liberality does not automatically provide. Because of this, magnificence has the quirk that if you lose it, repentance can restore the 'formal part', i.e., liberality, but it cannot guarantee that you will get the 'material part' back -- merely repenting will not increase your bank account, or, one supposes, repenting would be much more popular than it is. However there is a further quirk in that virtues are only lost by actions pertaining to vices; if you have lost your money through no fault of your own, you have not lost the disposition to use your wealth in a magnificent way, but simply lost the opportunity to do so, like someone cut off from his funds; to lose magnificence requires acting miserly.
Likewise, virginity, taken as a virtue, adds to chastity a special excellence, the integrity of the flesh for a higher purpose, which can be considered a sort of 'great work' of temperance. Thus virginity requires more than being chaste, but one who is genuinely chaste, whether as married or as widow, has a character such that it would be disposed to the virtue were that appropriate. Just like magnificence, virginity gets its formal part from chastity but adds to it an additional material excellence; thus if one loses it (the virtue, not physical virginity) one cannot be guaranteed to get the virtue back. However, if one loses one's physical virginity through no fault of one's own, as has happened all too often in history through rape, one still has the virginal disposition, and thus the virtue of virginity; that can only be lost by unchaste acts.
Aquinas, of course, takes chastity to be a subjective part of temperance (2-2.143.1). Temperance is often the most difficult of the cardinal virtues to pin down because it only draws hard and fast lines at the extremes; this is because it is concerned primarily with restraint in matters of pleasure in order to promote beauty and avoid shamefulness in action. Like all cardinal virtues, Aquinas assigns it 'parts'. Subjective parts are just versions of the same virtue with a specific matter -- in this case, quite obviously, the matter is sexual pleasure. Everybody recognizes that the pursuit of sexual pleasure must be moderated in light of what is reasonable; thus it is clear that there would have to be some virtue of moderation with respect it (2-2.151.1). It's important to grasp that chastity understood in this sense does not concern sex alone; it concerns all things relevant to the pursuit of sexual pleasure, because moderation in that pursuit requires attention to all the major circumstances of the pursuit. So it also pertains to kissing, hugging, and the like, which can function as signs and circumstances of the pursuit of sexual pleasure.
The question arises, of course, of how chastity relates to virginity, which involves abstention from sexual pleasure (2-2.152). Virginity in the proper sense is a virtue, because it is not mere abstention from sexual pleasure but abstention in order more perfectly to fulfill a higher purpose, namely, in order to contemplate truth. (Aquinas says quite explicitly that abstention from sex solely out of aversion to sex is the action of a vice, namely, the vice of insensibility.) So how is virginity related to chastity? Aquinas says that virginity is to chastity as magnificence is to liberality, so his answer requires a brief detour through those virtues.
Liberality (2-2.117), a potential part of justice, is the virtue concerned with making good use of one's wealth; there are two ways one may do this, namely, by spending it an appropriate way or by giving it for the good of others, but the latter is the more perfect expression of the virtue. Magnificence (2-2.134), a potential part of fortitude, is the virtue concerned with accomplishing great works with one's wealth. One cannot have the virtue as such without the money it would take actually to accomplish a virtue; but it is inseparably linked to liberality in that the truly liberal person will either be actually magnificent (if the money is at hand) or have a proximate disposition to being so (if it is not). Note, incidentally, that the line is merely the material resources required to do great things, which one then does, not how much money one has. What distinguishes the two is that magnificence adds a special excellence to that of liberality, namely the notion of something difficult to achieve (which is why it ends up as a potential part of fortitude despite being so closely linked with a potential part of justice). Liberality provides the formal part of magnificence; but magnificence as such requires a material element that liberality does not automatically provide. Because of this, magnificence has the quirk that if you lose it, repentance can restore the 'formal part', i.e., liberality, but it cannot guarantee that you will get the 'material part' back -- merely repenting will not increase your bank account, or, one supposes, repenting would be much more popular than it is. However there is a further quirk in that virtues are only lost by actions pertaining to vices; if you have lost your money through no fault of your own, you have not lost the disposition to use your wealth in a magnificent way, but simply lost the opportunity to do so, like someone cut off from his funds; to lose magnificence requires acting miserly.
Likewise, virginity, taken as a virtue, adds to chastity a special excellence, the integrity of the flesh for a higher purpose, which can be considered a sort of 'great work' of temperance. Thus virginity requires more than being chaste, but one who is genuinely chaste, whether as married or as widow, has a character such that it would be disposed to the virtue were that appropriate. Just like magnificence, virginity gets its formal part from chastity but adds to it an additional material excellence; thus if one loses it (the virtue, not physical virginity) one cannot be guaranteed to get the virtue back. However, if one loses one's physical virginity through no fault of one's own, as has happened all too often in history through rape, one still has the virginal disposition, and thus the virtue of virginity; that can only be lost by unchaste acts.
Poem a Day IV
Love, Joy, and Peace
True love is known by this: it forms a rite,
as birds will build a nest, or spiders spin,
and like a crystal rainbowing the light,
it facets to refract the light within,
each aspect drawing lines 'twixt good and sin
that, by restraint, true joy may leap to sight.
True joy is known by this: it cannot rest
with rush alone, or with the thrill of lover's kiss,
nor can it count its current state the best,
but project piled on project builds its bliss;
and yet it pours out more than even this,
that peace may be the crown to all its zest.
True peace is known by this: it moves unmoved.
In peace alone does love a world create:
the love of parent, child, comrade, mate,
each quests to find a world in what is loved,
and, loving one, finds all inside, innate.
Thus love abounds to joy, by peace is proved.
True love is known by this: it forms a rite,
as birds will build a nest, or spiders spin,
and like a crystal rainbowing the light,
it facets to refract the light within,
each aspect drawing lines 'twixt good and sin
that, by restraint, true joy may leap to sight.
True joy is known by this: it cannot rest
with rush alone, or with the thrill of lover's kiss,
nor can it count its current state the best,
but project piled on project builds its bliss;
and yet it pours out more than even this,
that peace may be the crown to all its zest.
True peace is known by this: it moves unmoved.
In peace alone does love a world create:
the love of parent, child, comrade, mate,
each quests to find a world in what is loved,
and, loving one, finds all inside, innate.
Thus love abounds to joy, by peace is proved.
Wednesday, June 03, 2015
Proportionate Distribution of Appreciation and Love
Man is a finite real being endowed with the intuition of the essence of being, which has no bounds. By means of this intuition man is fitted to know every being, in such wise, however, that he has the power to will and love, or not to will and love, the beings which he knows. It is this faculty that enables him to act morally; for moral good consists "in willing and loving the essence of being, and therefore the whole of being without any exclusion whatever." Now, if the nature of moral good requires that the whole of being should be willed and loved, it manifestly requires also that each particular being should be loved in proportion to the degree in which it partakes of the essence of being.
This proportionate distribution of our appreciation and love constitutes the sum of our moral duties; and the more we maintain and love it, the more perfect we are.
Bl. Antonio Rosmini, Theodicy, volume 2, pp. 214-215.
Poem a Day III
Parable of the Rose
"How lovely grows this rose,"
the lover said,
"its petals fresh and sweet,
its leaves so green;
I give to it my heart,
and all my life.
Forever shall I love its splendor fair
and be its knight!"
The thorns were wicked sharp;
they drew his blood,
and yet he persevered.
His love was true
for freshly blossomed blooms
of of ruby hue.
But winters come, and snows;
and petals fell,
and nothing but the thorns
were left to hold.
"Alas, I was deceived!"
the lover said,
and left it there to stand
in bitter ice.
O faithless lover, think!
Can winter thaw?
Can bushes bloom again
with petals bright?
Was not to love the bloom
to bear the thorns?
Was not the winter price
of spring and growth?
Does not the earth return
around the sun,
elliptic roll the year,
and season change?
And more than this, yes, more,
can you not see
that one who loves the bloom,
and truly loves,
will love the bush that blooms,
and love it more,
though long may grow its thorn
upon the stem,
though winter shear the flower
and leave it bare?
"How lovely grows this rose,"
the lover said,
"its petals fresh and sweet,
its leaves so green;
I give to it my heart,
and all my life.
Forever shall I love its splendor fair
and be its knight!"
The thorns were wicked sharp;
they drew his blood,
and yet he persevered.
His love was true
for freshly blossomed blooms
of of ruby hue.
But winters come, and snows;
and petals fell,
and nothing but the thorns
were left to hold.
"Alas, I was deceived!"
the lover said,
and left it there to stand
in bitter ice.
O faithless lover, think!
Can winter thaw?
Can bushes bloom again
with petals bright?
Was not to love the bloom
to bear the thorns?
Was not the winter price
of spring and growth?
Does not the earth return
around the sun,
elliptic roll the year,
and season change?
And more than this, yes, more,
can you not see
that one who loves the bloom,
and truly loves,
will love the bush that blooms,
and love it more,
though long may grow its thorn
upon the stem,
though winter shear the flower
and leave it bare?
Tuesday, June 02, 2015
Steamboat Go by Steam, Sailboat Go by Sail
“The John B. Sails”
Come on the sloop John B.,
My grandfather and me,
Round Nassau town ve did roam.
Drinking all night, ve got in a fight,
Ve feel so break-up, ve vant to go home.
[Chorus]
So hoist up the John B. sails,
See how the mainsail set,
Send for the captain ashore—let me go home,
Let me go home, let me go home,
I feel so break-up, I vant to go home.
The first mate he got drunk,
Break up the people trunk,
Constable come aboard, take him away—
Mr. Johnstone, leave me alone,
I feel so break-up, I vant to go home.
(Chorus)
The poor cook got the fits,
Throw away all o’ my grits,
Captain’s pig done eat up all o’ my corn.
Lemme go home, I vant to go home,
I feel so break-up, I vant to go home.
(Chorus)
Steamboat go by steam,
Sailboat go by sail,
My girl’s hat ’ain’t got no tail.
Lemme go home, I vant to go home,
I feel so break-up, I vant to go home.
(Chorus)
Send all the things from ashore,
Let all the breezes blow,
I’m so sorry that I can longer stay,
Good-by to you— Tra-la-la-lu,
This is the vorst trip since I vas born.
(Chorus)
The John B. was a real ship, and is thought to lie at the bottom of Governor's Harbor in Nassau. Apparently the crew was famous for being a bit on the hell-raising side.
This is a Bahamian folk song first written down by Richard Le Gallienne in 1916, and then published in part by Carl Sandburg in a collection of folksongs. It is difficult to determine when it was first audio-recorded, but The Weavers version (1950) under the title "Wreck of the John B" was the first widely popular one. After that, of course, it was sung by several different groups under various titles. I like Jimmie Rodgers's version (1960). But, of course, the version that was so catchy that it absolutely dominated, to the extent that it's hard to think of the song in any other way, is that of The Beach Boys (1966) under the title "Sloop John B".
Sui Juris Churches XVIII: The Greek Byzantine Catholic Church
(on sui juris churches in general)
Liturgical Family: Byzantine
Primary Liturgical Languages: Greek (both Koine and modern)
Juridical Status: Apostolic Exarchate
Approximate Population: Somewhere between 2500 and 5000
Brief History: Most of the Greek-speaking world fell to the Ottoman Turks, who recognized the danger to their rule of any East-West union among Christians, and therefore organized their policy with regard to Greek Christians in such a way as to hinder the possibility of it. It was thus not until the nineteenth century that an organized union with Rome (as opposed to fleeing West or counting oneself as Catholic secretly) became even a genuine feasibility. Certain possibilities rose immediately, however, when Ottoman control began to loosen and recede. In 1829, the Ottoman government under considerable external pressure removed Catholics from the authority of Orthodox patriarchs, and in 1856, John Marangos started a mission in Constantinople itself. He would later go on in 1878 to have missions in Athens. In part as the result of his efforts, a priest in Thrace, Isaias Papadopoulos, became Catholic and built up a small community there, as well. Further growth occurred through the arrival of Assumptionist missions in Constantinople in 1895.
While the community was still small and barely surviving, the growth and organization had developed enough that Pius X organized the Ordinariate for the Greeks in the Ottoman Empire in 1911, naming Isaias Papadopoulos its head. This was out of Constantinople; however, in the 1920s, after Papadopoulos had been succeeded by George Calavassy, Turkey and Greece exchanged portions of their population, and, barring a few scattered exceptions, most of the Byzantine Rite community in Constantinople was transferred to Athens. Thus in 1923, the Apostolic Exarchate for Byzantine-Rite Greek Catholics was formed, headquartered in Greece, although it still also covered the Byzantine Rite Catholics in Turkey.
In 1932 it was deemed better to divide the exarchate in two, one for Greece and the other for those in Turkey. The next several decades, however, were increasingly troublesome for Greeks of any kind in Turkey, and thus the Turkish exarchate dwindled through persecution and immigration. It is now almost defunct -- it is a single parish that has not had even a priest since 1997 and its church is mostly used by Chaldean Catholic refugees -- but it still exists.
The Exarchate for Byzantine-Rite Greek Catholics continues to grow slowly in Greece itself, however, despite strong opposition from the Greek Orthodox, who tend to regard it as a deliberate and gratuitous interference by Rome. For its size, it is quite active, and serves as the basic framework by which the Catholic Church serves Byzantine Rite Catholics of all kinds in Greece.
Notable Religious Institutes: The Sisters of the Pammakaristos Mother of God, founded in 1922.
Extent of Official Jurisdiction: Two exarchates in Greece and Turkey, although the latter is vacant, and some small scattered parishes elsewhere.
Online Sources and Resources:
http://www.cnewa.org/
http://www.katolsk.no/
http://www.cathecclesia.gr/
Liturgical Family: Byzantine
Primary Liturgical Languages: Greek (both Koine and modern)
Juridical Status: Apostolic Exarchate
Approximate Population: Somewhere between 2500 and 5000
Brief History: Most of the Greek-speaking world fell to the Ottoman Turks, who recognized the danger to their rule of any East-West union among Christians, and therefore organized their policy with regard to Greek Christians in such a way as to hinder the possibility of it. It was thus not until the nineteenth century that an organized union with Rome (as opposed to fleeing West or counting oneself as Catholic secretly) became even a genuine feasibility. Certain possibilities rose immediately, however, when Ottoman control began to loosen and recede. In 1829, the Ottoman government under considerable external pressure removed Catholics from the authority of Orthodox patriarchs, and in 1856, John Marangos started a mission in Constantinople itself. He would later go on in 1878 to have missions in Athens. In part as the result of his efforts, a priest in Thrace, Isaias Papadopoulos, became Catholic and built up a small community there, as well. Further growth occurred through the arrival of Assumptionist missions in Constantinople in 1895.
While the community was still small and barely surviving, the growth and organization had developed enough that Pius X organized the Ordinariate for the Greeks in the Ottoman Empire in 1911, naming Isaias Papadopoulos its head. This was out of Constantinople; however, in the 1920s, after Papadopoulos had been succeeded by George Calavassy, Turkey and Greece exchanged portions of their population, and, barring a few scattered exceptions, most of the Byzantine Rite community in Constantinople was transferred to Athens. Thus in 1923, the Apostolic Exarchate for Byzantine-Rite Greek Catholics was formed, headquartered in Greece, although it still also covered the Byzantine Rite Catholics in Turkey.
In 1932 it was deemed better to divide the exarchate in two, one for Greece and the other for those in Turkey. The next several decades, however, were increasingly troublesome for Greeks of any kind in Turkey, and thus the Turkish exarchate dwindled through persecution and immigration. It is now almost defunct -- it is a single parish that has not had even a priest since 1997 and its church is mostly used by Chaldean Catholic refugees -- but it still exists.
The Exarchate for Byzantine-Rite Greek Catholics continues to grow slowly in Greece itself, however, despite strong opposition from the Greek Orthodox, who tend to regard it as a deliberate and gratuitous interference by Rome. For its size, it is quite active, and serves as the basic framework by which the Catholic Church serves Byzantine Rite Catholics of all kinds in Greece.
Notable Religious Institutes: The Sisters of the Pammakaristos Mother of God, founded in 1922.
Extent of Official Jurisdiction: Two exarchates in Greece and Turkey, although the latter is vacant, and some small scattered parishes elsewhere.
Online Sources and Resources:
http://www.cnewa.org/
http://www.katolsk.no/
http://www.cathecclesia.gr/
Poem a Day II
(This poem-a-day series, incidentally, will probably only be a two-week one -- unless it just keeps going on its own, of course.)
Cracks in Tradition
The greatest foe of legacy
that springs from foolish men
is not the raging army
that raises such a din;
it's not the sands of ages
as they pour in strands so thin,
but so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
A tradition lasts for ages
and forms both kith and kin;
it stands like stone and iron
when the raging storms begin;
but a fort immune to sieges
can fall from spineless men
and so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
The one who rushes from his post,
thinking thus to win;
the one who cries "Peace, Peace"
to cover up his sin;
one who runs, or one who hides,
from fear of blood and din:
yes, so-called friends and lovers,
corrupting from within.
Lord, from lying to ourselves,
please deliver us with grace,
from falsehood on our tongues
and from falseness in our face,
from carelessness and smugness,
from rashness born of pride
and from stabbing in the back
the defenders on our side --
for a fort immune to sieges
can fall from spineless men
and so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
Cracks in Tradition
The greatest foe of legacy
that springs from foolish men
is not the raging army
that raises such a din;
it's not the sands of ages
as they pour in strands so thin,
but so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
A tradition lasts for ages
and forms both kith and kin;
it stands like stone and iron
when the raging storms begin;
but a fort immune to sieges
can fall from spineless men
and so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
The one who rushes from his post,
thinking thus to win;
the one who cries "Peace, Peace"
to cover up his sin;
one who runs, or one who hides,
from fear of blood and din:
yes, so-called friends and lovers,
corrupting from within.
Lord, from lying to ourselves,
please deliver us with grace,
from falsehood on our tongues
and from falseness in our face,
from carelessness and smugness,
from rashness born of pride
and from stabbing in the back
the defenders on our side --
for a fort immune to sieges
can fall from spineless men
and so-called friends and lovers
corrupting from within.
Monday, June 01, 2015
The Analects, Books II-III
Book II
Book II opens with one of the more extraordinary images of the book: to govern with genuine de is to be like the pole star, staying in its place while all the other stars do reverence to it (2.1). De is often translated as 'virtue'; it is moral authority. The contrast, given by Master Kong himself at 2.3, is with coercive force. The notion of 'might makes right' is a perpetual universal human temptation; it promises success and power. But it is a lying promise. If people are governed by coercion but not moral authority, they are corrupted in ways that will begin to make it impossible to govern them. Confucius makes this clear to Duke Ai and Ji Kang Zi. The obedience of the people, he notes to Duke Ai, derives from the ruler putting the straight above the crooked (2.19). People reverence rulers who possess dignity, are loyal to rulers who fulfill their proper responsibilities in their families, and are encouraged by rulers who "promote the good and instruct the incompetent" (2.20). This alone is true governance.
As with Plato, so with Confucius: government in the proper sense begins with learning in the proper sense. What makes Hui Master Kong's most brilliant student is not that he seems clever, but that he is able to take what he learns and set a good example with what he has learned (2.9). There are two aspects to this kind of education: you must study, yes, but you must also think it through yourself; and you must think for yourself, yes, but you also must study (2.15). As with Hui, the one who truly learns becomes thereby a teacher, even if only by example; but true teaching is when "by keeping the old warm one can provide understanding of the new" (2.11). In admonishing You, one of his students, he remarks one of the universals of education: that real understanding requires understanding what you understand and what you don't (2.17). And learning needs to be pursued for the right reason. The goal of learning is to become a noble person. But the noble do not treat themselves as if they were mere tools for the use of others (2.12). To achieve this end we must be both practical in approach (2.13) and catholic in mind (2.14).
This is not some abstract standard. It literally starts at home, in the family, with children acting properly toward their parents. This is not merely a matter of support. One must follow the appropriate standard (li) at all times (2.5), and this requires most of all (and sometimes hardest of all) a proper attitude of respect (2.7; 2.8). This is not a trivial matter. If Master Kong is a teacher, and teaching is what makes it possible to govern properly, why does he not take part in government? But this involves a false notion of government, perhaps even one that falls back into the 'might makes right' idea. What is the single most important thing a person can do to contribute to government? "Only be dutiful towards your parents and friendly towards your brothers" (2.21). This was one of the most important things even for rulers to do (2.20); and it is more fundamental to the real governance of a real society than all the pomp and splendor associated with high office.
Book III
Much of Book III is concerned with the lamentable failure of people to live according to appropriate standard of action or rite (li). The Ji family tries to puff itself up by appropriating the symbols traditionally belonging to the Emperor (3.1; 3.6), as do the Three Families who hold the actual power in the state of Lu (3.2) and Guan Zhong, the chief minister of Qi (3.22). This kind of attempt shows a failure to grasp the elementary point of an appropriate standard or rite -- that it must be followed appropriately. If you cannot have the integrity that comes from humanity toward yourself and others (ren), how can you possibly act in genuine accordance with the rites (3.3)? The face must come before the make-up and the silk before the paint on it (3.8). You must, like the student Lin Fang, inquire into the root of the standard (3.4). And in that light, the absurdity of trying to appropriate the appearances of appropriate action without regard for its spirit becomes plain: the Ji family inappropriately sacrifices to Mount Tai, but in doing so they are treating Mount Tai as if it were worse than a student like Lin Fang who is able clearly to see that there must be a root to the rites (3.6).
To properly act in accordance with rite requires taking the trouble to learn, and finding the right exemplars (3.9; 3.14; 3.15). This relates to government as well, since rulers need to act toward ministers with appropriate standards (li), and ministers need to respond to rulers with loyalty (zhong), as Confucius told the duke of Lu (3.19).
to be continued
Book II opens with one of the more extraordinary images of the book: to govern with genuine de is to be like the pole star, staying in its place while all the other stars do reverence to it (2.1). De is often translated as 'virtue'; it is moral authority. The contrast, given by Master Kong himself at 2.3, is with coercive force. The notion of 'might makes right' is a perpetual universal human temptation; it promises success and power. But it is a lying promise. If people are governed by coercion but not moral authority, they are corrupted in ways that will begin to make it impossible to govern them. Confucius makes this clear to Duke Ai and Ji Kang Zi. The obedience of the people, he notes to Duke Ai, derives from the ruler putting the straight above the crooked (2.19). People reverence rulers who possess dignity, are loyal to rulers who fulfill their proper responsibilities in their families, and are encouraged by rulers who "promote the good and instruct the incompetent" (2.20). This alone is true governance.
As with Plato, so with Confucius: government in the proper sense begins with learning in the proper sense. What makes Hui Master Kong's most brilliant student is not that he seems clever, but that he is able to take what he learns and set a good example with what he has learned (2.9). There are two aspects to this kind of education: you must study, yes, but you must also think it through yourself; and you must think for yourself, yes, but you also must study (2.15). As with Hui, the one who truly learns becomes thereby a teacher, even if only by example; but true teaching is when "by keeping the old warm one can provide understanding of the new" (2.11). In admonishing You, one of his students, he remarks one of the universals of education: that real understanding requires understanding what you understand and what you don't (2.17). And learning needs to be pursued for the right reason. The goal of learning is to become a noble person. But the noble do not treat themselves as if they were mere tools for the use of others (2.12). To achieve this end we must be both practical in approach (2.13) and catholic in mind (2.14).
This is not some abstract standard. It literally starts at home, in the family, with children acting properly toward their parents. This is not merely a matter of support. One must follow the appropriate standard (li) at all times (2.5), and this requires most of all (and sometimes hardest of all) a proper attitude of respect (2.7; 2.8). This is not a trivial matter. If Master Kong is a teacher, and teaching is what makes it possible to govern properly, why does he not take part in government? But this involves a false notion of government, perhaps even one that falls back into the 'might makes right' idea. What is the single most important thing a person can do to contribute to government? "Only be dutiful towards your parents and friendly towards your brothers" (2.21). This was one of the most important things even for rulers to do (2.20); and it is more fundamental to the real governance of a real society than all the pomp and splendor associated with high office.
Book III
Much of Book III is concerned with the lamentable failure of people to live according to appropriate standard of action or rite (li). The Ji family tries to puff itself up by appropriating the symbols traditionally belonging to the Emperor (3.1; 3.6), as do the Three Families who hold the actual power in the state of Lu (3.2) and Guan Zhong, the chief minister of Qi (3.22). This kind of attempt shows a failure to grasp the elementary point of an appropriate standard or rite -- that it must be followed appropriately. If you cannot have the integrity that comes from humanity toward yourself and others (ren), how can you possibly act in genuine accordance with the rites (3.3)? The face must come before the make-up and the silk before the paint on it (3.8). You must, like the student Lin Fang, inquire into the root of the standard (3.4). And in that light, the absurdity of trying to appropriate the appearances of appropriate action without regard for its spirit becomes plain: the Ji family inappropriately sacrifices to Mount Tai, but in doing so they are treating Mount Tai as if it were worse than a student like Lin Fang who is able clearly to see that there must be a root to the rites (3.6).
To properly act in accordance with rite requires taking the trouble to learn, and finding the right exemplars (3.9; 3.14; 3.15). This relates to government as well, since rulers need to act toward ministers with appropriate standards (li), and ministers need to respond to rulers with loyalty (zhong), as Confucius told the duke of Lu (3.19).
to be continued
Poem a Day I
Blooming
The sky is bluebird, bright and clear,
the wind is soft and fresh with scent,
the lilacs fresh, the dew just dried,
and life is blooming, sweet with joy.
If rain will come in later clouds,
it does not matter for today;
it cannot change this morning's good,
when life is blooming, sweet with joy.
The sky is bluebird, bright and clear,
the wind is soft and fresh with scent,
the lilacs fresh, the dew just dried,
and life is blooming, sweet with joy.
If rain will come in later clouds,
it does not matter for today;
it cannot change this morning's good,
when life is blooming, sweet with joy.
The Greatest Possession
Today is the feast of St. Justin, Martyr. Justin's account of philosophical disagreements, from Chapter 2 of the Dialogue with Trypho:
I have previously discussed the Middle Platonist background to St. Justin's ideas.
"I will tell you," said I, "what seems to me; for philosophy is, in fact, the greatest possession, and most honourable before God, to whom it leads us and alone commends us; and these are truly holy men who have bestowed attention on philosophy. What philosophy is, however, and the reason why it has been sent down to men, have escaped the observation of most; for there would be neither Platonists, nor Stoics, nor Peripatetics, nor Theoretics, nor Pythagoreans, this knowledge being one. I wish to tell you why it has become many-headed. It has happened that those who first handled it, and who were therefore esteemed illustrious men, were succeeded by those who made no investigations concerning truth, but only admired the perseverance and self-discipline of the former, as well as the novelty of the doctrines; and each thought that to be true which he learned from his teacher: then, moreover, those latter persons handed down to their successors such things, and others similar to them; and this system was called by the name of him who was styled the father of the doctrine...."
I have previously discussed the Middle Platonist background to St. Justin's ideas.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Dark Fluxion, All Unfixable by Thought
Self-Knowledge
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
—E coelo descendit Γνωθι σεαυτον.—Juvenal, xi. 27.
Γνωθι σεαυτον—and is this the prime
And heaven-sprung adage of the olden time !—
Say, canst thou make thyself?—Learn first that trade;—
Haply thou mayst know what thyself had made.
What hast thou, Man, that thou dar'st call thine own?—
What is there in thee, Man, that can be known?—
Dark fluxion, all unfixable by thought,
A phantom dim of past and future wrought,
Vain sister of the worm,—life, death, soul, clod—
Ignore thyself, and strive to know thy God!
1832
An unusually pessimistic assessment of the importance of self-knowledge; which, of course, is deliberate, since Coleridge is turning the ancient adage to know thyself on its head.
Sui Juris Churches XVII: The Armenian Catholic Church
(on sui juris churches in general)
Liturgical Family: Armenian
Primary Liturgical Language: Armenian
Juridical Status: Patriarchal
Approximate Population: Somewhere between 600,000 and 800,000; exact numbers are difficult to achieve because the population of Armenian Catholics is very scattered.
Brief History: According to longstanding tradition, the first churches in Armenia were founded by the Apostles St. Bartholomew and St. Thaddeus. As the church grew, it underwent several persecutions until the great St. Gregory the Illuminator converted King Tiridates III; in 301, Tiridates proclaimed Christianity the official religion of Armenia, making Armenia the first officially Christian nation in the world. The principal bishop of the nation became known as the Catholicos. Armenian bishops participated in the First Council of Nicaea and the First Council of Constantinople; none participated in the Council of Ephesus, but that Council's decisions were accepted by the Armenian hierarchy. War with the Persians likewise prevented any Armenian bishops from participating in the Council of Chalcedon. Embrace of Chalcedon turned out not to be quite so simple; the Armenians were closely connected to bishops in the Roman Empire who were Monophysites, and appear to have affirmed the Emperor Zeno's Henotikon, an unsuccessful attempt to reconcile the two sides of the dispute.
At the Second Council of Dvin in 555, the Armenians seem to have broken communion with the Chalcedonian hierarchy in the Roman empire. The action seems to have been extraordinarily controversial in Armenia itself; several Armenian churches refused to accept the decision, including the rather important churches of Georgia and of the Aluans. The result is that Armenian Christian history involves a very strange fluctuation for the next several centuries, in which it is difficult to work out when the Armenians, and which Armenians, can be considered in communion with Rome and New Rome. The anti-Chalcedonian party seems to have largely managed to keep a hold of the most important sees, but there seems almost always to have been at least some Armenian bishops who were actually in communion with Constantinople or Rome. In the late sixth century, for instance, the Armenian church was itself broken by schism for a while when two different Catholicoi were elected by the anti-Chalcedonian and the Chalcedonian parties, and the Georgian Church simply broke off entirely. In addition, there are several instances in which the main trunk of the Armenian Church reunited with Constantinople, only to end up breaking off again when political tensions increased or a new Catholicos was elected. There are other cases, like that of the great Nerses Shnorhali, in which the Catholicos clearly made a good-faith attempt at reunion but was defeated by Byzantine politics -- in Nerses Shnorhali's case by Imperial demands he did not regard himself as having the authority to grant.
Over time Armenians migrated from Greater Armenia into Anatolia and Cilicia, which became known as Lesser Armenia; with the invasions of the Seljuk Turks, refugees poured into Cilician Armenia. The See of the Catholicos was also transferred to Cilicia. During the Crusades, which were beginning around the same time, Cilician Armenia became very close and important allies of the Crusaders, and thus the Armenian Church came into regular contact with Rome. In 1194 Grigor VI Apirat was elected Catholicos in Cilicia; but his election was opposed in Greater Armenia, who elected an anti-Catholicos. In part because of this, Gregory entered into communion with Rome. In practical terms, this seems to have remained mostly at the level of a formality, and very little seems to have been done to follow through with it, although there were occasional attempts on either side. Likewise, after the fall of Cilicia to the Mamluks, there was another attempt at reunion by the Council of Florence in 1439, but nothing came of this again. Things became even more complicated in the 1440s when the double Catholicosate developed, with a (primary) Catholicos in Etchmiadzin in Greater Armenia and a (subordinate) Catholicos in Sis.
Only in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries did anything begin to come together fully, although it should be noted that its doing so depended in part on the frameworks that were already in place due to the (many) previous attempts at union. It was a complicated development however; the Armenian Catholic Church as it exists today arose not out of a single union but out of an entire series of small, independent unions that were then consolidated. An important early major step was the formation of the Friars of Unity of St. Gregory the Illuminator in the fourteenth century, in which an Armenian monastery in Nakichevan affiliated itself with the Dominicans. This Dominican-Armenian offshoot, which would become a Dominican province in the sixteenth century and exist until the early nineteenth century, became the seed around which many scattered Armenian Catholic communities began to develop. Another major step was when a small community of Armenians living in Poland and modern Ukraine under Mikołaj Torosowicz united with Rome in the seventeenth century. Other small communities in Transylvania and elsewhere followed suit.
The most important step, however, was when a community of Armenian Catholics elected Abraham-Pierre I Ardzivian as their own Catholicos of Sis. Ardzivian asked Rome for recognition, and in 1742 the great Benedict XIV officially formed the Armenian Catholic Church, consolidating Ardzivian's followers, the Polish Armenians in communion with Rome, and the various other small groups of Catholic Armenians, into one organization. Like the Armenian Church itself, the original Armenian Catholic Church had a sort of dual headship, with Ardzivian as Catholicos of Sis and an Armenian Catholic Archbishop of Constantinople each operating independently. A major reason for this duality was the complication involved in working around the religious laws of the Ottoman Empire. This double church would be more completely integrated in 1866 by Pius IX -- not without some difficulty, since the Armenians in the jurisdiction of Constantinople resisted the move, despite the fact that it had been accomplished by letting the Archbishop of Constantinople succeed to the office. This problem would take more than a decade to work out completely.
Armenian Catholics flourished for a while, but dark days were on the horizon. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, Russian persecution of Armenian Catholics desolated the eparchy that had been created for Armenian Catholics in Russia. Beginning around 1915, the Ottoman Empire began systematically arresting, deporting, and eventually killing Armenians. Perhaps 100,000 Armenian Catholics died, many others were scattered into a diaspora, and the hierarchy of the church within Turkey was almost annihilated. As an emergency measure, the primary see of the Church was moved from Turkey to Lebanon, where it still may be found. The rise of Communism also took its toll, since Armenians were found throughout the sphere of influence of the Soviet Union, and significant portions of the church were suppressed until the Armenia became a Republic in 1991.
The Armenian Catholic Church has always been a highly literary church. One of the major holidays of the liturgical calendar is Holy Translators Day, celebrating Saint Sahak and Saint Mesrob (who touched off a theological and literary golden age by developing the Armenian alphabet, translating the Bible and Greek theological works into Armenian, and developing a commentary tradition) and those who have followed in their footsteps. The Mechitarist, a monastic order founded in 1710, have devoted themselves without cease to studying, preserving, and teaching the Armenian heritage. The problems the church has faced over the years have sharply limited its ability to follow this impulse of its character, but as things have cleared up, it has begun to reassert itself more vigorously. Time only will tell what will come of it.
Notable Monuments: The Cathedral of St. Elie and St. Gregory the Illuminator in Beirut, Lebanon; the Church of Our Lady of the Dormition in Bzommar, Lebanon; the church of San Nicola da Tolentino agli Orti Sallustiani in Rome, Italy.
Notable Saints: St. Gregory the Illuminator (September 30); St. Sahak and St. Mesrob (February 17); St. Gregory of Narek (February 27); St. Nerses Shnorhali (August 13). There are also quite a few other saints who are not on the general calendar but are venerated on the Armenian Catholic calendar, like St. Nerses of Lambron (July 17). In addition, there is a large crowd of Armenian martyrs, both in the Armenian Genocide (like Bl. Ignatius Maloyan) and under Communist persecution, who may be raised to the general calendar at some point.
Notable Religious Institutes: The Mechitarists are extraordinarily important, not just for the Armenian Catholic Church in particular but for the Catholic Church as a whole. There are also the Patriarchal Congregation of Bzommar, and the Armenian Sisters of the Immaculate Conception.
Extent of Official Jurisdiction: The Patriarchate of Cilicia in Lebanon; four archeparchies in Syria, Iraq, Turkey, and the Ukraine; six eparchies, an apostolic exarchate, and three ordinariates, all scattered around the world. (Sphere of influence always extends beyond the official jurisdiction due to members of the church living outside of any official jurisdiction of the church. This is perhaps especially true of the Armenians, who are an unusually dispersed church.)
Online Sources and Resources:
http://www.armeniancatholic.org/
http://www.cnewa.org/
http://www.katolsk.no/
http://www.stgregoryarmenian.org/
Liturgical Family: Armenian
Primary Liturgical Language: Armenian
Juridical Status: Patriarchal
Approximate Population: Somewhere between 600,000 and 800,000; exact numbers are difficult to achieve because the population of Armenian Catholics is very scattered.
Brief History: According to longstanding tradition, the first churches in Armenia were founded by the Apostles St. Bartholomew and St. Thaddeus. As the church grew, it underwent several persecutions until the great St. Gregory the Illuminator converted King Tiridates III; in 301, Tiridates proclaimed Christianity the official religion of Armenia, making Armenia the first officially Christian nation in the world. The principal bishop of the nation became known as the Catholicos. Armenian bishops participated in the First Council of Nicaea and the First Council of Constantinople; none participated in the Council of Ephesus, but that Council's decisions were accepted by the Armenian hierarchy. War with the Persians likewise prevented any Armenian bishops from participating in the Council of Chalcedon. Embrace of Chalcedon turned out not to be quite so simple; the Armenians were closely connected to bishops in the Roman Empire who were Monophysites, and appear to have affirmed the Emperor Zeno's Henotikon, an unsuccessful attempt to reconcile the two sides of the dispute.
At the Second Council of Dvin in 555, the Armenians seem to have broken communion with the Chalcedonian hierarchy in the Roman empire. The action seems to have been extraordinarily controversial in Armenia itself; several Armenian churches refused to accept the decision, including the rather important churches of Georgia and of the Aluans. The result is that Armenian Christian history involves a very strange fluctuation for the next several centuries, in which it is difficult to work out when the Armenians, and which Armenians, can be considered in communion with Rome and New Rome. The anti-Chalcedonian party seems to have largely managed to keep a hold of the most important sees, but there seems almost always to have been at least some Armenian bishops who were actually in communion with Constantinople or Rome. In the late sixth century, for instance, the Armenian church was itself broken by schism for a while when two different Catholicoi were elected by the anti-Chalcedonian and the Chalcedonian parties, and the Georgian Church simply broke off entirely. In addition, there are several instances in which the main trunk of the Armenian Church reunited with Constantinople, only to end up breaking off again when political tensions increased or a new Catholicos was elected. There are other cases, like that of the great Nerses Shnorhali, in which the Catholicos clearly made a good-faith attempt at reunion but was defeated by Byzantine politics -- in Nerses Shnorhali's case by Imperial demands he did not regard himself as having the authority to grant.
Over time Armenians migrated from Greater Armenia into Anatolia and Cilicia, which became known as Lesser Armenia; with the invasions of the Seljuk Turks, refugees poured into Cilician Armenia. The See of the Catholicos was also transferred to Cilicia. During the Crusades, which were beginning around the same time, Cilician Armenia became very close and important allies of the Crusaders, and thus the Armenian Church came into regular contact with Rome. In 1194 Grigor VI Apirat was elected Catholicos in Cilicia; but his election was opposed in Greater Armenia, who elected an anti-Catholicos. In part because of this, Gregory entered into communion with Rome. In practical terms, this seems to have remained mostly at the level of a formality, and very little seems to have been done to follow through with it, although there were occasional attempts on either side. Likewise, after the fall of Cilicia to the Mamluks, there was another attempt at reunion by the Council of Florence in 1439, but nothing came of this again. Things became even more complicated in the 1440s when the double Catholicosate developed, with a (primary) Catholicos in Etchmiadzin in Greater Armenia and a (subordinate) Catholicos in Sis.
Only in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries did anything begin to come together fully, although it should be noted that its doing so depended in part on the frameworks that were already in place due to the (many) previous attempts at union. It was a complicated development however; the Armenian Catholic Church as it exists today arose not out of a single union but out of an entire series of small, independent unions that were then consolidated. An important early major step was the formation of the Friars of Unity of St. Gregory the Illuminator in the fourteenth century, in which an Armenian monastery in Nakichevan affiliated itself with the Dominicans. This Dominican-Armenian offshoot, which would become a Dominican province in the sixteenth century and exist until the early nineteenth century, became the seed around which many scattered Armenian Catholic communities began to develop. Another major step was when a small community of Armenians living in Poland and modern Ukraine under Mikołaj Torosowicz united with Rome in the seventeenth century. Other small communities in Transylvania and elsewhere followed suit.
The most important step, however, was when a community of Armenian Catholics elected Abraham-Pierre I Ardzivian as their own Catholicos of Sis. Ardzivian asked Rome for recognition, and in 1742 the great Benedict XIV officially formed the Armenian Catholic Church, consolidating Ardzivian's followers, the Polish Armenians in communion with Rome, and the various other small groups of Catholic Armenians, into one organization. Like the Armenian Church itself, the original Armenian Catholic Church had a sort of dual headship, with Ardzivian as Catholicos of Sis and an Armenian Catholic Archbishop of Constantinople each operating independently. A major reason for this duality was the complication involved in working around the religious laws of the Ottoman Empire. This double church would be more completely integrated in 1866 by Pius IX -- not without some difficulty, since the Armenians in the jurisdiction of Constantinople resisted the move, despite the fact that it had been accomplished by letting the Archbishop of Constantinople succeed to the office. This problem would take more than a decade to work out completely.
Armenian Catholics flourished for a while, but dark days were on the horizon. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, Russian persecution of Armenian Catholics desolated the eparchy that had been created for Armenian Catholics in Russia. Beginning around 1915, the Ottoman Empire began systematically arresting, deporting, and eventually killing Armenians. Perhaps 100,000 Armenian Catholics died, many others were scattered into a diaspora, and the hierarchy of the church within Turkey was almost annihilated. As an emergency measure, the primary see of the Church was moved from Turkey to Lebanon, where it still may be found. The rise of Communism also took its toll, since Armenians were found throughout the sphere of influence of the Soviet Union, and significant portions of the church were suppressed until the Armenia became a Republic in 1991.
The Armenian Catholic Church has always been a highly literary church. One of the major holidays of the liturgical calendar is Holy Translators Day, celebrating Saint Sahak and Saint Mesrob (who touched off a theological and literary golden age by developing the Armenian alphabet, translating the Bible and Greek theological works into Armenian, and developing a commentary tradition) and those who have followed in their footsteps. The Mechitarist, a monastic order founded in 1710, have devoted themselves without cease to studying, preserving, and teaching the Armenian heritage. The problems the church has faced over the years have sharply limited its ability to follow this impulse of its character, but as things have cleared up, it has begun to reassert itself more vigorously. Time only will tell what will come of it.
Notable Monuments: The Cathedral of St. Elie and St. Gregory the Illuminator in Beirut, Lebanon; the Church of Our Lady of the Dormition in Bzommar, Lebanon; the church of San Nicola da Tolentino agli Orti Sallustiani in Rome, Italy.
Notable Saints: St. Gregory the Illuminator (September 30); St. Sahak and St. Mesrob (February 17); St. Gregory of Narek (February 27); St. Nerses Shnorhali (August 13). There are also quite a few other saints who are not on the general calendar but are venerated on the Armenian Catholic calendar, like St. Nerses of Lambron (July 17). In addition, there is a large crowd of Armenian martyrs, both in the Armenian Genocide (like Bl. Ignatius Maloyan) and under Communist persecution, who may be raised to the general calendar at some point.
Notable Religious Institutes: The Mechitarists are extraordinarily important, not just for the Armenian Catholic Church in particular but for the Catholic Church as a whole. There are also the Patriarchal Congregation of Bzommar, and the Armenian Sisters of the Immaculate Conception.
Extent of Official Jurisdiction: The Patriarchate of Cilicia in Lebanon; four archeparchies in Syria, Iraq, Turkey, and the Ukraine; six eparchies, an apostolic exarchate, and three ordinariates, all scattered around the world. (Sphere of influence always extends beyond the official jurisdiction due to members of the church living outside of any official jurisdiction of the church. This is perhaps especially true of the Armenians, who are an unusually dispersed church.)
Online Sources and Resources:
http://www.armeniancatholic.org/
http://www.cnewa.org/
http://www.katolsk.no/
http://www.stgregoryarmenian.org/
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