Deliver Us From Evil

During this season of remembrance, I've been re-reading Alistair Horne's superb book, The Price of Glory, a study of the battle of Verdun in 1916. It makes sobering reading. Like two stags locked in combat, the armies of Germany and France fought themselves to a standstill. The Germans, under the overall command of the dithering General Erich von Falkenheyn, attempted to bleed the French dry at Verdun. In one sense they succeeded, since the successful defence of 1916 was followed by the mutinies of 1917. Virtually every French settlement, large or small, was affected by Verdun. A generation of young Frenchmen was wiped out by their leaders' defence a outrance, the single-minded determination not to cede an inch of land or, having done so, to reclaim it as soon as possible. To this day, the names of some of the key features of the battle - Douaumont, Le Morte Homme, or Cote 304 - send shivers down the spine of France. Indeed, neither side 'won' at Verdun. It was, as Horne says, "an indecisive battle in an indecisive war." By the end of 1916, Germany had suffered a third of a million casualties and captured only a pathetically small strip of land. France lost a similar number, though no one will ever know for sure. Churchill put the French casualties as high as 469,000.

What struck me, 'though, was a metaphysical reflection (p.242-243). It seems completely out of place among the realism of harsh statistics. Horne writes about a common understanding, at the time, that events were being manipulated by evil.

In the last days of peace, there had seemed a point where the collective will of Eurpoe's leaders had abdicated and was usurped by some evil, superhuman Will from Stygian regions that wrested control out of their feeble hands. Seized by this terrible force, nations were swept along at ever-mounting speed towards the abyss.

I don't think that Horne is suggesting that responsibility for the mistakes of the war can somehow be transfered to a malevolent spirit; he is clear about the culpability of leaders. Nevertheless, he acknowledges the existence of evil. There is something for us, here. Perhaps in our post-modern sophistication, we have become blind to the shadows that stalk our world. We watch Twin Towers fall, and we are too clever, or too afraid, to call evil by its name.

Grace and Law

Earlier this year I read, and commented upon, a series of novels by Brendan O'Carroll, stories that are raw and vibrant with the life of the Jarro, a working class slum in Dublin. They are well-worth reading, as long as you can see beyond the language, which is somewhat earthy... I enjoyed the stories of Agnes Browne and her rambunctious clan because they reminded me of life in the North of England. O'Carroll has since written a 'pre-quel,' as they say, telling the story of Agnes as a young girl. I don't think it's as well written as the main stories, as is often the case with works written to fill in the gaps in our knowledge. It's hard to avoid the suspicion that it was written to satisfy the demands of a curious public (and the publisher). Be that as it may, The Young Wan is a cheerful tale. There's a smattering of Irish nationalism, a tipping of the hat to the unions, and series of entertaining anecdotes. I'm not sure I'd pay full price for it, but I'd borrow it from the library, or pick it up at Half Price Books, which is where I got my copy.

In my previous review, I noted that there was an absence of anti-clericalism, which struck me as odd. The Church was simply an irrelevance to Agnes, as an adult. This volume may give us part of the reason why.

Towards the end of the story, Agnes is about to be married to Redser Browne. She is already having doubts. However, she is pregnant and he has agreed to marry her. The tension in the story concerns Agnes' wedding dress, which is white. Her mother and grandmother before her had worn the same dress. Her first communion dress had been made from its train. Agnes is determined to wear the dress, but when Father Pius finds out that she is "in the family way" he forbids it. Only virgins may wear white. She will have to wear something else, and suffer the shame. Secretly, the priest sympathises with Agnes, and would like to bend the rules, but the Church refuses compromise on the sacrament of marriage. If he performs the ceremony, and she is wearing white, he will lose his job. In the end, this is precisely what he does, and before the registers have been signed, he has been defrocked by the bishop. Only then do we learn of the debt owed to Agnes' father by this priest.

So, the issue is raised of rules or compassion. The priest wants to exercise compassion, but the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church refuses. When he acts according to his conscience, the hierarchy responds with legalism, it crushes his rebellion, and a family spends the next fifty years resenting the Church. The question is: which should be paramount, the rulebook or compassion, law or grace?

It is easy to answer "compassion." In recent years whenever there has been a conflict between what have been called the masculine and the feminine sides of the Church, the feminine has always won. We find it increasingly difficult to make hard decisions. Church discipline is almost impossible to enforce. Now, I'm not suggesting that we should return to an entirely law-based ecclesiology, but I do wonder whether the pendulum has not swung too far. If we have no standards to keep then we compromise too readily with the tears of the world. Sometimes those tears are genuine, but sometimes they are not. Surely, there is a balance to be found? The Church should be seen a place of principle, but also as a bastion of love. The truth is that, if love is always exercised in a vacuum, and if no standards are fixed, then it is love that suffers. Grace without law ends up merely being licence, and that is a corruption of the Gospel, just as much as the inflexibility of Law.

Earlier Review at http://presbuteros.blogspot.com/2009/06/dragonflies-and-death.html

Gathering Rosebuds

Sorry for the absence, we've been enjoying the mountains in Colorado. While there I picked up a copy of Hesperides by Robert Herrick (1591-1674). I find his work a little more accessible than that of some of his contemporaries, but even so he can be a little obscure. Herrick was heavily influenced by Ben Johnson. Apparently, at one time he belonged to a group called "The Sons of Ben"! The most famous poem in the book is called "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." It carries echoes of Johnson's "Song: To Celia." Both poems remind their readers of the ephemeral quality of life and suggest that, since our time is short, we should make the most of it. What on earth does Herrick mean? Is this a manifesto for lust?

I find this a little odd, given that Herrick was a bachelor, and a minister of the Church of England for thirty two years. There doesn't seem to be any scandal associated with his name whatsoever, and yet the simple implication of the poem seems to be Carpe Diem, or, in plain English, "make hay while the sun shines." This interpretation is not helped by those who insist that double entendres exist throughout the text, and that Herrick's lines are actually rather erotic! I suspect that those who read Herrick in this way may be telling us more about themselves than about the author.

The idea of Carpe Diem comes from Horace's first ode. It is the belief that, since life is brief, one should live in the moment. The most famous line in Herrick's poem is also taken from a Latin original, perhaps by Virgil who, at the conclusion of the poem De Rosis Nascentibus uses the phrase "collige, virgo, rosas," which means "gather, girl, the roses." Could it not be that Herrick is actually trying to do something rather more profound than to urge his readers to "get on with it", as some have suggested! There is more to his philosophy, for example, than Robert Frost's wistful longing in his Carpe Diem. Herrick is interested in reconciling Horace's original idea with his Christian faith. He does not suggest that the brevity of time should lead to licentiousness, but to commitment. The virgins, of whom he writes, are encouraged to marry while they can, not to pursue as many lovers as youth will allow. Is there, perhaps, some longing of his own hidden in the text, the memory of a love long lost, of a young woman who could have been a companion for life, but who slipped through his fingers? Herrick lived through one of the most tumultuous periods of English history - the Civil War. He had seen changes on a scale that must have been unimaginable in his youth. A King had been deposed. The old securities had been swept away. Many lives had been lost. Surely, Herrick understood the need to take opportunities when they came, because one could never be sure what tomorrow would bring.

Today, Carpe Diem is a superficial rallying cry for those who do not wish to think about tomorrow, who are caught up in the headlong rush for instant gratification. For Christians, the phrase can have a deeper meaning. Since no one knows how long life shall last, we should not refrain from commiting to one another. Life is too short to play the field; when we find love, we should not be afraid to "gather it, while we may."

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.