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Post by Michael O'Donovan on Jun 29, 2009 22:11:55 GMT
Thanks for the Updike poem, which I will read again.
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Post by Alaisdir Ua Séaghdha on Jul 6, 2009 11:48:41 GMT
Somehow, I think the obvious book to bring onto this thread is Brian Moore's CATHOLICS. Moore deliberately wrote the book to give artistic expression to the complaints he heard about the new liturgy in the 1960s. It is a short novel which I read in a couple of commuter train journeys.
The novel is about a monastery on an island off the Kerry coast in 1999 (the book was published in the early 1970s). The monks revive the practice of the traditional Mass at a shrine on the mainland. The Father General (as the Pope has come to be called) dispatches a Curia apparatchik, a liberal American priest to stop them. In the course of the dealings between the priest and the abbot, the latter reveals he has lost his faith. Eventually the abbot is obedient to Rome and suppresses the Mass. What comes next is left to the reader.
Of course history has been different, but in 1970, there was a very different perception as to how the Church was going. Some individuals still believe it is following this direction. I think some themes of this book were represented more crudely by Father Pádraig Standún in his novels in Irish (I am thinking of the atheistic conservative Archbishop of Tuam in AD 2016 - but my advice to anyone who reads Irish is not to bother reading Standún - it is all prurient rubbish. Want to read a novel by a priest in Irish? Try Mgr Breandán Ó Doibhlinn's NÉAL MAIDINE AGUS TINE OÍCHE). So CATHOLICS is a bit dated, but very interesting.
It has been made into a film too, with Martin Sheen, but I have never seen it.
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Post by hibernicus on Jul 6, 2009 12:40:32 GMT
CATHOLICS is an interesting book; Brian Moore was an example of an ex-Catholic atheist who retained a degree of fascination with Catholicism. I might add that much - though not all - of his fiction is based on the assumption that only a fool or a bigot can really be a serious Catholic - cf the way in which the principal "conservative" monk in the novel is portrayed as an obnoxious bully. Part of the reason why Moore is surprisingly sympathetic to the doubting Abbot and unsympathetic to the young priest who has been sent as enforcer is that the young priest has no doubts about his version of liberation-theology-Marxist faith. The futurechurch in the novel is even more strange than Alasdair mentions. My understanding was that the Father General mentioned is not the Pope but the head of the (presumably) Benedictine Order; the office of Pope appears to have been abolished and replaced by something called the World Ecumen Council, which includes Buddhists as members. (A parallel - except, hopefully, for the Buddhist bit - might be the way in which many religious houses no longer have individual superiors but a "leadership council".) The young priest remarks at one point that not only has the Church formally abandoned belief in the Real Presence, but that it is seriously considering a declaration that professed atheism need not be incompatible with membership.
Moore also stacks the situation against the monks from the beginning. Since they do not have a bishop, there is no possibility that they might perpetuate a rival church (I presume Moore would have been aware of this point from coverage of Archbishop Lefebvre, though the novel's date of 1972 - the film was 1973 - is a bit early from that point of view)). One interesting point is that Moore presents a situation in which there is considerable suppressed popular demand for the Tridentine Rite, to an extent which surprises the monks (who had no intention of rebellion - they are so out of touch with developments that they hardly realise how much the Church has changed) as well as the authorities in Rome. Part of the paradox is that the young priest, who sees himself as representing "the people" finds himself in the position of actively suppressing a spontaneous expression of popular feeling by pulling rank.
I saw a quote somewhere by Moore which I suspect sums up the theme, though I haven't been able to relocate my source. He recalled that when visitng the family of his (second?) wife in one of the Canadain Maritime provinces, he heard English-language singing, and when asking what form of Protestant service this was was surprised to be told that it was a Mass. Later he visited a "re-ordered" church, not having been to Mass since his teens in the early 1940s) and recorded feelign that "the thing I didn't believe in was no longer there".
I would say the best of his later novels is THE STATEMENT, based on the Paul Touvier case (the SSPX in the South of France were found to be hiding a Vichy collaborator guilty of war crimes). Perhaps we might discuss it sometime.
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Post by hibernicus on Jul 6, 2009 12:54:50 GMT
Since my earlier Piers Paul Read posting I have actually read THE DEATH OF A POPE. I would say it is a nicely-crafted little thriller with some subtle touches, if you're willing to spend E16.95 for the hardback (at Veritas in Abbey Street). I am a bit inhibited in discussing the plot and construction, but here are a couple of points; (1) It is greatly superior to Ralph McInerney's THE RED HAT in handling the villains' motives; although the principal villain, who might even be described as an antihero, is shown to be subtly corrupt in certain ways, he is nonetheless shown to be making what in the lexicon of the values clarificators discussed in Doris Manly's THE FACILITATORS would be termed a valid moral decision - i.e. chosen from among alternatives, for weighty reasons, after serious reflection, and persevered in despite great personal risk. The fact that the decision entails mass murder suggests there is something wrong with the facilitators' definition of a valid moral judgment, but still... A liberal cardinal, whose weaknesses play a serious role in the plot and who is shown to be largely heterodox, nonetheless has a genuine prayer-life and sincere respect for the achievements of John Paul II. (2) It is mildly amusing for those familiar with Read's general views, to notice some of his asides. A character remarks, with his apparent approval, that John Paul II's encyclical MULIERIS DIGNITATEM is excessively feminist (Read maintains that male headship in a strong form is much more vital to Christian doctrine than generally held nowadays. Word has it he wrote a book on the subject some time ago but couldn't get a publisher). At one point there is a passing reference to "a leading American neo-conservative commentator" in Rome to cover the Conclave who needs help because he knows no Italian, and some comments on the indifference of American Christians to the plight of their Eastern brethren such as the Copts because of their provincialism and obsession with Israel appear to reflect the author's own views, as do some references to Mohammed as displaying the moral outlook of a desert bandit. (It should be noted, however, that these views are attributed to characters whose behaviour contains questionable elements.) (3) The whole book can be read as a subtle defence of HUMANAE VITAE, which also acknowledges that it is a hard saying. Read it yourself if you want to find out how it does this.
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Post by Alaisdir Ua Séaghdha on Jul 6, 2009 13:54:57 GMT
When ever I hear of American trads speak glowingly of 'Catholics', I refer them to Moore's later novel 'The Statement'. It is a good read, one is tempted not to regard it as literature, but his veiled attack on the SSPX shows his attitude to Catholic trads. I like the twist in the plot in the novel however.
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Post by hibernicus on Jul 6, 2009 17:01:44 GMT
To be fair, the attack on the trads is appropriate in this context and some of them are shown as having genuine crises of conscience over harbouring Touvier. Someone once suggested to me that it might be even more intriguing if the character was represented as being genuinely repentant (though in that case surely he ought to hand himself in). I still think it is a really terrifying study of self-deception and false repentance; at the end the man is literally running to his own damnation.
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Post by hibernicus on Jul 11, 2009 16:37:51 GMT
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Post by hibernicus on Sept 18, 2009 13:17:09 GMT
Here is a link to an article on the director Fritz Lang from the evangelical site CHRISTIANITY TODAY, discussing Lang's ambiguous relationship to the Catholic faith of his upbringing. www.christianitytoday.com/movies/commentaries/filmmakersoffaith/fof_lang.htmlIn many respects Lang was a downright evil man, but this quote from a late interview he did with Peter Bogdanovich has always moved me: The syrupy ending of You Only Live Once (1937), where the pearly gates open for the hero and a priest's disembodied voice urges him on to heaven, was supposed to be taken seriously by the director. Interviewed by Peter Bogdanovich [who had asked whether Lang added this to please the studio and get past the Catholic-run censorship office- HIB], Lang insists, "You may laugh, but don't forget I was born a Catholic—perhaps I'm not a good Catholic according to the Church—but Catholic education (and probably any education which has to do with ethics) never leaves you. And I think it was the truth for those people—the doors are open now." Here is a brief plot summary from Wikipedia:- Based partially on the story of Bonnie and Clyde, Eddie Taylor (Henry Fonda) is an ex-convict who cannot get a break after being released from prison. When he is framed for murder, Taylor is forced to flee with his wife Joan Graham (Sylvia Sidney) and baby. While fleeing the police, Taylor becomes a real murderer, condemning himself and Joan to a life of crime and death on the road. [One point which this summary overlooks is that the priest whose voice is heard in the end is portrayed as a Christ-figure, who does his best to help Taylor and as the result of his own sacrificial behaviour, has been accidentally killed in crosssfire during a shootout - HIB.] Worth a look for lovers of classic Hollywood, with all its limitations.
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Post by hibernicus on Sept 29, 2009 17:22:11 GMT
Link below to an interesting FIRST THINGS article by Philip Jenkins on the 1940s leftist-Catholic novelist Harry Sylvester, a follower of Dorothy Day. Jenkins argues his catholic novels (he left the Church in the late 1940s) have lasting value for religious readers, even if much of what he says is painful. I've heard similar complaints about the Church's past record as urban landlord made in Belfast. EXTRACT Moon Gaffney would have a special appeal for the contemporary Catholic left, and, in fact, it could easily become required reading for Voice of the Faithful. Though many modern Catholics imagine the American Church of the 1930s in terms of triumphalism and unquestioned orthodoxies, the novel portrays a running series of brushfire wars between an entrenched clergy and insurgent activists. Sylvester's sympathies at this point were firmly with the Catholic Worker movement, and the book is dedicated to a group of “good Catholic radicals,” with Dorothy Day appearing as a heroic character in the novel. Sylvester was also deeply involved in interfaith efforts to promote Catholic-Jewish relations at a time when many working-class urban Catholics were exposed to anti-Semitic agitation. In Moon Gaffney, New York's senior clergy are depicted as cynical allies of corrupt politicians and business leaders, and Church authorities act as oppressive landlords, with diocesan real estate handled by “pietistic shysters.” At their worst, Sylvester's clergy are anti-labor, anti-black, anti-Jewish, misogynistic, and their “terrible obscurantism” makes them all too willing to succumb to the demagogic appeal of Fr. Charles Coughlin. His racial concerns emerged still more strongly in Dearly Beloved, a depiction of the old, established Catholic community on Maryland's Eastern Shore, where schools were still segregated in the 1930s. Like Moon Gaffney, the novel feels as if it comes from a later period of American life, with its central concern for issues of racism and discrimination, especially when perpetrated by the clergy. For Sylvester, the Church had a moral imperative to confront segregation with the doctrine of the Mystical Body of Christ, which holds “that all men, regardless of race or other delineation are part of one another in Christ, [and this] does not admit of different interpretations in different places.” Despite the author's Yankee credentials-he was definitively Brooklyn Irish-the book's themes make it fit well into the tradition of mid-century Southern literature. Both Dearly Beloved and Moon Gaffney have a strong political slant and both are unabashedly polemical, so one could easily argue with them on grounds of their historical accuracy, to say nothing of their ecclesiology. Yet both remain eminently worth reading, and not just for the rich and unexpected picture they offer of mid-century Catholic attitudes. Each in its way represents the agonized response of a Christian to the compromises that a powerful institution makes to live in the world. The Church in Moon Gaffney is a substantial urban landowner, which seeks to maximize profits, yet at the same time the demands of charity and faith require that church authorities exercise mercy toward the poor. In practice, Sylvester thinks, financial motives usually triumph, and the novel shows cynical church officials relying on the docility of the faithful, who dare not seek legal or journalistic assistance. They have both the temptation and the opportunity to become exploiters. Both these novels reflect Sylvester's immersion in the political causes of the 1940s, issues from which he largely escaped in Dayspring, his best novel and a classic of American religious fiction. Like many artists of the time, he spent lengthy periods in New Mexico, which had become wildly fashionable because of the primitivist vogue for Native American cultures. For Sylvester, though, the area was a revelation because it introduced him to the Hispanic religious tradition symbolized by the Penitentes, made nationally famous by Alice Corbin Henderson's book Brothers of Light (1937). While many Americans saw in Hispanic religion merely another tourist attraction, Sylvester found a radically different version of Catholic Christianity, apparently free of the clericalism, bureaucracy, and compromise he so despised. This was palpably not the “Irish-French kind of Catholicism that's managed to bitch the Church up over here. It's why a few people have come here or stay here [in the Southwest], where Catholicism is still pretty close to what it should be.” www.firstthings.com/print/article/2007/02/who-is-harry-sylvester-14?keepThis=true&TB_iframe=true&height=500&width=700
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Post by hibernicus on Feb 2, 2010 15:36:26 GMT
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Post by hibernicus on Apr 20, 2010 11:36:38 GMT
I have just been reading William Oddie's new biography of GK Chesterton, which takes GKC up to the publication of ORTHODOXY in 1908. This is the first biography to make full use of Chesterton's private papers (which were acquired by the British Library after his literary executor's death and have now been catalogued). A second volume will presumably cover the rest of Chesterton's life up to 1936. Some of you may be aware that Dr. Oddie is a former Anglican clergyman who converted to Catholicism as a result of his opposition to women's ordination. He edited one of the British Catholic papers for a time but got pushed out because of episcopal pressure (the bishops were not used to having their decisions criticised as freely as the parties within the Church of England criticise Anglican bishops when they disagree with them). Chesterton came from an upper-middle-class background of strongly Gladstonian Liberal politics and vaguely Unitarian belief; after a happy, rather disorganised childhood (he was assisted in retaining his innocence by the fact that he went to a day school rather than boarding school) he went to art school, where he came into contact with and violently reacted against fin de siecle aestheticism, which he saw as fundamentally amoral and nihilistic. Under the influence of his fiancee Frances Blogg he moved from nondenominational belief to specifically sacramentalist High Church Anglo-Catholicism, and the book ends with his publicising his mature outlook in ORTHODOXY. The book's strong-points and defects come from its being fundamentally the work of a theologian. Its advantages are that it traces Chesterton's intellectual and literary development (previously obscured because earlier writings were published at a time when he had already moved on from them) more scrupulosuly than ever before (taking account of the fact that some of Chesterton's later autobiographical statements tend to project onto his past the full development of certain ideas which he then only held in embryo), that it takes his lifelong concern for ideas seriously and explains how certain exaggerations (such as his fierce hostility to Impressionist painting, or his view of Oscar Wilde as the incarnation of evil ) rest on genuine perceptions (he saw Impressionism, somewhat unfairly, as taking the view that there is no real world outside our perceptions; and Oddie points out that Wilde's generous side and final conversion should not blind us to the fact that his aesthetic included a glorification of corruption as the path to knowledge - never before have I realised just how much the tempter Sir Henry Wotton who leads Dorian Gray to evil reflects part of Wilde's own sensibility). It is really startling when Oddie concludes that Chesterton's major intellectual adversary, and the one who has had the greatest and most malign influence, was the nineteenth-century German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer; but anyone who is at all familiar with modern literary atheism (such as Ian McEwan's ATONEMENT - which insists that the hope of atonement for sin, which is of course central to Christiantiy, is only a fantasy - and ENDURING LOVE, which equates religious belief with homicidal mental delusion) and with Schopenhauer's insistence that life is fundamentally pointless and only maintained by wishful allusions will see at once what Oddie means and how Chesterton is fundamentally opposed to this outlook. Oddie's background also means that he knows the history and outlook of Anglo-Catholicism well, and is thus able to show that certain statements and commitments by Chesterton which have been read either as doctrinally vague or as (Roman) Catholic avant la lettre are in fact specific statement of Anglo-Catholic belief. Its problems are (a) a certain narrowness; it is the story of a soul and as such scants a bit on Chesterton's public engagements; Oddie does not explore the full Gladstonian Liberal sensibility and its influence on Chesterton in the same depth that he looks at Anglo-Catholicism, and thus does not quite get the significance of Chesterton's alienation from the Liberal party in the way that he gets his relations with Christianity. (b) a certain defensiveness. Chesterton did indeed possess profound insights into the nature of Being, through asking the great questions that only children are naive enough to ask; but his attempts to work out these principles in society were often childish in a different, and not in a good way. In his novel THE BALL AND THE CROSS (about a duel between an honest Catholic Jacobite and an honest atheist socialist) both men are taken up by the Devil and tempted with the apparent realisation of their Utopia, and both reject the tempter when he asks them to acquiesce in self-evident evil for the sake of an apparent greater good - the massacre of backward elements by revolutionaries, the oppression of the discontented by knights. Chesterton would certainly have rejected such cruelties had he actually been confronted with them; but at a distance he was sometimes blinded by wishful thinking. For example, he romanticised peasant societies in a way that is distinctly suburban, and attracted derision from commentators such as the Scottish Marxist Leslie Mitchell (Lewis Grassic Gibbon) actually grew up on small farms; if an Irish apologist is to deploy Chesterton against John McGahern (who was in many ways the incarnation of the gnostic-atheist aestheticism Chesterton despised) it must first be acknowledged that McGahern saw many cruelties and restrictions of small-farm socieities to which Chesterton was simply blind. I'll finish this later.
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Post by hibernicus on May 10, 2010 15:00:12 GMT
Here's a nice tribute to the US Catholic-existentialist novelist Walker Percy, which discusses the question of whether his Catholicism saved him from suicide: www.russellmoore.com/2010/05/05/walker-percy-twenty-years-later/One of Percy's major themes is the incongruity of people appealing to the image of the southern gentleman and southern heroism in a suburbanised world, and of the redneck Ku Klux Klansman presentimng himself as a modern Robert E Lee. Percy came from an old planter family and was brought up by a bachelor (probably homosexual) uncle who saw his own life and that of his family in terms of upholding stoic-aristocratic honor in a meaningless universe. Percy's fiction, and his Catholicism, is to a great extent about finding a way around the despair which this inevitably produces. His last novel THE THANATOS SYNDROME is not his best, but it is highly relevant to the pro-life movement, and Percy intended it as such. One of the major characters is an old priest with a tendency to alcoholism, who recalls how having received the same sort of honour-code upbringing that Percy did, found himself emotionally attracted to the Nazis on student visits to Germany in the 1920s - and the priest is to some extent a self-portrait. The novel's central plot concerns scientists who try to solve socisl problems by treating the water supply with a drug whih has the effect of supressing recipients' free will; and this image of the evils of treating human beings as means not ends comes all the more forcefully from someone whose ancestors owned slaves.
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Post by hibernicus on Jun 21, 2010 20:46:12 GMT
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Post by Alaisdir Ua Séaghdha on Jul 5, 2010 14:15:02 GMT
Yes, I've seen it. Can't say I'm impressed.
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Post by hibernicus on Jul 8, 2010 15:15:45 GMT
They are keeping it updated anyway and I notice they are prepared to publish critiques as well as eulogies of Chesterton. The complaint about the films GARAGE and ADAM AND PAUL as displaying a sort of cosmic despair to which Chesterton is the antidote strikes me as possibly iffy. GARAGE (which I haven't seen but I know the plot) does seem from what I have heard to express a sort of cosmic despair in which te protagonist's troubles reflect an indifferent and unpitying cosmos. ADAM AND PAUL which I have seen could be read in that way, but it is also a straightforward account of the lives of drug addicts in contemporary Dublin (and it does make clear that they are partly though not entirely the authors of their own misfortune). Surely a literature which excludes that sort of protagonist/situation runs the risk of turning into a starry-eyed "Catholic realism" on the lines of the sanitised "socialist realism" featured in the old eastern Bloc? Surely as Jesus went down to the souls in prison, a Catholic artist can represent this sort of despair as a wake-up call about the plight of our brothers and sisters and a reminder of the depths from which Christ came to redeem us and into which we should reach out by prayer and good deeds? Catholic literature needs Bernanos and Bresson as well as Chesterton.
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