A few minutes ago, I finished reading a book I first read in school, very close to 13 years ago. Since then I had read it at least once or twice, but I have enjoyed it every time. That book is THE HOBBIT, by the brilliant J. R. R. Tolkien. For probably close to a year now I have been wanting to re-read both that and THE LORD OF THE RINGS, namely because I had not read them since becoming a medievalist, only before then, and my wife pointed out when she was reading them this past year (the first time since becoming a medievalist, herself) that there was a lot more to be gleaned from the story.
The first thing that struck me upon picking up THE HOBBIT again was the style of prose. I had forgotten how much it really is written for a younger reader. The language, while still beautiful and well composed, is simpler. The chapters, at least until near the end, are also very episodic with the author several times directly engaging with the reader concerning the adventures of Bilbo, Thorin, et al. One nice effect of this is it really frames the story as an epic, with strange situations and people that they must engage with in each episode.
More specifically medieval, I noticed this time two points where the book matched something I knew from Narnia. One is seen early on when the company is climbing into the Misty Mountains, just before they find the front doorstep of the goblins, and they see giants throwing stones down into the valley as a sort of game. This also appears in C. S. Lewis's THE SILVER CHAIR when Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum are travelling to the North and they see giants standing on either side of a valley throwing stones at each other (or what other targets they may see) for sport. After talking with some friends, I am going to look into Geoffrey of Monmouth to see if the trope appears there, but regardless it is almost certain they each got their inspiration from the same place (be it medieval or a chat at the pub).
The other is the effect of dragon-gold on those who are near it. This is seen in Thorin when he refuses gold to aid the Men of the Lake, and it is seen in the Master when he takes off with the gold due to the curse of dragon greed. Again, it shows up in Lewis, this time in VOYAGE OF THE DAWN TREADER, again with Eustace. On Dragon Island he sees a dragon die and then falls asleep on its hoard. When he awakes, he has become a dragon, which, as the author tells us, comes of sleeping on a dragon's hoard with thinking dragonish thoughts. Again, likely a medieval trope.
I definitely enjoyed reading it through again. I found myself remembering the pictures we had to draw for each chapter and how mine were far better at the start than by the end as I felt pressed for time. (I do wonder where they are; probably in a box somewhere, like so much of my life.) And with each title I could remember very well what happened in each chapter. Still, that was part of the fun, rediscovering a well told tale.
And now I embark upon the larger journey, THE LORD OF THE RINGS.
25 May 2011
07 February 2011
Love Casteth Out Fear
"Love, and fear. If you would be persuasive, to yourself and to others, you must first love, and not fear."
I borrow this phrase from a dear friend's most recent post at their blog because, of the entire post and the entire series to which this particular post belongs, this one speaks to my heart.
As I have said earlier in this blog, I am currently in the midst of learning who I am. And recently I have begun to accept who that person is. The difficulty with this it requires me to accept, and even love, the person God has made me: I need to love this feminine boy, knowing that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. My gut instinct is that it would be so much easier to love me if I were someone else, that is, if I could be what we call normal and love, in someone else, this same otherness I am currently experiencing. And yet I know that to do so is prideful, so perhaps it is appropriate that I should be faced with this challenge.
A challenge is exactly what it is, and it is a challenge that I believe most of us, if not all of us, must face. We must all learn how to love ourselves. This was, before my revelation, a challenge for me. In these days after it, it is both far harder and easier. Easier because I am no longer attempting to fit myself to a model that I just do not fit. Harder because my simple model has been removed and what it has been replaced with is contrary to what many people very dear to me believe is right.
Here we return to the opening quote. One of my big fears is that my family may learn about me and reject me. More than that, I fear their disappointment, that they will feel like they failed, that they will fear for my soul (more than they already do, what with me being Catholic). Part of what moves that fear is a deeper fear that they may be right and instead of loving who I am, I should hate what is evil and love what is good. But to hate what I have been raised to call evil is to hate the person I have seen myself to be. And so I fear myself.
But at the same time, the psalmist calls me to praise the Lord, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. God can make nothing evil, and by this I know in reason that I must choose to love this feminine boy. Only when we are moved by love of God can we truly live. Only then can we be persuasive to ourselves. Until we are ourselves persuaded, we will never persuade others.
When we are moved by fear, we sink into the waves. We feel ourselves about to drown and we cannot help but believe we deserve it, because it confirms our fears. Others see us and we confirm their prejudices. However, when we are moved by love of God, we care not for the waves which crash around us, because our eyes are fixed on the Christ. We witness to His grace by knowing that He has made us and loves us, regardless of how battered and torn and ugly we appear to ourselves, and acting accordingly. We honour God by honouring those over us and by truly loving His creation which necessarily reflects His goodness.
And so, even though I may fear disappointing my family, even though I may fear that I may have misunderstood who God has made me, I know that I must look first to the love of God. I must first love God, and to do this, I must love that which He has made, including myself. When I am moved by love of God, and not by fear, then I will be persuasive to myself, and possibly even to the others whom I am currently tempted to fear.
I borrow this phrase from a dear friend's most recent post at their blog because, of the entire post and the entire series to which this particular post belongs, this one speaks to my heart.
As I have said earlier in this blog, I am currently in the midst of learning who I am. And recently I have begun to accept who that person is. The difficulty with this it requires me to accept, and even love, the person God has made me: I need to love this feminine boy, knowing that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. My gut instinct is that it would be so much easier to love me if I were someone else, that is, if I could be what we call normal and love, in someone else, this same otherness I am currently experiencing. And yet I know that to do so is prideful, so perhaps it is appropriate that I should be faced with this challenge.
A challenge is exactly what it is, and it is a challenge that I believe most of us, if not all of us, must face. We must all learn how to love ourselves. This was, before my revelation, a challenge for me. In these days after it, it is both far harder and easier. Easier because I am no longer attempting to fit myself to a model that I just do not fit. Harder because my simple model has been removed and what it has been replaced with is contrary to what many people very dear to me believe is right.
Here we return to the opening quote. One of my big fears is that my family may learn about me and reject me. More than that, I fear their disappointment, that they will feel like they failed, that they will fear for my soul (more than they already do, what with me being Catholic). Part of what moves that fear is a deeper fear that they may be right and instead of loving who I am, I should hate what is evil and love what is good. But to hate what I have been raised to call evil is to hate the person I have seen myself to be. And so I fear myself.
But at the same time, the psalmist calls me to praise the Lord, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. God can make nothing evil, and by this I know in reason that I must choose to love this feminine boy. Only when we are moved by love of God can we truly live. Only then can we be persuasive to ourselves. Until we are ourselves persuaded, we will never persuade others.
When we are moved by fear, we sink into the waves. We feel ourselves about to drown and we cannot help but believe we deserve it, because it confirms our fears. Others see us and we confirm their prejudices. However, when we are moved by love of God, we care not for the waves which crash around us, because our eyes are fixed on the Christ. We witness to His grace by knowing that He has made us and loves us, regardless of how battered and torn and ugly we appear to ourselves, and acting accordingly. We honour God by honouring those over us and by truly loving His creation which necessarily reflects His goodness.
And so, even though I may fear disappointing my family, even though I may fear that I may have misunderstood who God has made me, I know that I must look first to the love of God. I must first love God, and to do this, I must love that which He has made, including myself. When I am moved by love of God, and not by fear, then I will be persuasive to myself, and possibly even to the others whom I am currently tempted to fear.
23 January 2011
And Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread
Dear God, some days I wonder what is wrong with me. It seems I've been bitten by the depression bug. You know, that bug which, contrary to expectations, is not, say, mosquito-sized, but more crocodile-sized. And it seizes you about the middle. And threatens to bite you in half. And worst of all, but possibly most expected, it comes without any real discernible reason. Or rather, there ARE reasons, but they are not sufficient to what I desire. Rather, they are petty, human reasons of feeling out of place and lacking purpose.
I far prefer Reason wherein I know that wherever I go I am subject to Heaven and all the earth is merely a place I see with a visitor's visa. With that mindset, I know that any displacement I feel here is merely the image and, more importantly, emphasized reality of my situation, as my true home is not earthly but heavenly. Alas, this is a gnostic approach to the human experience and one to which I am rather prone.
Part of the issue is that I lack purpose and direction here. Which is what I desired in some ways. Or rather, I desired no close date, no restrictions to my future. But in that, I also desire direction, some idea of what I will DO with my future. And at this point, I feel alone and adrift on this great sea wherein all I can do is cling to a tiny bit of drift-wood and I cannot even identify an island to swim to an even temporarily settle upon until the seas become more calm. Part of me longs to be a medievalist, but I have no direction there yet and that future, even with a direction, is uncertain. Part of me contemplates becoming a writer, but I lack the words and lack the direction even more than I lack in medieval studies and that future is equally uncertain. Part of me feels I should just study Speech-Language Pathology as that makes money and such a future would be quite certain. And part of me suspects that I am just dominated and ruled by acedia and that that priest was right that I fear suffering and will do anything to avoid it, and will thus be ruled by acedia until I can learn to accept it and see the good in suffering.
And I feel at a loss. I do not know where to turn. This battle against acedia is probably lifelong as I have been governed by it lifelong. Thus far all I know to do is learn the self-discipline that all of my education thus far has failed to teach me. And so I am reading Latin, just because I know I should be able to and that with determination and self-discipline I will bring myself to the level I should be at. It will hopefully set me on the road, but it still doesn't give me clear direction. And I really wish I knew what to do with my life and where to turn.
Seal my heart and break my pride
I've nowhere to stand and nowhere to hide
Align my heart, my body, my mind
To face what I've done and do my time.1
1 Mumford & Sons, Dustbowl Dance.
I far prefer Reason wherein I know that wherever I go I am subject to Heaven and all the earth is merely a place I see with a visitor's visa. With that mindset, I know that any displacement I feel here is merely the image and, more importantly, emphasized reality of my situation, as my true home is not earthly but heavenly. Alas, this is a gnostic approach to the human experience and one to which I am rather prone.
Part of the issue is that I lack purpose and direction here. Which is what I desired in some ways. Or rather, I desired no close date, no restrictions to my future. But in that, I also desire direction, some idea of what I will DO with my future. And at this point, I feel alone and adrift on this great sea wherein all I can do is cling to a tiny bit of drift-wood and I cannot even identify an island to swim to an even temporarily settle upon until the seas become more calm. Part of me longs to be a medievalist, but I have no direction there yet and that future, even with a direction, is uncertain. Part of me contemplates becoming a writer, but I lack the words and lack the direction even more than I lack in medieval studies and that future is equally uncertain. Part of me feels I should just study Speech-Language Pathology as that makes money and such a future would be quite certain. And part of me suspects that I am just dominated and ruled by acedia and that that priest was right that I fear suffering and will do anything to avoid it, and will thus be ruled by acedia until I can learn to accept it and see the good in suffering.
And I feel at a loss. I do not know where to turn. This battle against acedia is probably lifelong as I have been governed by it lifelong. Thus far all I know to do is learn the self-discipline that all of my education thus far has failed to teach me. And so I am reading Latin, just because I know I should be able to and that with determination and self-discipline I will bring myself to the level I should be at. It will hopefully set me on the road, but it still doesn't give me clear direction. And I really wish I knew what to do with my life and where to turn.
Seal my heart and break my pride
I've nowhere to stand and nowhere to hide
Align my heart, my body, my mind
To face what I've done and do my time.1
1 Mumford & Sons, Dustbowl Dance.
17 January 2011
A New Beginning?
We have arrived safely in England--that happy land of magic. And happily, for myself, for the first time since becoming self-aware, I am allowed to explore what that even means.
For a while now, especially whilst living with my family, my wife and I have joked about how my parents are probably relieved that I am neatly locked into a safe, heterosexual marriage. Well, a week or two ago, this was actually confirmed by a friend who overheard my father saying as much to someone at the wedding. I am not entirely sure how to feel about this, really. It was certainly funnier when it was speculated about but not known for sure. More significantly, it means that any designs I have to explore concepts of gender and its expression confirm what are now known fears for my parents, as opposed to merely confirming what we had until now assumed they did not actually fear. I think what I find most dismaying about this is that I want to make them proud of me. And every time I wear a skirt or do something that otherwise challenges others' perceptions of my masculinity, I am aware that I am somehow a disappointment to my parents (whether they know it or not).
And yet, I am also aware of the fact that this is not something I have created for myself: I did not choose to be gender queer, but rather discovered it and saw how it had patterned throughout my life and brought a certain order to my experiences. So it was inevitable that I should face this, and either I could hide it away and deny the wonder of my being or I could accept it and thank the Lord for His good creation.
Neither, I realise, is this the only disappointment to my parents in me: there is also my Catholicism, with which they are still not comfortable (or, at times, outright disgusted, e.g., Eucharist). But I could not avoid the directive of God and His servant, Ratio, any easier than I could continue to deny how this same God had made me. While I could live a Catholic life and let my parents see as much, it puts a strain on our relationship. How much more so with their fears (or possible certainty, although I doubt that) that their son might not be entirely, properly straight?
Now I am in a new place where there is no family; where there is nobody who knows my family; and where I can start anew without fears of it getting back to my family. Perhaps I can now begin to learn to be who I am in a new way without living in fear of hurting others by accepting my very being. And perhaps, just perhaps, when I return to Canada, I will be comfortable and confident in my being through sufficient practice at accepting this person God has made.
For a while now, especially whilst living with my family, my wife and I have joked about how my parents are probably relieved that I am neatly locked into a safe, heterosexual marriage. Well, a week or two ago, this was actually confirmed by a friend who overheard my father saying as much to someone at the wedding. I am not entirely sure how to feel about this, really. It was certainly funnier when it was speculated about but not known for sure. More significantly, it means that any designs I have to explore concepts of gender and its expression confirm what are now known fears for my parents, as opposed to merely confirming what we had until now assumed they did not actually fear. I think what I find most dismaying about this is that I want to make them proud of me. And every time I wear a skirt or do something that otherwise challenges others' perceptions of my masculinity, I am aware that I am somehow a disappointment to my parents (whether they know it or not).
And yet, I am also aware of the fact that this is not something I have created for myself: I did not choose to be gender queer, but rather discovered it and saw how it had patterned throughout my life and brought a certain order to my experiences. So it was inevitable that I should face this, and either I could hide it away and deny the wonder of my being or I could accept it and thank the Lord for His good creation.
Neither, I realise, is this the only disappointment to my parents in me: there is also my Catholicism, with which they are still not comfortable (or, at times, outright disgusted, e.g., Eucharist). But I could not avoid the directive of God and His servant, Ratio, any easier than I could continue to deny how this same God had made me. While I could live a Catholic life and let my parents see as much, it puts a strain on our relationship. How much more so with their fears (or possible certainty, although I doubt that) that their son might not be entirely, properly straight?
Now I am in a new place where there is no family; where there is nobody who knows my family; and where I can start anew without fears of it getting back to my family. Perhaps I can now begin to learn to be who I am in a new way without living in fear of hurting others by accepting my very being. And perhaps, just perhaps, when I return to Canada, I will be comfortable and confident in my being through sufficient practice at accepting this person God has made.
31 December 2010
Moving
So I write this as I am killing time waiting to leave for the airport. This is the last night in my parents home. Ever. (At least, this is likely.) It is likely my last night living in British Columbia. I may visit again, but realistically, I must face the fact that I may be currently spending my final night living in the province I grew up in--the province I love.
It is strange considering this. This has been my home, the place where my heart has resided. Until this evening I have had a key for this house on my key ring since before I ever moved away. And now it is gone (given, appropriately, to my brother-in-law who was lacking a key). Right now, if I were not tired and on the tail end of tipsy, I would be as I was earlier: very anxious and afraid, scared to consider cutting myself off from this anchor to life and reality. And yet I'm entering into the great unknown, this thing I have long sought for. Perhaps it is only right to fear that which is good for us. Or perhaps it is this deep-set acedia within me, which despises my current place, whatever that may be. But this is where I am, and this is what I am doing. Tomorrow we will be in Toronto, and then in ten days we will be on another continent altogether. This is what we have longed for, and now, by the grace of God, we are there.
It is strange considering this. This has been my home, the place where my heart has resided. Until this evening I have had a key for this house on my key ring since before I ever moved away. And now it is gone (given, appropriately, to my brother-in-law who was lacking a key). Right now, if I were not tired and on the tail end of tipsy, I would be as I was earlier: very anxious and afraid, scared to consider cutting myself off from this anchor to life and reality. And yet I'm entering into the great unknown, this thing I have long sought for. Perhaps it is only right to fear that which is good for us. Or perhaps it is this deep-set acedia within me, which despises my current place, whatever that may be. But this is where I am, and this is what I am doing. Tomorrow we will be in Toronto, and then in ten days we will be on another continent altogether. This is what we have longed for, and now, by the grace of God, we are there.
20 December 2010
Watashiwa... dare?
Tonight I am writing without purpose. Well, that is not strictly true, but I am writing without a purpose currently clear to me.
I have just finished my first of two long work days and the penultimate of a very long work "week". Earlier today I had the good fortune to work with one of my agnostic colleagues, but also sadly one of the only people out here that I can have good, religious discussion with. That is probably my biggest sorrow of living here: while there are many religious people everywhere I look, few of them are educated in theology, let alone a more Catholic theology. And so all stimulating theological discussion that is not with my wife is with an agnostic colleague.
Living here has put me in a strange place where almost everyone I know is either familiar and comfortable with my religion but does not know my struggles with gender and sexuality, or they know these struggles but are not able to talk about my religion (either from lack of familiarity or lack of comfort). When I was in Toronto, I was blessed with friends who were both comfortable and familiar with both aspects of me (inasmuch as I had recognised the gender-aspect, anyway), and I miss this endlessly. What's more is I do not know if I will be able to have this when we move to England, or if I will again be in the company of people who can accept part of me, but not the other part.
I remember one occasion where a friend told me that she quite liked me, except she wished I could separate my religion from who I am day-to-day. And the fact that anyone could--or even would--do this surprised me. I cannot divide my religion from who I am without ceasing to be who I am. This does not mean I spend all of my time talking about God, but it does mean that my worldview is always shaped by my beliefs in and about God and His role and the role of the Church in the world. More and more I am finding that by keeping my feminine aspects hidden and suppressed, I am attempting to do exactly what my friend asked, except instead of doing it to religion, I am doing it to who God made me. And truly, to deny God's creation can only end in tragedy.
As our time here winds to an end I look forward to a brief respite wherein I will be with friends who accept and understand my struggles, and after that I enter into the unknown where I will have to find ways to allow both to be evident in who I am: neither flaunting who I am nor hiding it.
(My apologies for going on about the same things, and my future apologies for probably doing so again before overly long.)
I have just finished my first of two long work days and the penultimate of a very long work "week". Earlier today I had the good fortune to work with one of my agnostic colleagues, but also sadly one of the only people out here that I can have good, religious discussion with. That is probably my biggest sorrow of living here: while there are many religious people everywhere I look, few of them are educated in theology, let alone a more Catholic theology. And so all stimulating theological discussion that is not with my wife is with an agnostic colleague.
Living here has put me in a strange place where almost everyone I know is either familiar and comfortable with my religion but does not know my struggles with gender and sexuality, or they know these struggles but are not able to talk about my religion (either from lack of familiarity or lack of comfort). When I was in Toronto, I was blessed with friends who were both comfortable and familiar with both aspects of me (inasmuch as I had recognised the gender-aspect, anyway), and I miss this endlessly. What's more is I do not know if I will be able to have this when we move to England, or if I will again be in the company of people who can accept part of me, but not the other part.
I remember one occasion where a friend told me that she quite liked me, except she wished I could separate my religion from who I am day-to-day. And the fact that anyone could--or even would--do this surprised me. I cannot divide my religion from who I am without ceasing to be who I am. This does not mean I spend all of my time talking about God, but it does mean that my worldview is always shaped by my beliefs in and about God and His role and the role of the Church in the world. More and more I am finding that by keeping my feminine aspects hidden and suppressed, I am attempting to do exactly what my friend asked, except instead of doing it to religion, I am doing it to who God made me. And truly, to deny God's creation can only end in tragedy.
As our time here winds to an end I look forward to a brief respite wherein I will be with friends who accept and understand my struggles, and after that I enter into the unknown where I will have to find ways to allow both to be evident in who I am: neither flaunting who I am nor hiding it.
(My apologies for going on about the same things, and my future apologies for probably doing so again before overly long.)
12 December 2010
Briefly Touching In
I've been meaning to post on this for a while, and I am not doing so at the moment, but I really love participating in Orthodox Christian vespers. Perhaps it is the prayers for the Queen, perhaps it is praying with people who understand icons, I do not know. But there is something that I find incredibly comfortable about their vespers.
14 November 2010
Between the Denominations
This evening I went to church with my family at the Mennonite Brethren church I attended for many years. It was a very strange feeling, sitting down before the service. They have recently renovated the sanctuary and it is not entirely complete, but it now has comfier, theatre seats, and the large baptismal tank is no longer there. Further, there is no cross or any other religious imagery. In effect, it has the look of an auditorium. The other part that felt strange was the lack of liturgy. I have become so used to a liturgical setting and bad music that when presented with no liturgy and good music I feel out of place.
I think what I find strangest, though, is that in some ways I have no home in any church anymore. For years I attended this church and loved it and that was my home. When anyone told me it didn't feel like church, I didn't understand what they meant. And the I began attending Mass and later became Catholic, but on some level I still pine for the challenging sermons and the passionate music that I remember (and indeed enjoyed, this evening). And so I do not feel entirely at home there because I feel unchallenged and there is a bit less of an emphasis on challenging people. Perhaps the term I am looking for is "comfortable". Now, certainly not all priests keep to safe and comfortable approaches, but more than not, I find, do.
I wonder if I will ever find a home in a church again, or if I am meant to always feel this sense of isolation or diaspora (but if diaspora, to what?).
I think what I find strangest, though, is that in some ways I have no home in any church anymore. For years I attended this church and loved it and that was my home. When anyone told me it didn't feel like church, I didn't understand what they meant. And the I began attending Mass and later became Catholic, but on some level I still pine for the challenging sermons and the passionate music that I remember (and indeed enjoyed, this evening). And so I do not feel entirely at home there because I feel unchallenged and there is a bit less of an emphasis on challenging people. Perhaps the term I am looking for is "comfortable". Now, certainly not all priests keep to safe and comfortable approaches, but more than not, I find, do.
I wonder if I will ever find a home in a church again, or if I am meant to always feel this sense of isolation or diaspora (but if diaspora, to what?).
11 November 2010
Lest We Forget
Tomorrow, 11 November, is probably the most important secular holiday on my calendar. And I say this as someone who generally identifies as a pacifist. And a pacifist who insists upon wearing a blood red poppy.
Some may find it odd that I feel more patriotic on Remembrance Day than I do on Canada Day, but I'm not sure how odd that sounds to a Canadian. In fact, I see far more poppies leading up to Remembrance Day than I ever see Canadian flags around Canada day. For me, this is a day when we remember the horrors of war, and that is something that a white poppy can never represent to me. It's a day when we remember all those who died, all the blood that flooded the fields and valleys of Europe, because of war. This is not an argument against the notion of a just war, but it does recall the price of all war, be it just or not. And while no war since the First and Second World Wars has seen so many killed, both military and civilian, every war is a type of those wars. Every war sees unnecessary death, sorrow, and tragedy.
And it is in memory of those who have died, necessarily or unnecessarily, that I wear a red poppy. Because I remember the price of war. And it is for them that I stand in silent memory at 11am on 11 November.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
--John McCrae, 1915
Some may find it odd that I feel more patriotic on Remembrance Day than I do on Canada Day, but I'm not sure how odd that sounds to a Canadian. In fact, I see far more poppies leading up to Remembrance Day than I ever see Canadian flags around Canada day. For me, this is a day when we remember the horrors of war, and that is something that a white poppy can never represent to me. It's a day when we remember all those who died, all the blood that flooded the fields and valleys of Europe, because of war. This is not an argument against the notion of a just war, but it does recall the price of all war, be it just or not. And while no war since the First and Second World Wars has seen so many killed, both military and civilian, every war is a type of those wars. Every war sees unnecessary death, sorrow, and tragedy.
And it is in memory of those who have died, necessarily or unnecessarily, that I wear a red poppy. Because I remember the price of war. And it is for them that I stand in silent memory at 11am on 11 November.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
--John McCrae, 1915
06 November 2010
To Whom Shall I Go?
Tonight as I struggle with an insomnia empowered with guilt, I stumbled across a comment on a friend's blog concerning why this person remains with the Catholic Church, despite feeling unwelcome and seeing all the awful things done by Her of late: I have no where else to go. As it says in the Gospel, "Then Jesus said to the twelve: Will you also go away? And Simon Peter answered him: Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life" (John 6.67-68).
These words strike me deeply, especially on dark nights such as this. To whom shall I go? I hurt and ache inside and I tear at my heart and bury it in ashes because I am disgusted by my inability to keep from sinning gravely. And yet, anytime something tries to suggest that the problem is the Catholic Church for putting so much emphasis upon mortal sin, my whole being cries out, "But where else can I go but to the light?" It is the light which burns me and humiliates me, because in the light I can see my ugliness. But it is only in the light that I have any hope of healing and forgiveness.
It is also in the light that I fear those things that I am told to be sinful, but which I am not convinced actually are. Can I view my confusion around gender in the light? It is easier to avoid the feeling of shame and to even feel pride in it while I keep to the shadows, not considering the light. But again, how can I keep away from that which makes me whole? And so I must face the light in this awkward and confused form and it's embarrassing and (hopefully?) humiliating. How can I hope to be forgiven my sins when I suspect that this is who I am? a creature seemingly made contrary to what is right? It would be easier if I were normal and without feminine inclination. Then all I would have to deal with is the struggle with sin that is common to all people. But to tell myself that this femininity is sinful... all I can do is try my best to serve God and hope that I am not judged too harshly for failing to reject it from my being.
And that is really what it comes down to. Despite the horror of my sin, despite the terror of not rejecting what may be a horrible sin, to whom shall I go? thou hast the words of eternal life.
These words strike me deeply, especially on dark nights such as this. To whom shall I go? I hurt and ache inside and I tear at my heart and bury it in ashes because I am disgusted by my inability to keep from sinning gravely. And yet, anytime something tries to suggest that the problem is the Catholic Church for putting so much emphasis upon mortal sin, my whole being cries out, "But where else can I go but to the light?" It is the light which burns me and humiliates me, because in the light I can see my ugliness. But it is only in the light that I have any hope of healing and forgiveness.
It is also in the light that I fear those things that I am told to be sinful, but which I am not convinced actually are. Can I view my confusion around gender in the light? It is easier to avoid the feeling of shame and to even feel pride in it while I keep to the shadows, not considering the light. But again, how can I keep away from that which makes me whole? And so I must face the light in this awkward and confused form and it's embarrassing and (hopefully?) humiliating. How can I hope to be forgiven my sins when I suspect that this is who I am? a creature seemingly made contrary to what is right? It would be easier if I were normal and without feminine inclination. Then all I would have to deal with is the struggle with sin that is common to all people. But to tell myself that this femininity is sinful... all I can do is try my best to serve God and hope that I am not judged too harshly for failing to reject it from my being.
And that is really what it comes down to. Despite the horror of my sin, despite the terror of not rejecting what may be a horrible sin, to whom shall I go? thou hast the words of eternal life.
12 October 2010
On the Decline and Fall of Languages
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-11304255
This is an issue of particular interest to me as a one-time student of Linguistics. One of the classes I took was about revitalizing dying languages and the attitude of the professor and of the class was very much one which assumed that the death of a language is a Bad Thing. And to a certain degree, I agree with them that the linguistic imperialism we have been seeing for the past age--either as an accident of the building of empires or as a result of post-war globalisation--is detrimental. With the death of any language comes the death of a unique expression of culture, for no translation can ever fully grasp the nuances and delicacies of any given language. This is an issue with which anyone who has ever needed to translate any work is familiar and which we all bemoan.
That said, there is the flip side that I usually see where not only is language death a Bad Thing, it is a Bad Thing To Be Prevented At All Costs. This leads to a tone of discussion where we should be saving the language despite its speakers. It is a kind of denial of the life, evolution, and death of languages, calling people to rage, rage against the dying of the light. But is it really in the interests of the speakers that we say this, that we insist upon their preservation of their grandparents' language? I suspect that it is more a dragonish desire to hoard linguistic gold that drives it. For many of these people, they just do not see the relevance of the old language, for good or for ill, and so they stick to the majority language.
What I think is more useful is an emphasis upon developing grammars of dying languages--a kind of linguistic headstone, as it were. Where people wish to bring their language back (think Welsh or Hebrew, for example, as remarkable success stories), give them the opportunity. But where people simply do not care, perhaps it is better to let the language die in dignity. Write a grammar of it, so that the world may know what was there, and let it settle into its old age and pass into the shadows of graduate studies.
This is an issue of particular interest to me as a one-time student of Linguistics. One of the classes I took was about revitalizing dying languages and the attitude of the professor and of the class was very much one which assumed that the death of a language is a Bad Thing. And to a certain degree, I agree with them that the linguistic imperialism we have been seeing for the past age--either as an accident of the building of empires or as a result of post-war globalisation--is detrimental. With the death of any language comes the death of a unique expression of culture, for no translation can ever fully grasp the nuances and delicacies of any given language. This is an issue with which anyone who has ever needed to translate any work is familiar and which we all bemoan.
That said, there is the flip side that I usually see where not only is language death a Bad Thing, it is a Bad Thing To Be Prevented At All Costs. This leads to a tone of discussion where we should be saving the language despite its speakers. It is a kind of denial of the life, evolution, and death of languages, calling people to rage, rage against the dying of the light. But is it really in the interests of the speakers that we say this, that we insist upon their preservation of their grandparents' language? I suspect that it is more a dragonish desire to hoard linguistic gold that drives it. For many of these people, they just do not see the relevance of the old language, for good or for ill, and so they stick to the majority language.
What I think is more useful is an emphasis upon developing grammars of dying languages--a kind of linguistic headstone, as it were. Where people wish to bring their language back (think Welsh or Hebrew, for example, as remarkable success stories), give them the opportunity. But where people simply do not care, perhaps it is better to let the language die in dignity. Write a grammar of it, so that the world may know what was there, and let it settle into its old age and pass into the shadows of graduate studies.
02 September 2010
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made II
I should elaborate upon my last words. I do not know whether my feminine inclination is natal or something I learned/subconsciously retreated to, but I do know that it is mine and has been there as long as memory. Some may say that it is natural and to be encouraged; others may say it is natural and a product of the Fall to be discouraged; and still others may say it is a machination and principality of the devil to be obliterated or cured. More—and possibly most—importantly, this is a thing unasked for and unsought: It is a thing either given or permitted by God. That means that regardless of whether my perceived discrepancy between sex and gender is from heaven or hell, my awareness of it and struggle with it are without doubt sanctioned by heaven. My struggle with it is part of who I am and to deny its place in my life would be to deny something God has sent me.
And even while I struggle with this thing God has allowed me, I must be on guard against the risk of letting myself become self-centred, thinking only of my struggle and not of others. Because I am confused and lost as to who I am and whether it is okay to indulge in it or not. And it is tempting to become so caught up in this confusion and struggle with identity that I forget to put others first, that I forget humility, that I forget charity. In all of this I am reminded of the Peace Prayer of Saint Francis. No matter my confusion, no matter my suffering, if I can place this before all else, I will have done something good, and hopefully the good of that will shape my suffering into something good as well. And are not the things that this prayer speaks of familiar? Conflict, hatred, injury, doubt, despair, darkness, and sadness. When I am not careful, these seek to saturate my being as I suffer. And so I must place seeking a remedy for my suffering beneath offering that remedy to all whom I meet. And perhaps as I do so, God will grant me the grace to be at peace with myself, at peace in my own body, at peace with the person God has made me.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and in dying that we are born to eternal life.
And even while I struggle with this thing God has allowed me, I must be on guard against the risk of letting myself become self-centred, thinking only of my struggle and not of others. Because I am confused and lost as to who I am and whether it is okay to indulge in it or not. And it is tempting to become so caught up in this confusion and struggle with identity that I forget to put others first, that I forget humility, that I forget charity. In all of this I am reminded of the Peace Prayer of Saint Francis. No matter my confusion, no matter my suffering, if I can place this before all else, I will have done something good, and hopefully the good of that will shape my suffering into something good as well. And are not the things that this prayer speaks of familiar? Conflict, hatred, injury, doubt, despair, darkness, and sadness. When I am not careful, these seek to saturate my being as I suffer. And so I must place seeking a remedy for my suffering beneath offering that remedy to all whom I meet. And perhaps as I do so, God will grant me the grace to be at peace with myself, at peace in my own body, at peace with the person God has made me.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made I
Thank-you, Lord, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. - Psalm 139:14
This is something I struggle with. By mortal eyes, while I am not repulsive, neither am I particularly well formed (although my wife would disagree). I am rather unremarkable. My mind is less trained than those whose company I keep and anyone whose is less trained cares little to nothing for academics. I am not entirely straight and also rather feminine, both in tastes and leaning, either as an accident of birth or something I unintentionally learned (nor particularly desired to learn)—and I do not know if I am just imagining it as I look back on my life and something I should therefore see razed from my being or simply an aspect of who I am. In short, I neither overly care for who I am nor am I particularly comfortable with myself. Not with my body, my mind, or my gender.
And yet I kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and see before me a lesson in humility, and a voice speaks to me reminding me that without humility we cannot love. Part of humility is seeing that God has made all things good. My spiritual father, my priest, reminds me of the words of the Psalmist, I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Who am I to be a higher court than God? Who am I to say to God, “I am made wrong”? Whether I was first made with this discrepancy of gender and sex (sometimes more apparent than others) or whether it is something which grew in the shadows unawares and unsought, only to be discovered now, first and foremost I must praise God who has made me. And I must praise Him who saw me fit to suffer for His Name's sake. And I will bless His Name who made me, for even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, He has blessed me with a companion who keeps me steady on the path.
I cannot now say whether affirming myself as I know I have been created (for physical form is notably easier to discern than the origins and development of gender) will show how I need to be purged of my feminine inclinations to be a fluid masculine and male being and participate in such a purging, or if it will pave the way for me to accept the apparent contradiction of gender and sex within me. But this I know: I am fearfully and wonderfully made; great are the works of God and let none slander anything He has made, for what He makes is good; and with all that is in me, I shall bless and praise the Name of the Lord who has made me.
This is something I struggle with. By mortal eyes, while I am not repulsive, neither am I particularly well formed (although my wife would disagree). I am rather unremarkable. My mind is less trained than those whose company I keep and anyone whose is less trained cares little to nothing for academics. I am not entirely straight and also rather feminine, both in tastes and leaning, either as an accident of birth or something I unintentionally learned (nor particularly desired to learn)—and I do not know if I am just imagining it as I look back on my life and something I should therefore see razed from my being or simply an aspect of who I am. In short, I neither overly care for who I am nor am I particularly comfortable with myself. Not with my body, my mind, or my gender.
And yet I kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and see before me a lesson in humility, and a voice speaks to me reminding me that without humility we cannot love. Part of humility is seeing that God has made all things good. My spiritual father, my priest, reminds me of the words of the Psalmist, I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Who am I to be a higher court than God? Who am I to say to God, “I am made wrong”? Whether I was first made with this discrepancy of gender and sex (sometimes more apparent than others) or whether it is something which grew in the shadows unawares and unsought, only to be discovered now, first and foremost I must praise God who has made me. And I must praise Him who saw me fit to suffer for His Name's sake. And I will bless His Name who made me, for even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, He has blessed me with a companion who keeps me steady on the path.
I cannot now say whether affirming myself as I know I have been created (for physical form is notably easier to discern than the origins and development of gender) will show how I need to be purged of my feminine inclinations to be a fluid masculine and male being and participate in such a purging, or if it will pave the way for me to accept the apparent contradiction of gender and sex within me. But this I know: I am fearfully and wonderfully made; great are the works of God and let none slander anything He has made, for what He makes is good; and with all that is in me, I shall bless and praise the Name of the Lord who has made me.
31 August 2010
Oops?
So after a MAJOR hiatus, I hope I'm returning.
Just so's you know, I'm probably going to shift this blog over to etinarcadiaego.blogspot.com in a week's time (assuming that I can figure out how to do so). Also, for those few who may be reading this, I would like to direct your attention to an excellent blog discussing homosexuality and Catholicism and Orthodoxy. The Homodox Confessions is very well written and approaches the topic in a necessarily delicate and thorough manner.
EDIT: Silly me forgetting to check to see if it was already taken. Well, it'll be changed to something before long.
EDIT the SECOND: Eh, whatever. I'll take what risks there may be by leaving it.
Just so's you know, I'm probably going to shift this blog over to etinarcadiaego.blogspot.com in a week's time (assuming that I can figure out how to do so). Also, for those few who may be reading this, I would like to direct your attention to an excellent blog discussing homosexuality and Catholicism and Orthodoxy. The Homodox Confessions is very well written and approaches the topic in a necessarily delicate and thorough manner.
EDIT: Silly me forgetting to check to see if it was already taken. Well, it'll be changed to something before long.
EDIT the SECOND: Eh, whatever. I'll take what risks there may be by leaving it.
19 May 2009
Kalamazoo and Other Happenings
SO, after a hiatus I return. In this time I have been driving myself crazy with classes and Latin and paper writing and paper giving and whatnotall.
I had the good fortune of giving a paper at the International Congress of Medieval Studies, which I know I've mentioned, but I am still pleased to know that I have actually done it. It went quite well, actually, I think. Amazingly, nearly 20 people showed up to our session at 8.30 Sunday morning. It was a dreadful time to have to give a talk at, but it still went over quite well.
I am now trying to sort out how to get one more half-credit of linguistics so that I can graduate. I may end up needing to do so in September, but that will be fine.
In happier news, I have begun reading Planet Narnia, by Michael Ward. In the first few pages, I am on the whole quite impressed and look forward to reading further. We need more scholars discussing the medievalism of C. S. Lewis. I strongly suspect that his Narnian Chronicles are not anywhere near so inconsistent nor haphazard as they have been accused of being. I shall try to remember to write up a review of the book when I finish it.
I had the good fortune of giving a paper at the International Congress of Medieval Studies, which I know I've mentioned, but I am still pleased to know that I have actually done it. It went quite well, actually, I think. Amazingly, nearly 20 people showed up to our session at 8.30 Sunday morning. It was a dreadful time to have to give a talk at, but it still went over quite well.
I am now trying to sort out how to get one more half-credit of linguistics so that I can graduate. I may end up needing to do so in September, but that will be fine.
In happier news, I have begun reading Planet Narnia, by Michael Ward. In the first few pages, I am on the whole quite impressed and look forward to reading further. We need more scholars discussing the medievalism of C. S. Lewis. I strongly suspect that his Narnian Chronicles are not anywhere near so inconsistent nor haphazard as they have been accused of being. I shall try to remember to write up a review of the book when I finish it.
15 April 2009
On the Silent Words of the West Rose Window of Chartres Cathedral
[This is a paper I wrote for a class on the Medieval Tradition. The topic was to write on a window at Chartres Cathedral. The particular window I wrote on, the West rose window, can be seen here in detail. There are a few slight differences between this one and the one I handed in. I prefer this version, but I did not feel that referencing Narnia would be counted quite academic enough for class.]
On the Silent Words of the West Rose Window of Chartres Cathedral
As I began to contemplate the West rose window of Chartres Cathedral, more and more I began to realise that nothing I could ever speak in words would ever come closer than a loose paraphrase of all that is contained therein. What follows, then, is, at best, the briefest of primers on beginning to recognise all that the window has to share. There is no articulation that can ever compare to that of the window itself.
This discussion of the West rose window of Chartres Cathedral will begin by considering its location in the church, and progressively look with more detail a the window and its individual components. Contained in this window is not a story, but rather an icon of the Last Judgement. I say an icon, rather than a picture or a scene, because it stands static outside of time, not fixed in a specific place inside of time.
The first thing to notice is the fact that the window is in the West—the West, where the sun sets, signifying an end: closure and completion. Thus, it is fitting that the window proclaiming the Last Judgement be in the West. And it is past this window that one must progress when exiting the back of the church, just as all must go through the Last Judgement at the end of the world. Beneath the window, set into the floor, is a labyrinth, with its opening on the West side. This allows the person who has arrived at the centre to look up at the window before beginning the journey outward, and to also look up upon exiting the labyrinth and see the Final Judgement before them.
The next thing to notice is that it is a rose window. A rose window is a particularly large window in the form of a circle, just as the labyrinth below this particular one. A circle is a sign of wholeness and completion, as well as a symbol of the world. And further, Alain de Lille, from the school of Chartres in the twelfth century, the same century in which the Cathedral was built, wrote in his Regulae caelestis iuris, "[S]olam monadem esse alpha et omega sine alpha et omega. Ex eo enim quod principio caret et fine, deus spera dicitur."1 So the circle is not just a reflection of the world, but indeed a reflection of God in His infinite being. In this way, then, the West rose window may be said to be an image of the macrocosm: it points to the image of the culmination of the creative act, that is, the creating of the universe.
It also stands apart from the other two rose windows, which bear the Glorification of the Virgin and the Glorification of Christ, in that they each form complete, bounded circles: the perimeter of each is clearly demarcated. In the West window, however, the placement of the component panels gives the impression that the window is expanding outwards, compared to the North and South rose windows which appear to be complete circles with clearly defined edges. This is appropriate for the Last Judgement because its consequences are eternal and without limit. Further, while the labyrinth has only one entrance, one way to the centre, this window has no edges, thus beckoning all people to come unto Christ who is at the centre.
These open boundaries emphasise the enormity of the one at the centre who is larger than the outside. In the window, the outside appears to point to limitlessness, and yet Christ is at the centre, whose limitlessness is assured. As Alain de Lille wrote in same work mentioned above, "Deus est spera intelligibili cuius centrum ubique circumfrentia nusquam."2 Thus Christ, who is God, the beginning and end of all, containing all existence, is shown at the centre, despite having a circumference which is nowhere. And by that same token, all, save for those clearly damned, in that window are fixed on Christ at the centre of all in that limitless circle. As C. S. Lewis adeptly put it, there was once a stable whose inside was greater than the whole world.3
As already stated, Christ is at the centre of the window, and all of the window is focused on Him and pointing to Him. (As a note, the top of the window is presupposed to be East, and the other cardinal and ordinal directions follow from there.) At the cardinal points, in the layer of the window nearest to Christ, we find the four beasts surrounding the heavenly throne signifying the four Evangelists. In the West we have Matthew, in the North is Mark, in the South is Luke, and in the East is John. Both Mark, the lion, and Luke, the ox, have a single forefoot on a book, and all four figures are facing Christ. These two Evangelists with their gospels being portrayed draw us from the Western gospel, that of Matthew, which emphasises the human elements of Christ, up to the Eastern gospel, John, which emphasises the divine elements of Christ. Between each of the Evangelists are two angels, eight in total, completing a circle around Christ, all of whom are looking at Christ in the centre.
Connected to these windows are larger windows, making the combination of the smaller inner window and the larger outer window look like a series of twelve arrows pointing to the centre, or beaming outwards. At the West-most point, there is an image of St. Michael the Archangel weighing souls and devils attempting to tip the scale in their favour. In the window to the North of this one, the one on Christ's right, there is an image of an angel guiding souls away from the scale. On the South side, on Christ's left, demons herd damned souls away from the scale. At the East-most point, there is an image of St. Abraham with three souls in his bosom, a reference to the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus.4 At the windows to the right and the left of this are Cherubim. Then, at the North-most point, at the right-hand side of Christ, resides St. Peter holding a key, as well as another apostle, both of whom are looking and gesturing towards Christ in the centre. At the South-most point are two more apostles, also looking and gesturing towards Christ, one of whom is likely to be St. Paul as they hold books (a symbol often associated with St. Paul) and the rose window has a tendency to mirror from North to South. To both the East and West of both the windows of St. Peter and St. Paul are windows each showing two more apostles looking and gesturing to the centre and to Christ, bringing the total number of apostles to twelve. Again, as we saw with the placement of the four Evangelists, with the human in the West and the divine in the East and the gospel books to draw us up to the divine, we see that judgement lies in the West, and that through the teachings of the Church and the apostles, we may be drawn upwards to be higher than the Cherubim, and reside in the bosom of Abraham.
In the outermost ring of windows, at the Western end are two windows depicting the damned. In the Southern of the two are two demons carrying off damned souls, and in the Northern of the two are three souls in the Hellmouth. At the centre is a figure with a sack about his neck, signifying Judas and the thirty pieces of silver. In the two windows to the East of these, in both the North and the South, are images of two souls in each window climbing out of sarcophagi. Above these two sets of two windows are two more windows, one in the North and one in the South, depicting souls, three in each, awaiting judgement. Then there are two more windows, each showing two angels blowing horns. At the top of the window, as a foil to the two windows in the West, are two windows showing angels bearing the instruments of the Passion. In the one to the South, to mirror the demons bearing off souls, is an angel holding the crown, the lance, and the three nails; in the one to the North, to mirror the Hellmouth, is an angel carrying the cross.
Surrounding all of the windows in the outer ring are small images of chrysalises at the ordinal points, surrounded by red which is encompassed by a blue ring, and images of butterflies at the cardinal points, surrounded by blue which is encompassed by a red ring. The chrysalises at the ordinal points signify our state of being betwixt and between. This is emphasised by the red colour surrounding it, red signifying the fire of the Holy Spirit and His divine love,5 and the blue encasing it all, blue signifying the purified life.6 The butterflies at the cardinal points signify our glorified state at the end of time, the cardinal points being pure directions, not in-between ones. In this life the holy are filled with the divine fire as they are changed, and purity shines forth; but, in the glorified state, the divine fire shines out because they have been made pure in all ways.
It is notable that while this window depicts the Last Judgement, there are only three windows that clearly depict the damned. Two of these are in the outer ring at the West-most point, and one is just above and to the left of Christ and the scale where St. Michael is weighing souls. Aside from these three, the fate of the souls in all the rest of the windows is either unclear, but suggested that they are to live in heaven, or is clear that they are to live in heaven. The Last Judgement, then, according to this window, is not about the damning of souls, but the resurrecting of souls for life in Christ. Instead of emphasising fear of Hell, the iconography seeks to draw the viewer further up and further in7 Christ who is at the centre and encompasses the whole of the vastness of eternity.
1 "[A] sole monad is the alpha and omega without alpha and omega. From this indeed, because He lacks beginning and end, God is said to be a sphere." Alain de Lille, Regulae caelestis iuris, ed. N.M. Häring, Archives D'Histoire Doctrinale et Litteraire du Moyen Age 48 (1981) 97-226, at pp.131-132.
2 "God is an intelligible sphere whose centre is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere." Ibid.
3 Lewis, C. S. The Last Battle. London: Fontana Lions. p.134.
4 The HarperCollins Study Bible : New revised standard version, with the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical books 1993. , eds. Wayne A. Meeks, Jouette M. Bassler and Society of Biblical Literature. 1st ed. ed. San Francisco, Calif.: HarperSanFrancisco, Lk. 16:19-31
5 Morrisroe, Patrick. "Liturgical Colours." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 4. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1908. 30 Mar. 2009.
6 Besançon, Alain. 2000. The forbidden image : An intellectual history of iconoclasm. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, p. 97.
7 Lewis, C. S. The Last Battle. London: Fontana Lions, 162.
On the Silent Words of the West Rose Window of Chartres Cathedral
As I began to contemplate the West rose window of Chartres Cathedral, more and more I began to realise that nothing I could ever speak in words would ever come closer than a loose paraphrase of all that is contained therein. What follows, then, is, at best, the briefest of primers on beginning to recognise all that the window has to share. There is no articulation that can ever compare to that of the window itself.
This discussion of the West rose window of Chartres Cathedral will begin by considering its location in the church, and progressively look with more detail a the window and its individual components. Contained in this window is not a story, but rather an icon of the Last Judgement. I say an icon, rather than a picture or a scene, because it stands static outside of time, not fixed in a specific place inside of time.
The first thing to notice is the fact that the window is in the West—the West, where the sun sets, signifying an end: closure and completion. Thus, it is fitting that the window proclaiming the Last Judgement be in the West. And it is past this window that one must progress when exiting the back of the church, just as all must go through the Last Judgement at the end of the world. Beneath the window, set into the floor, is a labyrinth, with its opening on the West side. This allows the person who has arrived at the centre to look up at the window before beginning the journey outward, and to also look up upon exiting the labyrinth and see the Final Judgement before them.
The next thing to notice is that it is a rose window. A rose window is a particularly large window in the form of a circle, just as the labyrinth below this particular one. A circle is a sign of wholeness and completion, as well as a symbol of the world. And further, Alain de Lille, from the school of Chartres in the twelfth century, the same century in which the Cathedral was built, wrote in his Regulae caelestis iuris, "[S]olam monadem esse alpha et omega sine alpha et omega. Ex eo enim quod principio caret et fine, deus spera dicitur."1 So the circle is not just a reflection of the world, but indeed a reflection of God in His infinite being. In this way, then, the West rose window may be said to be an image of the macrocosm: it points to the image of the culmination of the creative act, that is, the creating of the universe.
It also stands apart from the other two rose windows, which bear the Glorification of the Virgin and the Glorification of Christ, in that they each form complete, bounded circles: the perimeter of each is clearly demarcated. In the West window, however, the placement of the component panels gives the impression that the window is expanding outwards, compared to the North and South rose windows which appear to be complete circles with clearly defined edges. This is appropriate for the Last Judgement because its consequences are eternal and without limit. Further, while the labyrinth has only one entrance, one way to the centre, this window has no edges, thus beckoning all people to come unto Christ who is at the centre.
These open boundaries emphasise the enormity of the one at the centre who is larger than the outside. In the window, the outside appears to point to limitlessness, and yet Christ is at the centre, whose limitlessness is assured. As Alain de Lille wrote in same work mentioned above, "Deus est spera intelligibili cuius centrum ubique circumfrentia nusquam."2 Thus Christ, who is God, the beginning and end of all, containing all existence, is shown at the centre, despite having a circumference which is nowhere. And by that same token, all, save for those clearly damned, in that window are fixed on Christ at the centre of all in that limitless circle. As C. S. Lewis adeptly put it, there was once a stable whose inside was greater than the whole world.3
As already stated, Christ is at the centre of the window, and all of the window is focused on Him and pointing to Him. (As a note, the top of the window is presupposed to be East, and the other cardinal and ordinal directions follow from there.) At the cardinal points, in the layer of the window nearest to Christ, we find the four beasts surrounding the heavenly throne signifying the four Evangelists. In the West we have Matthew, in the North is Mark, in the South is Luke, and in the East is John. Both Mark, the lion, and Luke, the ox, have a single forefoot on a book, and all four figures are facing Christ. These two Evangelists with their gospels being portrayed draw us from the Western gospel, that of Matthew, which emphasises the human elements of Christ, up to the Eastern gospel, John, which emphasises the divine elements of Christ. Between each of the Evangelists are two angels, eight in total, completing a circle around Christ, all of whom are looking at Christ in the centre.
Connected to these windows are larger windows, making the combination of the smaller inner window and the larger outer window look like a series of twelve arrows pointing to the centre, or beaming outwards. At the West-most point, there is an image of St. Michael the Archangel weighing souls and devils attempting to tip the scale in their favour. In the window to the North of this one, the one on Christ's right, there is an image of an angel guiding souls away from the scale. On the South side, on Christ's left, demons herd damned souls away from the scale. At the East-most point, there is an image of St. Abraham with three souls in his bosom, a reference to the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus.4 At the windows to the right and the left of this are Cherubim. Then, at the North-most point, at the right-hand side of Christ, resides St. Peter holding a key, as well as another apostle, both of whom are looking and gesturing towards Christ in the centre. At the South-most point are two more apostles, also looking and gesturing towards Christ, one of whom is likely to be St. Paul as they hold books (a symbol often associated with St. Paul) and the rose window has a tendency to mirror from North to South. To both the East and West of both the windows of St. Peter and St. Paul are windows each showing two more apostles looking and gesturing to the centre and to Christ, bringing the total number of apostles to twelve. Again, as we saw with the placement of the four Evangelists, with the human in the West and the divine in the East and the gospel books to draw us up to the divine, we see that judgement lies in the West, and that through the teachings of the Church and the apostles, we may be drawn upwards to be higher than the Cherubim, and reside in the bosom of Abraham.
In the outermost ring of windows, at the Western end are two windows depicting the damned. In the Southern of the two are two demons carrying off damned souls, and in the Northern of the two are three souls in the Hellmouth. At the centre is a figure with a sack about his neck, signifying Judas and the thirty pieces of silver. In the two windows to the East of these, in both the North and the South, are images of two souls in each window climbing out of sarcophagi. Above these two sets of two windows are two more windows, one in the North and one in the South, depicting souls, three in each, awaiting judgement. Then there are two more windows, each showing two angels blowing horns. At the top of the window, as a foil to the two windows in the West, are two windows showing angels bearing the instruments of the Passion. In the one to the South, to mirror the demons bearing off souls, is an angel holding the crown, the lance, and the three nails; in the one to the North, to mirror the Hellmouth, is an angel carrying the cross.
Surrounding all of the windows in the outer ring are small images of chrysalises at the ordinal points, surrounded by red which is encompassed by a blue ring, and images of butterflies at the cardinal points, surrounded by blue which is encompassed by a red ring. The chrysalises at the ordinal points signify our state of being betwixt and between. This is emphasised by the red colour surrounding it, red signifying the fire of the Holy Spirit and His divine love,5 and the blue encasing it all, blue signifying the purified life.6 The butterflies at the cardinal points signify our glorified state at the end of time, the cardinal points being pure directions, not in-between ones. In this life the holy are filled with the divine fire as they are changed, and purity shines forth; but, in the glorified state, the divine fire shines out because they have been made pure in all ways.
It is notable that while this window depicts the Last Judgement, there are only three windows that clearly depict the damned. Two of these are in the outer ring at the West-most point, and one is just above and to the left of Christ and the scale where St. Michael is weighing souls. Aside from these three, the fate of the souls in all the rest of the windows is either unclear, but suggested that they are to live in heaven, or is clear that they are to live in heaven. The Last Judgement, then, according to this window, is not about the damning of souls, but the resurrecting of souls for life in Christ. Instead of emphasising fear of Hell, the iconography seeks to draw the viewer further up and further in7 Christ who is at the centre and encompasses the whole of the vastness of eternity.
1 "[A] sole monad is the alpha and omega without alpha and omega. From this indeed, because He lacks beginning and end, God is said to be a sphere." Alain de Lille, Regulae caelestis iuris, ed. N.M. Häring, Archives D'Histoire Doctrinale et Litteraire du Moyen Age 48 (1981) 97-226, at pp.131-132.
2 "God is an intelligible sphere whose centre is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere." Ibid.
3 Lewis, C. S. The Last Battle. London: Fontana Lions. p.134.
4 The HarperCollins Study Bible : New revised standard version, with the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical books 1993. , eds. Wayne A. Meeks, Jouette M. Bassler and Society of Biblical Literature. 1st ed. ed. San Francisco, Calif.: HarperSanFrancisco, Lk. 16:19-31
5 Morrisroe, Patrick. "Liturgical Colours." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 4. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1908. 30 Mar. 2009
6 Besançon, Alain. 2000. The forbidden image : An intellectual history of iconoclasm. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, p. 97.
7 Lewis, C. S. The Last Battle. London: Fontana Lions, 162.
17 February 2009
Latin Sudoku II
So, last time we discussed dactylic hexameter, that fine form of Vergil. Today I will fill in a few details that I left out last time, and also cover elegiac couplets.
One major detail which you may have noticed that I left out last time is that of elision. Elision is when a syllable is not counted, or elided. This is not something that happens standardly to any given syllable, but there are certain syllables that may be elided if necessary. One such example is enclitic -que. The other case is when a word ends in -um. This will not appear in an example later. As I already said, these are not necessarily elided, but the option does exist, so if a line is just not making sense, it's worth it to go back and re-evaluate it to see if removing them lets you balance the line.
Now, on to elegiac couplets. An elegiac couplet consists of two main parts: one line of dactylic hexameter, and one line which consists of two two-and-a-half foot segments. As we know, that first line therefore looks like this: ¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¯
That's half of the couplet done already. The second half starts out even easier than hexameter. The end of the line must end in (¯¨¨)¯¨¨¯. The portion in brackets is occasionally liable to be an exception, but this is sufficiently rare that it need only be looked for if the line is not balancing. The first portion is exactly the same, with the exception that the dactyls can be replaced with spondees, just as in dactylic hexameter.
Thus, the full couplet looks like this:
¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¯
¯¨¨¯¨¨¯//¯¨¨¯¨¨¯
The double slash denotes the break between the two sets of two-and-a-half feet.
As a note on translation, it is helpful to realise that elegiac couplets form a complete idea, so that you rarely need to look outside of the couplet for utterly essential information. Take this, though, with the block of salt that you need to take all Latin poetry with.
Now to apply this meter to an actual couplet. This one comes from the first of the Fables of Avianus, DE NUTRICE ET INFANTE:
Rustica deflentum parvum iuraverat olim,
We begin with the hexameter:
Rūstica deflentum parvum iur/āvërät / ōlīm,
As before, you can see, we do the dactyl and spondee at the end, as well as the long first syllable. Now we go on to mark everything that must be long by position:
Rūstica dēflēntūm pārvūm iur/āvërät / ōlīm,
And now it is a simple matter of filling in the unknown vowel lengths in 'rustica' and 'iuraverat':
Rūstïcä / dēflēn/tūm pār/vūm iūr/āvërät / ōlīm,
And now we have the first line!
The second line, the part we've learned today, then goes as follows:
Ni taceat, rabido // quōd förët ēscä lüpō.
So you can see how half of the line is already marked out with a basic long-short-short-long-short-short-long.
Then for the first part we mark out what we must know, just as before:
Nī taceat, rabidō // quōd förët ēscä lüpō.
You will note that I have marked not just the first syllable as long, but the final syllable as well. This is because the half-foot at the end is the first half of another foot, which in both cases is long.
This leaves us with five syllables of unknown length. Therefore we just try and see if we can't fit in dactyls:
Nī täcëāt, räbïdō // quōd förët ēscä lüpō.
And it works!
So the full couplet scans thus:
Rūstïcä / dēflēn/tūm pār/vūm iūr/āvërät / ōlīm,
Nī täcëāt, räbïdō // quōd förët ēscä lüpō.
(Also, if anyone knows how to indent in html without making the line italic, I would be much obliged.)
One major detail which you may have noticed that I left out last time is that of elision. Elision is when a syllable is not counted, or elided. This is not something that happens standardly to any given syllable, but there are certain syllables that may be elided if necessary. One such example is enclitic -que. The other case is when a word ends in -um. This will not appear in an example later. As I already said, these are not necessarily elided, but the option does exist, so if a line is just not making sense, it's worth it to go back and re-evaluate it to see if removing them lets you balance the line.
Now, on to elegiac couplets. An elegiac couplet consists of two main parts: one line of dactylic hexameter, and one line which consists of two two-and-a-half foot segments. As we know, that first line therefore looks like this: ¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¯
That's half of the couplet done already. The second half starts out even easier than hexameter. The end of the line must end in (¯¨¨)¯¨¨¯. The portion in brackets is occasionally liable to be an exception, but this is sufficiently rare that it need only be looked for if the line is not balancing. The first portion is exactly the same, with the exception that the dactyls can be replaced with spondees, just as in dactylic hexameter.
Thus, the full couplet looks like this:
¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¨¨/¯¯
¯¨¨¯¨¨¯//¯¨¨¯¨¨¯
The double slash denotes the break between the two sets of two-and-a-half feet.
As a note on translation, it is helpful to realise that elegiac couplets form a complete idea, so that you rarely need to look outside of the couplet for utterly essential information. Take this, though, with the block of salt that you need to take all Latin poetry with.
Now to apply this meter to an actual couplet. This one comes from the first of the Fables of Avianus, DE NUTRICE ET INFANTE:
Rustica deflentum parvum iuraverat olim,
Ni taceat, rabido quod foret esca lupo.
We begin with the hexameter:
Rūstica deflentum parvum iur/āvërät / ōlīm,
As before, you can see, we do the dactyl and spondee at the end, as well as the long first syllable. Now we go on to mark everything that must be long by position:
Rūstica dēflēntūm pārvūm iur/āvërät / ōlīm,
And now it is a simple matter of filling in the unknown vowel lengths in 'rustica' and 'iuraverat':
Rūstïcä / dēflēn/tūm pār/vūm iūr/āvërät / ōlīm,
And now we have the first line!
The second line, the part we've learned today, then goes as follows:
Ni taceat, rabido // quōd förët ēscä lüpō.
So you can see how half of the line is already marked out with a basic long-short-short-long-short-short-long.
Then for the first part we mark out what we must know, just as before:
Nī taceat, rabidō // quōd förët ēscä lüpō.
You will note that I have marked not just the first syllable as long, but the final syllable as well. This is because the half-foot at the end is the first half of another foot, which in both cases is long.
This leaves us with five syllables of unknown length. Therefore we just try and see if we can't fit in dactyls:
Nī täcëāt, räbïdō // quōd förët ēscä lüpō.
And it works!
So the full couplet scans thus:
Rūstïcä / dēflēn/tūm pār/vūm iūr/āvërät / ōlīm,
Nī täcëāt, räbïdō // quōd förët ēscä lüpō.
(Also, if anyone knows how to indent in html without making the line italic, I would be much obliged.)
11 February 2009
Latin Sudoku I
So I've decided to address a problem which has been plaguing our schools, the heart of our very society. It seems we are no longer able to reason or work through a problem rationally. We no longer know how to scan Latin verse. I am here to rectify this issue.
On Dactylic Hexameter or, All I Ever Need to Know I Learned from Latin Hexameter Verse
So we'll be working with a particular favourite line of mine: Explicit hic totum, pro scripto da mihi potum (there is another particular variant I just discovered which reads thus, Explicit hic totum, pro Christo da mihi potum).
The first thing to know is what is dactylic hexameter? It is a form of verse consisting of six feet, each of which is either a dactyl or a spondee. A dactyl is a long vowel followed by two short ones, and a spondee is two long vowels.
In English, when we speak of long and short vowels, we are usually referring to stress. That is because English is a qualitative language which is not sensitive to vowel length. (This does not mean that all of our vowels are the same length, it just means that we neither notice nor care in English). Latin, however, is a quantitative language, which is, in fact, sensitive to the length of vowels, and that is what matters in poetry.
So what determines if a vowel is long or short? First is whether its natural length is long or short, which you can find easily in any half-decent dictionary. Second is by the weight of its spoken syllable. And third, one of the easiest, is if it falls at the end of the line. We'll cover that last one first, as it is the easiest, and also the very first thing you do with dactylic hexameter. I will be showing long vowels thūs, and short vowels sö.
At the end of the line, without any exception I have ever heard of, you will have a dactyl and a spondee. So, the first thing you want to do is look at the right-hand side of the line and mark the first two vowels you see as being long. This is the spondee. Then mark the next two as short and the next as long. This is the dactyl. You already have two of the six figured out. While we are doing things we know must be true, regardless of the line, we will make the first vowel of the line long, because both dactyls and spondees begin with a long vowel, and consequently the very first vowel of the line, being the start of either one or the other, must be long. Ēxplicit hic totum, pro scripto / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
The next thing we need to consider is syllable weight. There are two elements that cause a syllable to be counted as heavy, and therefore the vowel long. The simplest is that all diphthongised vowels are long. This means that au, ae, oe, and ei are all, automatically, counted as a single, long vowel. Also, more rarely is eu, as in seu, or such cases of ui as huic, cui, and hui, but nowhere else.1
The other element is the consonants which follow the vowel. We will now enter into a bit of phonology and consider what forms a syllable. A syllable consists of two main parts: the onset and the rime. Because Latin phonology moves from right to left, the onset is irrelevant. The rime consists of two sub-parts: the nucleus and the coda. In Latin, the nucleus is always a vowel. The coda is the consonants which follow it. A heavy syllable is any case where the coda has two or more consonants in it. Orthographic word boundaries are unimportant and non-existent in a spoken language, and they are thus unimportant and non-existent in Latin poetry. This means that in the case of 'erat verbum', the 'a' in 'erat' is long, because it is followed by 't v'.
So let's apply this to what we already know about the line: Ēxplicit hīc totūm, prō scrīpto / dā mïhï / pōtūm. As a note, with what we see here, 'h' is a funny one which sometimes switches between being treated as a consonant and as not really existing. The main thing is to try it one way, and if it doesn't work, try it the other way. I usually err to treat it as absent initially and see where that leaves me.
We've now reached a point where we can choose between looking up words in the dictionary to see how they scan, or we can do things far faster and more reliably (in case the author is doing anything tricksy) by employing that wonder of the Greeks which we call logic. We know that every foot must be either a dactyl (¯¨¨) or a spondee (¯¯). This means that every vowel in the line must fit into one of those two patterns. So we look at the line as it stands: Ēxplicit hīc totūm, prō scrīpto / dā mïhï / pōtūm, and we see that the 'o' in 'scrīpto' is at the end of a foot, and the 'i' is long. Because a long vowel must either be at the start of three syllables (a dactyl) or in a spondee, we know that the 'o' must be part of a spondee. This gives us our third foot: Ēxplicit hīc totūm, prō / scrīptō / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
And now we see that it is preceded by another spondee, which we will mark out immediately: Ēxplicit hīc to/tūm, prō / scrīptō / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
Again, with 'hīc to-' we are in the same scenario as before with 'scrīptō', so we know that the 'to-' must be long, giving us this, Ēxplicit / hīc tō/tūm, prō / scrīptō / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
This leaves us with five feet and just the two 'i's in 'Ēxplicit' to sort out. Because this is our final foot, and there is only one foot that can take three syllables, that is, a dactyl, we know it must be that.
And so we can see that it scans thus, Ēxplïcït / hīc tō/tūm, prō / scrīptō / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
I hope that thinking it through like a puzzle makes it easier to do. There are some exceptions, such as elisions, which I have not considered in depth lest I terrify you too much. These will likely come up in part II where we look at elegiac couplets.
1. Wheelock's Latin, 6th Ed. p.xli. As a note, this also includes huius and cuius, however, as I tend to treat the 'i' there as a consonant, this is not a serious issue for scansion.
On Dactylic Hexameter or, All I Ever Need to Know I Learned from Latin Hexameter Verse
So we'll be working with a particular favourite line of mine: Explicit hic totum, pro scripto da mihi potum (there is another particular variant I just discovered which reads thus, Explicit hic totum, pro Christo da mihi potum).
The first thing to know is what is dactylic hexameter? It is a form of verse consisting of six feet, each of which is either a dactyl or a spondee. A dactyl is a long vowel followed by two short ones, and a spondee is two long vowels.
In English, when we speak of long and short vowels, we are usually referring to stress. That is because English is a qualitative language which is not sensitive to vowel length. (This does not mean that all of our vowels are the same length, it just means that we neither notice nor care in English). Latin, however, is a quantitative language, which is, in fact, sensitive to the length of vowels, and that is what matters in poetry.
So what determines if a vowel is long or short? First is whether its natural length is long or short, which you can find easily in any half-decent dictionary. Second is by the weight of its spoken syllable. And third, one of the easiest, is if it falls at the end of the line. We'll cover that last one first, as it is the easiest, and also the very first thing you do with dactylic hexameter. I will be showing long vowels thūs, and short vowels sö.
At the end of the line, without any exception I have ever heard of, you will have a dactyl and a spondee. So, the first thing you want to do is look at the right-hand side of the line and mark the first two vowels you see as being long. This is the spondee. Then mark the next two as short and the next as long. This is the dactyl. You already have two of the six figured out. While we are doing things we know must be true, regardless of the line, we will make the first vowel of the line long, because both dactyls and spondees begin with a long vowel, and consequently the very first vowel of the line, being the start of either one or the other, must be long. Ēxplicit hic totum, pro scripto / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
The next thing we need to consider is syllable weight. There are two elements that cause a syllable to be counted as heavy, and therefore the vowel long. The simplest is that all diphthongised vowels are long. This means that au, ae, oe, and ei are all, automatically, counted as a single, long vowel. Also, more rarely is eu, as in seu, or such cases of ui as huic, cui, and hui, but nowhere else.1
The other element is the consonants which follow the vowel. We will now enter into a bit of phonology and consider what forms a syllable. A syllable consists of two main parts: the onset and the rime. Because Latin phonology moves from right to left, the onset is irrelevant. The rime consists of two sub-parts: the nucleus and the coda. In Latin, the nucleus is always a vowel. The coda is the consonants which follow it. A heavy syllable is any case where the coda has two or more consonants in it. Orthographic word boundaries are unimportant and non-existent in a spoken language, and they are thus unimportant and non-existent in Latin poetry. This means that in the case of 'erat verbum', the 'a' in 'erat' is long, because it is followed by 't v'.
So let's apply this to what we already know about the line: Ēxplicit hīc totūm, prō scrīpto / dā mïhï / pōtūm. As a note, with what we see here, 'h' is a funny one which sometimes switches between being treated as a consonant and as not really existing. The main thing is to try it one way, and if it doesn't work, try it the other way. I usually err to treat it as absent initially and see where that leaves me.
We've now reached a point where we can choose between looking up words in the dictionary to see how they scan, or we can do things far faster and more reliably (in case the author is doing anything tricksy) by employing that wonder of the Greeks which we call logic. We know that every foot must be either a dactyl (¯¨¨) or a spondee (¯¯). This means that every vowel in the line must fit into one of those two patterns. So we look at the line as it stands: Ēxplicit hīc totūm, prō scrīpto / dā mïhï / pōtūm, and we see that the 'o' in 'scrīpto' is at the end of a foot, and the 'i' is long. Because a long vowel must either be at the start of three syllables (a dactyl) or in a spondee, we know that the 'o' must be part of a spondee. This gives us our third foot: Ēxplicit hīc totūm, prō / scrīptō / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
And now we see that it is preceded by another spondee, which we will mark out immediately: Ēxplicit hīc to/tūm, prō / scrīptō / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
Again, with 'hīc to-' we are in the same scenario as before with 'scrīptō', so we know that the 'to-' must be long, giving us this, Ēxplicit / hīc tō/tūm, prō / scrīptō / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
This leaves us with five feet and just the two 'i's in 'Ēxplicit' to sort out. Because this is our final foot, and there is only one foot that can take three syllables, that is, a dactyl, we know it must be that.
And so we can see that it scans thus, Ēxplïcït / hīc tō/tūm, prō / scrīptō / dā mïhï / pōtūm.
I hope that thinking it through like a puzzle makes it easier to do. There are some exceptions, such as elisions, which I have not considered in depth lest I terrify you too much. These will likely come up in part II where we look at elegiac couplets.
1. Wheelock's Latin, 6th Ed. p.xli. As a note, this also includes huius and cuius, however, as I tend to treat the 'i' there as a consonant, this is not a serious issue for scansion.
09 February 2009
Avianus
So it's been a while since I've posted. And I feel like posting something, so you're all going to get what I've been translating. This is the first story of the Fabulae Aviani, the Fables of Avianus. It's written in elegiac couplets with internal rhyme in a number of places.
I.
DE NUTRICE ET INFANTE
Rustica deflentum parvum iuraverat olim,
And here translated:
I.
ON THE NURSE AND THE INFANT
Once upon a time a countrywoman swore an oath at a small child crying,
Huh... so, to be honest, I hadn't quite finished translating this before I began typing it up here. Honestly. For finishing it up I got a little help from a finished translation to make sense of some portions that were just not making sense to me. If you have any suggestions, do let me know!
I think I may post something on scansion soon, as many people have trouble with it, and it's one thing that I know I am decent at in Latin.
[Edit: Thanks to my DLF for some corrections on the translation!]
I.
DE NUTRICE ET INFANTE
Rustica deflentum parvum iuraverat olim,
Ni taceat, rabido quod foret esca lupo.Credulus hanc vocem lupus audiit et manet ipsas
Pervigil ante fores irrita vota gerens.Nam lassata puer nimiae dat membra quieti.
Spem quoque raptori sustulit inde fames.Hunc ubi sivarum repentem lustra suarum
Ieiunum coniunx sensit adesse lupa,'Cur,' inquit, 'nullam referens de more rapinam,
Languida consumptis sic trahis ora genis?''Ne mireris,' ait, 'deceptum fraude maligna
Vix miserum vacua delituisse fuga.Nam quae praeda, rogas, quae spes contingere posset,
Iurgia nutricis cum mihi verba darent?'Haec sibi dicta putet, seque hac sciat arte notari,
Femineam quisquis credidit esse fidem.
And here translated:
I.
ON THE NURSE AND THE INFANT
Once upon a time a countrywoman swore an oath at a small child crying,
That unless it be silent, it would be a meal for a rabid wolf.A credulous wolf heard this voice and, watchful, remained,
Bearing the vain vows before those doors.For the boy gave his weary limbs to excessive quiet.
Also, thence, hunger bore away hope for the plunderer.When a she-wolf, his wife, sensed this creeping, starving one
To be near by the den in their woods,She said, 'Why do you drag no plunder according to custom
O weak food-bringer, thus drag jaws with wasted cheeks?''Lest you wonder,' he said, 'that deceived by malignant fraud,
This wretch was hardly hidden in empty flight.For what spoil do you ask, what hope was able to seize,
When the words of the nurse gave me lies?'Let him suppose this said to him, and know this to be written
In this work, whosoever has believed a woman to be true.
Huh... so, to be honest, I hadn't quite finished translating this before I began typing it up here. Honestly. For finishing it up I got a little help from a finished translation to make sense of some portions that were just not making sense to me. If you have any suggestions, do let me know!
I think I may post something on scansion soon, as many people have trouble with it, and it's one thing that I know I am decent at in Latin.
[Edit: Thanks to my DLF for some corrections on the translation!]
12 January 2009
School Again, School Again
So I'm back to the grind of school. This semester is shaping up to be interesting, and hopefully more fun than last semester. Certainly busier than last semester.
I spent the other day in Waterloo doing research for Kazoo, and it was most productive. I'm looking forward to spending more time working on it. Also, I think my Medieval Child class will be a very good one for me to have taken in the future. I just get a very good feeling about it right now and I'm looking forward to it. Really, all of my medieval studies right now I'm looking forward to and enjoying.
To sleep for now, but I will try to update more often, especially as I'm doing more school stuff again.
I spent the other day in Waterloo doing research for Kazoo, and it was most productive. I'm looking forward to spending more time working on it. Also, I think my Medieval Child class will be a very good one for me to have taken in the future. I just get a very good feeling about it right now and I'm looking forward to it. Really, all of my medieval studies right now I'm looking forward to and enjoying.
To sleep for now, but I will try to update more often, especially as I'm doing more school stuff again.
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