I am busy. I do not think I have ever felt such weight pressing on me. Not only is there the end-of-semester homework (papers, exams, a presentation, and a frightening portfolio), but there is also the indefinite shadow of the Masters program, for which I need to apply before 15 January. It is all the more ominous because it is shapeless and huge: I have no idea what is expected of me, I know it’s a lot, and I know I’m still procrastinating. Occasionally I have bent under the exhaustion, weakly and unmanly. But God is good, like an oasis.
Tuesday, for instance, I contemplated going to the party, but ultimately decided not to go and devote myself to homework, or go to bed. Just before midnight, my housemates Marjan, Lianne, Monica and Megan came to pick me up; I went with them. At Barrel, after I had stood around for a while, feeling useless, I ran into Michaël, the Coptic Christian. We exchanged some pleasantries and information, when a guy briefly joined us, mentioned the recent Porn Party (‘it was dirty’, he said – Michaël and I had both been invited and had both declined) and moved on.
That butterfly comment caused a tornado. We spiraled into a discussion about the discrepancy between our values and the student culture, the temptation of becoming permissive, the difficulty of keeping the spirit aflame in this milieu, the value of prayer, our own prayer lives, concern and love for others, and the beauty of the liturgy, especially in Holy Week. We even exchanged a prayer request. We were standing near the entrance, both unmoving and speaking calmly; it was as if the loud dead rhythm of the music did not exist. What Pope John Paul II called the ‘two lungs of the Church’, West and East, met in a bar, breathed together, and expanded the flat roof into a dome.
All because the girls had picked me up, unexpectedly. Something similar had happened last week, on the fifth birthday party of our Student Association. During the lunch break, I went into Eleanor (our main building), where the tickets were sold; I decided I wouldn’t go; and in the evening, my housemate Sam announced that he was sick and giving away his ticket to ‘whosoever will’. (Culture Points to you if you get the allusion without googling.) I accepted, didn’t like the party very much, but was able to be a source of comfort for someone on the way home. And the next day brought blessings like a golden star and a silver garland.
On Wednesday, I had to write a take-home exam in the form of an essay. I threw myself on it, taking occasional breaks of various lengths, and always feared that I would not make the deadline, that I would not hand in a complete essay, but rather an unfinished monstrosity without conclusion, rhyme or reason, ‘born out of due time’ (another Culture Points opportunity). I wrote I could not go to a meeting at six; I even skipped Mass at seven, regretfully. But as I had promised, I went to a CURA lecture at eight.
It was called The Journey Inward and given by a Flemish Benedictine monk. From the moment he started speaking, he radiated peace. He spoke of very profound things – of resting, seeing, loving, and praising –, was funny at times, but maintained his calm and composure even then. It was then that I realised how anxious I had been over the exam: I had no mental energy left, but could only stare at him, dimly registering his words. (Afterwards he told me that he had drawn encouragement from me, because I was listening so attentively. It had been more like a trance, really.)
I wanted to tell everyone on Facebook that I had been in the presence of peace. However, I wondered which of the senses provided the most accurate metaphor. Had I seen peace, standing at a lectern? No – too distant, too cool. Had I heard it, then, in the moderate inflections of his Flemish voice? No – too noisy, too harsh. Had I touched it, or tasted it? No – too physical; my nerves had been so raw that the slightest touch would have been too much. I wrote that I had smelled it. It had pervaded the room like a perfume, an aroma, a cloud of incense. It calmed my mind very gradually and seeped into my clothes, and not only in mine: at least some of the others were in perfect accord with my sentiments.
For one day, I wondered if I should not withdraw from the academic wastelands and live at the monastic fountains. But in World Religions class, we (not I specifically) consulted the Tao Te Ching; it said that only the inferior man yielded to adversity. (Kim told me the same that evening.) Onward, Christian soldier; what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And if our faith is not vain, what kills you makes you stronger still.
During that class, I also had a good discussion with a classmate about horror movies; when I came home, I wrote a mail which I titled ‘Preliminary Prolegomena to an Aesthetics of the Ugly’ and sent it to her. Then I went on the Internet, to Chiesa, a website with ecclesiastical news in English, French, Spanish, and Italian. I read Pope Benedict’s catechesis on the medieval cathedrals and his Sistine Chapel address to the artists, in Spanish, to prepare for a reading test. It was about beauty, and very beautiful. There were some good paragraphs that served as a useful complement to the mail I had written earlier. I printed them. The next day (today, this very morning), I had an even better discussion with the same classmate.
Unearned, unlooked-for, given at will. (Culture and Prosody Points for the one who hears a familiar echo.) Many blessings in an intense time, squeezed into a staccato blogpost. If any fellow pilgrim should be moved to pray for me, kindly extend your charity to the souls of all my friends – praesertim illas quae maxime indigent misericordia.
(Now if your first reaction is, ‘Don’t be such a show-off – or at least quote it in the original Portuguese’, I doff my hat to you. God rest ye merry, gentlemen, may nothing you dismay. Happy Advent!)
Give thanks to the Lord, who is good, whose love endures forever.
Let the house of Israel say: God’s love endures forever.
Let the house of Aaron say: God’s love endures forever.
Let those who fear the LORD say: God’s love endures forever.
I shall not die but live and declare the deeds of the LORD.
The LORD chastised me harshly, but did not hand me over to death.
Open the gates of victory; I will enter and thank the LORD.
(Psalm 118:1-3, 17-19)
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
All Saints' Day
Sunday, appropriately, was the emotional highpoint of my stay in America.
The other days were great as well, but they were very dynamic, one lovely event following another. Sunday was a day of rest and rising, not to mention recognition.
On Saturday, we needed almost all day to drive back from Chicago to Omaha. I remember getting a wonderful warm apple and caramel drink from Starbucks, and a cold latte in the evening from somewhere else to go with my meal, but other than that, it was plains, cars, sun, snatches of talk, a beautiful sunset, and some more sleep. Kim woke both of us up in Kearney.
So, on to Sunday, when Kim went to Mass in Holdrege and I went to the Newman Center. I left early, so that the church would still be empty and silent – but I had forgotten Dianne’s music group. Of course they practised. They recognised me, too, and greeted me with glances and gestures. Ashley was there and Rita, Laura and Jennifer – and even Josh and Mark had come, no longer residents of Stout Hall. Indeed it was All Saints’ Day, and I was glad to be among the familiar saints of Kearney again.
Fr. Matt celebrated Mass, as in old times (I was reminded he’s only been ordained two years ago – never mind, he was still a priest in Old Times). He had lost none of his youth, sense of humour, and reverence. I received Communion, walked back and knelt down, while the soothing refrain of Blest Are They washed over us all. ‘Rejoice…and be glad: blessed are you, holy are you…’
It was very, very good to be back.
I recruited Ashley, Rita and Jennifer to come and eat at Chartwells. We had a good lunch, indeed abundant; I left some of my food, in accordance with American custom.
When I was back in my room, Eliot went to Barista’s. He said Kent would be there later in the afternoon, and I was welcome anytime I wanted to join. After some time, I walked across campus and across the road to the little coffee shop and sat down opposite Eliot to read Solzhenitsyn. He was reading the same book, I believe. We talked about Solzhenitsyn, Dostoyevsky, the responsibility of all for all, sanctification, Tolkien, and who knows what else. Longer conversations with Eliot usually take place on a higher level. At some point he said, ‘I’m surprised I even know you,’ and I was so taken aback at this inversion of values that it took me a few seconds before I could come up with a limping reply.
Kent joined us together with his brother, who is in the air forces, Jodi, and Hannah. He has a very bracing and reinvigorating character. Eliot deepens; Kent sharpens. He is applying for the University of Dallas in Texas and trying to promote the cause (he doesn’t like Notre Dame at all, for reasons previously outlined). I told him he would fit in well with the Texans, who are allegedly straightforward to the point of bluntness. ‘Thank you, Dutchman,’ he said.
When we returned, I went to find Kim, who had gone to visit her grandmother; we had coffee. Alone, I went to dinner at the Newman Center, where I saw Heather – and Heather saw me.
Heather saw me, and asked, full of incredulous amazement, ‘What are you doing here?’ Heather had expected me to be back in the Netherlands by this time. I was not, so we could hug. Heather had grown, and she had let her hair grow accordingly. It was recalled that Heather had not been present at the Newman Center social gathering, where the announcement of my extended stay had been made. I told her that even if we wouldn’t have had a chance to meet, I would be back in March anyway. Delighted, Heather rounded on her sisterly co-religionists and asked them, ‘Is there anything else you’re not telling me?’
Mass at seven in the evening was much the same as it was in the morning; since the audience varies, Fr. Matt usually recycles his homily, and the same songs are sung. The music group is thinner in the evening. It was again very good.
That week, a Busy Person’s Retreat was organised which was not strictly speaking a retreat, but a short private meeting with a spiritual director every day, preceded by personal prayer. It would last from Monday to Thursday. I had been invited that morning and had accepted, so after Mass, I found myself in a circle with a large group of people.
We were given heart-shaped tiles with one word on it. Sr. Rosemarie welcomed us and asked all of us to tell how God had led us there. I turned to Ashley (who was sitting next to me) and said, ‘This could be funny.’ God’s fatherly providence had certainly paved an unusual road towards the retreat. When it was my turn, I said, ‘I’m a third-year student from Roosevelt Academy in Middelburg, the Netherlands,’ and general laughter rose already.
A candle on a table in the middle was lit; we were invited to place our tile on it and speak the word on the tile. Mine said ‘surrender’. Ashley had ‘integrity’, which I thought was very fitting. Heather put down ‘serenity’, which I thought was a less obvious match. She is very kind and sincere…but serene?
I had been assigned to the direction of Fr. Paul, a Jesuit priest from Omaha. He has a different emphasis, a different way of expression, a different way of speaking. (Fr. Paul’s speech is very agreeable and smooth. I like edges, myself.)
We were all invited to reflect on the reading of Bartimaeus, and particularly Jesus’s question to him: ‘What do you want me to do for you?’
When I came home, I worked on my blog and talked to Kim until late in the evening. Then I went down to Eliot’s room and fell asleep on a borrowed air mattress under a borrowed blanket.
The other days were great as well, but they were very dynamic, one lovely event following another. Sunday was a day of rest and rising, not to mention recognition.
On Saturday, we needed almost all day to drive back from Chicago to Omaha. I remember getting a wonderful warm apple and caramel drink from Starbucks, and a cold latte in the evening from somewhere else to go with my meal, but other than that, it was plains, cars, sun, snatches of talk, a beautiful sunset, and some more sleep. Kim woke both of us up in Kearney.
So, on to Sunday, when Kim went to Mass in Holdrege and I went to the Newman Center. I left early, so that the church would still be empty and silent – but I had forgotten Dianne’s music group. Of course they practised. They recognised me, too, and greeted me with glances and gestures. Ashley was there and Rita, Laura and Jennifer – and even Josh and Mark had come, no longer residents of Stout Hall. Indeed it was All Saints’ Day, and I was glad to be among the familiar saints of Kearney again.
Fr. Matt celebrated Mass, as in old times (I was reminded he’s only been ordained two years ago – never mind, he was still a priest in Old Times). He had lost none of his youth, sense of humour, and reverence. I received Communion, walked back and knelt down, while the soothing refrain of Blest Are They washed over us all. ‘Rejoice…and be glad: blessed are you, holy are you…’
It was very, very good to be back.
I recruited Ashley, Rita and Jennifer to come and eat at Chartwells. We had a good lunch, indeed abundant; I left some of my food, in accordance with American custom.
When I was back in my room, Eliot went to Barista’s. He said Kent would be there later in the afternoon, and I was welcome anytime I wanted to join. After some time, I walked across campus and across the road to the little coffee shop and sat down opposite Eliot to read Solzhenitsyn. He was reading the same book, I believe. We talked about Solzhenitsyn, Dostoyevsky, the responsibility of all for all, sanctification, Tolkien, and who knows what else. Longer conversations with Eliot usually take place on a higher level. At some point he said, ‘I’m surprised I even know you,’ and I was so taken aback at this inversion of values that it took me a few seconds before I could come up with a limping reply.
Kent joined us together with his brother, who is in the air forces, Jodi, and Hannah. He has a very bracing and reinvigorating character. Eliot deepens; Kent sharpens. He is applying for the University of Dallas in Texas and trying to promote the cause (he doesn’t like Notre Dame at all, for reasons previously outlined). I told him he would fit in well with the Texans, who are allegedly straightforward to the point of bluntness. ‘Thank you, Dutchman,’ he said.
When we returned, I went to find Kim, who had gone to visit her grandmother; we had coffee. Alone, I went to dinner at the Newman Center, where I saw Heather – and Heather saw me.
Heather saw me, and asked, full of incredulous amazement, ‘What are you doing here?’ Heather had expected me to be back in the Netherlands by this time. I was not, so we could hug. Heather had grown, and she had let her hair grow accordingly. It was recalled that Heather had not been present at the Newman Center social gathering, where the announcement of my extended stay had been made. I told her that even if we wouldn’t have had a chance to meet, I would be back in March anyway. Delighted, Heather rounded on her sisterly co-religionists and asked them, ‘Is there anything else you’re not telling me?’
Mass at seven in the evening was much the same as it was in the morning; since the audience varies, Fr. Matt usually recycles his homily, and the same songs are sung. The music group is thinner in the evening. It was again very good.
That week, a Busy Person’s Retreat was organised which was not strictly speaking a retreat, but a short private meeting with a spiritual director every day, preceded by personal prayer. It would last from Monday to Thursday. I had been invited that morning and had accepted, so after Mass, I found myself in a circle with a large group of people.
We were given heart-shaped tiles with one word on it. Sr. Rosemarie welcomed us and asked all of us to tell how God had led us there. I turned to Ashley (who was sitting next to me) and said, ‘This could be funny.’ God’s fatherly providence had certainly paved an unusual road towards the retreat. When it was my turn, I said, ‘I’m a third-year student from Roosevelt Academy in Middelburg, the Netherlands,’ and general laughter rose already.
A candle on a table in the middle was lit; we were invited to place our tile on it and speak the word on the tile. Mine said ‘surrender’. Ashley had ‘integrity’, which I thought was very fitting. Heather put down ‘serenity’, which I thought was a less obvious match. She is very kind and sincere…but serene?
I had been assigned to the direction of Fr. Paul, a Jesuit priest from Omaha. He has a different emphasis, a different way of expression, a different way of speaking. (Fr. Paul’s speech is very agreeable and smooth. I like edges, myself.)
We were all invited to reflect on the reading of Bartimaeus, and particularly Jesus’s question to him: ‘What do you want me to do for you?’
When I came home, I worked on my blog and talked to Kim until late in the evening. Then I went down to Eliot’s room and fell asleep on a borrowed air mattress under a borrowed blanket.
Lecture in Leiden
Dutchmen: attention! An Internet acquaintance of mine alerted me to a lecture about the Holy Mass, which will take place tomorrow evening (Thursday 19 November) in Leiden and which will be delivered by the well-known priest Antoine Bodar. Further details can be found in the link.
It is possible to attend Mass with Fr. Antoine prior to the lecture.
P.S. Watching this might be a good preparation.
It is possible to attend Mass with Fr. Antoine prior to the lecture.
P.S. Watching this might be a good preparation.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
To Chicago
On Tuesday afternoon, we set out for Chicago. Kim drove the entire time, with occasional rest stops. The first one was at a store built like a barn, where we bought something to eat. I also took some photos. The whole way, I did not read a single letter of The First Circle, despite having brought the book. I either slept or sat in a kind of trance, eyes open but otherwise inactive. Alright, conversations took place occasionally, but mostly I was just catching up on sleep.
We arrived in Chicago around two o'clock at night. The city is very big, and we got lost in it; Kim asked for directions multiple times. There were a great number of churches that we passed, and I marked the interesting names: First Baptist Church, Third Baptist Church of the Holy Rood, Branch in the Body of Christ Holiness Church, New Joy Divine Full Gospel Church, and many others. All the division is very sad.
Finally, around 3.30, we arrived at Dr. Fendt's house and carried our luggage inside. He had gone to bed long ago, but left the door unlocked for us. Eliot and I slept in the basement; Kim had a room upstairs. It was nice to sleep in a good bed.
The next morning, I woke up early and got dressed for Mass. Dr. Fendt came wandering down in night clothes with dishevelled hair, shook hands, and said that he was going to take a shower. His wife Jean came down some time after that, fully dressed and ready to go. Dr. Fendt and I walked to St. Bernadette's Parish, one block down the road, while his wife took the car. It was a beautiful (though rather empty) church, and the homily was also good -- about what it meant to be the Body of Christ.
When we came back, Kim and Eliot were awake and out of bed, Kim regretting that she had awoken just a few minutes late. Dr. Fendt made us a wonderful breakfast with bread, pork, and eggs. While we were eating, we discussed the Republic and a Jewish novel Dr. Fendt recommended, called *The Last of the Just.
On the program for today was a visit to some bookstores in the city, the University of Chicago, and the Museum of Science & Industry. The bookstores were amazing, and I spent much of the cash I had taken at the airport. First we went to places where they sold secondhand books. I bought a couple of very cheap and very interesting books at the first place (regretfully leaving behind Cardinal Newman's *Sermons, which were 60 dollars rather than 6), and one book about Tolkien at the second. Then we went on to the university.
The campus of the University of Chicago was amazing. Especially Eliot really enjoyed it. Much of the architecture looked classical, and the buildings were overgrown with ivy. Dr. Fendt himself had studied there, and he remembered a time when every student was obliged to read certain great books, ensuring that the whole student body could draw on a common basis. It is still possible to do such a program, but optional.
We also looked around in the university bookstore. The Philosophy and Theology sections were really good. I almost bought a book by *Dietrich Bonhoeffer, but then I saw Cardinal Ratzinger's *The Spirit of the Liturgy and decided to go for that one instead. (Choices, choices!) Eliot bought some books by Russian authors, and Kim came out with a big collection of Kierkegaard.
Because the Museum of Science & Industry would close in about an hour, we decided to go over to the lake instead and walk along the shore. In the heart of Chicago, next to Lake Michigan, there is silence; you do not hear the city, but you can see part of it rising up from the waves if you clamber across the stones. A very beautiful place to be.
Dr. Fendt cooked for us all (he is a great cook, as we unanimously acknowledged), a pasta dinner, and the three of us were invited to share conversion stories with our hosts. Afterwards, we went to bed fairly quickly. I would have liked to play a game of chess, but was too tired, and anyway the others were too busy.
On Thursday, we went to Northwestern University and to the Art Institute of Chicago. At Northwestern, we were able to follow a class by Dr. Krout on Book VI of Nicomachean Ethics. The entire Ancient Philosophy course was about that book, and the class consisted of both graduates and undergraduates. The teacher was an expert and nice to listen to; however, Dr. Fendt commented on the slowness of the class, and we thought that the students were very quiet and didn't seem all that intelligent. By our standards, that is (cough). Also, the campus wasn't all that interesting.
By contrast, the Art Institute was amazing. It contained works by lots of different painters: American impressionists, Europeans from the Middle Ages, the Renaissance and the Baroque, and admittedly also modern American and European works. There was furniture and sculpture. There was ancient Greek and Egyptian art, Islamic art (decorations from the Qur'an), Indian art, African art, and more.
Caravaggio's Supper at Emmaus had pride of place. Personally, I found Guercino's The Entombment of Christ very moving. Of the later paintings, I liked various American paintings of the Catskill Mountains, and The Annunciation by George Hitchcock, which depicts the Virgin Mary as a Dutch peasant girl among the lilies. Of the really modern ones, Dr. Fendt pointed out Piet Mondriaan's Farm near Duivendrecht.
At some point, while I was looking at late medieval paintings and Kim wandered amongst the impressionists, I took out my cellphone and realised it was slightly after four o'clock, which meant that Dr. Fendt should remove his car. I walked over to Kim and reminded her; she made a call, and Dr. Fendt left the museum to check on his car. He was perhaps two minutes late; the parking space turned into a lane at four o'clock, his car had been towed, and he was unable to get it back that day. (He tried, which is why he took some time to come back to the museum, where we had stayed.) Despite the very inconvenient changes in his schedule, he remained very calm, with an ironic smile on his lips.
We decided to go home by train. In the meantime, we watched a dance which was performed at the Art Institute at that moment, looked at some more paintings and artwork, and had a real Chicago pizza while talking about Aristotle and the unity of virtue. After dinner, we went to the station and the train took us quite a ways through Chicago; Jean picked us up at Midway Airport.
We tasted some of the brownies which, if I recall correctly, Jean's daughter Lauren had baked, and then we went to bed. Next morning, on Friday, we got up fairly early to drive to the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, Indiana. Unfortunately, Dr. Fendt could not go with us, because he had to go get the car which had been towed. His wife drove him in Lauren's car, while the three of us were on our way, having eaten breakfast (for me, some yoghurt and a homemade cappuccino, courtesy of Dr. Fendt).
Indiana was very beautiful. It is slightly more hilly than Nebraska, and the autumnal trees had leaves of many colours. (During my stay in Kearney and Chicago, lots of leaves were blowing around all the time.)
Notre Dame has actually been the subject of a big controversy this year, because they invited President Obama to be the commencement speaker. As recent convert Francis Beckwith notes:
Unless the university does not believe that the Church's understanding of the moral law is true and knowable, it can no more in good conscience award an honorary doctorate of laws to a lawyer who rejects the humanity of the proper subjects of law than it could in good conscience award an honorary doctorate in science to a geocentric astronomer who rejects the deliverances of the discipline he claims to practice.
(Barack Obama and Notre Dame: Juris Doctor Honoris Causa?)
And it's not just the recent converts, either. Of the almost 200 bishops in the United States, 83 officially protested as well. LifeSiteNews has the full list. So, Notre Dame started out at a disadvantage, but it was still able to make a positive impression on the three of us.
We first had a talk with Dr. Blanchette, the director of the graduate Philosophy program (if I recall correctly), and she was very nice. She gave us information and sent us off to an arranged talk with three graduate students, one of whom studied Medieval Philosophy. Notre Dame has a good reputation when it comes to that field (there is a separate Institute of Medieval Studies, so a young philosopher could interact with them to find out more about the age). All three of us were interested in Medieval, so that was good. (Other interests included Ancient Philosophy and Aesthetics.)
Our conversation partners looked intelligent; one of them had actually studied in Louvain. They told us that the full program (Masters and Ph.D.) took about five years to complete; full funding was usually available, plus an added stipend which sounded like a lot of money to me. The Catholic identity was stronger at the undergraduate than at the graduate level, and even less among the faculty (ironically, they had a Protestant teaching Philosophy of Religion, the famous Alvin Plantinga), but it was still very much present. (It is certainly very visible on the outside, whatever the inside might be like. And coming from the Netherlands, of all places, I would have no right to complain.)
For our application, we had to submit a sample paper, which worried me the most. I don't recall ever writing a paper which would be good enough to get me anywhere. The graduates consoled me by saying that my chances would be increased because I was European and had studied multiple languages, including Latin. (Hey, my classical education might actually produce tangible benefits here!)
We were joined by an 'Aristotelian ethicist', another graduate student, who said that they did a lot of virtue ethics in their department, partly because of the influence of *Alasdair MacIntyre, who is a Research Professor there. He was a nice guy, even though he said rather scornful things about the Franciscan University of Steubenville.
When our talk was finished, we went back to Dr. Blanchette, who told us about job prospects and then sent us off to wander around campus. In going to the campus library, we drove through the main entranceway. Amazing! It was a straight way, lined with tall trees, and at the end there towered a building with a golden dome and a statue of the Blessed Virgin. The best visual impression I could find is here.
We spent a lot of time in the university bookstore; I couldn't decide which book to buy (something by Scott Hahn? C.S. Lewis? *George Weigel?), so I bought nothing. There would be a campus tour shortly. In the tastefully decorated main hall, Kim confided to me that Eliot fit in here.
It was raining. A lot. An older couple and we were the only ones taking the campus tour at that moment, and we were soaked in no time, not having a functioning umbrella. (Eliot's umbrella was so sad that 'Kim killed chivalry' by braving the rain that it yielded to the wind and became useless.) Nevertheless, we agreed that the tour was well worth it. We saw Main Quad, God's Quad (a square with religious buildings), the huge mural called the 'Word of Life' (popularly known as 'Touchdown Jesus'), the glorious Rosary Crown, the inviting 'All Come Unto Me' statue of Jesus facing the Marian statue on the dome, and, to top it all off, the basilica.
The basilica is probably what made the greatest impression on Kim, Eliot, and myself. It was simply rich, filled with stained glass, paintings and sculpture, in a grand architectural setting. You could spend hours there. Celebrating Mass in such a building must be overwhelming.
Back in Chicago, Dr. Fendt made us another amazing dinner. Afterwards, we sat in the living room, Dr. Fendt, his wife and the three of us. As more wine was consumed, the conversation grew more animated -- about many things, including serious things like the organisation Opus Dei, but also more comic ones like Dr. Fendt's enjoyable classes, and the fact that he had an official mention in the Oxford English Dictionary under 'philodoxical', right after a 150-year-old translation of Plato's Republic:
A student will certainly not learn anything from it; or if he does, it will only be another opinion. There can be philodoxical lectures, but there cannot be a philosophical one.
(*Platonic Errors, G. Fendt, p. 55)
(According to the OED, a 'philodox' is 'a person who loves or vehemently propounds his or her own opinions; a dogmatic or argumentative person'.)
Dr. Fendt was quite proud of this and jokingly insisted the conversation to dwell on this topic. We did not listen. We just had a good time.
Next Saturday morning, unfortunately, we had to leave, but at least all three of us got the chance to attend Mass with Dr. Fendt and his wife. We thanked them. I gave them stroopwafels; Jean gave us little books by the founder of Opus Dei. It had certainly been a very satisfying trip; it was nice to see our old congenial genius friend in another context, and simply to see him again; and both he and his wife had been very generous.
We arrived in Chicago around two o'clock at night. The city is very big, and we got lost in it; Kim asked for directions multiple times. There were a great number of churches that we passed, and I marked the interesting names: First Baptist Church, Third Baptist Church of the Holy Rood, Branch in the Body of Christ Holiness Church, New Joy Divine Full Gospel Church, and many others. All the division is very sad.
Finally, around 3.30, we arrived at Dr. Fendt's house and carried our luggage inside. He had gone to bed long ago, but left the door unlocked for us. Eliot and I slept in the basement; Kim had a room upstairs. It was nice to sleep in a good bed.
The next morning, I woke up early and got dressed for Mass. Dr. Fendt came wandering down in night clothes with dishevelled hair, shook hands, and said that he was going to take a shower. His wife Jean came down some time after that, fully dressed and ready to go. Dr. Fendt and I walked to St. Bernadette's Parish, one block down the road, while his wife took the car. It was a beautiful (though rather empty) church, and the homily was also good -- about what it meant to be the Body of Christ.
When we came back, Kim and Eliot were awake and out of bed, Kim regretting that she had awoken just a few minutes late. Dr. Fendt made us a wonderful breakfast with bread, pork, and eggs. While we were eating, we discussed the Republic and a Jewish novel Dr. Fendt recommended, called *The Last of the Just.
On the program for today was a visit to some bookstores in the city, the University of Chicago, and the Museum of Science & Industry. The bookstores were amazing, and I spent much of the cash I had taken at the airport. First we went to places where they sold secondhand books. I bought a couple of very cheap and very interesting books at the first place (regretfully leaving behind Cardinal Newman's *Sermons, which were 60 dollars rather than 6), and one book about Tolkien at the second. Then we went on to the university.
The campus of the University of Chicago was amazing. Especially Eliot really enjoyed it. Much of the architecture looked classical, and the buildings were overgrown with ivy. Dr. Fendt himself had studied there, and he remembered a time when every student was obliged to read certain great books, ensuring that the whole student body could draw on a common basis. It is still possible to do such a program, but optional.
We also looked around in the university bookstore. The Philosophy and Theology sections were really good. I almost bought a book by *Dietrich Bonhoeffer, but then I saw Cardinal Ratzinger's *The Spirit of the Liturgy and decided to go for that one instead. (Choices, choices!) Eliot bought some books by Russian authors, and Kim came out with a big collection of Kierkegaard.
Because the Museum of Science & Industry would close in about an hour, we decided to go over to the lake instead and walk along the shore. In the heart of Chicago, next to Lake Michigan, there is silence; you do not hear the city, but you can see part of it rising up from the waves if you clamber across the stones. A very beautiful place to be.
Dr. Fendt cooked for us all (he is a great cook, as we unanimously acknowledged), a pasta dinner, and the three of us were invited to share conversion stories with our hosts. Afterwards, we went to bed fairly quickly. I would have liked to play a game of chess, but was too tired, and anyway the others were too busy.
On Thursday, we went to Northwestern University and to the Art Institute of Chicago. At Northwestern, we were able to follow a class by Dr. Krout on Book VI of Nicomachean Ethics. The entire Ancient Philosophy course was about that book, and the class consisted of both graduates and undergraduates. The teacher was an expert and nice to listen to; however, Dr. Fendt commented on the slowness of the class, and we thought that the students were very quiet and didn't seem all that intelligent. By our standards, that is (cough). Also, the campus wasn't all that interesting.
By contrast, the Art Institute was amazing. It contained works by lots of different painters: American impressionists, Europeans from the Middle Ages, the Renaissance and the Baroque, and admittedly also modern American and European works. There was furniture and sculpture. There was ancient Greek and Egyptian art, Islamic art (decorations from the Qur'an), Indian art, African art, and more.
Caravaggio's Supper at Emmaus had pride of place. Personally, I found Guercino's The Entombment of Christ very moving. Of the later paintings, I liked various American paintings of the Catskill Mountains, and The Annunciation by George Hitchcock, which depicts the Virgin Mary as a Dutch peasant girl among the lilies. Of the really modern ones, Dr. Fendt pointed out Piet Mondriaan's Farm near Duivendrecht.
At some point, while I was looking at late medieval paintings and Kim wandered amongst the impressionists, I took out my cellphone and realised it was slightly after four o'clock, which meant that Dr. Fendt should remove his car. I walked over to Kim and reminded her; she made a call, and Dr. Fendt left the museum to check on his car. He was perhaps two minutes late; the parking space turned into a lane at four o'clock, his car had been towed, and he was unable to get it back that day. (He tried, which is why he took some time to come back to the museum, where we had stayed.) Despite the very inconvenient changes in his schedule, he remained very calm, with an ironic smile on his lips.
We decided to go home by train. In the meantime, we watched a dance which was performed at the Art Institute at that moment, looked at some more paintings and artwork, and had a real Chicago pizza while talking about Aristotle and the unity of virtue. After dinner, we went to the station and the train took us quite a ways through Chicago; Jean picked us up at Midway Airport.
We tasted some of the brownies which, if I recall correctly, Jean's daughter Lauren had baked, and then we went to bed. Next morning, on Friday, we got up fairly early to drive to the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, Indiana. Unfortunately, Dr. Fendt could not go with us, because he had to go get the car which had been towed. His wife drove him in Lauren's car, while the three of us were on our way, having eaten breakfast (for me, some yoghurt and a homemade cappuccino, courtesy of Dr. Fendt).
Indiana was very beautiful. It is slightly more hilly than Nebraska, and the autumnal trees had leaves of many colours. (During my stay in Kearney and Chicago, lots of leaves were blowing around all the time.)
Notre Dame has actually been the subject of a big controversy this year, because they invited President Obama to be the commencement speaker. As recent convert Francis Beckwith notes:
Unless the university does not believe that the Church's understanding of the moral law is true and knowable, it can no more in good conscience award an honorary doctorate of laws to a lawyer who rejects the humanity of the proper subjects of law than it could in good conscience award an honorary doctorate in science to a geocentric astronomer who rejects the deliverances of the discipline he claims to practice.
(Barack Obama and Notre Dame: Juris Doctor Honoris Causa?)
And it's not just the recent converts, either. Of the almost 200 bishops in the United States, 83 officially protested as well. LifeSiteNews has the full list. So, Notre Dame started out at a disadvantage, but it was still able to make a positive impression on the three of us.
We first had a talk with Dr. Blanchette, the director of the graduate Philosophy program (if I recall correctly), and she was very nice. She gave us information and sent us off to an arranged talk with three graduate students, one of whom studied Medieval Philosophy. Notre Dame has a good reputation when it comes to that field (there is a separate Institute of Medieval Studies, so a young philosopher could interact with them to find out more about the age). All three of us were interested in Medieval, so that was good. (Other interests included Ancient Philosophy and Aesthetics.)
Our conversation partners looked intelligent; one of them had actually studied in Louvain. They told us that the full program (Masters and Ph.D.) took about five years to complete; full funding was usually available, plus an added stipend which sounded like a lot of money to me. The Catholic identity was stronger at the undergraduate than at the graduate level, and even less among the faculty (ironically, they had a Protestant teaching Philosophy of Religion, the famous Alvin Plantinga), but it was still very much present. (It is certainly very visible on the outside, whatever the inside might be like. And coming from the Netherlands, of all places, I would have no right to complain.)
For our application, we had to submit a sample paper, which worried me the most. I don't recall ever writing a paper which would be good enough to get me anywhere. The graduates consoled me by saying that my chances would be increased because I was European and had studied multiple languages, including Latin. (Hey, my classical education might actually produce tangible benefits here!)
We were joined by an 'Aristotelian ethicist', another graduate student, who said that they did a lot of virtue ethics in their department, partly because of the influence of *Alasdair MacIntyre, who is a Research Professor there. He was a nice guy, even though he said rather scornful things about the Franciscan University of Steubenville.
When our talk was finished, we went back to Dr. Blanchette, who told us about job prospects and then sent us off to wander around campus. In going to the campus library, we drove through the main entranceway. Amazing! It was a straight way, lined with tall trees, and at the end there towered a building with a golden dome and a statue of the Blessed Virgin. The best visual impression I could find is here.
We spent a lot of time in the university bookstore; I couldn't decide which book to buy (something by Scott Hahn? C.S. Lewis? *George Weigel?), so I bought nothing. There would be a campus tour shortly. In the tastefully decorated main hall, Kim confided to me that Eliot fit in here.
It was raining. A lot. An older couple and we were the only ones taking the campus tour at that moment, and we were soaked in no time, not having a functioning umbrella. (Eliot's umbrella was so sad that 'Kim killed chivalry' by braving the rain that it yielded to the wind and became useless.) Nevertheless, we agreed that the tour was well worth it. We saw Main Quad, God's Quad (a square with religious buildings), the huge mural called the 'Word of Life' (popularly known as 'Touchdown Jesus'), the glorious Rosary Crown, the inviting 'All Come Unto Me' statue of Jesus facing the Marian statue on the dome, and, to top it all off, the basilica.
The basilica is probably what made the greatest impression on Kim, Eliot, and myself. It was simply rich, filled with stained glass, paintings and sculpture, in a grand architectural setting. You could spend hours there. Celebrating Mass in such a building must be overwhelming.
Back in Chicago, Dr. Fendt made us another amazing dinner. Afterwards, we sat in the living room, Dr. Fendt, his wife and the three of us. As more wine was consumed, the conversation grew more animated -- about many things, including serious things like the organisation Opus Dei, but also more comic ones like Dr. Fendt's enjoyable classes, and the fact that he had an official mention in the Oxford English Dictionary under 'philodoxical', right after a 150-year-old translation of Plato's Republic:
A student will certainly not learn anything from it; or if he does, it will only be another opinion. There can be philodoxical lectures, but there cannot be a philosophical one.
(*Platonic Errors, G. Fendt, p. 55)
(According to the OED, a 'philodox' is 'a person who loves or vehemently propounds his or her own opinions; a dogmatic or argumentative person'.)
Dr. Fendt was quite proud of this and jokingly insisted the conversation to dwell on this topic. We did not listen. We just had a good time.
Next Saturday morning, unfortunately, we had to leave, but at least all three of us got the chance to attend Mass with Dr. Fendt and his wife. We thanked them. I gave them stroopwafels; Jean gave us little books by the founder of Opus Dei. It had certainly been a very satisfying trip; it was nice to see our old congenial genius friend in another context, and simply to see him again; and both he and his wife had been very generous.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Back in Kearney
On Sunday morning, my father and I left for the airport once again, with less urgency. We made it in time, and I went on my way to Omaha, via Dublin and Chicago. Chicago looks very beautiful from the air. Some of the first things I saw back on American soil were posters advertising a stained glass collection with great medieval artwork, which is a very nice welcoming gesture.
Kim was waiting in Omaha, an even nicer welcoming gesture. By this time it was 22.00 American time, or 5.00 Dutch time, and I had been travelling all day. I had slept in the airplane, of course, being too tired to keep my eyes open when we touched down in Omaha; once the plane stopped moving, however, all the sleepiness had gone, and I had a nice little chat with my neighbour, who had gone to visit her daughter in Chicago.
Kim drove me back to Kearney; we discussed some important topics on the way and exchanged family news, stopping once for food. We arrived at good old Stout Hall around 2.00, where I was shown the room of Eliot and Tyler. They had an inflated air mattress for me; Kim provided a blanket and pillow, and so I could sleep in peace.
I awoke rather early, in the Dutch afternoon, even before my alarm clock went off. My alarm had actually been set pretty early, because Kim and I had decided to start the week by going to Mass at St. James. Mass was at 7.00. I saw some old acquaintances there, like Mr. O'Rourke.
My first class was at 9.05, Intro to Ethics with Dr. Martin (Kim did SI there, and Breanna sat in because she liked the book). The class was reading *Cancer Ward, a Solzhenitsyn novel. The chapter was about a young girl who wants to be a writer, but who plans on 'not making any mistakes', i.e. being very ideologically correct and writing broadly rather than about specifics. (A good story is always about specific characters, of course.) The young girl thinks that all progress is materialistic, and she is unable to see what's in front of her, like her father who is dying of cancer ('just a swollen gland').
The writer thinks she is good at what she does because she has a good name and looks like a writer. Dr. Martin made fun of her by saying that he went into Philosophy because he had a beard and a nice, caring, sharing, compassionate, academic, girly voice. (Dale Ahlquist once wrote that he had 'a voice that could loosen plaster').
After that, I had Intro to Philosophy with Dr. Rozema (Ivan and Trevor were there), where we discussed Plato's Republic, the part where he talks about the oligarchic and the democratic souls. The oligarch reminds me of me: very cautious, a lover of money and secure status, not willing to run any risks for the sake of honour or justice. An oligarchic society (like eighteenth-century Holland, I would imagine) degenerates into a democratic society, which is the opposite of the City of Justice. In a democratic society, appetite rules the spirited part (something like the energetic part) and the spirited part rules reason; in the City of Justice, on the other hand, reason rules the spirited part and it rules appetite. The democratic society is filled with conflicts, and the laws that are made are aimed against restrictions, trying to provide maximum freedom for everyone. (The meaning of 'freedom' is confused, though.) The only thing worse than a democracy is a tyranny.
At some point, Dr. Rozema took issue with the phrase 'recreational drugs' and proposed to change it to 'decreational drugs'.
Kim had arranged for us to be present at the daily meeting of the Philosophy professors -- Dr. Martin, Dr. Rozema, Takeshi (filling in for Dr. Fendt) and Dr. Welch. Together we went to Barista's, the coffee shop opposite campus. Kent, Mark and Josh were there also. It was good to see them again. Kent had let his beard grow and looked hairy. The Philosophy professors, Kim and I discussed things like technocracy, terrorism, water supply, agriculture, urbanisation, and parenthood.
We had lunch at Chartwells -- a very nice lunch, actually. The coffee machine in the cafeteria had been somewhat changed.
After lunch (and a quick rest for me, I believe), we proceeded to Dr. Martin's class Philosophy of Literature. He had given the class Solzhenitsyn's Harvard address to read, in the context of reading The First Circle. We talked about the lack of courage and manliness in much of contemporary politics, the dark face of the welfare state, and the irresponsible optimism of some with regard to human nature.
The last class for today was Takeshi's Medieval Philosophy, in which we discussed St. Anselm's Monologion and divine simplicity. According to Anselm, God is everywhere and everywhen, but not bounded by time and space, so that there is a way to say that God is nowhere and never. He undergirds and encompasses all, but does not permeate the universe like a kind of invisible gas. He is not divided into parts, nor is His unity ever bounded or constrained by the parts of the universe. Takeshi moved fast, but I had done the reading, so I could follow along even though I was getting rather tired by this time.
The day was not over, though. I did get some rest between the acts, but then we had supper (where I saw some old friends, including Ashley and Rita) and went to a gathering at the house of Dr. Welch, because I was back. The Philosophy professors and a number of students were invited. It was very nice to sit around and talk -- or even to be silent. I told Dr. Welch that I had never gotten around to mailing him about the volume of poems he had given me, When Memory Gives Dust a Face, but I had appreciated it. (He's getting another one published at the moment.)
Some time after we had left, there was another social gathering for the same reason, this time at the Newman Center. Ashley and Rita were there, as well as Sr. Rosie, Christopher, Jennifer, Dianne, and others; even Nikky (who is now on exchange) came by, and all of us went to the Liturgy of the Hours. I have never seen so many people there -- there must have been about seventeen.
Unfortunately, because of the irregularity in my sleeping times, I developed a cold of which the effects are still present. Dr. Fendt kept referring to it as the 'Dutch swine flu'.
After the Newman Center, I went to bed and woke up fairly early again. Kim had left a note telling me that she was not coming to Mass that morning, sleeping in to gather strength for the twelve-hour drive to Chicago she would be doing that Tuesday. So I went to the Newman Center on my own, just before 7.30. I was greeted with delighted surprise by Fr. Charles, and afterwards by Sr. Loisjean. It was nice to receive such a cordial welcome from all sides.
Today's first class was at 9.30: Intro to Ethics with Dr. Rozema. There was no one in the class I recognised (Monday's last two classes had been filled with familiar faces, because they were higher-level courses). It did not matter; the class was very interesting. It was about Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and the image of the hollow men. Many people are constantly striving to make themselves stronger at the expense of their rivals, but while becoming outwardly stronger, they become weaker inside, 'hollow': they lose their virtue. The character in the story, Marlowe, is stuck on a boat in the jungle, trying to keep it afloat, living with the continual threat of the suspicious 'hollow' manager and assistant-manager on the one side and the native cannibal rowers on the other side. Meanwhile, the seductive drums in the jungle tempt him to simply abandon the whole enterprise. Marlowe keeps holding on to the idea that there might be someone up on the mountain (Kurtz) who has faced the same trials and not given in to weakness.
After class, I had lunch with Dr. Davis, arranged by Kim. We went out to Applebee's and had a bowl of soup. He was still the same kind, enthusiastic man, only busier than last year (and he'd been busy last year). He was glad to see me and delighted to hear that I would be coming back for Easter in Spring break. (As Takeshi put it, 'Kearney sucks you in.')
I had one more class that day, also with Dr. Rozema: Philosophy of Mind. In class, we discussed (and criticised) an article by J.J.C. Smart about sensations and brain processes. I had been looking forward to that.
The original plan had been to sit in on Eliot's independent study with Takeshi, but that changed, and we went to Stout Hall to pack our bags right away. Very soon, Kim, Eliot and I were on our long way to Chicago in a stickshift car borrowed from Jodi. We were going to visit an old friend on sabbatical, Dr. Fendt.
Kim was waiting in Omaha, an even nicer welcoming gesture. By this time it was 22.00 American time, or 5.00 Dutch time, and I had been travelling all day. I had slept in the airplane, of course, being too tired to keep my eyes open when we touched down in Omaha; once the plane stopped moving, however, all the sleepiness had gone, and I had a nice little chat with my neighbour, who had gone to visit her daughter in Chicago.
Kim drove me back to Kearney; we discussed some important topics on the way and exchanged family news, stopping once for food. We arrived at good old Stout Hall around 2.00, where I was shown the room of Eliot and Tyler. They had an inflated air mattress for me; Kim provided a blanket and pillow, and so I could sleep in peace.
I awoke rather early, in the Dutch afternoon, even before my alarm clock went off. My alarm had actually been set pretty early, because Kim and I had decided to start the week by going to Mass at St. James. Mass was at 7.00. I saw some old acquaintances there, like Mr. O'Rourke.
My first class was at 9.05, Intro to Ethics with Dr. Martin (Kim did SI there, and Breanna sat in because she liked the book). The class was reading *Cancer Ward, a Solzhenitsyn novel. The chapter was about a young girl who wants to be a writer, but who plans on 'not making any mistakes', i.e. being very ideologically correct and writing broadly rather than about specifics. (A good story is always about specific characters, of course.) The young girl thinks that all progress is materialistic, and she is unable to see what's in front of her, like her father who is dying of cancer ('just a swollen gland').
The writer thinks she is good at what she does because she has a good name and looks like a writer. Dr. Martin made fun of her by saying that he went into Philosophy because he had a beard and a nice, caring, sharing, compassionate, academic, girly voice. (Dale Ahlquist once wrote that he had 'a voice that could loosen plaster').
After that, I had Intro to Philosophy with Dr. Rozema (Ivan and Trevor were there), where we discussed Plato's Republic, the part where he talks about the oligarchic and the democratic souls. The oligarch reminds me of me: very cautious, a lover of money and secure status, not willing to run any risks for the sake of honour or justice. An oligarchic society (like eighteenth-century Holland, I would imagine) degenerates into a democratic society, which is the opposite of the City of Justice. In a democratic society, appetite rules the spirited part (something like the energetic part) and the spirited part rules reason; in the City of Justice, on the other hand, reason rules the spirited part and it rules appetite. The democratic society is filled with conflicts, and the laws that are made are aimed against restrictions, trying to provide maximum freedom for everyone. (The meaning of 'freedom' is confused, though.) The only thing worse than a democracy is a tyranny.
At some point, Dr. Rozema took issue with the phrase 'recreational drugs' and proposed to change it to 'decreational drugs'.
Kim had arranged for us to be present at the daily meeting of the Philosophy professors -- Dr. Martin, Dr. Rozema, Takeshi (filling in for Dr. Fendt) and Dr. Welch. Together we went to Barista's, the coffee shop opposite campus. Kent, Mark and Josh were there also. It was good to see them again. Kent had let his beard grow and looked hairy. The Philosophy professors, Kim and I discussed things like technocracy, terrorism, water supply, agriculture, urbanisation, and parenthood.
We had lunch at Chartwells -- a very nice lunch, actually. The coffee machine in the cafeteria had been somewhat changed.
After lunch (and a quick rest for me, I believe), we proceeded to Dr. Martin's class Philosophy of Literature. He had given the class Solzhenitsyn's Harvard address to read, in the context of reading The First Circle. We talked about the lack of courage and manliness in much of contemporary politics, the dark face of the welfare state, and the irresponsible optimism of some with regard to human nature.
The last class for today was Takeshi's Medieval Philosophy, in which we discussed St. Anselm's Monologion and divine simplicity. According to Anselm, God is everywhere and everywhen, but not bounded by time and space, so that there is a way to say that God is nowhere and never. He undergirds and encompasses all, but does not permeate the universe like a kind of invisible gas. He is not divided into parts, nor is His unity ever bounded or constrained by the parts of the universe. Takeshi moved fast, but I had done the reading, so I could follow along even though I was getting rather tired by this time.
The day was not over, though. I did get some rest between the acts, but then we had supper (where I saw some old friends, including Ashley and Rita) and went to a gathering at the house of Dr. Welch, because I was back. The Philosophy professors and a number of students were invited. It was very nice to sit around and talk -- or even to be silent. I told Dr. Welch that I had never gotten around to mailing him about the volume of poems he had given me, When Memory Gives Dust a Face, but I had appreciated it. (He's getting another one published at the moment.)
Some time after we had left, there was another social gathering for the same reason, this time at the Newman Center. Ashley and Rita were there, as well as Sr. Rosie, Christopher, Jennifer, Dianne, and others; even Nikky (who is now on exchange) came by, and all of us went to the Liturgy of the Hours. I have never seen so many people there -- there must have been about seventeen.
Unfortunately, because of the irregularity in my sleeping times, I developed a cold of which the effects are still present. Dr. Fendt kept referring to it as the 'Dutch swine flu'.
After the Newman Center, I went to bed and woke up fairly early again. Kim had left a note telling me that she was not coming to Mass that morning, sleeping in to gather strength for the twelve-hour drive to Chicago she would be doing that Tuesday. So I went to the Newman Center on my own, just before 7.30. I was greeted with delighted surprise by Fr. Charles, and afterwards by Sr. Loisjean. It was nice to receive such a cordial welcome from all sides.
Today's first class was at 9.30: Intro to Ethics with Dr. Rozema. There was no one in the class I recognised (Monday's last two classes had been filled with familiar faces, because they were higher-level courses). It did not matter; the class was very interesting. It was about Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and the image of the hollow men. Many people are constantly striving to make themselves stronger at the expense of their rivals, but while becoming outwardly stronger, they become weaker inside, 'hollow': they lose their virtue. The character in the story, Marlowe, is stuck on a boat in the jungle, trying to keep it afloat, living with the continual threat of the suspicious 'hollow' manager and assistant-manager on the one side and the native cannibal rowers on the other side. Meanwhile, the seductive drums in the jungle tempt him to simply abandon the whole enterprise. Marlowe keeps holding on to the idea that there might be someone up on the mountain (Kurtz) who has faced the same trials and not given in to weakness.
After class, I had lunch with Dr. Davis, arranged by Kim. We went out to Applebee's and had a bowl of soup. He was still the same kind, enthusiastic man, only busier than last year (and he'd been busy last year). He was glad to see me and delighted to hear that I would be coming back for Easter in Spring break. (As Takeshi put it, 'Kearney sucks you in.')
I had one more class that day, also with Dr. Rozema: Philosophy of Mind. In class, we discussed (and criticised) an article by J.J.C. Smart about sensations and brain processes. I had been looking forward to that.
The original plan had been to sit in on Eliot's independent study with Takeshi, but that changed, and we went to Stout Hall to pack our bags right away. Very soon, Kim, Eliot and I were on our long way to Chicago in a stickshift car borrowed from Jodi. We were going to visit an old friend on sabbatical, Dr. Fendt.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Going to America
Kim asked me to come to Kearney. She would pick me up at the airport in Omaha.
Plan A
Amsterdam
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Omaha
Amsterdam
The details were filled in.
Plan B
Amsterdam
London (t = 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Omaha
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
We decided to go and visit Dr. Fendt in Chicago.
Plan C
Amsterdam
London (t = 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
However, Kim knew that it might not be possible to board the plane in Chicago when the booked journey started in Omaha.
Plan D
Amsterdam
London (t = 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha (by car)
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
Dr. Fendt suggested taking a cheap national plane back.
Plan E
Amsterdam
London (t = 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha (by plane)
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
Unfortunately, we missed the plane.
Plan F
Amsterdam
London (t > 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha (by plane)
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
That did not work, and I pretty much gave up.
Plan G
Amsterdam
home
But then my father bought a one-way ticket for the day after (thank you, Dad).
Plan H
Amsterdam
Dublin
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha (by plane)
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
Kim thought that my return flight might have been cancelled as well. American Airlines confirmed this. I will have to buy a one-way ticket back, with no certainty yet of where I should get on the plane, whether the national flight can be cancelled, or how much of my money I will get back.
Plan I (?)
Amsterdam
Dublin
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
Travelling is a curious art. I am learning.
Plan A
Amsterdam
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Omaha
Amsterdam
The details were filled in.
Plan B
Amsterdam
London (t = 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Omaha
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
We decided to go and visit Dr. Fendt in Chicago.
Plan C
Amsterdam
London (t = 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
However, Kim knew that it might not be possible to board the plane in Chicago when the booked journey started in Omaha.
Plan D
Amsterdam
London (t = 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha (by car)
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
Dr. Fendt suggested taking a cheap national plane back.
Plan E
Amsterdam
London (t = 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha (by plane)
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
Unfortunately, we missed the plane.
Plan F
Amsterdam
London (t > 7.20)
Dallas, Texas
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha (by plane)
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
That did not work, and I pretty much gave up.
Plan G
Amsterdam
home
But then my father bought a one-way ticket for the day after (thank you, Dad).
Plan H
Amsterdam
Dublin
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha (by plane)
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
Kim thought that my return flight might have been cancelled as well. American Airlines confirmed this. I will have to buy a one-way ticket back, with no certainty yet of where I should get on the plane, whether the national flight can be cancelled, or how much of my money I will get back.
Plan I (?)
Amsterdam
Dublin
Chicago, Illinois
Omaha
Kearney
Kearney
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
Dublin
Amsterdam
Travelling is a curious art. I am learning.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Chesterton's Broken Heart
Because I am going to America for a week (first to Kearney to visit old friends, then to Chicago to visit another old friend, Dr. Fendt), I wrote an essay for Dr. Martin, pretending it was a paper for the Chesterton & Lewis course. I’m posting it on here as well. It’s called Chesterton’s Broken Heart. Here goes:
The Ballad of the White Horse, Chesterton’s long epic poem about King Alfred of Wessex’s defence of Christianity and about the art of civilisation, contains at least three mentions of a broken heart, with significant differences. This paper will explore how Chesterton uses the same image to depict three different kinds of soul.
Firstly, there is King Alfred, who speaks of Christ:
‘Love with the shield of the Broken Heart
Ever his bow doth bend,
With a single shaft for a single prize,
And the ultimate bolt that parts and flies
Comes with a thunder of split skies
And a sound of souls that rend.’ (V)
Secondly, there is Colan, Alfred’s ally, who speaks for the Gaels:
‘Oh, truly we be broken hearts,
For that cause, it is said,
We light our candles to the Lord
That broke himself for bread.’ (V)
Thirdly and lastly, there is Earl Ogier, a Dane and an enemy:
‘The blind gods roar and rave and dream
Of all cities under the sea,
For the heart of the north is broken,
And the blood of the north is free.’ (VI)
Colan uses the image first; he is confronted with Earl Harold, who laughs at him and his Gaels for being dressed up as if in mourning – and not very dignified mourning at that, but ‘like a bad king’s burial-end’ (IV). Harold relishes battles and the glory of war, so he scorns these unworthy opponents, calling them ‘broken bits of earth’ and ‘scarecrows’ (V). Colan, a converted Irish pagan with a fondness for the enchanting old gods and the mad old ways, replies with ‘iron laughter’ in his eyes that thin and poor men are still quite capable of fighting. The Saxons may have been successful in displacing the Gaels, but it remains true of Ireland that ‘There is the land of broken hearts / And the land of broken heads.’ (V)
Earl Harold then snatches a bow and attempts to shoot Colan, but before he can release the arrow, Colan sends his sword flying, killing Earl Harold at a distance with a quite unusual martial tactic. This gives King Alfred the opportunity to touch briefly on the value of humility, and how Christians ‘cast their heart out of their ken / To get their heart’s desire.’ (V) It is in this context that he poses the image of Christ sitting on a horse with a single arrow – not to kill men’s bodies, like Earl Harold, but to save their souls. And on his shield, he bears the Broken Heart as his coat of arms.
Before we get to the third use of the image, much has happened. Two of Alfred’s chieftains have been killed, as well as Earl Elf on the side of the Danes. The third and last Earl, Ogier, who is entirely consumed by his lust for destruction, has killed Mark the Roman and is singing his song of victory. He rejoices in the fall of Mark, seeing it as the fall of Rome and ultimately of all cities. Throughout the poem, the Danes have been associated with the sea (the Biblical symbol of chaos), and Ogier celebrates the northern seas flooding the world: ‘For the ice of the north is broken, / And the sea of the north comes on.’ (VI) And in the next stanza: ‘For the heart of the north is broken, / And the blood of the north is free.’ (VI)
Now we are somewhat acquainted with the context, let us explore the meaning of this image, beginning with Alfred. Why does Love have the Broken Heart on his shield? Is it because he was willing to undergo the hours of pain from Gethsemane to Calvary, being torn by torture, loneliness, rejection, betrayal, and denial? Is it because all love must endure crucifixion to be strengthened and glorified? Well, yes – and more. After all that, a Roman centurion literally broke Christ’s heart with a spear, mirrored in the poem by Elf’s killing of Eldred: ‘Then from the great heart grievously / Came forth the shaft and blade’ (VI). The Broken Heart, then, is not only a physical metaphor for a spiritual experience, but also a physical reality with a spiritual significance.
And Colan? Colan is the great ironist; in the most heart-wrenching moments, he cannot stop hearing ‘That little worm of laughter / That eats the Irish heart’ (V). Although he is a brave warrior on Alfred’s side, his heart is double, and his chief fault lies in not taking reality seriously enough. He lives in a world of stories, and he is nostalgic for the world of his youth, with the ‘Gods of unbearable beauty, / That broke the hearts of men.’ (II) Before the battle, while Eldred mournfully contemplates the highpoints of his past, ‘The Celtic prince’s soul was sad / For the things that never were.’ (V)
That is why he preserves his iron(ic) laughter in the face of a strong opponent: he does not think that war is very serious – or grief, for that matter. This detachment prevents him from becoming like Ogier: it prevents him from revolting. He fights alongside the Saxons, the people who have displaced the Gaels, certainly not because he likes them, but because he likes fighting and because he serves Christ. He serves Christ more half-heartedly than the others, it is true, and his reasons remain shrouded in irony:
‘Oh, truly we be broken hearts,
For that cause, it is said,
We light our candles to the Lord
That broke himself for bread.’ (V)
Here, the breaking of Christ is associated with the Sacrament of the Eucharist; we will return to this point. But it is not clear in what sense the Irish are ‘broken hearts’: it is because of this duality in their heart, which is slowly healed through their prayers and sacrifices, or because of the adverse political circumstances, which cause them to seek solace in a humiliated God? We do not know; and even if we would know, Colan’s ‘it is said’ still leaves everything uncertain.
Colan lives in Rome, in the City, to testify that grace is stronger than moods, stronger than the wild flow of ‘The sea that rose in the rocks at night’ (II). He lives in the periphery, in the troubled suburbs, but he will never renounce his citizenship.
Lastly Ogier, the man of the sea who comes to cover the City with ruin. In his song, as in Alfred’s, there is a marvellous, even dizzying interplay between the physical and the spiritual. ‘Broken heart’ is really a cliché, and because of that, we are tempted to consider Ogier’s exclamation ‘The heart of the north is broken’ (VI) from an emotional perspective. This is one meaning, which reaches back all the way to the beginning of the poem, where the Danes are introduced:
Their souls were sadder than the sea,
And all good towns and lands
They only saw with heavy eyes
And broke with heavy hands. (I)
Taken in this sense, the broken heart refers to the deep sadness which is a natural result of their impiety.
But then Ogier goes on: ‘And the blood of the north is free.’ This takes our thoughts back to the physical: the heart is the organ which is central to the order of the human body. Breaking the heart means that the usual flow of blood changes its course and pours out violently. This is what Ogier refers to as freedom, knowing well that such breaking results in the death of the living organism. When people speak of blood being free, they do not usually mean it in this materialistic sense; they mean that the blood flows in an ordered way, in a living whole which is animated by a free spirit – the spirit who accepts his own place in the whole, in the cosmic order, and orders itself to it.
Ogier’s conception of freedom is thus radically different, and leaves no place for actual freedom, once the spell of the words – ‘The dizzy throbbing, the drunkard song’ (VI) – is broken (no pun intended). For when the material heart is broken, the blood flows out in obedience to the iron law of gravity, the man dies, and the blood stops flowing forever.
Some freedom.
Ogier is the man who brings destruction and desolation to the City and the soul of man (the two have always been linked, with Plato’s Republic being a prime example). Ogier wants to drown the City in the sea and to smother the soul of man in blood. Ogier breaks hearts.
And this takes us back to Alfred and Colan. Love, sings Alfred, carries the sign of the Broken Heart on his shield. The Lord, says Colan, broke himself – allowed himself to be broken – for bread.
In Ogier’s song, the movement is from the emotional (sadness) to the physical (the broken heart) to the spiritual meaning (there is no spirit, and therefore no freedom). There is a similar movement in Alfred’s song.
In thinking of Christ’s broken heart, we moved from the emotional (the Passion) to the physical (the broken heart), and we said that this was a physical reality with a spiritual significance. What significance?
‘There flowed from his side water and blood,’ St. John Chrysostom said. ‘Beloved, do not pass over this mystery without thought; it has yet another hidden meaning, which I will explain to you. I said that water and blood symbolized baptism and the holy eucharist. From these two sacraments the Church is born: from baptism, ‘the cleansing water that gives rebirth and renewal through the Holy Spirit’, and from the holy eucharist. Since the symbols of baptism and the eucharist flowed from his side, it was from his side that Christ fashioned the Church, as he had fashioned Eve from the side of Adam. Moses gives a hint of this when he tells the story of the first man and makes him exclaim: ‘Bone from my bones and flesh from my flesh!’ As God then took a rib from Adam’s side to fashion a woman, so Christ has given us blood and water from his side to fashion the Church. God took the rib when Adam was in a deep sleep, and in the same way Christ gave us the blood and the water after his own death.’
The heart of Christ is broken, and the blood of Christ is free. But it is not the brief moment of violence, death and disappearance that Ogier envisions. Christ’s blood keeps flowing freely over all the earth, because the broken heart is the sign not only of destruction, but more importantly of a new creation. For Ogier, the broken heart is the end of all order and all life, ‘All cities under the sea’ (VI). But Alfred sees that Love with the shield of the Broken Heart has faced the destructive power of the sea and allowed it to break him – for bread. Resurrection follows Crucifixion; good is brought forth from evil; creation triumphs over destruction; and from the Broken Heart spring forth water and blood, Baptism and the Eucharist, which create the Church against which the gates of Hell will not prevail.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’
He who was seated on the throne said, ‘I am making everything new!’ Then he said, ‘Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.’ (Revelation 21:1-5)
‘For our God hath blessed creation,
Calling it good. I know
What spirit with whom you blindly band
Hath blessed destruction with his hand;
Yet by God’s death the stars shall stand
And the small apples grow.’ (III)
The Ballad of the White Horse, Chesterton’s long epic poem about King Alfred of Wessex’s defence of Christianity and about the art of civilisation, contains at least three mentions of a broken heart, with significant differences. This paper will explore how Chesterton uses the same image to depict three different kinds of soul.
Firstly, there is King Alfred, who speaks of Christ:
‘Love with the shield of the Broken Heart
Ever his bow doth bend,
With a single shaft for a single prize,
And the ultimate bolt that parts and flies
Comes with a thunder of split skies
And a sound of souls that rend.’ (V)
Secondly, there is Colan, Alfred’s ally, who speaks for the Gaels:
‘Oh, truly we be broken hearts,
For that cause, it is said,
We light our candles to the Lord
That broke himself for bread.’ (V)
Thirdly and lastly, there is Earl Ogier, a Dane and an enemy:
‘The blind gods roar and rave and dream
Of all cities under the sea,
For the heart of the north is broken,
And the blood of the north is free.’ (VI)
Colan uses the image first; he is confronted with Earl Harold, who laughs at him and his Gaels for being dressed up as if in mourning – and not very dignified mourning at that, but ‘like a bad king’s burial-end’ (IV). Harold relishes battles and the glory of war, so he scorns these unworthy opponents, calling them ‘broken bits of earth’ and ‘scarecrows’ (V). Colan, a converted Irish pagan with a fondness for the enchanting old gods and the mad old ways, replies with ‘iron laughter’ in his eyes that thin and poor men are still quite capable of fighting. The Saxons may have been successful in displacing the Gaels, but it remains true of Ireland that ‘There is the land of broken hearts / And the land of broken heads.’ (V)
Earl Harold then snatches a bow and attempts to shoot Colan, but before he can release the arrow, Colan sends his sword flying, killing Earl Harold at a distance with a quite unusual martial tactic. This gives King Alfred the opportunity to touch briefly on the value of humility, and how Christians ‘cast their heart out of their ken / To get their heart’s desire.’ (V) It is in this context that he poses the image of Christ sitting on a horse with a single arrow – not to kill men’s bodies, like Earl Harold, but to save their souls. And on his shield, he bears the Broken Heart as his coat of arms.
Before we get to the third use of the image, much has happened. Two of Alfred’s chieftains have been killed, as well as Earl Elf on the side of the Danes. The third and last Earl, Ogier, who is entirely consumed by his lust for destruction, has killed Mark the Roman and is singing his song of victory. He rejoices in the fall of Mark, seeing it as the fall of Rome and ultimately of all cities. Throughout the poem, the Danes have been associated with the sea (the Biblical symbol of chaos), and Ogier celebrates the northern seas flooding the world: ‘For the ice of the north is broken, / And the sea of the north comes on.’ (VI) And in the next stanza: ‘For the heart of the north is broken, / And the blood of the north is free.’ (VI)
Now we are somewhat acquainted with the context, let us explore the meaning of this image, beginning with Alfred. Why does Love have the Broken Heart on his shield? Is it because he was willing to undergo the hours of pain from Gethsemane to Calvary, being torn by torture, loneliness, rejection, betrayal, and denial? Is it because all love must endure crucifixion to be strengthened and glorified? Well, yes – and more. After all that, a Roman centurion literally broke Christ’s heart with a spear, mirrored in the poem by Elf’s killing of Eldred: ‘Then from the great heart grievously / Came forth the shaft and blade’ (VI). The Broken Heart, then, is not only a physical metaphor for a spiritual experience, but also a physical reality with a spiritual significance.
And Colan? Colan is the great ironist; in the most heart-wrenching moments, he cannot stop hearing ‘That little worm of laughter / That eats the Irish heart’ (V). Although he is a brave warrior on Alfred’s side, his heart is double, and his chief fault lies in not taking reality seriously enough. He lives in a world of stories, and he is nostalgic for the world of his youth, with the ‘Gods of unbearable beauty, / That broke the hearts of men.’ (II) Before the battle, while Eldred mournfully contemplates the highpoints of his past, ‘The Celtic prince’s soul was sad / For the things that never were.’ (V)
That is why he preserves his iron(ic) laughter in the face of a strong opponent: he does not think that war is very serious – or grief, for that matter. This detachment prevents him from becoming like Ogier: it prevents him from revolting. He fights alongside the Saxons, the people who have displaced the Gaels, certainly not because he likes them, but because he likes fighting and because he serves Christ. He serves Christ more half-heartedly than the others, it is true, and his reasons remain shrouded in irony:
‘Oh, truly we be broken hearts,
For that cause, it is said,
We light our candles to the Lord
That broke himself for bread.’ (V)
Here, the breaking of Christ is associated with the Sacrament of the Eucharist; we will return to this point. But it is not clear in what sense the Irish are ‘broken hearts’: it is because of this duality in their heart, which is slowly healed through their prayers and sacrifices, or because of the adverse political circumstances, which cause them to seek solace in a humiliated God? We do not know; and even if we would know, Colan’s ‘it is said’ still leaves everything uncertain.
Colan lives in Rome, in the City, to testify that grace is stronger than moods, stronger than the wild flow of ‘The sea that rose in the rocks at night’ (II). He lives in the periphery, in the troubled suburbs, but he will never renounce his citizenship.
Lastly Ogier, the man of the sea who comes to cover the City with ruin. In his song, as in Alfred’s, there is a marvellous, even dizzying interplay between the physical and the spiritual. ‘Broken heart’ is really a cliché, and because of that, we are tempted to consider Ogier’s exclamation ‘The heart of the north is broken’ (VI) from an emotional perspective. This is one meaning, which reaches back all the way to the beginning of the poem, where the Danes are introduced:
Their souls were sadder than the sea,
And all good towns and lands
They only saw with heavy eyes
And broke with heavy hands. (I)
Taken in this sense, the broken heart refers to the deep sadness which is a natural result of their impiety.
But then Ogier goes on: ‘And the blood of the north is free.’ This takes our thoughts back to the physical: the heart is the organ which is central to the order of the human body. Breaking the heart means that the usual flow of blood changes its course and pours out violently. This is what Ogier refers to as freedom, knowing well that such breaking results in the death of the living organism. When people speak of blood being free, they do not usually mean it in this materialistic sense; they mean that the blood flows in an ordered way, in a living whole which is animated by a free spirit – the spirit who accepts his own place in the whole, in the cosmic order, and orders itself to it.
Ogier’s conception of freedom is thus radically different, and leaves no place for actual freedom, once the spell of the words – ‘The dizzy throbbing, the drunkard song’ (VI) – is broken (no pun intended). For when the material heart is broken, the blood flows out in obedience to the iron law of gravity, the man dies, and the blood stops flowing forever.
Some freedom.
Ogier is the man who brings destruction and desolation to the City and the soul of man (the two have always been linked, with Plato’s Republic being a prime example). Ogier wants to drown the City in the sea and to smother the soul of man in blood. Ogier breaks hearts.
And this takes us back to Alfred and Colan. Love, sings Alfred, carries the sign of the Broken Heart on his shield. The Lord, says Colan, broke himself – allowed himself to be broken – for bread.
In Ogier’s song, the movement is from the emotional (sadness) to the physical (the broken heart) to the spiritual meaning (there is no spirit, and therefore no freedom). There is a similar movement in Alfred’s song.
In thinking of Christ’s broken heart, we moved from the emotional (the Passion) to the physical (the broken heart), and we said that this was a physical reality with a spiritual significance. What significance?
‘There flowed from his side water and blood,’ St. John Chrysostom said. ‘Beloved, do not pass over this mystery without thought; it has yet another hidden meaning, which I will explain to you. I said that water and blood symbolized baptism and the holy eucharist. From these two sacraments the Church is born: from baptism, ‘the cleansing water that gives rebirth and renewal through the Holy Spirit’, and from the holy eucharist. Since the symbols of baptism and the eucharist flowed from his side, it was from his side that Christ fashioned the Church, as he had fashioned Eve from the side of Adam. Moses gives a hint of this when he tells the story of the first man and makes him exclaim: ‘Bone from my bones and flesh from my flesh!’ As God then took a rib from Adam’s side to fashion a woman, so Christ has given us blood and water from his side to fashion the Church. God took the rib when Adam was in a deep sleep, and in the same way Christ gave us the blood and the water after his own death.’
The heart of Christ is broken, and the blood of Christ is free. But it is not the brief moment of violence, death and disappearance that Ogier envisions. Christ’s blood keeps flowing freely over all the earth, because the broken heart is the sign not only of destruction, but more importantly of a new creation. For Ogier, the broken heart is the end of all order and all life, ‘All cities under the sea’ (VI). But Alfred sees that Love with the shield of the Broken Heart has faced the destructive power of the sea and allowed it to break him – for bread. Resurrection follows Crucifixion; good is brought forth from evil; creation triumphs over destruction; and from the Broken Heart spring forth water and blood, Baptism and the Eucharist, which create the Church against which the gates of Hell will not prevail.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’
He who was seated on the throne said, ‘I am making everything new!’ Then he said, ‘Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.’ (Revelation 21:1-5)
‘For our God hath blessed creation,
Calling it good. I know
What spirit with whom you blindly band
Hath blessed destruction with his hand;
Yet by God’s death the stars shall stand
And the small apples grow.’ (III)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
