Once at a time

Work out your own salvation
with fear and trembling.
– Epistle to the Philippians –

In the context of a discussion of Kierkegaard, Etienne Gilson touches on a matter fit for Lenten reflection:

Christianity’s own goal and solemn promise is to give each man eternal beatitude. It is both that promise and the way to fulfill it. Such a promise is for man of a literally “infinite” interest, and the only way for him to welcome it is to experience an “infinite passion” for it. In terms of the religious life, this means that the only answer a man can give to God’s message is a passionate will to achieve his own salvation, that is, to achieve his own infinite beatitude. A half-hearted effort to such an end would be quite out of proportion with it; it would not at all be a will to that end; it would not be that will at all.

On the other hand, if such a will actually arises in any man, it has to be the will to his own salvation, because what God has promised is actually to save him. Whether or not he was aware of the fact, Kierkegaard himself was merely repeating Bernard of Clairvaux, when he said: “This problem concerns no one but me.” And such indeed is the case, if the problem actually is to know how I myself can share in that beatitude which Christianity promises.

True enough, the same problem arises for each and every man, so that for an infinite number of men its solution, which is Christianity itself, is bound to be the same, but this does not mean that there is a general solution to the problem. Quite the reverse. Out of its own nature, this is such a problem as requires to be solved, an infinite number of times, once at a time; to solve it differently is not to solve it at all.

– Being and Some Philosophers

Feast of St. Thomas Aquinas, 2013

I like to do something to honour the feast of St. Thomas every year (2012, 2011, 2010, 2009). This year the day has snuck up on me, so I’ll simply use what I have at hand. I have been reading — or trying to read, really — Etienne Gilson’s Being and Some Philosophers, in which St. Thomas’ metaphysics of being has a starring role. Here is a passage I highlighted:

This is a cardinal point in the doctrine of Thomas Aquinas. To posit substance as the proper receiver of existence (proprium susceptivum ejus quod est esse) is not to posit it as a “container” into which existence has but to flow in order to make it be. So long as there is no existence, there is no receptacle to receive it. Existence is here fulfilling an entirely different function. As we have already described it, the substance is “that which” exists, and it is quod est in virtue of its form. Form then is ultimate act in the order of substantiality. In other words, there is no form of the form. Consequently, should we have to ascribe “to be” or “is” to a form, it could not be considered as a form of that form. No point could be more clearly stated than is this one in the metaphysics of Thomas Aquinas.

My emphases. Maybe I am just not getting enough sleep these days, but I’ll give a special prize to anyone who can state this a little more clearly.

In the meantime, here is something edifying: my friend Adam Hincks, S.J. has posted a short reflection on the principal lessons he learned from a recent course he took on Thomistic metaphysics: What I Learned from St. Thomas Aquinas.

Merry Christmas!

A little late this year, but no less sincere: Merry Christmas!

Alma Redemptoris Mater, solemn tone

Last week when I posted the music for the Advent compline antiphon Alma Redemptoris Mater, Osbert pointed out that the same text has a solemn setting that is, in his words, “one of my favourite melodies in the entire plainchant repertory”. He has good reason to think so. I believe that this is the setting he was talking about:

Today being a great feast of Our Lady, I can hardly imagine a better day to start learning it.

Alma Redemptoris Mater

For the seasons of Advent and Christmas the usual Compline hymn to Our Lady (viz. Salve Regina) is replaced by Alma Redemptoris Mater. I do not know it nearly as well as I ought to. Care to practice with me?

O loving Mother of our Redeemer,
Gate of heaven, Star of the sea,
Hasten to aid thy fallen people who strive to rise again.
Thou who brought forth thy holy Creator,
All creation wond’ring, yet remainest ever Virgin,
Taking from Gabriel’s lips that joyful “Hail!”:
Be merciful to us sinners.

From such a humble thread, many glories have been woven. Here is a resplendent performance of a setting, for six voices, by Diego Ortiz. (The conductor’s manner in this video comes perilously close to being antic, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. The sound he coaxes from his choir covers a multitude of sins. And don’t give up on this too soon; it gets better as it goes on.)

(Hat-tip: The Chant Cafe)

Sing, but keep going

Tomorrow being the first day of Advent, today is the final day of the Christian year. I love the second reading from today’s Office of Readings, which comes from a sermon of St. Augustine:

O the happiness of the heavenly alleluia, sung in security, in fear of no adversity! We shall have no enemies in heaven, we shall never lose a friend. God’s praises are sung both there and here, but here they are sung in anxiety, there in security; here they are sung by those destined to die, there, by those destined to live forever; here they are sung in hope, there, in hope’s fulfillment; here they are sung by wayfarers, there, by those living in their own country.

So, then, my brothers, let us sing now, not in order to enjoy a life of leisure, but in order to lighten our labors. You should sing as wayfarers do — sing, but continue your journey. Do not be lazy, but sing to make your journey more enjoyable. Sing, but keep going. What do I mean by keep going? Keep on making progress. This progress must be in virtue; for there are some, the Apostle warns, whose only progress is in vice. If you make progress, you will be continuing your journey, but be sure that your progress is in virtue, true faith, and right living. Sing then — but keep going.

“Sing, but keep going” always puts me in mind of my favourite walking hymn, “I Feel the Winds of God Today”. Since I cannot find a good version online, let’s hear instead Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Variants on Dives and Lazarus, which is based on the same tune:

And may I take this opportunity, a little early, to wish everyone a good Advent.

Family Advent traditions

Advent begins this Sunday, and my thoughts turn to how we might observe the season in our home this year. Our daughter is old enough now to understand that Christmas is near, and probably old enough to appreciate simple activities whereby we “get ready”.

A couple of years ago we did the Jesse Tree devotions, and I am thinking of trying that again. If we had a tree (which we don’t, yet) and some ornaments we could perhaps hang an ornament each day after the prescribed Scripture reading.

I know many families put out their nativity set, sans the baby Jesus, and have the wise men with their camels travel through the house during Advent, arriving finally at Christmas (or at Epiphany). This would be great, if we had a nativity set.

We have an Advent calendar, but it is one of those “Christmas is Santa and skating” affairs with chocolate treats behind the flaps. We’ll use it — our daughter, who is very keen on chocolate, asks every day if it is Advent-time (‘Ahwentyme’) yet — but this is not exactly what I am wanting.

We’ll have an Advent wreath, but the candles will probably only be lit for a brief interval on Sundays; open flames are perilous with these youngsters.

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I am wondering what other families do to observe the season. If you have any suggestions for things you do, or things you’ve heard of, I would love to hear about them.

Christmas isn’t Christmas, and other surprises

Finding silliness in religion-related journalism is almost as easy as finding silliness in science-related journalism, but, even so, this half-baked article from The Telegraph qualifies as an unusually egregious example. The article is occasioned by the publication of Pope Benedict XVI’s third volume on the life of Christ, which is devoted to the infancy narratives in the Gospels.

The Telegraph is aghast at the scandalous revelations that have dripped from the pen of the pontiff! To wit:

“The calculation of the beginning of our calendar – based on the birth of Jesus – was made by Dionysius Exiguus, who made a mistake in his calculations by several years,” the Pope writes in the book, which went on sale around the world with an initial print run of a million copies.

“The actual date of Jesus’s birth was several years before.”

[...]

“Christ’s birth date is not the only controversy raised by the Pope in his new book – he also said that contrary to the traditional Nativity scene, there were no oxen, donkeys or other animals at Jesus’s birth.”

[...]

“The idea that Christ was born on Dec 25 also has no basis in historical fact.”

To an audience ignorant of Christian history I can see that this might be somewhat surprising, but that any of it has the authentic whiff of scandal is ridiculous. The folks at Get Religion have written a good commentary, which I recommend.

The same Telegraph article repeats the old story about the date of Christmas being related to pagan festivals. As I always do when this comes up, I will recommend a good article by William Tighe that was published a few years ago in Touchstone; it deserves wide exposure. (I notice the Get Religion commentary also links to it, which is great.)

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Apparently not picking up on the absurdity of the Telegraph article, our very own National Post has piled on with an opinion column (by Kelly McParland) proposing that the Pope’s book provides the Church with an “excuse” to move her celebration of Christmas from December 25 to some other date when it won’t interfere with everyone else’s celebration of … something or other.

If this is a good idea, then I have another: we should move the date of New Years out of deference to those who do not observe the Western calendar but who love to stay up late singing “Auld Lang Syne” ten days or so after the winter solstice.

Celebrating All Saints

Our local paper, The Toronto Star, has a nice slideshow of All Saints Day festivities from around the world. Some of these I’d have thought more appropriate for All Souls Day, but apparently not. It is fascinating to see how different cultures have found so many different ways of marking the day.

As for me and my house, we’ve managed little more than a rousing chorus of “For All the Saints” over our breakfast cereal. Let’s hear it again:

(This is the best online version I can find. Happily, it includes some — though not all — of the military stanzas that are usually purged from modern hymnals. There’s a wonderful descant on the final stanza too.)

Happy Feast of All Saints!

Vatican II, etc.

Today is the 50th anniversary of the opening of the Second Vatican Council. Much ink is being spilled to mark the occasion, but I’d like to recommend a short piece written by my friend Adam Hincks, S.J. on the theme of unity in Lumen Gentium, which was (of course) one of the principal documents promulgated by the Council. As usual with Adam, it is a model of clarity and good judgment.

Today is also the beginning of the Year of Faith initiated by the Holy Father. Janet Cupo points out that one can sign up for a year-long project to read the Catechism: you’ll get a portion emailed to you each day, starting today. I cannot think of anyone for whom this would not be a worthwhile endeavour. I have just signed up myself. Thanks, Janet.