Hellowe'en

Melancholicus is not sure which day he despises most—St. Patrick’s day (March 17, and a holy day of obligation in the dioceses of Ireland), or today, Hallowe’en.

Both days are—at least in their origins—religious festivals of unimpeachable character. But their celebration today has been robbed of all recognisably Christian content, whereat they are perverted to the level of bacchanalia in a spectacle of which words such as ‘orgiastic’, ‘frenzy’ and ‘excess’ would not be an unfitting description.

The feast of St. Patrick, the apostle of Ireland c. 500 A.D., is today an occasion for inebriation of a kind to which even the drunken Irish are unaccustomed. The so-called “St. Patrick’s Day Parade” held in Dublin (and mimicked elsewhere throughout the country) has nothing to do with St. Patrick, or with the coming to Ireland of the light of the Christian faith, but is an unedifying spectacle reminiscent of Mardi Gras and (public nudity excepted) with a similar degree of wild abandon. The only remaining religious aspect of the day is the Mass, but even this has been infiltrated by the same kind of trivialising frivolity that has given us enormities such as green beer in the pubs and green milkshakes at McDonalds. Melancholicus has even seen the liturgical abuse of green vestments being worn during the celebration of the saint’s Mass.

But enough of poor St. Patrick, and the degradation to which celebration of his feast has sunk, for today is your blogger’s other most hated day.

The name Halloween (more properly Hallowe’en) is a contraction of All Hallows’ Even, namely the vigil of the feast of All Saints (1 November). Melancholicus traditionally celebrates Hallowe’en by reciting First Vespers of All Saints, after which he pours himself a double gin and tonic, then enjoys his dinner and—external factors permitting—relaxes by the fire. He has no time for the neo-pagan mummery now associated with Hallowe’en, or for the glut of horror films typically shown on the television, nor for the pagan apologetics and sympathetic publicizing in the media of hazards like wicca, and he has absolutely no time whatever for the frenzied youths that run wild, shoving matchboxes filled with excrement through people’s letterboxes, or inserting fireworks up the exhaust pipes of parked cars (or even in the fuel pipe in an attempt to ignite the contents of the tank), or hurling explosives at those unlucky enough to be compelled by their employment to be out in public on this night.

The association of Hallowe’en with the preternatural world is in its origin Celtic, since 1 November is Samain, which begins the dark half of the year and functions as a kind of Celtic new year’s day. What makes Samain particularly auspicious (or inauspicious, as the case may be) is that it is a junture of particular importance. In the Celtic reckoning of time, it was not days and nights that were regarded as particularly important with respect to the preternatural, but the divisions between them. Boundaries between different places were invested with a similar significance for the same reason. According to this belief, one is most likely to encounter a ghost not at night, but at dusk, since dusk is the boundary between night and day. Similarly, one may meet with greatest misfortune at the boundary between this world and the síd (otherworld), rather than in either one or the other.

So the eve of Samain is a juncture of particular danger, because many different boundaries co-incide at once. Once the sun has set but before darkness has fallen completely, it is neither day nor night; we are neither in the light half nor in the dark; we are neither in the old year nor in the new. At such times the boundaries between this world and the other are blurred, the tides of chaos are loosed and preternatural forces have free play with the world of men. Hence the origin of the association of Hallowe’en with ghosts and spectres and hauntings and that sort of thing.

This night is indeed a night of horror, but not owing to Celtic superstitions; Melancholicus is far more concerned about a potential confrontation with those who walk on two legs in a living body than with the spirits of the dead. It is prudent to keep an eye on one’s car until the chaotics have gone home to bed and the nocturnal fracas has died away. If one has a household pet such as a dog or a cat, one MUST keep the animal indoors on this night; dogs, particularly, with their amplified sense of hearing, suffer great distress on being exposed to the noise of fireworks (which, incidentally, are illegal in this country, but the law is in no wise enforced). The chaotics have been known to throw smaller animals onto bonfires, deriving a sick amusement from such cruelty. Other animals have had fireworks strapped to their bodies, or inserted into their orifices. This is the busiest night of the year for the emergency services; the police, the fire brigade, the ambulance service (and doubtless the ISPCA) will be kept going all night.

The celebration of Hallowe’en was not always so lawless and fraught with peril; it used to be, as recently as Melancholicus’ childhood, a gentle evening of fun and entertainment (with mild scariness) for the benefit of children. Today it has been taken over by the yob element, whom one cannot safely ask to move on elsewhere, never mind remonstrate, for fear—literally—of being killed. I do not exaggerate.

Excess is tolerated in our society, and from some avenues even positively encouraged.

This is the fruit of social inversion.

Just married

Heartiest congratulations and felcitations to Éamonn and Leah, two fellow bloggers, who were married (to each other, no less) on this day.

Melancholicus has been advised by the groom that the time between an engagement and the ensuing wedding passes very quickly; this is encouraging, since he is impatient with waiting for his own wedding next July.

But enough of that! Melancholicus thought that to celebrate this day he would present the happy couple with a brief resumé of events the anniversaries of which co-incide with that of their wedding:

• 637 - Antioch surrenders to Muslim forces under Rashidun Caliphate after the Battle of Iron bridge.


• 1137 - Battle of Rignano between Ranulf of Apulia and Roger II of Sicily.


• 1270 - The Eighth Crusade and siege of Tunis end by an agreement between Charles I of Sicily (brother to King Louis IX of France, who had died months earlier) and the sultan of Tunis.


• 1340 - Battle of Rio Salado.


• 1470 - Henry VI of England returns to the English throne after Earl of Warwick defeats the Yorkists in battle.


• 1485 - Henry VII of England is crowned.


• 1501 - Ballet of Chestnuts - a banquet held by Cesare Borgia in the Papal Palace where fifty prostitutes or courtesans were in attendance for the entertainment of the guests.


• 1502 - Vasco da Gama returns to Calicut for the second time.


• 1831 - In Southampton County, Virginia, escaped slave Nat Turner is captured and arrested for leading the bloodiest slave rebellion in United States history.


• 1863 - Danish Prince Wilhelm arrives in Athens to assume his throne as George I, King of the Hellenes.


• 1864 - Second war of Schleswig ends. Denmark renounces all claim to Schleswig, Holstein and Lauenburg, which come under Prussian and Austrian administration.


• 1864 - Helena, Montana is founded after four prospectors discover gold at “Last Chance Gulch”.


• 1894 - Domenico Melegatti obtains a patent for a procedure to be applied in producing pandoro industrially.


• 1905 - Czar Nicholas II of Russia grants Russia’s first constitution, creating a legislative assembly.


• 1918 - The Ottoman Empire signs an armistice with the Allies, ending the First World War in the Middle East.


• 1920 - The Communist Party of Australia is founded in Sydney.


• 1922 - Benito Mussolini is made Prime Minister of Italy.


• 1925 - John Logie Baird creates Britain’s first television transmitter.


• 1929 - The Stuttgart Cable Car is constructed in Stuttgart, Germany.


• 1938 - Orson Welles broadcasts his radio play of H. G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds, causing anxiety in some of the audience in the United States.


• 1941 - World War II: Franklin Delano Roosevelt approves U.S. $1 billion in Lend-Lease aid to the Allied nations.


• 1941 - 1,500 Jews from Pidhaytsi (in western Ukraine) are sent by Nazis to Belzec extermination camp.


• 1944 - Anne Frank and sister Margot Frank are deported from Auschwitz to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.


• 1945 - Jackie Robinson of the Kansas City Monarchs signs a contract for the Brooklyn Dodgers to break the baseball color barrier.


• 1947 - The General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), which is the foundation of the World Trade Organisation (WTO), is founded.


• 1950 - Pope Pius XII witnesses “The Miracle of the Sun” while at the Vatican.


• 1953 - Cold War: U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower formally approves the top secret document National Security Council Paper No. 162/2, which states that the United States’ arsenal of nuclear weapons must be maintained and expanded to counter the communist threat.


• 1960 - Michael Woodruff performs the first successful kidney transplant in the United Kingdom at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary.


• 1961 - Nuclear testing: The Soviet Union detonates the hydrogen bomb Tsar Bomba over Novaya Zemlya; at 58 megatons of yield, it is still the largest explosive device ever detonated, nuclear or otherwise. Nikita Kruschev announces that the scientists had planned to make it 100 megatons, but had reduced the yield to reduce fallout over the Soviet Union.


• 1961 - Because of “violations of Lenin’s precepts”, it is decreed that Joseph Stalin’s body be removed from its place of honour inside Lenin’s tomb and buried near the Kremlin wall with a plain granite marker instead.


• 1965 - Vietnam War: Just miles from Da Nang, United States Marines repel an intense attack by wave after wave of Viet Cong forces, killing 56 guerrillas. Among the dead, a sketch of Marine positions was found on the body of a 13-year-old Vietnamese boy who sold drinks to the Marines the day before.


• 1970 - In Vietnam, the worst monsoon to hit the area in six years causes large floods, kills 293, leaves 200,000 homeless and virtually halts the Vietnam War.


• 1972 - A collision between two commuter trains in Chicago, Illinois kills 45 and injures 332.


• 1973 - The Bosporus Bridge in Istanbul, Turkey is completed, connecting the continents of Europe and Asia over the Bosporus for the first time.


• 1974 - The Rumble in the Jungle boxing match between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman takes place in Kinshasa, Zaire.


• 1975 - Prince Juan Carlos becomes Spain's acting head of state, taking over from the country’s ailing dictator, Gen. Francisco Franco.


• 1980 - El Salvador and Honduras sign a peace treaty to put the border dispute fought over in 1969’s “Football War” before the International Court of Justice.


• 1983 - The first democratic elections in Argentina after seven years of military rule are held.


• 1985 - Space Shuttle Challenger lifts off for mission STS-61-A, its final successful mission.


• 1987 - In Japan, NEC releases the first 16-bit home entertainment system, the TurboGrafx-16, known as PC Engine.


• 1988 - Philip Morris buys Kraft Foods for U.S. $13.1 billion.


• 1991 - The Madrid Conference for Middle East peace talks opens.


• 1995 - Quebec sovereignists narrowly lose a referendum for a mandate to negotiate independence from Canada (vote was 50.6% to 49.4%).


• 2000 – The last Multics machine is shut down.


• 2002 - British Digital terrestrial television (DTT) Service Freeview begins transmitting in parts of the United Kingdom.


• 2005 - The rebuilt Dresden Frauenkirche (destroyed in the firebombing of Dresden during World War II) is reconsecrated after a thirteen-year rebuilding project.

Thanks to the wonderful convenience that is Wikipedia.

With not even a trace of irony

Woman’s Hour on BBC Radio 4 this morning featured an interview with a 105 year old spinster, who not only never married, but remained a virgin her whole life.

Like a true modern, the interviewess was amazed that anyone could go for so long without sexual congress, and that her subject had no regrets whatever. How horizons have shrunk in this brave new age!

The maenads then introduced a single mother who after a string of broken relationships embraced celibacy, and who discoursed on how empowering her experience of celibacy has been. Whereat all and sundry sang the praises of celibacy and lauded it as a magnificent virtue that gave rise to all sorts of wholesome benefits. It was even remarked that celibates lived longer and were healthier and happier than those who were not.

Melancholicus does not ever remember hearing the state of celibacy being treated with such awe and admiration on BBC radio.

Those who have been called by God either to the service of the altar or to the cloister voluntarily renounce the possibility of marriage and of sexual intimacy with another person. They remain in the celibate state, that they might more effectively order their lives and give themselves to prayer and works of mercy.

Yet their celibacy is regarded by the likes of the BBC not with awe and admiration, but with ridicule, derision and relentless critical hostility. It is even claimed that their celibacy has warped their psychology, even to the extent of turning ordinary decent men into compulsive child molesters.

Celibacy in the service of God, it seems, is an evil thing; whereas celibacy in the service of oneself is a virtue.

At least that is the opinion of the BBC.

A new low

Is Britain determined to destroy itself?

Perhaps not, but the currently ensconced Labour government seems to be hell-bent on doing so.

From Yahoo! news:

'Give young children sex education'

Primary school children should get basic sex education, a Government review is expected to find.

The study is likely to recommend a shake-up of lessons to combat concerns that current teaching of the subject in England is too patchy.

Schools minister Jim Knight is due to present the findings later, as well as the Government's responses.

The review is expected to say that sex education should be compulsory in all schools.

This could include teaching young children basic classes on the human body and relationships, with more detailed information being given as a child moves up through school.

Last week Mr Knight told MPs he had received "strong recommendations" for making sex education compulsory in all schools but said it had to be done without "sexualising young people too early".

International evidence suggests that teaching certain aspects of sex and relationship education before puberty has a "positive effect" on issues like teenage pregnancy, Mr Knight said.

Britain has one of the highest teen pregnancy rates in Europe and figures suggest rising numbers of young people are catching sexually transmitted diseases.

Current rules say pupils must be taught the biological facts of reproduction, usually in science classes, and every school must have a sex education policy.

But there is no statutory requirement for teaching about relationships and the social and emotional side of sexual behaviour.

Although Melancholicus is a teacher, at least part-time, his charges are not children but young adults (with a sprinkling of mature students older than himself). Since he is not yet married, he has no children of his own. Consequently he has no experience of dealing with primary school age children other than his memories of having been one himself about thirty years ago.

He would like to know more about the state of innocence (or lack thereof) that Catholic primary school teachers find in their charges, and the degree to which they may have been corrupted by the moral and cultural degradation of our society, a degradation more advanced today than when Melancholicus was in primary school circa 1980.

One thing at least is certain: it is unnecessary to disturb young children with lessons detailing sexual acts which will only confuse and frighten them. Melancholicus’ own innocence was preserved until puberty, as was right; and, having had the mechanics of sexual intercourse explained to him experienced a certain sense of significant discovery, almost a rite of passage, and felt privileged to be growing up. But his brother and sister (both younger) discovered the facts of life about the age of nine or ten, before they were ready, one through the accident of watching daytime TV (!), the other through the ministrations of some ‘expert’ invited for that purpose to visit her (Catholic) school.

Both, incidentally, were shocked and disgusted by their discoveries, as one can only expect from children of that age.

The story quoted above finishes with an observation which, though particularly telling regarding the thoughtlessness of this Labour government, nonetheless fails to mention that there is also a moral dimension to the exercise of human sexuality in addition to “the social and emotional side”.

There is only one potentially positive aspect to this story. It is impossible to live in western society and not be aware of the omnipresence of sexuality and eroticism in books, in magazines, in advertising, on the radio, on the television, on the internet, everywhere in fact, not excluding shop windows on the high street. Ostensibly family programmes on both radio and television broadcast well before the watershed may contain some quite advanced sexual content (BBC Radio 4’s Saturday Live has trespassed more than once in this area—and it is aired on Saturday mornings between 9 and 10am). Consequently, it is not a source for wonderment that children growing up today are by and large much more knowledgeable about sexual matters than Melancholicus’ generation was in the 1970s. An increasing proportion of today’s children have been sexualised early anyway, and may often be more knowledgeable about adult matters than their years would warrant. If there is to be early discussion of sex in schools at all, it ought best to focus not on explicit depictions of popular sexual acts (many of which are little more than perversions anyway) but on attempting to inculcate a sound moral sense in these young souls, and a reverential respect for persons of the opposite sex and for what is one of God’s greatest gifts to fallen man.

But of course Melancholicus is dreaming. This Labour government will certainly not attempt to impart a responsible and moral approach towards human sexuality in those children already sexualised early by exposure to inappropriate media, much less ever mention God or recommend abstinence until marriage. No, it will prefer instead to go to great lengths (and expense) to instruct young innocents of both sexes how best to utilise this or that contraceptive device, or to perform this or that sexual act, even to the extent of the “homosexual technique” mentioned in this famous episode of Yes, Prime Minister:

Whither the Daily Service?

Confound and blast the wretched BBC!

Melancholicus has never thought much of the level of religious programming aired by the BBC, but he has always derived a certain spiritual comfort from listening to the Daily Service broadcast on BBC Radio 4 (LW) between 9:45 and 10am on weekdays.

This service—typically but not exclusively Anglican—consists of a series of prayers, reflections, Scripture reading and some lovely traditional hymns. The Lord’s Prayer is usually recited. While listening, one can close one’s eyes and imagine the interior of one of those countless beautiful English churches, with their medieval architecture, Victorian stained glass and their rows of BCPs and English Hymnals. Unusually for a religious programme broadcast by the BBC, the service is regularly edifying (although often sandwiched by the schedule between the impious, arrogant, pompous and opinionated Melvyn Bragg on the one hand and the equally egregious Woman’s Hour on the other).

But of late the content of the Daily Service has taken a noticeable turn for the worse. Recently we had the vicarette who explained away all of Our Lord’s exorcisms recorded in the gospels as simply the curing of people afflicted with “mental illness”, thus denying the reality of demonic possession, and in effect denying the very existence of wicked spirits. It is all very well to draw attention to mental health issues, but one must not falsify the testimony of Scripture in order to do so. Besides, is there nowhere else in the Radio 4 schedule in which the issue of mental health could be raised, than the Daily Service?

The devil has no better allies than Christian ministers who go out of their way to deny he exists. A day later there was the foolish Canon who interpreted the spirit that had afflicted the bent woman in Luke 13 as “a crippling psychological burden”. Psychological burden! While it is true that grave mental anxiety can have such an effect on the body, this kind of rationalisation is ridiculous and succeeds only in calling attention to itself and to the minister’s discomfort with the plain words of the Biblical text. This silly man also made a reference to “the spirit blowing where she wills”, whereafter Melancholicus heard no more, since his thumb flew post haste to the off switch. While he has heard a few fairly iffy Daily Services over the years, this is the first time on which he resolutely tuned out before the programme had finished.

And this morning there was a Welsh minister, whether Anglican or non-comformist Melancholicus cannot recall, but the service led by this man would have gone down a treat at a socialist meet. He claimed his faith didn’t make any sense until he began linking it with the emancipation of the poor and the working class. His service, naturally, featured ‘inculturated’ Zulu singing, socio-political reflections that were thoroughly this-worldly, Pelagian and all about works (is such not passing strange for a minister from a Reformed background?). Almighty God was very much in the background. Insofar as He made an appearance at all, Our Lord’s mission was all about merely improving the material condition of the poor, something any socialist could rave about; one could be forgiven for thinking as a result that the Incarnation was nothing to do with redemption from sin and attaining to everlasting life. With a sigh, Melancholicus switched off the radio. He had expected an edifying service of prayers and hymns, not fifteen minutes of marxist agitprop.

One wonders if the BBC is attempting to bring the hitherto unmistakably Christian Daily Service into line with what we might call ‘BBC religion’, even to the extent that it shall contain nothing that could be considered ‘exclusivist’, or offensive to persons of non-Christian religions; or, on the other hand, whether the degradation of the content of the service merely reflects the continuing decomposition of the Church of England, since the established church provides most of the ministers who conduct the service. Melancholicus wonders who picks these ministers, and whether they are vetted beforehand, so that the BBC may rest safe in the knowledge that they will not use their fifteen minutes of air time to utter some similitude hostile to the dogma of political correctness, or to infer that Christianity might actually be the true religion after all.

The BBC even has a page on the history of the Daily Service here, and a gallery of images therefrom here. Both are worth a look.

But this article by Paul Donovan in the Sunday Times on the occasion of the Daily Service’s 80th anniversary in December of last year is much more illuminating as regards the current trajectory of this much-loved programme:

Faithful service

Radio Waves
Paul Donovan

Hidden away on Radio 4 long wave (though still important enough to interrupt the cricket, as listeners to Test Match Special in Sri Lanka will have noticed) is a 15-minute programme called Daily Service. It consists of hymns, prayers, a Bible reading and a homily. On Wednesday, it is 80 years old. This extraordinary span is exceeded only by Choral Evensong and Radio 4’s Sunday-morning charity appeal, both of which began in 1926. In addition, Daily Service marked the first point in history when daily corporate worship was extended to people, unseen and unknown, who had not physically gathered together for that purpose.

There is one tiny sentence about the anniversary in the vast, 272-page Radio Times, the same in the official listings, and nothing in the press information bulletin. Twenty years ago, when Daily Service celebrated 60 years of “bringing peace and consolation to the sick, the lonely and the sad”, in the words of its founder, the BBC produced an excellent souvenir booklet with much enthusiastic input from its then head of religious broadcasting; this time, so far as I can tell, his successor has said not a word, at least not publicly. How much has changed in 20 years.

Is the BBC suffering from “Nativity-play syndrome”, the misplaced belief that non-Christian religions will object to too much emphasis on Christianity, a view that has been so effectively demolished by Trevor Phillips?

Possibly. But I detect something more: a slight but increasing nervousness in the BBC about the legality and morality of spending public money on one religion at the expense of others. Let there be no doubt that this is what the BBC does: in addition to Daily Service, every weekday, we also have Prayer for the Day (not to be confused with Thought for the Day) and Sunday Worship on Radio 4, Sunday Half Hour on Radio 2, Choral Evensong on Radio 3 and, on BBC1, Songs of Praise. All of these are ecumenical, but specifically Christian. No other faith is accorded this airtime.

Some of us have no problem with that: Britain is a Christian country, whose head of state is also head of a church established by law, and whose legislature still has 26 Christian priests sitting in it as of right; and the BBC, as the state broadcaster, should reflect that. But I fear that is becoming a minority view, and that more people now think of Britain as a “multifaith” country, in which case it is difficult to defend a publicly funded body supporting only one religion in terms of the hours devoted to worship. Indeed, many BBC bosses — and its own corporate literature — frequently refer to “multifaith” Britain. Sooner or later, I suspect, they will be asked to justify giving this platform to Christianity in preference to other faiths.

Until then, and perhaps afterwards, we can take heart from a corner of the schedules that would not exist had it not been for an indefatigable Hertfordshire spinster, Kathleen Cordeux, whom I quote above. She pestered the BBC for two years to start the programme, arguing her case, getting a petition up and having an appeal printed. She was the most persistent letter-writer the fledgling BBC had ever encountered. An early example of listener power! How much we owe her, and her determination.

Indeed. But even if the BBC does not go so far as to axe the service altogether, Melancholicus fears that the hip’n’trendy C of E ministers currently chosen to lead the service may still end up killing it with relevance.

Term (reprise)

Here at the university, we are now—Deo gratias—half way through the first semester. Term is always a trial; it calls for much patience and the exercise of heroic virtue.

It shouldn’t be like that, but it is; and right now, Melancholicus could not be less motivated.

Melancholicus was tardy in his rising this morning, and consequently arrived on campus after nine o’clock. A good deal after nine o’clock, if the truth be told. He then spent a most unhappy hour wasting precious petrol and clocking up unnecessary miles on his car circumnavigating the campus in a vain search for somewhere—anywhere!—to park. In the end he found somewhere well off campus, involving a twenty-minute walk back to campus and the same twenty-minute walk to his car again when he shall have finished his day’s labour this evening. Let us hope that it won’t be raining.

It is a sad truth that if one has any business at this institution one must arrive on campus well before nine if one wishes to park one’s car, since (owing to the economic prosperity of recent times) every undergraduate and his or her flatmate now has a car. Not a few otherwise penniless students seem to drive cars much bigger and faster than what Melancholicus can afford to drive himself. On Tuesday Melancholicus beheld a bleach-blond and track-suited student parking a 2007 VW Golf. Those cars don’t come cheap—they can be up to or over €30,000 depending on engine size and trimmings. How could the fellow have afforded such, unless he is the son of Daddy Rich? Melancholicus drives a 2006 KIA Picanto, a much smaller, less powerful and less ostentatious vehicle; it is his first car, for he could never have afforded to drive when he was himself a student and had to depend instead on the likes of this. Melancholicus’ idea of a student car used to be a twelve-year old, third-hand, three-door Fiat with missing hubcaps, faded paintwork and a myriad dents and scratches, yet not a few turn up to their lectures driving gleaming new or nearly new Alfa Romeos, Audis, Toyota Corollas and Volkswagens.

Such is the struggle for parking spaces on campus, and the refusal of the authorities to implement a workable parking permit system (for fear of the reaction from the Students’ Union?), that yesterday Melancholicus travelled to work by bus—and in the process was rudely reminded of all the reasons why he stopped using the bus in the first place. Speaking of buses, he recently discovered that Dublin Bus refuses to serve the campus after 8pm, owing to the danger presented to the transit company’s staff by the hordes of drunk and disorderly students that roam the campus each evening, a danger which recently resulted in at least one assault.

Even at the university we are witnessing the results of the breakdown of society and the disintegration of social mores owing to the reluctance of modern parents to put much effort into the raising of their offspring.

The recent downturn in the economy has prompted the Irish government to consider the re-introduction of fees for third-level education. Needless to say, the students are not happy about this proposal. Third-level education has been technically free in this country since 1995. Melancholicus did not benefit from this abolition of fees, since he graduated in 1993, but his sister did, and so has nearly everyone who entered a third-level institution since then. The then minister for educaction Noel Demspey attempted to re-introduce fees in 2002, whereat students marched in protest, and in 2003 Mr. Dempsey was compelled to admit defeat. In the same year, a report revealed that—interestingly—only 20% of school-leavers from the lowest income bracket went on to university, compared with 97% of school-leavers from more privileged backgrounds.

So we can see who it is really that has benefited most from the abolition of fees, and that Noel Dempsey had the right idea.

The abolition of fees has had two principal effects: it has greatly increased the amount of ready cash at students’ disposal (not always a good thing—students, like the clergy, should be poor), and it has inculcated an attitude of relaxed carelessness among many. For if education is free, there is not much incentive to study hard and win top marks; there is, in fact, very little incentive to pass at all—the dropout can do his thing with a clear conscience, knowing that he will not be accountable to parents or benefactors displeased at the wasting of their money, and knowing he can always go back to study at any time. College becomes one long party, in which the student can save his money for recreational activities and devote himself to bedding as many similarly empty-headed young women as he can manage to seduce. And at the end of it all he will graduate with a degree hardly worth the parchment whereon it is printed, for the abolition of fees has led necessarily to extensive cutbacks and educational dumbing-down. Once upon a time, a degree was the distinction conferred upon a student who showed the required academic aptitude throughout a rigorous course of so many years’ study. Today, graduating with a degree is taken almost entirely for granted; only the spectacularly useless, the terribly unlucky, those with serious problems of one sort or another, or those who choose to withdraw will leave the university without one.

Yesterday, a student protest against the re-introduction of fees took place outside Leinster House, necessitating the presence of the Gardaí, since if students are prepared to act boorishly when out enjoying themselves, they will surely act boorishly when angrily protesting in large numbers.

Melancholicus did not attend the protest, even as an observer; he was teaching at the time, and was quite impressed to notice that the protest seemed not to impact on the levels of attendance at his lecture. But he would not have attended the protest anyway, for Melancholicus welcomes the re-introduction of fees, and hopes that the Irish government will have sufficient gumption to stick to its guns and not be intimidated by the prospect of ensuing unpopularity or the aggressive bawling of students and other leftists.

It is alleged that the re-introduction of fees will discriminate against students from lower economic backgrounds. It need not do so; fees might be imposed only on the fat cats—those who can afford to provide their sons and daughters with brand-new VW Golfs and suchlike. Working-class students could be exempted. We have already seen that the clear majority of students, even in these days of free education, are of middle-class extraction anyway; they are protesting, not (as they might pretend) on behalf of their less-well-off cousins but on behalf of themselves—and their cars. Consider: little Jimmy, from a comfortably well-off middle-class family, gets a good Leaving Cert and decides to go off to college. Good for him. Since his parents are relieved of the obligation to fork out €3,000 per annum in fees, amounting to €9,000 to €12,000 across the three or four years needed for little Jimmy to take his degree, they can afford to buy their son a car. So little Jimmy gets a new (or nearly new) Nissan Almera or, if he’s the son of Mammy and Daddy Rich, an Audi. Of course the parents of little Jimmy’s friends are likewise equipping their college-bound sons and daughters with fast and flashy autos, with the result that university employees with a job to do have to compete with the most non-commital undergraduates for parking facilities, and it is impossible to drive anywhere in Dublin within a reasonable time period because the streets are clogged as everyone has a car.

Roll on the recession!

Now imagine that little Jimmy’s parents have to shell out a considerable sum in annual tuition fees; little Jimmy probably wouldn’t get his new Almera—and, given the money being pumped into his education, he would be under considerable pressure to deliver academically—or explain to a furious Daddy why all his money was wasted.

Hardly surprising that the students oppose the bringing back of fees, for it would impact every aspect of their lives—they would have to depend on public transport to get to and from college; they would have to scrimp and save for their beer money; they might actually have to spend time in the library instead of the bar; they might have to support themselves instead of relying on allowances from munificent relatives.

It might be good for them.

They might grow up a little.

A personal message

... to the love of my life, in celebration of this day, the anniversary of our first finding one another.

Goodness Gracious, Great Firewall of China

Melancholicus has just noticed (via his Neocounter) that his blog has had a visit from someone in China.

Which obviously means that Infelix Ego is not banned in China.

Disappointed sigh...

Milestone: one year old

Melancholicus wishes to extend his thanks to all those who have visited Infelix Ego over the past twelve months, especially to his regular readers and those who have left comments on various posts along the way. For today, 3 October 2008, marks the anniversary of the first post on this blog.

Target practice

Although this is hardly news (Smasher and Fr. Finigan, among others, have drawn attention to it already), Melancholicus is interested to note that the Irish Catholic bishops’ conference has launched its own website.

For reasons it would be tedious to enter into here, Melancholicus disapproves on principle of such things as national bishops’ conferences, regarding them as cancerous outgrowths inspired by the revolution of Vatican II and engineered so as to impose the policies thereof. If he is to be consistent, he must also disapprove of websites representing such bodies. Nevertheless, he will be visiting the bishops’ conference website often, not because he has much faith in the leadership of these our fathers in God or hopes to find therein nourishment for his soul, but because in placing themselves thus so openly on the web, the bishops have exposed themselves to be shot at. And the temptation to engage in a little episcopal skeet is just too much to resist.

[loads shotgun]

As today is the first day of a new month, a time for fresh beginnings and new inspirations, Melancholicus feels a little idea coming on:



Announcement for all interested parties!!!

The 2008 bishop-hunting season begins today and will close with the Benedicamus Domino of None on the Saturday before the First Sunday of Advent (that’s 29 November this year).

Targets permitted in this season’s shoot:

All bishops as well as archbishops within the jurisdiction of the Irish bishops’ conference are fair game, including those retired on or before the commencement of the season. Deceased bishops are off limits, as is the apostolic legate. Promotion to the sacred college either before or during the course of the season does not confer any special protected status, hence cardinals may be hunted as keenly as the lowliest auxiliary. Monsignori and parish priests, although not bishops, may also be hunted throughout the season, although these are less prestigious prizes whose scoring value is much lower. Also considered fair game are lesser clergy and members of religious orders and institutes of either sex. Laypersons in the employ of dioceses, parishes or religious orders may also be hunted, though the point-scoring value of these last is so low as to be hardly worth the effort.

[disengages safety]

Scoring is as follows:

• The Primate of All Ireland: 10,000 pts


• Other archbishops: 8,000 pts each


• Diocesan bishops: 5,000 pts each


• Auxiliary bishops in Metropolitan Sees: 3,000 pts each


• Auxiliary bishops in other Sees: 2,000 pts each


• Titular bishops: 1,500 pts


• Retired cardinals: 1,500 pts each


• Retired archbishops: 1,200 pts each


• Retired diocesan bishops: 1,000 pts each


• Other retired bishops: 800 pts each


• Monsignori not in episcopal orders: 500 pts each


• Parish priests: 300 pts each


• All other active clergy: 150 pts each


• Male and female religious: 100 pts to 500 pts each (variable according to status and celebrity)


• Lay employees of the conciliar bureaucracy: 5 pts each

Scoring is cumulative. Individual targets may be bagged as often as you like, according as they make more or fewer gaffes over the next two months.

[takes aim through telescopic sight; sees purple biretta—or should that be, sees grey tab shirt?]

The season is open to all. Happy hunting!

Blast her for her sabotage

The Evil One with her Evil Eye

Ut dixit poeta:

Without food quickly on a dish:
Without a cow’s milk whereon a calf grows;
Without a man’s abode in the gloom of night:
Without paying a company of story-tellers, let that be Nancy’s condition.
Let there be no increase in Nancy.

Without a coherent metaphysics...

... nightmares like this are the result.

This flyer, posted on the first-floor noticeboard nearest to Melancholicus’ office, is the first evidence that yours truly has found of an organised anarchist movement at the university.

It is not a surprise; all forms of extreme left-wing ideological nonsense will inevitably proliferate at such institutions, particularly among young students left so devoid of a solid philosophy of being by their modern upbringing that they resemble nothing so much as a blank slate, ready to be written on at will by every fanatical idealist who wants to change the world.

In Britain and other western countries, university campuses are fertile recruitment grounds for the jihadis for precisely the same reason.

Anarchism has been defined (in the Concise Oxford Dictionary of Politics) as “the view that society can and should be organized without a coercive state”. That such a notion is fundamentally and absolutely unworkable where human beings are concerned should be self-evident. The key word being ‘should’.

But, alas, this truth does not appear to be self-evident, for anarchism has a long history and shows no signs of abating yet. Thankfully its adherents have always been a fringe movement; God forbid that they should ever be in a position to realise their social and political goals. There may be much to deplore in contemporary government, in Ireland as elsewhere, but there is much to be thankful for too. Shall we sweep away government itself simply because its powers have been abused? It reminds Melancholicus of a graffito he saw sprayed over a road sign while driving back to Dublin last Sunday. The legend read “End corrupt state”. This could be interpreted simply as a call for the ending of governmental corruption. It is more likely an anarchist slogan calling for the eradication of government itself.

What fools.

Their hideous—and it is truly hideous—error proceeds from a peculiarly obnoxious heresy, namely the idea that man is perfectible by and through himself. According to the anarchist view, if society were free from the meddling interference and sometimes oppressive presence of the state, the lives of ordinary folk like you and me would be much the better off.

But consider for a moment life without government. There would be no laws and no police. Perhaps the anarchists wouldn’t see any problem with that, but the implications are terrifying.

Without law, without government, who among us could sleep soundly in his bed? Sweep away the government and society becomes a free-for-all in which bullies, gangsters and other criminals would rule by sheer force, and there would be no-one to protect the weak and the vulnerable from the depredations of the strong. The numbers of robberies, assaults, rapes and murders would skyrocket. That is a sobering thought for our licentious age, in which our contemporaries are not renowned for their restraint or self-control.

So government may be corrupt, but let us give government the benefit of the same laws that exist to keep us all safe from one another. The anarchist desire to sweep away all government reminds one of a scene in Robert Bolt’s A Man For All Seasons on the life of St. Thomas More. More’s future son-in-law, William Roper, is a hot-headed young idealist—much, we might suppose, as any hot-headed (but similarly thoughtless) young man seduced by the rhetoric of the anarchists. Roper is so zealous for his ideals that he would lay low all the laws of England to go after the devil. This is More’s inspired reply:

“When the last law was down and the devil turned round on you, where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat. This country is planted thick with laws from coast to coast, man’s laws, not God’s, and if you cut them down—and you’re just the man to do it—do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I would give the devil benefit of law, for my own safety’s sake.”

Give me socialism any day of the week over anarchism, and that’s truly saying something.

Hope springs eternal

With both banks and markets the world over teetering on the verge of catastrophe, there are not a few souls who fear for the future, and most justly so.

But the financial crisis is not doom and gloom for everybody; the socialists are giddy with excitement, for just as orthodox Jews look for signs presaging the coming of the Messiah and as the Mahometans (the Shi’i at least) look for prodigies announcing the nearness of the Mahdi, so too the socialists are always on the lookout for signs that the fall of capitalism is nigh, a fall which according to marxist dogma must take place come what may, and which is always—just there!—on the horizon.

So grave is the current crisis threatening the global economy that the socialists are sure the promised fall is finally about to take place. Whereafter, of course, they shall step up and usher in the socialist order.

This poster (once again unfortunately cut off since the socialist A3 sheet was too large for my bourgeois scanner to cope with) has appeared on the university noticeboards of late. Just take a look at all those jolly fellows in the foreground. One is not quite sure what’s going on in the picture, but the man nearest the viewer with his hand on his forehead looks like a lost soul, so he may be a defeated and bankrupt capitalist. The others, however, do not look anywhere near as sad. These must be the victors. With a defiant mien, they have their fists raised in the air—a gesture which identifies a socialist as clearly as a funny handshake identifies a freemason.

Melancholicus thinks they are dreaming if they believe the current economic turbulence will yield a socialist paradise, where orthodox marxism reigns supreme, but imagine for the sake of argument what would happen if they actually got their way. After the orgy of bloodletting, imprisonments and deportations that must always take place wherever socialists seize complete control, we would be left with a dreary world dominated by a tyrannical and super-intrusive state, a lifeless society devoid of mutual love or trust, or the incentive to do anything of any real value, a world in which anyone’s personal initiative in whatever field would most likely land him in a concentration camp, if he were lucky enough to avoid being shot. At its kindest, such a future might be like East Germany as portrayed in Das Leben der Anderen; in its less gentle incarnations it might more resemble Oceania in Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Such a situation could not prevail in the Islamic world, however, for Melancholicus does not believe that the socialists’ cherished revolution would have even the remotest possibility of succeeding in areas dominated by a resurgent and self-confident militant Islam. In his more bloody-minded moments, Melancholicus would like to see the socialists and the Mahometan go head-to-head. Who would win? Melancholicus is of the view that the Mahometan would wipe the floor with the skins of the socialists, but given the leftist facility for causing death on a scale never matched by any other power (even the Third Reich), perhaps the outcome of our hypothetical fight may not be as predictable as at first sight.

Fear

Melancholicus is afraid.

And to tell the truth, he is more than a little depressed.

These are most uncertain times. It appears that the world is headed for a hyper-inflationary depression, which is bad news for everybody but particularly bad news for the economy of the United States of America.

There have been warnings and alarums aplenty since the current misery began in the wake of the subprime lending crisis. That such is more than merely gloomy forecasting may be seen from the recent and oftentimes high-profile collapse of many companies in divers places; the Canadian airline Zoom on 28 August, the British holiday company XL on 12 September, and recently in Ireland Fáilte Travel ceased trading on 11 July while Mayo-based tour company Great Escapes closed on 26 August. At the time of writing, Alitalia is at death’s door in a commercial crisis severe enough to warrant the prayers even of our Holy Father the Pope for the airline’s survival.

Over dinner on Saturday evening last, Melancholicus’ mother expressed grave concern for the stability of both Allied Irish Banks and Bank of Ireland, the two largest banks on this island. Together with his brother and with and his sister (who is a certified accountant), he attempted to explain that nothing beyond a catastrophic event could possibly bring down either institution. But yesterday Melancholicus awoke to the news that Lehman Bros. Investment Bank had filed for bankruptcy protection in the largest such suit in US history, and he has since heard that both of the Irish banks about which he was reassuring his mother on Saturday can be expected to write off hundreds of millions of euro in bad debts over the next two years.

Which is unlikely to put them out of business altogether, but nevertheless.

Now, AIG has not been able to convince credit agencies of its solvency, so there may be further calamities just around the corner unless the US government should intervene.

Apparently, there will be no further growth in the US economy until at least 2010 (if even then). These economic woes would not be so terribly worrying to Melancholicus were he not getting married next year. Not only is he getting married, but since his fiancée is American, he will be emigrating to the United States. Which means he must find there a reasonably well-paying job in order that he might buy a house and provide for his wife and whatever children it may please God to send us.

Although Melancholicus is well-qualified in his field, the prospect of being able to land a secure position in the current economic climate is looking increasingly difficult. While he is tempted to say that this could not have happened at a worse time, he acknowledges that of course it could have—he could be sitting here with negative equity up to six figures hanging round his neck.

Which thanks be to goodness he is not.

But these events have left him in the meantime feeling not less gloomy than Eeyore.

There is at least some consolation: in the midst of the upset of the markets, oil is down to only $90 a barrell, so go fill your tanks y’all.

Dead in his tracks

The feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross
17th Sunday after Trinity

Melancholicus really, really wanted to go to St. Bartholomew’s this evening for choral evensong, but first of all there was the small matter of a precept of the Church to be obeyed, a precept mandating attendance at Mass on all Sundays of the year.

Today is also a feast for which Melancholicus has a special affection, so he was not averse to the idea of hearing Mass, even if said Mass were offered according to the rite of Paul VI.

Down he went to the local parish church, fine and early, ready to say his morning prayers before Mass began. Alas, who should he see setting up the sanctuary but Judas priest.

Whereat Melancholicus was most downcast and lamented interiorly; whereat a most bitter internal conflict raged in his soul, which resolved itself through his rising from his seat and departing from the church again in rage and grief, after which he resorted to the scenic car-park by the golf course as a peaceful place to say his private prayers.

For worse by far than the heathen and the publican is a faithless priest.

Mass, of course, is still unheard. Which means stopping off this evening at Sacred Heart church in Donnybrook once again for the holy sacrifice rather than at St. Bart’s.

Choral evensong really is so very beautiful, and it will go unheard by me again!

Sigh.

On this day

Has it really been seven years?

About 3,000 people lost their lives on September 11, 2001, most of them in New York city.

They must be few who have not been affected to some degree by the events of 9/11. Although Melancholicus did not know anyone in the World Trade Center personally, his sister works for an insurance management firm whose New York branch was located in the south tower; the staff of the Dublin branch were distraught to hear that 175 of their colleagues had perished. Later, as a seminarian, Melancholicus knew a priest who had lost a friend in one of the towers.

This was a day on which the world changed, and not for the better. But if one good thing might be said to have come out of the attack on the twin towers it is that the west is beginning to wake up, slowly and painfully, to the fact that Islam is at war with us. But too many of our political leaders still make fools of themselves by repeatedly offering exculpatory excuses for the behaviour of our deadliest enemies—it’s nothing to do with religion, violence is un-Islamic, Islam is a religion of peace, yadda yadda yadda.

Melancholicus only hopes that it will not take a further event on the scale of 9/11, or worse, before the connection between terrorist behaviour and the violence of the Qur’an is finally accepted.

May the souls of the departed through the mercy of God rest in peace on this, their seventh anniversary.

Term

The new academic year has begun at the university.

It always comes as a shock after the quiet of the summer months; one becomes used to the peace, the silence, always being able to find a space in the car park and not having to queue with a horde of loud-mouthed, bespotted and hormonally-driven adolescents for one’s sandwich and coffee.

Now that the term has begun, it is almost impossible to park one’s car if one arrives on campus any later than 8.30am, and in making one’s way from one building to another one must thread one’s way through vast crowds of gormless-looking youth. No offence intended to any students that might be reading this; Melancholicus was once himself a student (in fact the greater part of his adult life thus far has been spent in study) and he is merely voicing his discontent at the rude shattering of the summer calm. Of course he knows that you’re not all gormless. At least for the most part.

But please do try to attend your lectures regularly, and be punctual, for goodness’ sake. I am tired of having to distribute the same handout and announce the same particulars three lectures running because there is ALWAYS someone who missed it the first (or second) time around.

Once the students return to the campus, so do the inevitable student events; the round of balls and parties and plays and games and frivolous debates and all that sort of thing, which are advertised by typically objectionable posters and flyers stuck up on walls, pillars and noticeboards all over the house. Some form of sexual imagery or innuendo is invariably included in these advertisements; it is as though those who advertise these events feel they MUST include some gratuitous sexuality so as not to appear staid or stuffy. Melancholicus is at a loss to understand why the female cohort of the student body is not mortally affronted by the content of some of these posters, as the attitude to women evinced therein is the attitude of the playboy, the pimp and the pornographer. Speaking of pornography, the annual ‘porn debate’ is likewise in the offing. I say annual, because the students have a porn debate every year. Melancholicus has never attended any such debate, since the arguments (if one can call them such) propounded both pro and contra at such a thing are sure to proceed from mere opinion and personal view rather than being grounded in any coherent philosophy of being—and, consequently, not worth listening to. Then there are the socialists, ever active on campus and, most cult-like, preying on the lonely, the vulnerable, and those who otherwise slip through the cracks. These have pasted up a flyer inviting all comers to the inevitable public meeting so beloved of left-wing activists, proclaiming “Why You Should Be A Socialist”, replete with a beefy and somewhat intimidating young woman in dark glasses raising her fist in the air in the classic image of incipient socialist violence.

Now that the Arts Café has completed its renovations and re-opened afresh (with vastly inflated prices, whereat Melancholicus shall no longer buy his coffee there) throngs of students once again sit out in the courtyard till all hours, laughing raucously and for the most part talking nonsense. How does Melancholicus know they’re talking nonsense? Because his second-floor office looks down on the courtyard and the noise rises up and filters in through his window. Roll on November, with its long hours of darkness and its pluvial weather, which will help to keep the students indoors, for he has enough of listening to their indecencies. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!

And roll on exam time, too! Melancholicus loves the exams. Not out of malice—he has sat enough exams himself for one lifetime—but the proximity of the exams renders the students quiet and studious and otherwise inoffensive. December is always a quiet month. ’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

Caption contest

With thanks to Jihad Watch, Reuters and Michelle Malkin.

Why all the fuss about this place?

Taizé.

If there is one word guaranteed to set the ageing renewalists aglow with gushing enthusiasm, it is Taizé.

Taizé is the centre of their religious universe, as Mecca is to the Mahometan.

Melancholicus was tidying up his room the other day and came across a newsletter from the local parish, the front page of which promoted this phenomenon with warm approbation. Melancholicus reproduces this blurb here for the benefit of his readers, and has taken the liberty of inserting a few barbed and sarcastic remarks in red.

Taizé «that little springtime»

The above description was given by the great Pope John XXIII [there is no doubt that John XXIII was very popular, but popularity hardly suffices to make one great. Ah, but silly me, John XXIII is great because he convoked Vatican II and so is the source of the wonderful renewal we are now experiencing in the Church today] referring to the Ecumenical Community of Brothers based at Taizé in France. The community was founded by Roger Schutz a Swiss Lutheran over fifty years ago. The community was visited by the late Pope John Paul II as well as the present Pope, who visited it as a Cardinal. Both praised it as venture to reach out to all people and particularly young people [emphasis mine] who visit the community in their hundreds [what, not thousands, as has oft been claimed?] and join the community of brothers in their prayer life and sharing of the Christian message. Brother Roger died in 2006 [there is considerable divergence of opinion as to whether Brother Roger died in 2005 or 2006. Maybe there were two Brother Rogers, one of whom is rumoured to have been a closet Catholic. Perhaps one of these Brother Rogers was the public figure and the other was kept hidden away in a dungeon out of sight. If we come across any photographs of Brother Roger purporting to have been taken in 2006, perhaps we should look closely at his ears] and has been succeeded by Brother Alois as head of the community of around one hundred brothers of various nationalities and denominations [the fact that these 'brothers' come from a large variety of sects—some are even Catholic!—is seen as one of the most wondrous aspects of this place. It is the ultimate ecumaniacal paradise].

If anyone wants to know more about this unique community they are invited to meet Brother Alois and some brothers who will be in the Pro-Cathedral on Friday 25 April at 8pm. They may even be tempted to visit Taizé and experience their very moving prayer gatherings and meet others who have been touched by this «little springtime» in the church [sic].

If you are on the web why not log on to: taizedublin@gmail.com [which is an e-mail address, not a URL]

Melancholicus missed Brother Alois’ visit, but has not lost any sleep as a consequence. I suppose the fellow was generously fêted at the pro-cathedral, and I dare say that in the run-up to his arrival parishes all across the diocese were active in love-bombing “the youth” (or what little youth they have left) in an attempt to bestir their interest in meeting this towering celebrity. For some reason that Melancholicus cannot quite fathom, the henchpersons of newchurch always seem to regard Taizé as especially relevant and appealing to “the youth”. Is this simply because as a phenomenon Taizé is a radical novelty, something totally untraditional, and hence buys into the patronising notion that young people are so shallow they will prefer the new simply because it is new?

What makes Taizé particularly dangerous—and hence totally undeserving of the promotion it receives from our parish clergy and religious—is that it is probably the one place on earth which most tangibly embodies the ecumenical lie. I refer to the notion that the unity of the Church does not actually exist, hence we have to go in search of it, along with our “separated brethren”, who are viewed by adherents of the lie as equal partners in the search for this “lost” unity. To put it simply, if Taizé is so cool, what’s so special about being a Catholic? The Taizé people aren’t Catholic (or if they are, they haven’t told us yet), but in spite of this they are praised to the skies by our fathers in God, as though Taizé holds the key to the cosmos. What lies at the bottom of this ecumenical search for “unity” is not unity at all, but universalism. Our young people are exhorted by the wild-eyed hippies that run parishes and religious orders to make pilgrimages to this place, effectively placing it on the same level as Fatima or Lourdes or even Rome itself, and in so doing, whatever faith they might beforehand have had in the singular importance of the Catholic Church is lost entirely.

But even if the Taizé community were a normal Catholic religious order—which it isn’t; as they say in Yorkshire, it’s neither nowt nor summat—Melancholicus would still object to its relentless promotion by the doyens of the new religion, and that simply because of its second rate tat. Take a look at their crucifix, for instance. Gaudy, garish colours; badly-proportioned figures with spindly limbs, evoking more than a whiff of the grotesque; mediocre artwork of a fairly middling standard; the odd shape of the thing, and not least, its propensity to be copied and mimicked in churches and parishes without number all over the world. Look at the photo of the sanctuary of the chapel here at the university where Melancholicus earns his living (in this post below), and you should notice a familiar-looking object adorning the wall behind the Lord’s board.

Now look at this thing, by which I mean the object she’s sitting on. They call it the “Taizé kneeler”, but it isn’t a kneeler really, is it? It’s actually a kind of stool. The weight of the body in this position is borne not by the knees (as in classic kneeling posture) but by the buttocks, hence the Taizé version of kneeling is really nothing other than sitting. At best it can be described as lazy man’s kneeling. The goal of this posture is not to abase oneself in humility before the majesty of God, but to achieve ‘relaxation’ à-la New Age, with a veneer of prayer. This attitude is fed by the Taizé style of prayer, in which mantras are chanted over and over with the aim of soothing the participants, inducing emotion or a kind of trance-like stupor more reminiscent of a guided relaxation session than genuine prayer.

And as for their music, well, I cannot praise it. Chemical weapons have oft been described as “the poor man’s atomic bomb”. In that vein, we might describe Taizé singing as the poor man’s gregorian chant. Melancholicus has never cared for it, even in the days before his discovery of Tradition. It has always seemed to him to be contrived and vaguely embarrassing. Why have Taizé chant when, with a little effort, one can have the real thing? Why be content with hamburger when one can have filet mignon?

Far from being a “little springtime”, Taizé, much like Focolare, the neo-catechumenal people and various other fads of the hour, is a weed rather than a flower in the vineyard of the Lord. Some weeds are quite attractive, sporting pretty petals and flowers of pleasing hues. Those unlearned in botanical matters may mistake these weeds for something the Gardener has carefully cultivated, when in reality they are invasive intruders, having installed themselves without His assistance, limiting the growth of other plants by blocking out the light and by using up nutrients from the soil. They have pretty flowers, emit a delightful perfume, wave pleasingly in the breeze, and look to all appearances like a well ordered flowerbed—but the vine, starved in soil rendered barren by their aggressive proliferation, begins to die. Weeds do not serve the Gardener; neither do these ‘movements’—least of all Taizé, which isn’t even Catholic—serve the Church.

Portrait of a terrorist

Listen to the BBC Radio 4 programme Jihad UK, broadcast last Monday in the wake of the convictions of three British Muslim men for terror offences, here. Unfortunately Melancholicus is unable to embed the BBC media player in this post, so readers will have to activate the thing themselves after clicking the link.

The objective quality of the coverage is really quite good, in spite of the BBC’s institutionalised reverence for all things Mahometan. Nevertheless, the BBC still cannot bring itself to name religious ideology as the inspiration behind jihadi violence lest the reputation of Islam itself be besmirched.

Instead, the blame is laid on a variety of external factors; the seductive lure of foreign jihadi groups, the youth and impressionability of young British Muslims and—that perennial scapegoat for Mahometan aggression—western foreign policy.

It was interesting—and certainly refreshing—to hear comments such as “platitudes such as Islam meaning ‘peace’ won’t cut it here”—but the reporter failed to go the full distance and inform his audience that Islam does not mean peace at all; it means submission.

Particularly interesting, even revealing, is this comment by Hanif Qadir of the Active Change Foundation in describing the motivation of young Britons who give themselves up to the jihadi cause:

“These people who carry out terrorist activities, they’re not evil individuals. It’s because they’re most human, unselfish and often self-sacrificing kind of individuals, that will jump in when they see unfairness, and when they see injustice being done to a person, or to a race or to a community. It’s often these type of people that want to get involved.”

For all it seems to exculpate those who participate in terrorist attacks, this remark nevertheless rings true to a large extent. Ah, the idealism of thoughtless youth! The misplaced zeal that leads young persons to become socialists and that which leads them to become jihadis is ultimately the same. Young persons are often gifted with a self-sacrificing desire to make a change and be of service to something important—or at least something that they consider to be important. What that something is, however, makes all the difference. The foolish, idealistic young that are seduced by an evil, twisted ideology such as socialism—or Islam—will end by becoming evil and twisted themselves. That is simply the way of things. One’s character cannot remain untainted by one’s acts.

At the end of it all, it is disquieting to know that even though Britain may not have the largest Muslim population in Europe, it certainly has the most radical. Britain has been a breeding ground for jihadis for years. In this respect, Melanie Phillips’ Londonistan is required reading. Melancholicus does not quite agree with her stance vis-a-vis the invasion of Iraq, but her social commentary and her diagnosis of the malaise currently afflicting British legal and political life is right on the money.

But that such a programme can be aired on the BBC at all is progress in itself; it must surely indicate that Britain is beginning to wake up to the fact that a significant proportion of her Muslim minority, including those born and raised on British soil, does not identify with her culture and institutions, and is intent on turning her into an Islamic state.

And why? What is the cause of their alienation?

Is it really because of poverty and hopelessness, as is so often claimed?

If so, why are university campuses such fertile recruiting grounds for the jihadis?

Is not the problem rooted in something much simpler than the interplay of complex socio-economic factors?

Could it be a matter of theology, perhaps?

Is it not the Islamic religion that ultimately drives the jihadis?

This programme is perhaps the closest the BBC has ever come to making the link between Muslim violence and the Islamic religion.

Will they ever get there? Melancholicus somehow doubts it. Political correctness is so deeply engrained in the minds of the British intelligentsia that he cannot see it being dislodged any time soon.

The splendour of the new rite?

Last Sunday, XVIIth after Pentecost or in the Novus Ordo calendar the 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Melancholicus resumed the practice of fulfilling his Sunday obligation.

This was a consequence of his having been to confession the previous day, whereafter he decided (somewhat grudgingly) to make a clean sweep and obey the precept mandating Mass attendance on Sundays and holy days.

Having consumed a full bottle of wine while watching three episodes of The Wire (season 4) on Saturday night, he was unable to rise in time for the 8am Novus Ordo in the local parish; but this being the site of Judas priest’s denial of the miracle of the loaves and fishes five weeks before, he was not minded to return thither in a hurry.

Last Sunday was also the first Sunday on which choral evensong was offered again in St. Bartholomew’s after the summer hiatus, and driving back to Dublin in the afternoon Melancholicus intended to call into that Anglo-Catholic sanctuary to enjoy its exquisitely beautiful evening office.

And he would have done so, but for a persistent and annoying nagging of conscience which saw him instead stop off, with a sigh, at Sacred Heart church in Donnybrook for evening Mass.

This is a beautiful church; the liturgy, however, was decidedly less so. Mass proceded in much the same manner it has always done. There were no egregious clangers; no formal heresy was preached, no doctrines of the Church were denied, and there were no violations of liturgical norms beyond the institutionalised abuses one invariably finds at even the cleanest celebrations of the new rite. Melancholicus was also able to receive holy communion with a clear conscience. But rather than being relieved that the Mass passed off so well, and being pleased with his relief, Melancholicus was overcome with sadness and heaviness of heart. Sadness that it has come to this; sadness that the public celebration of our holy religion is reduced to the level of the horizontal; sadness that the awesome sacrifice of calvary is obscured, at least in practice, by the atmosphere of a touchy-feely community meet. Nobody seemed to regard the Mass as in any way remarkable, save for a few devout old ladies who still remember the old religion and what this most august and sacred mystery means. Sadness at the sheer unbeauty of it all.

How does Melancholicus presume to judge the attitude of his fellow congregants? Well, as far as exterior demeanour may provide a window onto one’s disposition of soul, the congregation in Donnybrook was typical of congregations all over the western world, wherever conciliar religion has taken hold. There was a great deal of conversational hubbub before Mass began, and again after it had ended. Hardly a soul bent a knee before the tabernacle. Melancholicus was particularly scandalised by a large group of persons who gathered and hob-nobbed in the nave after Mass had ended, talking and laughing volubly as though they were in the lobby of a hotel. The demeanour of not a few for the reception of holy communion is best not discussed; suffice it to say it makes one sad and angry.

The priest nowhere departed from the rubrics, but his adherence to the Cult of Man was so much in evidence it was impossible not to be aware of it. The atmosphere of casual informality was totally out of place; Father spoke like a therapist rather than a priest, warm and fuzzy and with the same disconcerting false friendliness that Melancholicus has observed among store clerks in the United States. One enters a store to buy a pack of cigarettes, or some such; upon which the assistant immediately starts tonguing one’s brown eye with startling vigour (I speak figuratively, of course). Thus, whether consciously or not, Father came across as a man pretending to be everyone’s best friend; he didn’t quite pull it off successfully, however, and the result was vaguely patronising in a certain indefinable manner. What was clear, however, was that the focus of attention was entirely on the interaction between cleric and congregation. God was referred to almost as an aside, when He was mentioned at all. There was a homily after the Gospel; it was bland but otherwise inoffensive. At least this is how Melancholicus used to rate homilies he heard at the Novus Ordo that were not openly heretical, before he woke up to the fact that bland homilies are indeed offensive, though for what they omit rather than what they contain. Last Sunday the lectionary prescribed the reading of Matthew 18:15-20. There is so much that could be said on this text; alone it would have given the apostolic fathers sufficient scope for several dozen sermons. But in church last Sunday we were presented with Jesus as manager, with an analysis of his method of conflict resolution, as though Our Lord were some first-century Judaic Cyrus Vance rather than the Son of the Most High God. While this improbable talk was in delivery, Melancholicus glanced at his watch, aware that he could still make it to St. Bart’s in time for evensong if he left Sacred Heart right away, which led to the bizarre circumstance of his actually hoping that Father would say something heretical so that he could leave. But the excuse never presented itself; the homily was merely the rhetorical equivalent of tinted steam, and Melancholicus ended up staying for the rest of it. After which we had the usual platitudinous bidding prayers—all for justice and world peace and that sort of thing—and announcements of parochial events, wherein we were told that the term of the parish pastoral council had expired and so they were looking for new members.

This is all of a piece with the praxis of the conciliar church, in which the proliferation of a lay-heavy bureaucracy is seen as evidence of growth and vitality. In fact it is nothing of the kind. A tumour in ones lungs may exhibit growth and vitality by trebling its size and spreading to other parts of one’s body, but that is hardly a matter for rejoicing for a person so afflicted. Likewise, Melancholicus cannot find it in himself to approve of the malignant growth that is parish pastoral councils, which do nothing but create busywork and talking shops and divert the most active members of the parish, both clerical and lay, away from the Church’s real mission which is the salvation of souls.

There was nothing especially hateful in the liturgy of the eucharist, but one needed a strong Catholic faith in order to remember what one was doing there. Father read the eucharistic prayer as much to the congregation as to God. After the consecration, we had that improbable hiatus “Let us proclaim in song the mystery of faith” sung to the tune of a ditty. Then followed the extremely tiresome rite of peace in which our Lord’s presence on the altar was forgotten in a miasma of glad-handing and more false friendliness redolent of the store clerk. Finally, though the congregation was not especially large, and as only two extraordinary ministers had come forward, Father informed the congregation that we could do with some help in the distribution of holy communion. Which meant that any person of any faith or none who happened to be present could assume the role of extraordinary minister at their good pleasure. Two persons did so—both women, as might be expected, and they raced up to the sanctuary with unseemly haste; one of them—a young and rather striking blonde—did not even stay until the end of Mass; having enjoyed her few minutes of glory, she took advantage of the opportunity to beat the traffic by rather conspicuously leaving the church before the dismissal. After all was said and done, almost nobody remained to make a thanksgiving for their holy communion; the congregation broke up in a noisy clamour and the doors were choked by fleeing Mass-goers attempting to reach their cars before the rush.

This is the sort of thing that transpires when the church service is all about US instead of being all about God.

It is the Cult of Man with a vengeance.

And so, even though he received Jesus in the most holy sacrament of the altar into his soul in the setting of a tolerably clean liturgy, Melancholicus was saddened, and did indeed wonder if he had done the right thing, or if he ought not to have just gone to evensong in the first place. It is admittedly difficult to discern the notes of the Catholic religion in what goes on in so many churches today, even when no formal heresy is preached and where the abuses are restricted only to those that have become commonplace and accepted.

Melancholicus does not expect the celebration of each and every Mass to be flawless to a perfect degree. But he does expect that the liturgy should evoke a sense of the sacred.

Alas, there was precious little sense of the sacred to be had in Sacred Heart church.

Just one question

This post represents Melancholicus’ sole foray into the current international contretemps involving Russia, Georgia, the United States, the EU, NATO, and sundry other players great and small.

Now that Russia has officially recognised the ‘independence’ of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, he wishes to ask those who are so horrified by this violation of the territorial integrity of Georgia why they were not equally appalled by the violation of the territorial integrity of Serbia back in February.

For the same persons who in February were falling over themselves in their haste to recognise the ‘independence’ of the breakaway province of Kosovo are those who today are shrillest in their defence of the territorial integrity of Georgia.

Is there not a double standard here, with principles upheld in the one instance but sacrificed to grubby political expediency in the other?

Whereafter Melancholicus shall say no more.

Photoshopped or not?

In any case, the irony is delicious.

You’re making our point exactly, Abdul.

H/T to Andrew.

Joee Blogs

Melancholicus has just found another link to Infelix Ego. That’s two in the space of a week, so he’s feeling fairly chuffed. And as usual, he wishes to repay the favour.

So go on over and pay Joee a visit, y’all.

Some more lexical fun

If we can describe the feminine of a contraceptor as a contraceptrix, on the analogy of mediator/mediatrix (as in Our Lady’s title Mediatrix of all graces), let’s see what else we can come up with in this fashion.

As it turns out, novus ordo religion provides us with plenty of scope to make new feminine forms of existing ecclesiastical offices and liturgical roles. For instance:

The one who reads the lessons: m. lector, f. lectrix

The personage who leads the singing: m. cantor, f. cantrix

The unconsecrated hands that distribute holy communion: m. extraordinary minister, f. extraordinary ministrix

The ‘presider’: m. presbyter, f. presbytrix (in the case of the stealth priestesses now alarmingly common in some dioceses, or of so-called “Pastoral Associates”, the majority of whom are women).

Although this liturgical role does not exist in Ireland, Melancholicus’ recent foray into the God-forsaken wilderness that is the archdiocese of Seattle has introduced him to the phenomenon of the usher. Now what would the feminine version of this be? As it does not end in -tor it could hardly have a -trix ending. I suppose something as pedestrian as usheress or usherette would have to serve instead. I’m sure at least one of those must be a real word.

The feminine version of an altar server is of course a serviette or, as Melancholicus was once amused to learn, a girl altar boy.

Any more suggestions?