Rogation Days

Here's Full Homely Divinity on these three pre-Ascension days.  We had a bit of a "Rogation Sunday" today (as suggested below):  special vestments were hung and worn; special collects read; holy water sprinkled round about the grounds; kids planted flowers and trees.

Beating the bounds in Victorian London

The Rogation Days, the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before Ascension Day, originated in Vienne, France (not Vienna, Austria), in 470 after a series of natural disasters had caused much suffering among the people. Archbishop Mamertus proclaimed a fast and ordered that special litanies and prayers be said as the population processed around their fields, asking God's protection and blessing on the crops that were just beginning to sprout. The Latin word rogare means "to ask", thus these were "rogation" processions. In an agricultural society, closely connected with the soil and highly vulnerable to the uncertainties of nature, this was an idea that took root quickly, and the custom spread around Europe and over to Britain. The Sunday before the Rogation Days came to be considered a part of Rogationtide (or "Rogantide") and was known as Rogation Sunday. The Gospel formerly appointed for that day was from John 16, where Jesus tells his disciples to ask, and ye shall receive.

Beating the bounds in Lambeth, 1961

While technically they were days of fasting, for which they were also known as "Grass Days," for the meatless meals that were enjoined, the Rogation Days developed into a popular festival, celebrating the arrival of spring and serving other purposes, as well. Other names for these days include "Gang Days," from the Anglo-Saxon gangen, "to go," and "Cross Days," both titles signifying the processions with crosses and banners around the countryside. In some parishes, the procession took more than one day and the whole business became an occasion for several days of picnics and revels of all sorts, particularly among those who trooped along at the fringes of the religious aspects of the procession.

Beating the bounds in Claverton, 1999

The route of the walk was around the boundaries of the parish, which was a civil as well as a religious unit. Thus, the processions were useful in teaching people, particularly the young, their parish boundaries. Known as "beating the bounds," the processions customarily stopped at boundary marks and other significant landmarks of the parish, such as a venerable tree, or a great rock, or perhaps a pond. The priest would read the Gospel and perhaps affix a cross to the landmark. Then the boys of the parish would suffer some indignity intended to help them remember the spot. Boys were bumped about against rocks and trees, thrown into the water, held upside-down over fences, thrown into bramble patches, or beaten with willow wands--and then given a treat in compensation. In later times, the marchers beat the boundary marker with the willow wands, beating the bounds, rather than the boys.

The reminder of boundaries had another important impact on communal life. In a poem by the 20th century American Robert Frost, the poet's neighbor asserts that "good fences make good neighbors." Boundaries are often very important in relationships. As members of parishes beat the bounds, they would often encounter obstructions and violations of boundaries. The annual beating of the bounds provided an opportunity to resolve boundary issues. It also led to the tradition of seeking reconciliation in personal relationships during Rogationtide. The sharing of a specially brewed ale, called Ganging Beer, and a mysterious pastry, called Rammalation Biscuits, at the end of the walk was a good way of sealing the reconciliation. George Herbert gave the following good reasons to beat the bounds: 1) a blessing of God for the fruits of the field; 2) Justice in the preservation of the bounds; 3) Charitie, in living, walking and neighbourliy accompanying one another, with reconciling of differences at that time, if they be any; 4) Mercie, in relieving the poor by a liberal distribution of largess which at that time is or oght be made.

The custom of placing crosses on boundary markers and in the fields seems to derive from the fact that the Rogation Days fall near the old feast day of the Invention (or Finding) of the Cross. Crouchmas ("Cross-mass") was on May 3rd and it was the custom on that day to place crosses in fields and gardens as a way of blessing them and praying for them to be fruitful. While full Rogation processions are rare today, the blessing of crosses to be planted in the fields of the faithful is one of the ways the older customs survive.

Keeping the Rogation Days Today

Much of modern society has lost its direct connection with the soil, but this psychological distance does not lessen the actual dependence of all people on the gifts of nature. Furthermore, responsible stewardship of all of these gifts is increasingly being recognized as the concern of all people. Days of thanksgiving, harvest festivals, and the like are observed in many churches at the end of the growing season. The Rogation Days at the time of planting have become little more than a liturgical footnote in the American Prayer Book, but in these times of growing ecological concern the Church would do well to revive them.

Practically speaking, the revival of Rogation observances is likely to involve more people if they are part of a Sunday service. It should be added that, while the Sixth Sunday of Easter is the traditional day, some adaptation to the local season and climate would be appropriate. After all, there is little point in blessing fields and seeds for planting at the time when crops are being harvested in the southern hemisphere. Similarly, there will be many places where farms and rural countryside will not be the locale of processions and blessings. But even in urban churches there should be an awareness of our dependence upon the fruits and resources of the earth, of the ways in which resources are wasted, of the dangers of pollution, and of our responsibility for honest labor and industry.

A Rogation observance in church, then, can be the opportunity for a homily on the Christian stewardship of natural resources. Various symbols can be introduced into the liturgy to reinforce this theme. A procession around the whole parish might not be a possibility, but a procession around the church grounds, a local park, or a parishioner's farm would be appropriate. Parishioners can bring their own garden seeds to be blessed and crosses can be blessed for parishioners to take home and plant in their fields or gardens. Making the crosses would be a good project for the children of the church school or individual families. If the children made Easter gardens, the plants in them can be transplanted to either the parish garden or their family gardens at home, adapting some of the prayers below. Even though the Sunday readings no longer keep the Rogation theme, the hymns can. Hymns and canticles that fit the Rogation theme include, "O Jesus crowned with all renown", "Fairest Lord Jesus", "We plow the fields and scatter", "Now the green blade rises", "O worship the King", Benedicite, omnia opera, and Psalm 65.


Here are some elements and prayers for a Rogationtide expansion of the Eucharistic liturgy on Rogation Sunday or any day designated for the observance of Rogation themes:

At the Offertory

Expand upon the usual Offertory of the Eucharist. Seven elements might be presented by members of the congregation and placed upon the Altar:

money - the regular tithes and offerings;
bread - preferably a home-baked loaf (click here for some recipes);
wine - perhaps a bottle of table wine, rather than the usual Eucharistic wine;
soil - a wooden or earthenware bowl of soil;
water - in a clear vessel so that it may be seen;
seed - a bowl of seed, or a basket of various packaged seeds (notice might be
given beforehand for people to bring their own garden seed to be blessed
either at the Eucharist or at the procession afterwards);
crosses - a basket of small wooden or paper crosses.

When the elements are brought forward, or after they have been presented, sing this hymn to the tune Lancashire ("Lead on, O King eternal"):

We pray thee, therefore, Father, to take these gifts of ours
Ourselves, our lives, our labors, our thoughts, our words, our powers;
Though they all be unworthy to place upon Thy board
We know Thou wilt accept them through Jesus Christ our Lord.

As each element is received, an appropriate prayer is said:

At the presentation of money:
Accept, O Lord, our gifts of money, which represent the business of our daily lives:  Use them for the work of your Holy Church to carry out your mission; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

At the presentation of bread:
Almighty God our Savior, who in the carpenter's shop at Nazareth labored for daily bread: Accept this bread which is both the fruit of our work and the satisfaction of our needs, and so bless all our industry and necessity; for your sake. Amen.

At the presentation of wine:
We offer you, O Lord, this wine, the fruit of the vine: We pray that you will accept it, that it may become for us the Blood of your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

At the presentation of soil:
Almighty Creator, we offer to you this soil in token of the fields and forests of our land on which we ask your blessing: We ask that the soil may be wholesome, the crops good, and that we may be faithful stewards of your mercies; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.


At the presentation of water:
O God, who brought forth life out of the waters of creation: Bless this offering of water and grant that there may be sufficient water to raise up good crops and to serve the needs of our industries; and may we drink of the Living Water to bring forth the fruit of godly living from the soil of our souls; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

At the presentation of seeds:
O Heavenly Father, who by your wondrous providence made all grass, herbs, and trees, each with seed after its own kind: Accept and bless our offering of seed to be planted throughout our parish, that the life in all seed sown may burst forth into fullness of its kind, according to your good creation, and especially the seed of your Word; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

At the presentation of crosses:
O God, whose blessed Son has promised that we need only to ask in order to receive: Accept and bless these crosses, and grant that in the fields where we place them they may stand as a sign of our unfailing trust in your bounty and as encouragement to all who see them to put their faith in your providence; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Rogation procession in Bedford, 1952

There's more at the link.

We sang some of the hymns suggested above, including "O Jesus crowned with all renown" - the one and only "Rogation Days" hymn in the 1982 hymnal.  And, a favorite of mine,  the beautiful "Fairest Lord Jesus"; it's sung in the video below by the children of Truro Cathedral.  (You can hear both of these hymns on the May 5, 2013 service of Compline podcast from St. Mark's Seattle.  Obviously, they were celebrating Rogation Days, too!)  

Step 10: Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

Here's A.A.'s Tenth Step, from the book Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions; I've added the bolding.  I wanted to point out the ongoing nature of this Step, and that it offers some explicit suggestions about how to proceed.  (A Christian parallel might be the Ignatian Daily Examen.)

I also wanted, in continuing my discussion, to point to the clause:  "inventory-taking is not always done in red ink"!   The whole point of this process, in fact, is to get an accurate self-appraisal; to become, as they say in the rooms, "right-sized."  This means that while the object is to keep in mind how we're behaving towards others, with an eye towards changing the things we need to and can, it's not really about self-flagellation.   As the text itself notes, "The emphasis on inventory is heavy only because a great many of us have never really acquired the habit of accurate self-appraisal. Once this healthy practice has become grooved, it will be so interesting and profitable that the time it takes won't be missed. For these minutes and sometimes hours spent in self-examination are bound to make all the other hours of our day better and happier."

As we work the first nine Steps, we prepare ourselves for the adventure of a new life. But when we approach Step Ten we commence to put our A.A. way of living to practical use, day by day, in fair weather or foul. Then comes the acid test: can we stay sober, keep in emotional balance, and live to good purpose under all conditions?

A continuous look at our assets and liabilities, and a real desire to learn and grow by this means, are necessities for us. We alcoholics have learned this the hard way. More experienced people, of course, in all times and places have practiced unsparing self-survey and criticism. For the wise have always known that no one can make much of his life until self-searching becomes a regular habit, until he is able to admit and accept what he finds, and until he patiently and persistently tries to correct what is wrong.

When a drunk has a terrific hangover because he drank heavily yesterday, he cannot live well today. But there is another kind of hangover which we all experience whether we are drinking or not. That is the emotional hangover, the direct result of yesterday's and sometimes today's excesses of negative emotion--anger, fear, jealousy, and the like. If we would live serenely today and tomorrow, we certainly need to eliminate these hangovers. This doesn't mean we need to wander morbidly around in the past. It requires an admission and correction of errors now. Our inventory enables us to settle with the past. When this is done, we are really able to leave it behind us. When our inventory is carefully taken, and we have made peace with ourselves, the conviction follows that tomorrow's challenges can be met as they come.

Although all inventories are alike in principle, the time factor does distinguish one from another. There's the spot check inventory, taken at any time of the day, whenever we find ourselves getting tangled up. There's the one we take at day's end, when we review the happenings of the hours just past. Here we cast up a balance sheet, crediting ourselves with things well done, and chalking up debits where due. Then there are those occasions when alone, or in the company of our sponsor or spiritual adviser, we make a careful review of our progress since the last time. Many A.A.'s go in for annual or semiannual housecleanings. Many of us also like the experience of an occasional retreat from the outside world where we can quiet down for an undisturbed day or so of self-overhaul and meditation.

Aren't these practices joy-killers as well as time-consumers? Must A.A.'s spend most of their waking hours drearily rehashing their sins of omission or commission? Well, hardly. The emphasis on inventory is heavy only because a great many of us have never really acquired the habit of accurate self-appraisal. Once this healthy practice has become grooved, it will be so interesting and profitable that the time it takes won't be missed. For these minutes and sometimes hours spent in self-examination are bound to make all the other hours of our day better and happier. And at length our inventories become a regular part of everyday living, rather than something unusual or set apart.

Before we ask what a spot-check inventory is, let's look at the kind of setting in which such an inventory can do its work.

It is a spiritual axiom that every time we are disturbed, no matter what the cause, there is something wrong with us. If somebody hurts us and we are sore, we are in the wrong also. But are there no exceptions to this rule? What about "justifiable" anger? If somebody cheats us, aren't we entitled to be mad? Can't we be properly angry with self-righteous folk? For us of A.A. these are dangerous exceptions. We have found that justified anger ought to be left to those better qualified to handle it.

Few people have been more victimized by resentments than have we alcoholics. It mattered little whether our resentments were justified or not. A burst of temper could spoil a day, and a well-nursed grudge could make us miserably ineffective. Nor were we ever skillful in separating justified from unjustified anger. As we saw it, our wrath was always justified. Anger, that occasional luxury of more balanced people, could keep us on an emotional jag indefinitely. These emotional "dry benders" often led straight to the bottle. Other kinds of disturbances--jealousy, envy, self-pity, or hurt pride--did the same thing.

A spot-check inventory taken in the midst of such disturbances can be of very great help in quieting stormy emotions. Today's spot check finds its chief application to situations which arise in each day's march. The consideration of long-standing difficulties had better be postponed, when possible, to times deliberately set aside for that purpose. The quick inventory is aimed at our daily ups and downs, especially those where people or new events throw us off balance and tempt us to make mistakes.

In all these situations we need self-restraint, honest analysis of what is involved, a willingness to admit when the fault is ours, and an equal willingness to forgive when the fault is elsewhere. We need not be discouraged when we fall into the error of our old ways, for these disciplines are not easy. We shall look for progress, not for perfection.

Our first objective will be the development of self restraint. This carries a top priority rating. When we speak or act hastily or rashly, the ability to be fair-minded and tolerant evaporates on the spot. One unkind tirade or one willful snap judgment can ruin our relation with another person for a whole day, or maybe a whole year. Nothing pays off like restraint of tongue and pen. We must avoid quick-tempered criticism and furious, power-driven argument. The same goes for sulking or silent scorn. These are emotional booby traps baited with pride and vengefulness. Our first job is to sidestep the traps. When we are tempted by the bait, we should train ourselves to step back and think. For we can neither think nor act to good purpose until the habit of self-restraint has become automatic.

Disagreeable or unexpected problems are not the only ones that call for self-control. We must be quite as careful when we begin to achieve some measure of importance and material success. For no people have ever loved personal triumphs more than we have loved them; we drank of success as of a wine which could never fail to make us feel elated. When temporary good fortune came our way, we indulged ourselves in fantasies of still greater victories over people and circumstances. Thus blinded by prideful self confidence, we were apt to play the big shot. Of course, people turned away from us, bored or hurt.

Now that we're in A.A. and sober, and winning back the esteem of our friends and business associates, we find that we still need to exercise special vigilance. As an insurance against "big-shot-ism" we can often check ourselves by remembering that we are today sober only by the grace of God and that any success we may be having is far more His success than ours.

Finally, we begin to see that all people, including ourselves, are to some extent emotionally ill as well as frequently wrong, and then we approach true tolerance and see what real love for our fellows actually means. It will become more and more evident as we go forward that it is pointless to become angry, or to get hurt by people who, like us, are suffering from the pains of growing up.

Such a radical change in our outlook will take time, maybe a lot of time. Not many people can truthfully assert that they love everybody. Most of us must admit that we have loved but a few; that we have been quite indifferent to the many so long as none of them gave us trouble; and as for the remainder--well, we have really disliked or hated them. Although these attitudes are common enough, we A.A.'s find we need something much better in order to keep our balance. We can't stand it if we hate deeply. The idea that we can be possessively loving of a few, can ignore the many, and can continue to fear or hate anybody, has to be abandoned, if only a little at a time.

We can try to stop making unreasonable demands upon those we love. We can show kindness where we had shown none. With those we dislike we can begin to practice justice and courtesy, perhaps going out of our way to understand and help them.

Whenever we fail any of these people, we can promptly admit it--to ourselves always, and to them also, when the admission would be helpful. Courtesy, kindness, justice, and love are the keynotes by which we may come into harmony with practically anybody. When in doubt we can always pause, saying, "Not my will, but Thine, be done." And we can often ask ourselves, "Am I doing to others as I would have them do to me--today?"

When evening comes, perhaps just before going to sleep, many of us draw up a balance sheet for the day. This is a good place to remember that inventory-taking is not always done in red ink. It's a poor day indeed when we haven't done something right. As a matter of fact, the waking hours are usually well filled with things that are constructive. Good intentions, good thoughts, and good acts are there for us to see. Even when we have tried hard and failed, we may chalk that up as one of the greatest credits of all. Under these conditions, the pains of failure are converted into assets. Out of them we receive the stimulation we need to go forward. Someone who knew what he was talking about once remarked that pain was the touchstone of all spiritual progress. How heartily we A.A.'s can agree with him, for we know that the pains of drinking had to come before sobriety, and emotional turmoil before serenity.

As we glance down the debit side of the day's ledger, we should carefully examine our motives in each thought or act that appears to be wrong. In most cases our motives won't be hard to see and understand. When prideful, angry, jealous, anxious, or fearful, we acted accordingly, and that was that. Here we need only recognize that we did act or think badly, try to visualize how we might have done better, and resolve with God's help to carry these lessons over into tomorrow, making, of course, any amends still neglected.

But in other instances only the closest scrutiny will reveal what our true motives were. There are cases where our ancient enemy, rationalization, has stepped in and has justified conduct which was really wrong. The temptation here is to imagine that we had good motives and reasons when we really didn't.

We "constructively criticized" someone who needed it, when our real motive was to win a useless argument. Or, the person concerned not being present, we thought we were helping others to understand him, when in actuality our true motive was to feel superior by pulling him down. We sometimes hurt those we love because they need to be "taught a lesson," when we really want to punish. We were depressed and complained we felt bad, when in fact we were mainly asking for sympathy and attention. This odd trait of mind and emotion, this perverse wish to hide a bad motive underneath a good one, permeates human affairs from top to bottom. This subtle and elusive kind of self-righteousness can underlie the smallest act or thought. Learning daily to spot, admit, and correct these flaws is the essence of character-building and good living. An honest regret for harms done, a genuine gratitude for blessings received, and a willingness to try for better things tomorrow will be the permanent assets we shall seek.

Having so considered our day, not omitting to take due note of things well done, and having searched our hearts with neither fear nor favor, we can truly thank God for the blessings we have received and sleep in good conscience.

"The Way of the Warrior"

Derek's most recent post, "Behind Liturgical Spirituality," has helped me think again about indirection as one of the keys to the spiritual life - and something important has just fallen into place for me.  His post is part of his work on Prayer Book spirituality, and this particular piece is called "Keeping the Main Thing the Main Thing."  It's kind of an introduction to what the Prayer Book (and liturgical spirituality in general) is up to - especially in terms of its practices, and their effect on "mature faith."

I've been chewing over the apparent contradiction between "grace" and "work" for at least 3 or 4 years now, mainly because I came into contact with Reformation - specifically Lutheran - ideas.   As I mentioned at Derek's, it seems to me that the tension between these two things is somehow at the heart of Christian faith (and perhaps at the heart of other faiths, too, although I don't know any others in much depth).  It seems clear to me that both are integral to the living-out of faith - but I haven't been able to make much sense of this thus far.

There is also the problem of self-righteousness; how can we avoid it, if "sanctification" is the goal of the life of faith?  Well, emphasizing grace is one way; it's the recognition that we do not (and cannot)  earn or deserve what God freely bestows.  But a contradiction arises: it seems at that point that work becomes, of necessity, anathema.

It's always seemed totally clear to me that, certainly,"grace" is at the heart of the A.A. experience; the First Step, "We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable," is another way of saying "We have no power in ourselves to help ourselves" (AKA, "There is no health in us").

But most of the rest of the Steps most certainly involve work!  Steps 4-9 are "action steps," by means of which "we clear away the wreckage of the past."   We are asked to do all kinds of things:  take a personal inventory, confess our faults to another, pray for help, and make amends.

• Step 10 is this:  "Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it."   A "work" step, most definitely.
• Step 11:  "Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out" - clearly a mix of "grace" and "work" in itself!  
• Step 12:  "Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs." Again, "grace" and "work" together.

For a long time, I've had a hunch that there was an indirect method at work here, at the heart of it all - that the life of faith wasn't something that could be sought after for itself.  This was straightforwardly true in my own case; nobody ends up in A.A. because they want to become holy, or because they're seeking enlightenment!  We're there to stay alive; all the rest is an undeserved gift.  And the way to stay alive, it turns out, is by following a set of practices that focus primarily on one's own faults and character defects - and it seems the "undeserved gift" of faith also follows from this.

It seems true to me now that faith may always be about putting aside one's own ideas and trusting in a process - a process that does its work by the same kind of indirect means that happens in A.A.  So at the end, the life of faith is, indeed, always a gift bestowed; it can't be grasped after or worked for directly.  It's clear, for instance, that nobody can begin loving their neighbor (let alone their enemies!) on command -or even because they want to.  And who can actually attain any of "Faith, hope, and love"?

A.A. shows, though, via the 12 Steps, that we can indeed do something:  we can look to our own faults and defects.  We can't "strive for spiritual success," or keep track of "progress," or even "seek  enlightenment."   None of that is actually possible; it can't be done.   That's what's fallen into place for me.  "Sanctification" isn't a goal; it's a description of what happens to people when they learn how to deal directly with failure - and accept it as a normal part of living, with equanimity.

We can't at any time "measure our progress in the spiritual life" - because there is nothing to measure; we aren't directly seeking "the spiritual life."   Instead, we seek out our own flaws and character defects; instead, we're keeping a running track of failure.   That, of course, is what Confession actually is and does - and I suspect this is exactly why it's one of the Church's sacraments.   "Repent and return to the Lord" is certainly one of the central Biblical themes as well; it's there from start to finish.    John the Baptist preached it, and so did Jesus: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand."

Moses the Black makes makes the process itself even clearer:  "A monk must die to his neighbor and never judge him at all in any way whatsoever" and "If you are occupied with your own faults, you have no time to see those of your neighbor."    Surprisingly, the important part of this statement isn't the "don't judge" part; it's the being "occupied with your own faults" part!   (Of course, Jesus had a little something to say about that, too:  "Judge not, lest ye be judged.")

In other words:  getting (and staying) hip to and aware of our own defects is the very thing that makes "spiritual progress" possible.  (I think perhaps "prayer without ceasing" could also do the trick - but that, too, is impossible for most of us.)   This is the Christian sleight-of-hand; we really can't "measure our own spiritual progress" - and we shouldn't try to.  The key is to keep in mind - as Moses the Black says - where we have gone wrong.  And therein, too, lies humility.

A.A. notes that humility is at the center of its program; it had to be, because it believed that "the alcoholic is an extreme example of self-will run riot" and also that "ego deflation at depth" was an alcoholic's only real chance at survival.  Humility, though, can't be attained or achieved, either; it can only be bestowed - see Step 7 for more on this - or else learned, via failure.  (Per the latter:  Step 10 puts it this way:  "Someone who knew what he was talking about once remarked that pain was the touchstone of all spiritual progress.")

Christianity simply picked up on all this and systematized it.   (I will be interested to investigate other faiths to see how they look at this!)

So, why "The Way of the Warrior"?   Well, obviously, because Worf understands his own destiny - and his own struggle - that way.  When a compatriot asked him, "Against whom do you test yourself?  Against what enemy do you charge into battle?", he answered:

"My brother, it is you who does not see; you look for battles in the wrong place.  The true test of a warrior is not without; it is within.  Here, here [pointing to his own chest] is where we meet the challenge.  It is the weaknesses in here a warrior must overcome."

(I've been watching old TV shows on Netflix lately.  And doesn't this describe the "Way of the Jedi," too, BTW?  Interesting that popular culture picks this up as a central theme, romanticizing it for modern audiences.  Is it actually coming from bushido, I wonder?   Why is this?   How did that happen?  And why do modern audiences find it romantic - and then totally ignore it?  I guess that's something for the next post.)

In any case:  if we are looking to give people a challenge:  here's one....

"The only thing which the mind can never exhaust...."

From T.H. White’s “The Once and Future King”; here the wizard Merlyn is smoking his pipe, and speaking to Wart (the young King Arthur):

“The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlyn, beginning to puff and blow, “is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then – to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the thing for you. Look at what a lot of things there are to learn – pure science, the only purity there is. You can learn astronomy in a lifetime, natural history in three, literature in six. And then, after you have exhausted a milliard lifetimes in biology and medicine and theocriticism and geography and history and economics – why, you can start to make a cartwheel out of the appropriate wood, or spend fifty years learning to begin to learn to beat your adversary at fencing. After that, you can start again on mathematics, until it is time to learn to plough.”

What's interesting to me in this passage is - aside from the truth of the central premise - that there's not a bit of denial of reality in it.  There's no pretense that fear, loneliness, horror, despair, and torture won't and don't occur; there's no denial that we won't be afraid, lonely, horrified, or depairing.  There's merely (merely!) a desire to look reality in the face - and then to overcome the things that corrupt and destroy by the use of a surprising and indirect means.   Learning doesn't change the facts of reality; it changes you.  Learning, when you think about it, is nothing more or less than the transformation of the mind and soul.

Well, yes.

"Music from the Thomas Gradual"

Here's an mp3 of a podcast from Harmonia Early Music, the website adjunct of a once-a-week radio program that seems to be a production of Indiana Public Media and perhaps also of Indiana University in Bloomington.  The podcast is mostly narrative text, but also includes some really lovely clips from two Gregorian Chant masses.

Here's the website itself - and below is the transcript of this podcast from that page.  The podcast is narrated by Janelle Davis, who's "a violinist and performer with period instrument ensembles throughout the United States. She is currently a candidate for the Doctor of Music degree from Indiana University, Bloomington where she specializes in early music."

The thing at the end about Bach and "altissima" is very interesting to me!  I've wondered for a long time about his use of that word in the B Minor Mass, and here's a good explanation.

Music from the Thomas Gradual

Two fourteenth-century Gregorian Masses from the library of the Leipzig Church of St. Thomas have been recently recorded for a new CD by the ensemble Amarcord.  The two masses on this recording are both preserved in a manuscript known as the Thomas Gradual.

Gradual

A gradual is basically a song book, or a book of Gregorian chants used during the Catholic mass. But, if you didn’t already know that bit of trivia, one of the nice things about this recording from the Apollon Classics label, is that the CD comes with a handy and wonderful informational book, laid out in an approachable interview format.  So, if you want to learn about the history of the Gradual, while enjoying a gorgeous performance, this recording really puts it all at your fingertips.

Dedication Mass

Of the two masses included on this recording, one is a mass for the dedication of the church, and the other is a mass honoring the apostle Thomas.  The dedication mass is the only mass where the Offertory music is supplemented by two extra verses. Sung as solos, these verses served a functional purpose in the mass. The extra music extended the length of the movement giving churchgoers time to bring personal possessions, gifts and offerings forward to the Alter during this part of the service.

Mass for St. Thomas

The other mass included on this CD is a mass for St. Thomas.  Named for the patron saint of the Leipzig Thomaskirche, the Thomas Gradual was a book probably written and intended for this very church, and thus would have been a high point of celebration each year for the local parish.

J.S. Bach

The Thomas Gradual is a valuable source of German medieval liturgical music, especially so because the Reformation in Germany did away with many other liturgical manuscripts from this geographical area.  But the Thomas Gradual continued to be used even into the Protestant years at the Thomaskirche.  One famous cantor who was likely familiar with the Thomas Gradual in the Leipzig Thomaskirche library was none other than J.S. Bach.

And now that you’re thinking about Bach, here’s something to consider. The Thomas Gradualhas some additions to the liturgy that are not really found anywhere else. One of these differences includes the addition of the word Altissima into the Gloria text. And get this! Bach also used the additional altissima text in his b minor mass. Since this addition is not part of the Latin Missal (and, by the way, not allowed in the Catholic liturgy), it seems likely that Bach could have used the Thomas Gradual as source material when composing his b minor mass.

Photo: Eric Pancer (wikipedia)

The exterior of Thomaskirche

Natural Law, continued.....

Frankly, I'm more confused than ever.

Aside from some other problems I think are inherent in natural law theory, there is apparently "old natural law theory" and "new natural law theory." I don't know what the difference is; Edward Feser can go on for pages about this, though, criticizing people (like D.B. Hart) for attacking the "wrong" version - or being unclear about which version he's critiquing.  In this post, for instance, Feser says:

That brings us to a second problem with Hart’s articles overall, which is (as I also noted in my earlier replies to him) that he never makes it clear whether it is the “new” natural law theory, or the “old” natural law theory, or both, that he has in his sights.  His remarks in the Letters section of the May First Things may initially seem to clarify the matter at last.  For he writes:

I said only that [moral] truths cannot be deduced from the understanding of nature that modernity presumes, and hence natural law arguments cannot be made from a position that has already conceded the legitimacy of that understanding (by trying to change natural law theory into either a form of Kantian categorical imperative or some sort of utilitarian calculus).

and

My column concerned those who make no appeal to [the] desire [of the heart for God], and who consent to secular reason’s decision to bracket the supernatural out of public consideration, and who think that natural law can be demonstrated in a purely naturalistic key…

Hart had claimed in his original piece that “names are not important,” and in the May Letters section he says:

[T]he names I withhold are specifically those of thinkers who do not practice classical natural law theory at all.

and

[C]lassical natural law theory… was not the topic I addressed.

and

I underestimated the degree to which what I thought a simple distinction between classical natural law theory and “natural law theory” reconfigured as a form of modern practical reason would prove difficult to grasp.

and

[It is those thinkers] armed with natural law arguments of an oddly metaphysically denatured kind… [arguing] on the basis of a kind of Kantian appeal to categorical imperatives, scaffolded within a consequentialist account of natural goods… who were the subject of my column.

End quote.  All of that seems to imply very strongly that it is the “new” natural law theory alone that he had in his sights.  But there are two problems with this interpretation.  First, why in that case did Hart go on at such length in his two articles about final causes, Humean strictures about “is” and “ought,” and the like?  For again, “new” natural law theorists accept the Humean position and deny that one need appeal to a metaphysics of final causes in order to practice natural law theory.  So to insist that Hume’s position makes their approach impossible and that their approach requires premises about final causes to which they are not entitled quite blatantly begs the question against them; indeed, it misses the whole point of the “new natural law,” which is to reconstruct natural law in post-Aristotelian, Humean-friendly terms.  (I hasten to emphasize that, as an unreconstructed classical or “old” natural law theorist, I share Hart’s disagreement with the “new natural law” approach.  The trouble is that his critique has no force against it whatsoever.)

Second, despite Hart’s apparently clear-as-day insistence that it was only non-classical natural law theorists he had in mind, he goes on at the end of his remarks in the May Letters section to write:

[F]rankly, the whole “What alternative do we have?” question strikes me as one corrupted by fantasy.  It is not as if natural law theory, classical or modern, is some sort of effective dialectical strategy that has had any success in the secular realm, or that ever will have such success.  Natural law theory is a practice confined to the circles of natural law theorists, because it requires enclosed, conservatory conditions to flourish; in the open air, it quickly withers…

I am in the end quite happy for believers in natural law theory to continue plying their oars, rowing against the current (so long as they do so in keeping with classical metaphysics), but I do not think they are going to get where they are heading; so I shall just watch from the bank for a while and then wander off to the hills (to look for saints and angels).

And to Howard P. Kainz, who asks what “other approach” one should take to “modern moral life,” Hart answers:

I encourage Mr. Kainz to pursue classical natural law theory (which was not the topic I addressed), if he likes.  The Great Commission also comes to mind.  (Do what you think best.)

End quote.  All of this makes it sound as if Hart thinks that classical natural law theory is, after all, not much better than the “new” version, even given its “classical metaphysics.”  Moreover, the comments about “saints and angels” and “the Great Commission,” in addition to being smug, seem to imply that classical natural law theory, no less than the “new” version, has little or no force outside of a “supernatural” context.  In which case Hart’s remarks in his two articles do seem intended to apply to the “old” natural law theory as well as to the “new.”

I've read some of Feser's discussions of the "new natural law theory" - but at times there are too many references to things I don't have in my vocabulary.  For instance, in his "A Christian Hart and a Humean Head", there's this:

In a piece in the March issue of First Things, David Bentley Hart suggests that the arguments of natural law theorists are bound to be ineffectual in the public square.  The reason is that such arguments mistakenly presuppose that there is sufficient conceptual common ground between natural law theorists and their opponents for fruitful moral debate to be possible.  In particular, they presuppose that “the moral meaning of nature should be perfectly evident to any properly reasoning mind, regardless of religious belief or cultural formation.”  In fact, Hart claims, there is no such common ground, insofar as “our concept of nature, in any age, is entirely dependent upon supernatural (or at least metaphysical) convictions.”  For Hart, it is only when we look at nature from a very specific religious and cultural perspective that we will see it the way natural law theorists need us to see it in order for their arguments to be compelling.  And since such a perspective on nature “must be received as an apocalyptic interruption of our ordinary explanations,” as a deliverance of special divine revelation rather than secular reason, it is inevitably one that not all parties to public debate are going to share.

Now I have nothing but respect for Prof. Hart and his work.  But this latest article is not his finest hour.  Not to put too fine a point on it, by my count he commits no less than five logical fallacies --equivocation, straw man, begging the question, non sequitur, andspecial pleading.  He equivocates insofar as he fails to distinguish two very different theories that go under the “natural law” label.  He also uses terms like “supernatural” and “metaphysical” as if they were interchangeable, or at least as if the differences between them were irrelevant to his argument.  These ambiguities are essential to his case.  When they are resolved, it becomes clear that with respect to both versions of natural law theory, Hart is attacking straw men and simply begging the question against them.  It also becomes evident that his conclusion -- that it is “hopeless” to bring forth natural law arguments in the public square -- doesn’t follow from his premises, and that even if it did, if he were consistent he would have to apply it to his own position no less than to natural law theory.

Let’s consider these problems with Hart’s argument in order.  Who, specifically, are the “natural law theorists” that Hart is criticizing?  Hart assures us that “names are not important.”  In fact names are crucial, because it is only by running together the two main contemporary approaches to natural law that Hart can seem to have struck a blow against either. 

So let’s name names.  What we might call the classical (or “old”) natural law theory is the sort grounded in a specifically Aristotelian metaphysics of formal and final causes -- that is to say, in the idea that things have immanent natures or substantial forms and that in virtue of those natures they are inherently directed toward certain natural ends, the realization of which constitutes the good for them.  Accordingly, this approach firmly rejects the so-called “fact/value dichotomy” associated with modern philosophers like Hume.  Its most prominent historical defender is Aquinas, and it was standard in Neo-Scholastic manuals of ethics and moral theology in the pre-Vatican II period.  In more recent decades it has been defended by writers like Ralph McInerny, Henry Veatch, Russell Hittinger, David Oderberg, and Anthony Lisska.  (In the interests of full disclosure -- of which, regrettably, self-promotion is a foreseen but unintended byproduct, justifiable under the principle of double effect -- I suppose I should mention that I have also defended classical natural law theory in several places, such as my book Aquinas.) 

What has come to be called the “new natural law theory” eschews any specifically Aristotelian metaphysical foundation, and in particular any appeal to formal and final causes and thus any appeal to human nature (at least as “old natural law” theorists would understand it).  It is a very recent development -- going back only to the 1960s, when it was invented by Germain Grisez -- and its aim is to reconstruct natural law in terms that could be accepted by someone who affirms the Humean fact/value dichotomy.  In addition to Grisez, it is associated with writers like John Finnis, Joseph Boyle, William May, Robert P. George, and Christopher Tollefsen.  (Once again in the interests of full disclosure, I should note that like other classical natural law theorists, I have been very critical of the so-called “new natural lawyers.”  But it is also only fair to point out that Hart’s argument has no more force against the “new” natural law theory than it does against the “old” or classical version.) 

What the two approaches have in common is the view that objectively true moral conclusions can be derived from premises that in no way presuppose any purported divine revelation, any body of scriptural writings, or any particular religious tradition.  Rather, they can in principle be known via purely philosophical arguments.  Where the two approaches differ is in their view of which philosophical claims, specifically, the natural law theorist must defend in order to develop a system of natural law ethics.  The “old” natural law theorist would hold that a broadly classical, and specifically Aristotelian, metaphysical picture of the world must be part of a complete defense of natural law.  The “new” natural law theorist would hold that natural law theory can be developed with a much more modest set of metaphysical claims -- about the reality of free will, say, and a certain theory of practical reason -- without having to challenge modern post-Humean, post-Kantian philosophy in as radical and wholesale a way as the “old” natural law theorist would.  Both sides agree, however, that some body of metaphysical claims must be a part of a complete natural law theory, and (again) that these claims can be defended without appeal to divine revelation, scripture, etc.

So that's a little something - but honestly, I remain a little bit lost.  I don't know what is involved in "the idea that things have immanent natures or substantial forms and that in virtue of those natures they are inherently directed toward certain natural ends, the realization of which constitutes the good for them."    I do understand the basic idea - perhaps - but get lost (for instance) in the discussion of "immanent natures or substantial forms."  Do these words have particular, non-ordinary meanings within the philosophical system that uses them?  I have no idea.

And there's not much information, for somebody like me, in a sentence like "What has come to be called the 'new natural law theory' eschews any specifically Aristotelian metaphysical foundation, and in particular any appeal to formal and final causes and thus any appeal to human nature (at least as 'old natural law' theorists would understand it). "  What are "formal and final causes"?  I don't know.

I do understand - at least I think I do - the idea that "things are inherently directed toward certain natural ends, the realization of which constitutes the good for them."  You do see this idea reflected in Catholic thought; this is, in fact, is the basis of the Catholic argument against homosexuality, and - not surprisingly - it's where a lot of the handwaving comes in!  (It's interesting to me, in fact, that Protestants have picked up this natural ends argument on the same topic, without actually noticing, as far as I can tell.) 

Feser is also very big on the "non-material" - which ends up being a facet of (at least his version of) natural law, too.  He went on a tear awhile back, offering post after post of criticism of criticism of Thomas Nagel’s Mind and Cosmos.  (Do philosophers do this all the time, I wonder?  I should add that I have a time getting through his stuff at times, because he can be rather off-puttingly supercilious - to my eyes, at least - to those he disagrees with.)

He was especially excited about the Nagel book's tagline: "Why the Materialist Neo-Darwinian Conception of Nature is Almost Certainly False."  (Note that here again, we have the playing off of Darwinism against neo-Darwinism!  Whatever all that's about.  Ay yi yi.)

Some of the usual suspects are also talking about this book; Alvin Platagina (a Christian "philospher of mind," as I understand it) reviewed it recently in The New Republic.  I think these people may all be trying to prove the existence of the soul, actually - but I'm not quite sure, honestly.

Following along with all these conversations has had some benefits, though.  I read a pretty interesting article by Nagel called "What is it like to be a bat?", first published in The Philosophical Review in October 1974.  That one's about consciousness - and the discussion is around what consciousness actually is, and whether or not it's reducible to materialism.  I'm guessing that this new book is 30 years' worth of thinking about that subject.

Anyway, back to Natural Law.  What is it?   I don't know exactly yet, but I'm still working on it!