Need a new author to read? Take up something by the late Fr. Alexander Schmemann.

Things proceed apace in Casa Price. My daughter tires of the endless bakery weather of south Texas and will be visiting us in August, and the fatted calf with be slaughtered with great rejoicing. We helped clean out a pole barn as part of helping my Dad and Mom sell property they are no longer interesting in bothering with. I now have to figure out what to do with the first and second series of the American Law Reports, but at a minimum they will offer fine law geek reading in retirement, which [checks mental watch] hopefully is just eight years off.

God willing and the creek don't rise or the 401(k) fall.

In the meantime, I have made the acquaintance of the great Russian-American Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann (1921-1983).

I have yet to read a wasted word from him. Best known as a liturgical scholar, he was also a gifted preacher and became famous (at least behind the Iron Curtain) for his regular broadcasts on Radio Liberty. Thoughts of mortality have crept up on me, and O Death, Where Is Thy Sting? is a superb series of brief meditations on the topic. In it, Schmemann demolishes the secularized look at death and the afterlife, and emphasizes over and over again that Christianity does not have answers for death--Christ is the Answer, full stop. In a society where secularism has turned the worldscape into a "cosmic graveyard" where people scurry about trying to avoid the very thought of death, we must always remember that Christ has triumphed, defeating death by death. 

With that starter in mind, delve into his two volume collection of Radio Liberty talks. Most of them, at least. Others were collected into separate books, depending upon the topic--O Death is one such example. In the Radio Liberty anthology, the timelessness of the topics leap from the page. Which, if you're paying attention, should give you a sense of unease. Much of the West has turned into a funhouse mirror version of the old, materialist, religion-hating Soviet Union, albeit with more food and gadgets in its stores. Consequently, the talks truly are for our time as well.

Finally, there is For the Life of the World, which explains the centrality of liturgy to not only our lives as Christians, but to the cosmos itself. I'm not that far into it, but each chapter offers at least one mental earthquake and helps you to appreciate what worship really should mean.

As I said, not a wasted word. Take and read.

 

For the first time since the Wall fell, nuclear horror is weighing on my mind.

I have no idea how many read this or know who I am, but for the uninformed: I grew up during the latter days of the Cold War.

Part of my mental architecture from those years are these pop culture markers: 

A Canticle for Leibowitz, Gamma World, World War III (the NBC miniseries), The Day After, Threads, Hackett's Third World War, Alas Babylon, On The Beach, The Last Ship, 99 Luftballons, The Horseclans, Snowbrother, Down to a Sunless Sea (very underrated), Testament, The Pelbar Cycle, The Survivalist, Miracle Mile, This Is The Way The World Ends...

[References to the above can be found on this solid list here.]

And they have remained there, despite receding quite a bit in the wind of change. 

But now those old feelings are back. I'm not sure what the strategy is behind this sort of tough-guy posturing, especially with the repeated hints regarding the grim change in Putin's headspace. The latter of which seems to be borne out by his speeches and forced resettlement of Ukrainians. 

But sure, why not?  

In the meantime, I've carefully avoided any use of the N[uclear]-word around the children. The pandemic already left enough to deal with. 

And yet, I'm going to have to address it sooner or later. What a time to be alive.

The Current Reading List.

It's actually much longer than this, but here is what is in heaviest rotation:

1. Transfiguration, by the late Melkite Archbishop Joseph Raya. This shepherd's message deserves a wider hearing.

2. I Believe in the Holy Spirit by the late Yves Congar. I know, Congar can be controversial. I roll my eyes at the occasional genuflection before the "assured results of critical scholarship," but apart from that, it's very worthwhile. The origins of the Western Church's continuing conflation/totemization of the Third Person with/by ecclesiastical figures and (self-interested) clerical initiatives can be found in Volume 1, too. 

3. The Saint by Dan Abnett. The Gaunt's Ghosts books are essential 40K reading, and Abnett never disappoints. 

4. Francis of Assisi: A New Biography by Augustine Thompson, O.P. The focus of the Poverello was considerably different from that of the figure created either by hagiography or the contemporary secular imagination.   

Sounds familiar.

 

 

Incidentally, I notice that our professors, trying to show off to their students, rant and rail against the state and against law and order, while expecting the same state to punctually pay their salaries, pensions and family allowances, so that they value at least this kind of law and order.

Make a fist with the left hand and open the right hand receptively--that is how one gets through life.

--From Eumeswil, by Ernst Junger.

Just in time for the Christmas Season.

The excellent Preserving Christian Publications is reprinting an affordable hardback version of Dom Prosper Gueranger's classic The Liturgical Year.

 

This is the Newman Press version from the 1950s. The first six are available, and I have the first three. 

These are excellent reprints. Some pages are a little lighter than others, but not so much as to impair readability. And the typeface is, despite the smaller size of the volumes, not in "go blind-pt" type.

Packed with prayers from the Eastern and Western Catholic traditions, saints days and fascinating details of liturgical history, it is well worth the investment. 

And so it begins.

At long last, I realize I have too many books, and of uneven quality. I have also come to the painful realization that my children have little to no interest in reading them, despite what I regard as a wide range of topics. 

As I have told others, "children aren't their parents' clones."

They will follow their own paths, despite your experience-tested guidance.

At least they are not clones yet, but God and ferociously-pagan global Caesars only know what is being cooked up in government/corporate labs as I type this.

This sense of disappointment has also prompted the realization that I'm not really preserving or saving anything for future generations, despite my hopeful delusions to the contrary.

So, with the sense of mortality gradually becoming more acute and the desire to be merciful to the poor sod(s) who will have to deal with the bound tonnage after I am gone, I have begun a purge. A bit tentative at the moment, but I have already pulled about twenty volumes off the shelves. 

I have also become aware that I'm going to have to put a pillow over my sentimentalism. But as with most things, I suspect that will become easier with time.

So, I've started reading Thomas Carlyle.

I found a 19th Century anthology a few years back, but hadn't gotten to it because Giant Pile of Other Books. Now, however, I feel compelled to try. Albeit beginning with a shorter paperback anthology, because Fear of Damaging 19th Century Book with Cracked Binding Even Further is a real thing.

So, yes, taking up a Scottish philosopher long eclipsed and in disrepute? You have your mid-life crisis, I have mine.

Anyway, first impression: very evocative, and cares little for what the reader might think. Fun turns of phrase, and a good grasp of historical figures and current affairs.

Also: frequently a verbose, alienating, florid crank yelling into the ether to no good effect who can't bear to edit himself even when he should.

We might get along fine.

Got a bit derailed.

I have this habit of reading (or re-reading) multiple books at a time. It's manageable, but it does tend to mash my ADHD "SQUIRREL!" button.

So I picked up Orwell's Homage to Catalonia and here I am. I will still have the other review up. But it may be preceded by a review of Mr. Blair's account of his service with the POUM militia during the Spanish Civil War, the event upon which his intellectual and political worldview pivoted. 

And did you know that Orwell and his wife Eileen adopted a son? Here are the reminiscences of Richard Horatio Blair, who recalls a loving and attentive father, even as that father was clacking away at his masterpiece while dying of tuberculosis.

In any event, that's the story. 

In the meantime, you might want to put aside some of your stimulus money for rocketing gasoline prices this summer.

But remember that energy and food prices aren't "core inflation," so it'll be fine.

 

Yes, Virginia, there *was* a Thanksgiving Indult--with caveats.

My respect for Sharon Kabel's research skills knows know bounds. She is the daughter-in-law of my good friend Jon Kabel. 

She recently put her unmatched talents for searching the historical record to good use to address the question of the much-discussed "Thanksgiving Indult" of Pope Pius XII, which supposedly allowed American Catholics to keep chowing down on the bird on Fridays after Thanksgiving.

Her verdict--which is supported by her startling ability to sift the archives--is that there may have been one once, or granted here or there, but as a general rule, no.

The only problem with her research is that the best source for researching dispensations is the hard-to-find work of the late Jesuit T. Lincoln Bouscaren. Father Bouscaren was an eminent American canonist and the compiler of the invaluable early volumes of the Canon Law Digest. 

The books are fascinating--even for non-legally-minded nerds. They show church tribunals and other authorities wrestling with issues as varied as imaginable, from granting an annulment to a Catholic woman whose husband had himself sterilized two weeks before their wedding to how to translate the Good Friday prayer for the Jews. When I get a moment, I will devote a more in-depth post to the volumes of the Digest and the remarkable material they contain. 

In any event, Volume V of the Digest (Bruce Publishing Company, 1963) settles the dispute over the historicity and reach of the Thanksgiving Indult once and for all:

1. Yes, there was a general indult for bishops to grant dispensations on American civil holidays, and it had existed as far back as Pius XI;

2. Yes, there was one specifically available for Thanksgiving--but it was granted either at the tail end of the reign of John XXIII or the very beginning of that of Paul VI;

3. But there was no general, universal indult straight from the Pope--it had to be applied for, and not every bishop did.

So, you're thinking to yourself, "How do I remedy my lamentable ignorance about all things Byzantine?"

Hopefully you aren't as badly off as the poor BBCer who referred to "Manuel Paleologus II, Emperor of Byzantine," which was enough error in six words to give me the bends. The last is easy, obviously. But the name order is another major screw up. It's Manuel II Paleologus because the first Manuel was from a different dynasty, the Comneni. That Manuel is properly referred to as Manuel I Comnenus. A little thing, but it betrays a rather serious problem: too few people in the West have even the faintest knowledge of the first Christian state, which both shielded Western Christendom and was responsible for the glorious civilization of the Christian East. 

 It is an essential part of our patrimony, but it is a universal that Byzantium gets glossed over quickly. Which, considering it lasted approximately twelve centuries, is inexcusable. Fortunately, dear reader, you've come to the right place, so long as you are willing to take the first step and admit you have a problem. 

With that in mind, here are some book recommendations:

A History of the Byzantine State and Society by Warren Treadgold. At the risk of punnery, it is the gold standard of one volume histories. Yes, it appears to be doorstop thickness, but the 800 pages of actual history (the remainder is comprised of a valuable annotated bibliography, along with endnotes and an index) seems short by the time you finish. It covers religious issues with a deft touch (you'll have the Christological controversies nailed by the end of it), devotes essential space to economic issues and offers valuable windows on Byzantine literature. Well-written and willing to offer new interpretations, it is essential.  

History of the Byzantine State by George Ostrogorsky. The standard before Treadgold, it's still valuable. Focuses more on political developments, but does so capably. Has the added bonus of still being in print. 

 Byzantine Art by Robin Cormack. From the Oxford History of Art series, this is an excellent survey of the various forms of Byzantine art and architecture.  

The Glory of Byzantium. Another artistic survey, this one covers the period of 843-1261 (from the end of iconoclasm to the liberation of Constantinople from the rotten Latin Empire). Beautiful plates, and excellent introductory articles make it invaluable. If nothing else, it's one hell of a coffee table book.  

Rulers of the Byzantine Empire. By Kibea, a Bulgarian publisher, it's a beautifully illustrated encyclopedia of the most significant figures to become Emperor. The translation is a little creaky in spots (e.g., uses "scientist"/"scientific" instead of "scholar/scholarly"), but is otherwise good.