It has been a good day. I rose at 9, much better than yesterday's 10.04; I went to Mass, saying morning prayer in the church beforehand. We had the "rather horrendous story" of David's adultery and homicide. I like this story. I like King David. Hooray for King David! I shall not say "Hooray for adultery and homicide!" That would be wrong. I am not sure whether that would be one or two mortal sins; I suppose it would be two, because there are two distinct objects.

Anyway, there came into my hands today a special copy of the Catcher in the Rye.

Christopher Robertson has come to Durham briefly.

I have written a letter to the notorious nincompoop, Richard Dawkins. It runs thus:

"Dear Prof. Dawkins,

I have read your article on p. 34 of today's Times.

Grow up.

Yours sincerely,

David Mitchell"

Why is catechesis so bad?

Today is the optional memorial of St Angela Merici. When I said morning prayer at the hideously early hour of 11.30 this morning, I decided to celebrate the memorial. I don't see how it is better not to celebrate an optional memorial, generally speaking.

Anyway, I am wondering, why is the catechesis of Catholics so bad? Why do Catholics neither know the first thing about their religion, nor understand the reasons behind what they believe? Why do persons one supposes to be perfectly good Catholics propose absurdities that contradict right reason?

They propose absurdities that contradict right reason because they do not know anything about their religion; they do not know anything about their religion because they have not been taught; they have not been taught, or they have been taught badly, because somebody, somewhere, at some point in time, does not or did not want them to be taught Catholicism; they do not understand the reasons because they do not make any effort to use their intellects properly. It is still neither extremely difficult nor impossible to commit a mortal sin; hell still exists; states still have a right to inflict capital punishment for capital crimes, and this is an infallible teaching of the ordinary universal magisterium; women still cannot receive the Sacrament of Orders, which is also an infallible teaching of the ordinary universal magisterium; it is still necessary to pray in order to be saved; it is still necessary to be Catholic; and it is still necessary to study the Faith, or you will certainly lose it, and, having lost it, are hardly like to get it back again.

It is not a surprise that non-Catholics are unfamiliar with Catholicism.

But it is depressing when Catholics everywhere show every sign of being non-Catholics, and raise the same objections against their own religion that were raised by Protestants in the sixteenth century.

Regole per ben vivere

This is a compendious rule of life written by St Alphonsus. I include the Italian text, and my own translation follows.

I. Nella mattina in alzarsi da letto fare gli atti cristiani. Ogni giorno fare l'orazione mentale per mezz'ora: almeno leggere per un quarto qualche libro spirituale. Sentir la messa. Far la visita al ss. Sacramento ed alla divina Madre. Dire il rosario. E la sera far l'esame coll'atto di dolore e gli atti cristiani colle litanie di Maria ss.

II. Confessarsi e comunicarsi almeno ogni settimana: e più spesso se si può col consiglio del padre spirituale.

III. Sciegliersi un buon confessore, dotto e pio e dirigersi sempre con esso, così per gli esercizj di divozione, come per gli affari di conseguenza, e non lasciarlo senza grave causa.

IV. Fuggire l'ozio, i mali compagni i discorsi immodesti e sopra tutto le occasioni cattive, specialmente dove è pericolo d'incontinenza.

V. Nelle tentazioni particolarmente d'impurità segnarsi subito col segno della s. croce ed invocare i nomi ss. di Gesù e di Maria sino a tanto che la tentazione persiste.

VI. Quando si commette qualche peccato subito pentirsene e proporre l'emenda; e s'è colpa grave, quanto prima confessarsene.

VII. Sentire le prediche sempre che si può, ed andare a qualche congregazione con attendere ivi non ad altro che al negozio della salute eterna.

VIII. In onor di Maria ss. fare il digiuno il sabbato e nelle vigilie delle sette sue festività con qualche altra mortificazione corporale, secondo il consiglio del padre spirituale, e far le novene, così di dette festività di Maria, come di Natale, Pentecoste e del s. avvocato. Nelle cose dispiacenti, come infermità, perdite, persecuzioni, uniformarsi in tutto alla divina volontà e quietarsi con dir sempre: Così vuole (o così ha voluto) Dio, così sia fatto.

IX. Fare gli esercizj spirituali ogni anno in qualche casa religiosa o luogo solitario: almeno farli in casa propria applicandosi in quei giorni quanto si può ad orazioni, lezioni spirituali ed al silenzio. E nello stesso modo fare un giorno di ritiro ogni mese colla comunione e con allontanarsi da ogni conversazione.

1. In the morning upon getting out of bed, make the Christian acts (i.e. acts of faith, hope, and charity). Every day make a half-hour's meditation: read for at least a quarter of an hour a spiritual book. Hear Mass. Make the visit to the Blessed Sacrament and to the Divine Mother. Say the rosary. And in the evening make the examen with the act of sorrow and the Christian acts with the litany of most holy Mary.

2. Confess and communicate at least weekly: and more often, if possible, with the advice of your spiritual father.

3. Choose a good confessor, learned and pious, and always obey him, not only as far as devotional exercises are concerned, but also in affairs of consequence, and do not leave him without a serious reason.

4. Flee hatred, bad companions, and immodest conversation, and above all the occasions of sin, especially where there is danger of incontinence.

5. In temptations, particularly temptations to impurity, sign yourself immediately with the Sign of the Cross, and call upon the most holy names of Jesus and of Mary as long as the temptation persists.

6. When you commit some sin, immediately repent, and purpose to amend; and if it is a grave sin, confess it as soon as possible.

7. Hear sermons as often as you can, and go to some congregation attending therein only to the business of your eternal salvation. [?tr.]

8. In honour of Most Holy Mary, fast on Saturdays and on the vigils of her seven feasts with some other corporal mortification, according to the advice of your spiritual director, and make the novenas, both of the special feasts of Mary, and of Christmas, Pentecost, and of your holy patron. In displeasing things, such as sicknesses, losses, persecutions, conform yourself in everything to the Divine Will and quiet yourself by saying: As God wills (or, as has willed) it, so be it done.

9. Do spiritual exercises each year in some religious house or solitary place: at the least, apply yourself for several days in your own house, as far as you can, to prayers, spiritual readings, and silence. And in the same way, make a day of retreat each month with communion and distancing yourself from all conversation.

Kill the nasty dragon

I intended to go to Mass at St Godric's this morning but I didn't get out of bed till 9.30, which rendered going to Mass impossible. It also meant that I didn't have any breakfast. I said morning prayer, and did an hour and twenty minutes' piano practice, which I actually enjoyed; and then I went to my tutorial with Mieko Kanno. That was not bad. I came back for lunch, and then lay in bed from 1.30 until some time after 4. I felt slightly bad about wasting three hours, but consoled myself with the thought that people do not do enough nothing. I have done a pleasing amount of nothing today. Hey ho, away we go, kill the dragon, kill the dragon, hey ho, away we go, kill the nasty dra-gon.

The Adventure of the Saturday of the Second Week in Ordinary Time

Once on a Saturday of the Second Week in Ordinary Time, sanabituranima and I went to St Cuthbert's to say the Rosary. But then we were told by our priest that the rosary "wasn't on this week," so we went away.
Hereupon we went to Boots to get something for my cold sore. I asked the woman at the counter for something; she said she would get the pharmacist to have a look at it because it looked quite bad; and I again asked the pharmacist if she had anything for cold sores, and she said she did but that that looked worse than a cold sore - it looked... infected, she said, in a very severe tone that made it sound as though I was extremely wicked because bacteria, not only viruses, were eating my face. She told me to go to a walk-in centre immediately to see a doctor. So we left Boots; then we realized that neither of us knew where a walk-in centre was. So we went to the DSU to find someone to direct us; but there was no one there who could help us. So I suggested going back to Boots, where someone might know - I didn't want the pharmacist who had just reprimanded me (as it seemed) to overhear the conversation, but I think she did; I asked if I could be directed to the nearest NHS walk-in centre, to which the response of my interlocutor was to provide me with the telephone number of NHS Direct. Having gone out of Boots again, I rang this number, and after a computer had offered me the choice of pressing any of about four buttons, I spoke to a human being, and asked again where this walk-in centre was. I was told I could speak to a nurse, or he could direct me to a walk-in centre. I asked for what I had just asked for - the nurse on the telephone would, I presumed, not be able to see me, and in any case I was about to go and see someone in a minute. I was told that the nearest walk-in centre to Collingwood College, DH1 3LT, was 11 Shelley Road, Bournemouth, BH1 something or other; I can only presume that he misheard my postcode, though when he said "It's about a mile away from where you are," I thought that perhaps there was a village that sounded like Bournemouth (maybe Falmouth or Alnmouth pronounced in a strange way) not far away. But we went to Palace Green library, and asked the Internet; and the man had indeed directed me to Bournemouth. Well, we certainly weren't going there. There were two walk-in centres in Newcastle, one in Gateshead, and one in Stockton; we decided to go to Stockton. But deciding that we would need change for the bus - or sanabituranima would, though I could use my campus card as a ticket - I then went to Tesco's, so that I would get some change. I bought two cartons of orange juice and a bottle of bitter lemon; I paid for it on the self-service machine, but used my debit card. Then I realized that this had not provided any change. We would probably not get the bus we had meant to catch now, so we went to a café and had lunch. Then we went to the bus stop; and as we were arriving, the next bus was leaving. So we waited in Elvet Riverside, in order not to miss a third bus. Then we succeeded on getting the next bus. On this bus we said five decades of the rosary. We reached Stockton; and then we realized that although I had the address (and the telephone number) of the place, we did not know where we were going. We asked the woman in the Arriva travel centre if she knew where it was; she didn't, but she said that "the boys" might. Presently she told us to get Stagecoach 59, a bus which as far as we could see did not exist. Then, because I needed the toilet, we went into a pub, called the Stag, where there were some people. We had some food and drink and I went to the toilet; and we decided that we would try to find somewhere to buy a map. We wandered through Stockton, into a shopping centre; there we saw a Boots, and went into it and I bought some Zovirax for my face. I asked the woman at the till if she knew where this place was; she didn't, and she asked her colleagues, who didn't either. She suggested that I speak to the pharmacist; so I asked the pharmacist, who said, "I didn't think it was at that address any more," and then she asked among her colleagues. Shortly, some directions were written on the paper. We then got a taxi, and after some communication difficulties, arrived; it was now the middle of the afternoon. I filled in a form, sat down, and watched the television that was on in this waiting-room; there were some schoolchildren on, or rather in, the television who were talking about what made them stressed. A voice said "David Mitchell;" I did not really notice it; but then it suddenly occurred to me that I was David Mitchell, and I got up. The woman asked me if, before I was in Durham, I had been in Colchester; evidently they had my old address on the system. Yes, I said. We went through; and the doctor gave me flucloxacillin, which I have to take four times a day - it is for the bacteria, not the herpes simplex virus which causes the cold sore. I have the zovirax for the cold sore.
Then we realized we needed to get back somehow; so we got the bus; then we went to Boots where I handed in my prescription and was told it would be about ten minutes. sanabituranima and I then examined the multifarious species of toothpaste sold by Boots the Chemist, and came to the conclusion that "oral rinse" was, translated into English, "mouthwash;" and I bought a packet of Fruitella. My prescription wasn't ready for another few minutes; but after (I think) the application of Zovirax, I went back to the pharmacist, and after I had told them the address which is not actually my current address but was the one I knew they had on the system, I was given my antibiotics; and then we decided it was time to go home.
So we went to the bus stop; we saw the bus X1, or 1X, whichever it was, and walked towards it, and as we did so it left. Shortly afterwards I suggested to sanabituranima that we go inside Debenhams, where it would, I imagined, be warmer than outside; and it was. We sat in the café, and then we left the café and went back to the bus-stop; and eventually the bus arrived at the next stand, and we got on it, and said evening prayer on the bus; and there was an evil advertisement for LARCs (Lasting And Reliable Contraceptives) - in fact there were two - on the bus. Not that having someone shove a T-shaped copper thing in your uterus is better than not having sex; but the idea that it is is called advertising.

So is this:

"No, you shall not die the death. For God knows that in what day soever you shall eat thereof, your eyes shall be opened: and you shall be as Gods, knowing good and evil.
And the woman saw that the tree was good to eat, and fair to the eyes, and delightful to behold: and she took of the fruit thereof, and ate, and gave to her husband, who ate."

Gen. iii, 4 to 6.

Anyway, passing by the advert for unpleasant and evil things, we did not get off at Elvet Riverside, for we did not ring the bell; we got off at the station; then I started walking the wrong way, then we turned round. Then I observed that we didn't have time to go to confession or to Mass; sanabituranima asked me if Mass was at 5.30, which it was - so there was just enough time to get there if we walked quickly. We arrived during the first hymn. The sermon was extremely bizarre. The priest kept talking about people who are "blind to their own goodness." I thought Jesus might have been somewhat more concerned about people who were blind to their own evil; but then I am but a base layman and do not understand things which are above my intellect.

After Mass, since we were in Gilesgate, we visited my old housemates; and after this we endeavoured to find somewhere to eat. I didn't want to eat at Rajpooth since it would have been very filling; but we went into four restaurants (not including Rajpooth) before we got a table. We ate dinner (though there was a large gap between the starter and the main course), and we both lived happily ever after for two whole days.

Samovar

Greetings from the land of David.

Today I handed in a summative assessment and a formative; I inadvertently selected the wrong assignment to submit electronically, which was problematic but I believe the problem is now resolved.

The square of the right angle on the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides.

Chesterton: "Tolstoy"

"IF any one wishes to form the fullest estimate of the real character and influence of the great man whose name is prefixed to these remarks, he will not find it in his novels, splendid as they are, or in his ethical views, clearly and finely as they are conceived and expanded. He will find it best expressed in the news that has recently come from Canada, that a sect of Russian Christian anarchists has turned all its animals loose, on the ground that it is immoral to possess them or control them. About such an incident as this there is a quality altogether independent of the rightness or wrongness, the sanity or insanity, of the view. It is first and foremost a reminder that the world is still young. There are still theories of life as insanely reasonable as those which were disputed under the clear blue skies of Athens..."

"Insanely reasonable." Rem acu tetigisti.

There are still examples of a faith as fierce and practical as that of the Mahometans, who swept across Africa and Europe, shouting a single word. To the languid contemporary politician and philosopher it seems doubtless like something out of a dream, that in this iron-bound, homogeneous, and clockwork age, a company of European men in boots and waistcoats should begin to insist on taking the horse out of the shafts of the omnibus, and lift the pig out of his pig-sty, and the dog out of his kennel, because of a moral scruple or theory. It is like a page from some fairy farce to imagine the Doukhabor solemnly escorting a hen to the door of the yard and bidding it a benevolent farewell as it sets out on its travels. All this, as I say, seems mere muddle-headed absurdity to the typical leader of human society in this decade, to a man like Mr. Balfour, or Mr. Wyndham. But there is nevertheless a further thing to be said, and that is that, if Mr. Balfour could be converted to a religion which taught him that he was morally bound to walk into the House of Commons on his hands, and he did walk on his hands, if Mr. Wyndham could accept a creed which taught that he ought to dye his hair blue, and he did dye his hair blue, they would both of them be, almost beyond description, better and happier men than they are. For there is only one happiness possible or conceivable under the sun, and that is enthusiasm--that strange and splendid word that has passed through so many vicissitudes, which meant, in the eighteenth century the condition of a lunatic, and in ancient Greece the presence of a god.
This great act of heroic consistency which has taken place in Canada is the best example of the work of Tolstoy. It is true (as I believe) that the Doukhabors have an origin quite independent of the great Russian moralist, but there can surely be little doubt that their emergence into importance and the growth and mental distinction of their sect, is due to his admirable summary and justification of their scheme of ethics. Tolstoy, besides being a magnificent novelist, is one of the very few men alive who have a real, solid, and serious view of life. He is a Catholic church, of which he is the only member, the somewhat arrogant Pope and the somewhat submissive layman. He is one of the two or three men in Europe, who have an attitude towards things so entirely their own, that we could supply their inevitable view on anything--a silk hat, a Home Rule Bill, an Indian poem, or a pound of tobacco. There are three men in existence who have such an attitude: Tolstoy, Mr. Bernard Shaw, and my friend Mr. Hilaire Belloc. They are all diametrically opposed to each other, but they all have this essential resemblance, that, given their basis of thought, their soil of conviction, their opinions on every earthly subject grow there naturally, like flowers in a field. There are certain views of certain things that they must take; they do not form opinions, the opinions form themselves. Take, for instance, in the case of Tolstoy, the mere list of miscellaneous objects which I wrote down at random above, a silk hat, a Home Rule Bill, an Indian poem, and a pound of tobacco. Tolstoy would say: "I believe in the utmost possible simplification of life; therefore, this silk hat is a black abortion." He would say: "I believe in the utmost possible simplification of life; therefore, this Home Rule Bill is a mere peddling compromise; it is no good to break up a centralised empire into nations, you must break the nation up into individuals." He would say: "I believe in the utmost possible simplification of life; therefore, I am interested in this Indian poem, for Eastern ethics, under all their apparent gorgeousness, are far simpler and more Tolstoyan than Western." He would say: "I believe in the utmost possible simplification of life; therefore, this pound of tobacco is a thing of evil; take it away." Everything in the world, from the Bible to a bootjack, can be, and is, reduced by Tolstoy to this great fundamental Tolstoyan principle, the simplification of life. When we deal with a body of opinion like this we are dealing with an incident in the history of Europe infinitely more important than the appearance of Napoleon Buonaparte.

This emergence of Tolstoy, with his awful and simple ethics, is important in more ways than one. Among other things it is a very interesting commentary on an attitude which has been taken up for the matter of half a century by all the avowed opponents of religion. The secularist and the sceptic have denounced Christianity first and foremost, because of its encouragement of fanaticism; because religious excitement led men to burn their neighbours and to dance naked down the street. How queer it all sounds now. Religion can be swept out of the matter altogether, and still there are philosophical and ethical theories which can produce fanaticism enough to fill the world. Fanaticism has nothing at all to do with religion. There are grave scientific theories which, if carried out logically, would result in the same fires in the market-place and the same nakedness in the street. There are modern esthetes who would expose themselves like the Adamites if they could do it in elegant attitudes. There are modern scientific moralists who would burn their opponents alive, and would be quite contented if they were burnt by some new chemical process. And if any one doubts this proposition--that fanaticism has nothing to do with religion, but has only to do with human nature--let him take this case of Tolstoy and the Doukhabors. A sect of men start with no theology at all, but with the simple doctrine that we ought to love our neighbour and use no force against him, and they end in thinking it wicked to carry a leather handbag, or to ride in a cart. A great modern writer who erases theology altogether, denies the validity of the Scriptures and the Churches alike, forms a purely ethical theory that love should be the instrument of reform, and ends by maintaining that we have no right to strike a man if he is torturing a child before our eyes. He goes on, he develops a theory of the mind and the emotions, which might be held by the most rigid atheist, and he ends by maintaining that the sexual relation out of which all humanity has come, is not only not moral, but is positively not natural. This is fanaticism as it has been and as it will always be. Destroy the last copy of he Bible, and persecution and insane orgies will be founded on Mr. Herbert Spencer's "Synthetic Philosophy." Some of the broadest thinkers of the Middle Ages believed in faggots, and some of the broadest thinkers in the nineteenth century believe in dynamite.

The truth is that Tolstoy, with his immense genius, with his colossal faith, with his vast fearlessness and vast knowledge of life, is deficient in one faculty and one faculty alone. He is not a mystic: and therefore he has a tendency to go mad. Men talk of the extravagances and frenzies that have been produced by mysticism: they are a mere drop in the bucket. In the main, and from the beginning of time, mysticism has kept men sane. The thing that has driven them mad was logic. It is significant that, with all that has been said about the excitability of poets, only one English poet ever went mad, and he went mad from a logical system of theology. He was Cowper, and his poetry retarded his insanity for many years. So poetry, in which Tolstoy is deficient, has always been a tonic and sanative thing. The only thing that has kept the race of men from the mad extremes of the convent and the pirate-galley, the night-club and the lethal chamber, has been mysticism--the belief that logic is misleading, and that things are not what they seem.

Good evening! I am utterly bezonked!
But very shortly I shall be beplonked
Upon my bed, which is four feet away
Approximately. What a lovely day!
Citalopram is quite a unique thing -
"Quite a unique?!" I hear you cry, and fling
Tomatoes, eggs, and sausages at me
Because with you my grammar don't agree.
This is because you're stupid, or a pedant,
Or silly, or all three; or you're a dead ant.
I know this does not, strictly speaking, rhyme;
But writing comic verse is not a crime.
But that does rhyme, it is not a rime riche,
(Such things should be kept firmly on a leash.)
Rhyme rhymes with crime satísfactórilee,
Because of phonologic euphony.
But I am tired, yes, very tired indeed,
And I shall go to bed in a minute because I can't be bothered to think of a rhyme for "indeed" though it's not particularly difficult but I am going to stop here and wish you a good night.

Good night.

It is time for sleepiness.

I am pleased with today. I am going to bed.

I think I will not hang myself today

Today began with a very stressful morning, in which several things were resolved, but in a rather unpleasant manner. Never mind.

Still, in 24 hours I shall be approaching Durham.

I could have a serious nut allergy and be shipwrecked on an island with a crate of Snickers bars, a jar of Nutella and a fresh-baked pecan pie.

Nearly There

I am on page 1306 of "War and Peace;" I have just started the second epilogue. I want to do an M.A. next year. I intend to discuss this with my father today. I am going up to Durham on Sunday. I am too tired to be anxious. Sleep is good.

Hello again, again

I am back in Colchester. I am returned from the magical land of Stoke-on-Trent. There are a few things I need to sort out in the next few days, but with a bit of luck, grace, prayer, citalopram, sleep, food, drink, acumen, music, fortitude, and resilience, all shall be hunky-dory and tickety-boo, and all shall be hunky-dory and tickety-boo, and all manner of things shall be hunky-dory and tickety-boo.
I just want to share with you the first section of a psalm from today's Vespers (New Rite, Wednesday of Week 1):


PSALM 26 (27), first part.

[Antiphon: The Lord is my light and my help: whom should I fear?]

The Lord is my light and my help:
whom should I fear?
The Lord protects my life:
what could terrify me?
When they come to do me harm,
to consume my flesh,
my enemies and my persecutors,
it is they who stumble and fall.
If their armies encamp against me,
my heart will not fear;
if battle flares up against me,
even then will I hope.
One thing I beg of the Lord, one thing will I ask:
that I may live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
so that I may behold the joys of the Lord
and always see his temple.
For he will shelter me in his tent in the time of evils.
He will hide me in the hidden parts of the tabernacle;
then raise me up on a rock,
lift me high up above the enemies who surround me.
In his tabernacle I will offer him a sacrifice
of shouts, of songs, of psalms to the Lord.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit,
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end.
Amen.


[Antiphon: The Lord is my light and my help: whom should I fear?]

Apologia pro Lentitate Sua

I don't know whether "Lentitate" is a word; I doubt it; and in any case this is not an apologia but an apology. I have not updated for a week. I blame this on citalopram.

I am in the magical land of Stoke-on-Trent, where horses fly and taxi-drivers wear turbans.

Happy New Year!

I wish you all a pleasant and joyful 2010.

A new decade.

It is an opportunity, I suppose, to reflect on the previous one.

Ten years is a long time.