So inspired by another post on Lorna's blog, and a question in a seminar from my chair, "What is evil?"
I grew up with evil being associated with disobedience. It's a convenient definition, and it works for a lot of situations. The problem is, it's rife for exploitation.
If evil is disobedience, whether to human or Divine law, then what is disobedience, or obedience, for that matter? In abusive situations, the notion of obedience gets perverted and twisted into a shadow of what it was. The abuser seeks to hold absolute control and power over the abused, and uses this "obedience" as a chain.
But obedience isn't blind, and it doesn't ever contradict free will. Over and over again in the Rule of St. Benedict, obedience is equated with the ability--lovingly--to listen to another person. It's also a mutual obedience required from everyone to everyone: from the newbie novices to the people who've lived an entire lifetime in that enclosure. The abusive perversion of obedience is only in one direction, and only has the best interests of the abuser at heart. St. Benedict's obedience has the other's best interests in the foreground.
So what is evil? Evil is disobedience, where one knowingly and willingly asserts power over another, in order to subjugate, humiliate, and denigrate that person. I have a hard time believing in some sort of evil entity, because the temptation to do evil is so seductive and enticing, especially if it's been done to you.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux!
New Blog on the block
Cascadia Catholics, which is started by the peace and justice group at my parish. They're a good group of people. So if you've any space on your blogroll, check 'em out!
Monday, July 24, 2006
My Game List
So the Hoopy Frood I'm marrying has a list of games he's playing through over here. I think I need to start something similar, because I'll find games used or on sale, and I'll pick them up. I may start playing them, but I get busy with life and grad school, so they fall by the wayside. Again, I reserve the right to reorder at any time, and I'll establish a beaten condition, like he does. So I give you...my list:"Indigo Prophecy" PS2 (almost done with this one, might as well put it first)
Dissertation update
| |
| 180 / 4,500 (4.0%) |
Above's in seconds. It may not seem like much, but I wrote a bunch, then cut out a bunch. Kind of a two steps foward, one step back, but it'll make things easier for the future. Need a break to make more iced tea.
Bunch of things going on, not the least of which oppressive heat and no air conditioning. But things, for good or for ill, eventually work out.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Some things aren't very funny
I'd like to think I have a good sense of humor. It's a rather warped and dark sense of humor, as well. But there are some things, which just aren't funny.
A friend from blogging is in the armed forces stationed elsewhere, in a region of the world where it's none too safe. Every once and awhile, he updates his blog, to let us know he's OK and to rant about various and sundry things. Days and weeks go by without updates.
Then one came from someone claiming to be a buddy of his (who did have posting access and was mentioned before), claiming that he'd been injured. A few hours later the same person made a post that he'd been killed as a result of those injuries. Those who read his blog were stunned. This guy was one of those larger-than-life figures who just couldn't be dead.
Then in the next day or so, people who knew him in real life were able to get in touch with him via phone and verify that he was alive and well. Someone with either a grudge or a very un-funny sense of humor decided to hack his blog and put that post up.
For every side in an armed conflict, there are ordinary people stuck in the crossfire. These people have friends and family who love them. If this were just a practical joke, or someone trying to be an asshole, then they got their jollies. But what if my friend's family (or God forbid) his child had seen the post? There are better ways of making one's political views known, that don't involve hurting people who can't do anything about it.The past 24 hours, I got a small taste of what the friends and family of people in life-threatening jobs go through every day of their lives. It's a sick feeling, reading about a friend of yours killed, and one I hope not to repeat in the future, for the sake of my friend's family.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
LISP compiler with attitude
My LISP compiler just told me:
mus_header_read: can't open /home/hildegard/mcgill/obC2.aif: No such file or directory mus_header_read: can't open /home/hildegard/mcgill/obC2.aif: No such file or directory Error: cannot find ~/mcgill/obC2.aif
Restart actions (select using :continue):
0: so what?
1: abort current note.
2: close files and return to top-level.
3: jump past remaining notes.
4: retry the load of 3-5.lisp
5: skip loading 3-5.lisp
6: Abort entirely from this process.
[1c] CLM(12):
LISP compiler with attitude. I love it. Kind of fits my mood lately.
(I use LISP and Common LISP Music to do much of my computer music.)
Sunday, July 09, 2006
More on the Divine Office
Meh. After looking at the 1963 traslation of the Roman Breviary, among others, and a couple weeks of the Little Office of the BVM, the 1975 ICEL translation really is kind of "bleh." It's not bad, but it's definitely a product of its times. My biggest beef with it is that it expunges any element of the psalms that might be potentially offensive, including the two cursing psalms. If the Divine Office is supposed to be the prayer of the entire Church, I can't understand why these psalms are left out, with as much violence and evil as there is out there. I can see why most of the Benedicitne and Trappist communities I know of do their own.
I'm not sure where I fit anymore. On the one hand, I dislike a lot of the "modern" musical liturgical developments of the 1970's and 1980's. Maybe I've been reading way too much Adorno, but I don't think guitars belong in the Mass. On the other hand, I can't stand the thought of going back to a time, when women just sat there and looked pious in their little chapel veils. I don't mind Latin, but I think liturgy can be beautiful in the vernacular. I like greater lay involvement with the liturgy, and I like the phrase "full and active participation." I can get filled up, with the brief intimacy of being able to hold a consecrated host. (Aside: I have received on the tongue, but it gives me giggle fits. I found this out when I broke my arm and got chicken pox right before my first communion. Oh well. Chicken pox with a cast was worth not having to wear a frilly white dress.)
It seems like those who have the best resources on Latin translations of it, are those who have the most hateful views towards anything that happened post 1965. I'm not talking even in the same league as my grousing about guitar music. I'm talking about outright hatred and vitriol towards EM's, "girls" as altar servers, and the like. I may dislike the music, but I don't hate the musicians. Is it wrong to want an aesthetically pleasing Divine Office?
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Knowledge Base
OK. So aside from my dissertation (Yes, Doc Dork, I am working on it), my obsession this summer has been trying to find a copy of the Divine Office with all 150 psalms in Latin, to keep my mediocre Latin skills from going to mush.
The progression of this obsession has been thus: last March I spent a few days at Our Lady of the Rock, where they did the Divine Office in Latin. I thought it was cool, but didn't think that much of it. Fast forward a few months, and I obtained a copy of the LIttle Office of the BVM in parallel translation. It's nifty, although it's not as user-friendly to the gamer geek grad student as the current 1975 version put out by the Catholic Book Publishing Co. The ICEL version I don't mind, aside from some cheesy 1960's hymns I can't stand. (I kinda like the Grail Psalms.) The big thing that I don't like about it is that they've taken out any part of the psalms that could be offensive, including the two cursing psalms.
So I started looking for a copy of the Monastic Diurnal. But geek that I am, I thought it would be cool to get ahold of Matins, as well, since I'm usually up then, anyway. Then I heard that the breviary published by the OSB in 1963 is the Diurnal + Matins. And, lo and behold, my university actually had a copy. (Which I'm scanning. At least the first 1040 pages of each volume are the same...) Then I hear that the version they published isn't really the Benedictine offices, but the Roman Breviary. Does the Diurnal have all 150 psalms? I know St. Michael's Abbey Press in the UK has a reprint of it, but I don't want to shell out money for it, until I know what I need.
Who's right about the 1963 breviary? And should I be concerned about these people? So much of the Latin liturgy has been coopted by weird scismatic groups, I'm not sure who to trust.
Late-night thoughts on a Chronicle column
So I can't sleep--thanks to the party next door--and I'm ignoring my previous comment about not blogging at 1 a.m. There's a column in the Chronicle of Higher Ed that's haunting me. For those who can't access the link, it's the story of a post-doc in the sciences, who had an abusive advisor/research supervisor. The post-doc eventually gets out of the situation, and actually has people believe his story.
But for every one of the columnist who makes it out of a situation like that unscathed, there are dozens more, who have their careers ruined. For those who have the strength to fight back, others are crushed. For as lucky as I am with my advisor, others aren't so lucky.
Abusers were often abused, themselves, and I wonder if the academic family is similar to the biological one, in this respect. Getting a graduate degree is often like hazing, and the institution's dependence upon one's advisor or committee is ripe for abuse of power and abuse of individuals.
But I like the concept of free will. If we are nothing more than objects of our environment or nuturing, then we don't have a choice in our actions. I'd like to think that we do, and that we can make the choice to not treat others badly. It scares me to wonder how I'll be, when faced with a similar situation. How will I treat my advisees? What kind of advisor am I going to be?
Edit: think I figured out that if I don't have a title on a post, my RSS feed doesn't update. Good discipline to make myself give things titles. I hate titles. Most times it's the last thing I come up with on a piece of music, as well.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Odds and Ends
- I need to start a game list like my Hoopy Frood does over at his blog. If you're interested in gaming and one person's quest through his list of 137 games, check him out. He knows where his towel's at.
- I did a bit of retail therapy and picked up "Indigo Prophecy." (Europeans will know it as "Fahrenheight.") Great game, feels a bit short. Although I just checked my played time, and I've got 5.5 hours into it. I haven't unlocked everything, and I know there are some bits I glossed over. It's by no means a game for chidren, but there's very little graphic violence. The soundtrack is great, if a bit repetitive at times. Well worth the $20 so far.
- Is it just me, or are there a lot of super-reactionary conservative Catholic blogs out there? (Probably better for my blood pressure and mental health if I stay away.)
- I've been looking for a copy of the Monastic Diurnal, the version in Latin and English. It's the day hours (minus Matins) of the Benedictine office. I've found one version in reprint through St. Michael's Abbey Press, but it's $65 without postage on a good dollar day. I found another copy here, and just looking at their stuff, they seemed on the up-and-up. Digging further, I found they're associated with the SSPX and the Lefebvre crowd. Yay. Like I really want my money going to support them. Not. So here's hoping interlibrary loan comes through...
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Always check your sources and never blog at 1 a.m.
OK. The demise of guitar masses is not impending. The Daily Breakfast podcast has a great discussion of what was actually said (with reference to the Italian original). Here's another article with the raw facts. A pope, making comments after a concert, is not making an ex cathedra pronouncement."An authentic updating of sacred music cannot occur except in line with the great tradition of the past, of Gregorian Chant, and of sacred polyphony. This is why, in the musical field, as well as in that of other artistic forms, the ecclesial community has always promoted and supported those who investigate new expressive ways without rejecting the past, the history of the human spirit, which is also the history of its dialogue with God."
And I can agree with that. It's more or less the point I was trying to make last night.
A few disconnected thoughts, because it's late and I need to get to sleep...
At first, the composer in me thought "thank God" when I read this. I've long hated guitar music in the Mass, especially since most of the hymns played on it are really bad music. What we bring to the Mass and the liturgy should be our best, and frankly much of the music written after 1970 really sucks.
But...it makes me wonder what a modernization of the older polyphonic and chant really is. Granted, it's a crappy news article with a few choice blurbs, but when people mean "classical" music, they don't usually mean that which was written in living memory. Somehow I don't think we'll be hearing Lou Harrison's setting of the Mass anytime soon, either. Or Penderecki's.
If one looks at the early history of music in the Church and advancements in music, up until the rise of secular and instrumental music, they happened in liturgical music. Settings of the Mass, for instance, mimicked what was going on in other areas of western art music. (One can debate whether or not they were concert pieces or liturgical pieces, however.) Then in the early 20th century (around 1903), things got a bit more conservative under Pius X. I see the liturgical reforms of Vatican II as they affected music to be still under this influence. The music itself hasn't kept pace with what's been going on in the western art music scene.
When's the last time you heard of a big-name composer, who had a commission to set the Mass? How often do you hear calls for scores for music with a liturgical theme? Not half as often as for secular ensembles. That's where the money is, and I can't blame composers for wanting to eat and pay rent.
For those who might not be familiar with canon law (and Roman law), the things set down in the GIRM (the General Instruction to the Roman Missal, which provides the rubrics for liturgy), are the best-case scenario, something to aspire to. Even if guitar music was made inappropriate for liturgy tomorrow, odds are not everyone would follow it, or it would take years to phase out.
Even though I hate guitar Masses with a burning passion, if I'm not serving at that particular Mass, I can avoid it. And even when I am an altar server, odds are I'm not focusing on the music. But for the 200 people or so who go to that Mass faithfully, it's music that gives their worship meaning. Rather than ruin their fun, I can go to a different Mass, or offer my discomfort up. (In theory...the ABD doctoral student in me normally grumbles about it first.)
But I think the whole snarking at guitar music is really a symbol of a larger problem: there has been no innovation in liturgical music for the past 100 years. I think that's a more dire problem, than whether or not the current Pope prefers Mozart to Marty Haugen.
Edit: Yes, I realize there have been settings of the Mass from Faure, Stravinsky, Durufle, and others. But if you go to Mass any given Sunday, you won't hear it. That's what I'm talking about, everyday liturgical music--once riddled with good music from composers who did stuff in both sacred and secular realms--is devoid of any innovation. If you're lucky, you might get a Mozart setting on Christmas or Easter.
Monday, June 26, 2006
It's 90 out, and there are heat advisories and stagnant air warnings, so I'm holed up on the laptop in a library. Fortunately the extensive libraries on campus are air-conditioned, and empty, even though it's the start of summer quarter. Thanks to living above the 40th parallel, the hot part of the day hits around 3 p.m., so I've got a few hours until it begins to cool.
Interesting post over on Kyle Gann's blog about encounters and lessons with big-name composers. Given my weird background (I hadn't had any formal composition study until grad school, so I was self-taught and used to being on my own), and the fact that I'm really shy in real life, lessons with guest composers have been less-than-fruitful. (With the exception of Annie Gosfield. Wonderful person, and great composer.)
Most have been merely annoying. But my first such encounter was nightmarish. I wasn't used to how such things worked, and she was from a different generation (and culture), where teachers are more authoritative than they are here. Combine this with a shy Master's student in her first semester, who wasn't used to either being able to compose openly or actually show her works without reprisal, it was a recipe for disaster. Now I'm used to thanking their time, and getting on with my life. But then I took her comments way too personally, and it was at least a semester before I could try showing work to anyone not my teacher.
But the update to the post made me rethink the value of such things: that these meetings might be of more value to the guest composer, not the students. (Of course it's making the Catholic guilt kick in.) It's also the student/teacher relationship at its best--the exchange isn't always one way. The times I've looked at people's compositions, it's been a profoudly humbling moment to be able to share in their development and their music.
I wonder if some of the god-complex in one comment isn't a front for something else. It's a weirdly uncomfortable situation to be the center of attention, with all the focus on your music. Like John Rahn writes (heat-stroke, dazed paraphrase), art is a personal thing. You're already exposed, but moreso with one's music being discussed. It's akin to discussing your beliefs, while being stark naked. Maybe the god-complex is a method of protection?
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Show thyself to be a mother...
I'm never sure what to make of Mary. On the one hand, there's a lot of supersition surrounding her that's used to reinforce potentially hurtful gender roles, but those are every bit the misrepresentation of her. They ignore the woman who laughed at an angel and got her son off his backside at the wedding in Cana. They also forget the woman of strength, a refugee in Egypt, and the mother who watched her son die in a way unimaginable to the modern person. But there's also Mary the contemplative, who pondered all that happened to her in her heart.
I'm also not sure what to make of her influence. I wrote her off as superstition, only to come figuratively crashing into her at New Melleray Abbey, where she (among Trappists) is revered as the ideal contemplative. And then the weird coincidences began.
Stuff for a later entry, but my discovery of my vocation as a composer wasn't an easy time. It was frought with uncertainty, doubt, and outright terror. I was alone, and there wasn't anyone to guide me, in the way that I would find in grad school. One winter--in February--my senior year, I was walking home from the music building, wondering what the future would hold, and I smelled roses. It was nothing overpowering, but on the periphery of a scent. Maybe it was someone's perfume, maybe it wasn't. But that evening was a turning point, and I knew things were going to work out. (I got my acceptance letter for my Master's at the end of that month.)
My first piece was performed on May 1, a day associated with Mary. To date, every time I have a piece performed, it's on a Marian feast or within a day or two. Maybe it's just coincidence, since they're spread throughout the calendar.
So at the end of my Master's, I'd sent off my applications to various doctorate programs. And an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe came to my parish out there. I hadn't thought about of that particular instance of Mary, so I went, for the party after, if nothing else. While there, I was confronted with the image of a person who loves unconditionally. Her face wasn't the aristocratic images I'd seen in children's prayer books, but the face of one who knew both joy and sorrow; and, more importantly, shares in our joys and sorrows. At yet another turning point in my life, she was there. (And within a month or two, I'd gotten my acceptance letter at my current school.)
I'm hardly one who takes apparitions and Virgin Marys in moldy grilled cheese sandwiches seriously. I think these say more about the people who see them, than anything else. A part of me thinks that these representations are us wanting to reach out to some tangible form of a benevolent entity, when fear and uncertanty are overwhelming. It's both a desire for comfort, and the reassurance of one who's "been there."
That having been said, it's nice to know that there's someone out there, who tends our metaphysical skinned knees.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
So every morning (when I remember), the Liturgy of Hours opens with Psalm 95. Some mornings, it resonates. Others it's just words on a page. Some days, praise comes easily. Others, I have to work hard to suppress the cynicism. Although it seems "cheap" to praise when things are going well. Even though my head (and heart) isn't into it, the days praise comes hardest seem to be the most sincere.
I've been thinking about the second readings the past few days from the Office of Readings. I'm having an almost visceral disgust-reaction to them, I think I know why, but I think they deserve another look. Full text found here. St. Ignatius of Antioch was a doomed man when he wrote it, as a friend suggested. Logically, I know this letter is an insight into one destined for capital punishment, torture, and imprisonment. It didn't help that I only got the middle chunk of it, the second readings being replaced on Sunday (solemnity of the Holy Trinity) and today (feast of St. Antony of Padua). I keep coming back to the line in Romans, that it's harder to live in Christ, than it is to die in him.
The first part of it (1-3) seem normal enough, almost a goodbye letter from a bishop to his churches. I can grasp this, he's being a living example to others. Paragraph 3 I can understand: "Just pray that I may have strength of soul and body so that I may not only talk [about martyrdom], but really want it."
But then from paragraph 4 on, things get weird for me. I can understand he wishes to unite his death with Christ's, and perhaps the joyfulness in tone is he trying to steel himself for it. While I read about suicides at Guantanamo Bay, and I've seen the pictures of Abu Gharaib, I can't understand dying a gruesome, painful death, and knowing it's going to happen beforehand. Maybe this some of my discomfort with the letter. It's pushing me out of my cushy little world, and sticking me in the head of someone who isn't long for this world, people I pray for, but don't ever directly encounter.
Monday, June 12, 2006
metadiscussion
Does anyone know why the RSS bookmark for this blog doesn't always update? The atom feed does (I have a syndication for LJ set up.)
Friday, June 09, 2006
Into Great Silence. Absolutely beautiful film, but if you aren't up on forms of Benedictine monasticism, make sure you learn a thing or two about it first, otherwise you'll be completely lost, since the film assumes you know a thing or two about the rhythm of their life. It's also nearly 3 hours of complete silence, except for the sounds naturally occurring from daily life. I loved it, but other people hated it. It began with images of one monk praying. It's something so intimate, almost voyeuristic, to watch someone in prayer. But over the course of the movie, you're sucked into it. Also, the quotes interspersed over the course of the movie are the best introduction to lectio divina that I've ever seen.
Still working on the other paper. The movie made me wonder, how different my life would've been, had I not met my fiancé and not been accepted into a doctorate program. (I would've investigated a vocation with the Trappists...) Then again, my life isn't much different already.
One of the things that dawned on me earlier from my retreat last March was that I actually have more time for silence and prayer when I'm at home. Like now, I'm in my department's building, and it's the Friday before graduation, so it's empty. My typing and the laptop's hard drive are the loudest noises around. This office is like a cell, an extention of my cloister.
Thing is, people like McClary (and the indignant sighers at the SIFF last Wednesday) aren't ever going to see the craziness that makes us choose this life. It's like the anointing at Bethany--those who are obsessed to the material cost of things can't ever see beyond it.
It's not about gender, it's not about sex, it's not about power, it's not about economic relevance. It's about answering a call from within our very beings. For the monastic or for the composer, there is no other choice which will bring meaning to their lives.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Tomorrow I'm seeing Into Great Silence at the Seattle Film Festival. I'm sure I'll post something about it. I've been looking forward to seeing this since I heard about it last December.
So for Paper Number Two, which I owe my chair, I was thinking of doing something about the Rule of St. Benedict and composition. (Wow, big shocker there, eh?) I wasn't sure what my focus was, until I read an article by Susan McClary, "Terminal Prestige: The Case of Avant-Garde Music Composition."
Initially, my response to the article was, "Who the f*** died and made you queen?" Closely followed on the heels of "How the hell would you know what it's like to be a composer in the 21st century, anyway?"
So trying to educate and not berate (oh so very tempting), I'm trying to describe what led me to the vocation of a composer. I think one of the reasons why I'm attracted to so-called "difficult" music and the Rule of St. Benedict is because both expect us to move out of our comfort zone and grow. With easily-digestible things and a cushy life, there can't be progress.
But I guess I've been brainwashed by elitism and the "serious" composer.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Zeal
For one of the two papers I've got due, I'm discussing acedia, a kind of occupational hazard of monastics, also called "listlessness," or "sloth," if it's something you did to cause it. I came across a quote out of Cassian's Conferences:From carelessness on our part, when through our own faults, coldness has come upon us, and we have behaved carelessly and hastily, and owing to slothful idleness have fed on bad thoughts, and so make the ground of our heart bring forth thorns and thistles; which spring up in it, and consequently make us sterile, and powerless as regards all spiritual fruit and meditation.
Sloth, being the opposite of zeal, is that which makes "the ground of our heart[s] bring forth thorns and thistles." I'm sure most people have experienced this at least once, a dry time so complete, everything feels like a waste. Burnout, depression, the "noonday demon." But what about its opposite, zeal? The OED definition is "ardent love or affection" or "fervent devotion." Also: "ardent desire or longing."
If sloth is that which makes our hearts into a wasteland, zeal is what makes them fertile. It's having a longing, or some sort of love for our work. I think most of us know a person, or people, who had an infectious desire and love for their discipline. It's one in which you can't help but be inspired by their love. They never bash you over the head with expectations, but lead you to the same kind of devotion and affection that they first had for their work.
In students, it's the person you thought never cared, who winds up at your empty office hour (or so was my experience in my Master's) to discuss some point. They're the people who make all the dry times and bureaucratic hassle worth it.
Friday, May 19, 2006
"And finally, never lose hope in God's mercy." (Rule of St. Benedict 4:74)
Two threads over on Livejournal caught my eye, this one, and this one. Sadly, what was being discussed in them is nothing new. In both threads, the posters were being criticized for their decision to become a music major. Both were advised--in a polite sense of the term--to get "real" majors and "real" jobs.
In some parts of the world, the Roman Catholic clergy is facing a vocational crisis. There are too few priests to go around, and even fewer people entering the seminary. It's fashionable to blame everything from female altar servers, homosexuality, and whatever bugaboo is bothering people at the time. But I think the real crisis is in the perception of a vocation.
The OED and a year's worth of Latin last summer remind me that the word "vocation" is derived from the verb "vocare," or "to call." A vocation is something one is called to, and the choice is ours whether to respond or not. It's not something one can decide on a whim, but a result of careful listening and discernment. It's something that can lead people into wild and uncomfortable places, but it, like anything else in life, is far from certain.