Deo gratias! The white smoke came billowing forth from the Sistine Chapel, the bells rung out the election of a new pope, and a number of us made our way to Canmore to watch our new pontiff be announced to Rome and the world. The tension, the excitement, the hope! Would it be Ratzinger? Surely not! We should be so lucky. Oh please, let it be Ratzinger! The waiting. The BBC commentators who are completely alien to the church blabbing on. Let us see him! Who will it be? There’s no way it could be Ratzinger: that would be too good to be true! Wait, here comes the announcement. All of us jumped out of our seats and grabbed hold of one another. The cardinal begins his announcement…

“Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger.”

A wave of jubliation swept over us. We were dreaming? Could it possibly be true? We cheered, we cried, we laughed, we hugged eachother, kissed, shook hands. Deo gratias! Our prayers have been answered. All of us are full of immense hope for the years to come. This is what John Paul II spent his pontificate preparing for. And some amongst us will be going to World Youth Day. A German pope in a German city for World Youth Day! Imagine that! It’s still somewhat hard to believe. I’ve been coughing and sniffling like mad since I’ve got a cold, but no worries. We will always remember this day. And there shall be much rejoicing and imbibing tonight.

Now begins the arduous task of rebuilding the Church. We have had a prophet to inspire us, now we will have a king to lead us. In the world, not of it. Eternity, not modernity! Onwards and upwards. With the grace of God.

Long live Benedict XVI!

Once again it is Procession Day here in St Andrews, when we have the annual Kate Kennedy Procession to harken the return of springtime. Unfortunately, like last year, it was on the cold side and rather grey, despite some truly beautiful days previously.

For those of you who don’t know it, the Kate Kennedy procession is a medieval rite of spring which was resurrected in the past century. Kate Kennedy, according to lore, was the niece of Bishop James Kennedy, the founder of St. Salvator’s College. Owing to her beauty, a procession was held in spring in her honor, according to lore. Eventually, these became pretty rowdy, and as such were banned in the 19th century. In the 1920’s, Donald Kennedy, an indirect descendant of Bishop Kennedy himself, decided the resurrect the procession and founded the Kate Kennedy Club for this distinct purpose.

The Club admits nine new members each year from the bejant (first year) class. One of these is selected to portray the comely Kate Kennedy in the Procession, and is joined by the eight other bejants as sheild-bearers, and other students, members, and friends of the University who dress up as important figures from the history of town and gown. (more…)

No one quite knows how often the Gifford Lectures are. Some people say they’re every three years. I thought they were every year, and they are spread amongst the four ancients of Scotland (St Andrews, Aberdeen, Glasgow, Edinburgh). But we hosted them in my first year and already have them again. And our own Professor John Haldane (alledgedly the only theist in the School of Philosophy) is concurrently giving the Gifford Lectures at Aberdeen, supposedly. Go figure.

Anyhow, on Tuesday commenced the ambigu-annual (ambiguennale, I am told, is the word the Italians use) Gifford Lectures here at St Andrews, by none other than the most-eminent Professor Alvin Plantinga of the University of Notre Dame. Unfortunately, I had to miss this one, as I had work to do. The title was ‘Evolution and Design’ and it basically demonstrated that there is no conflict between evolution (even Darwinian concepts of evolution) and the idea of design by the Creator as advocated by Christians.

Wednesday, I attended a lecture by Irving Lavin of Princeton University entitled ‘The Story of O from Giotto to Einstein’. It tracked the fascinating tale of Giotto’s ‘O’ from the perhaps aprocryphal tale all the way to an etching of Einstein, via calligraphy, Rembrandt, Jasper Johns, and others. Difficult to quite explain it, but most enlightening. Also, it was about an hour and a half but felt more like forty-five minutes.

Yesterday, I did attend, and Platinga demonstrated in his second Gifford Lecture that there is a conflict between the naturalist/materialist idea that the universe is a closed system because there is no demonstratable evidence of such, nor is it even observable. Thus science cannot really have anything to do with the idea of the closed universe, and it is left to metaphysics. So all the silly liberal posturing about the ridiculousness of miracles is, in effect, ridiculous itself, and most unscientific.

Thankfully, Professor Plantinga is a very good lecture, balancing clarity, thoroughness, joviality, and asides quite adroitly. The next is on Tuesday: ‘Evolutionary Psychology and Scripture Scholarship: more alike than you think’.

Tonight, I’m off to the theatre to see the late Arthur Miller’s ‘The Creation of the World and Other Business’. Apparently some sort of retelling of the Genesis narrative. A fellow son of the Empire State, second-year John MacDonald, is among the cast of this production. We look forward to it.

ORDER OF SERVICE

Entrance (silence)

(The officiant then organises the various sections of newspaper into the order in which they shall be read. Frivolities, such as ‘Gardening’, ‘Motoring’, and ‘Money & Business’, are discarded.)

First Reading: The Daily Telegraph, first section

Second Reading: The Financial Times, first section

First Glance: The Daily Telegraph, Weekend section (Rarely anything worth reading inside, but tradition requires at least a glance)

Third Reading: The Daily Telegraph, Property section

Nourishment: A sugar doughring from Fisher & Donaldson’s (Members of all newspaper-reading denominations are invited to partake, but are encouraged to abide by the rules of their respective communities)

Fourth Reading: The Financial Times, Weekend section (The best weekend section there is. Short and varied.)

Second Glance: The Daily Telegraph, Travel section (Ditto notes on Telegraph Weekend section)

Fifth Reading: FT Magazine

Final flip through the pages: (ruffle, ruffle, ruffle)

Exit. (The assembled then disperse and carry on with their day).

There are many wonderful things one might say about our late Holy Father, but most of it has been said already and better by others, so I will leave papal ponderings to your own discretion.

Something I found amusing, and then sad, and then amusing again was the following quote from CNN’s Christiane Amanpour:

Yeah, right. In reality (outside the potemkin village the secular media have built to fool the public as well as themselves), it goes more like this:

But therein lies what seperates their way of thinking from the Church’s.

Hat tip: OTR.

One of my favorite campuses (campii?) in the world is the Royal Hospital at Greenwhich. The site was originally home to the Palace of Placentia, a royal palace built by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester in 1428. Placentia was the primary royal residence for two centuries up unto the Civil War, after which it fell into ruin. In 1694, the Royal Naval Hospital for Seamen was established as a home for old sailors, and grandiose architecture was required to show the monarchic splendor of a royal foundation. (more…)

I received such complaints regarding my opinion of the University Club that I offer up these images as a peace offering. Above, an elevation of the 54th St façade.

A view from Fifth Avenue.

The oft-praised library.

Easter is my favorite day of the year, as it is always infused with a spirit of joy and thanksgiving. Despite cloudy skies, this Easter was still a most enjoyable one.

Ezra, myself, Jon, Abby, Rob, Maria, and Stefano went down to Edinburgh and heard a Tridentine mass at St. Andrew’s Church in Ravelston. Why is it that going to old rite masses always reminds me of home, wherever I hear them offered? It was a wonderful affair, as was the five-course six-hour lunch we had afterwards with some of our good friends in Edinburgh.

Yesterday I took a morning off, finally rising about midday to most undesirable weather. Cloudy, rainy, cold, most uncharming. The majority of the day was spent reading (Modern Times, by Paul Johnson, the best history book I’ve read so far) in Canmore.

Equally dismal weather, but I still roused myself to get to the coffee place on Bell Street to have breakfast with Chris C.. I paid off a poker debt by buying him breakfast. Nonetheless, dismal weather is a good excuse to get some reading done, so off I go.

Resurrexit sicut dixit, Alleluia!

“Thank God for beautiful Scottish girls in pretty summer dresses, for if we cannot give thanks for this we have become more hard-hearted than Pharoah.” – Ezra Pierce

Part the First: On St Andrews, Oxford, and Leisure

The past few days have been nice and relaxing, which, come to think of it, are what most St Andrews days are like. I think Josef Pieper would thoroughly prefer the University of St Andrews to the University of Oxford. We are an institution which makes leisure – the basis of culture – possible. Truthfully speaking, Oxford students are so laden with work that they actually do in one week what St Andrews do in an entire semester. As a result, they are stressed out of their minds and worked to an extreme. This situation ideally suits Ezra Pierce, formerly of St Andrews and now a first-year at Hertford College Oxford, who has been up here in town visiting for a few days, sleeping on the sofa in our living room.

For me, therein lies the attraction of the Universitas doctorum magistrorum et scholarum Sancti Andreae apud Scotos: free time in which you are allowed to develop yourself, or not to develop at all, or even to devolve. I may be taking classes titled ‘France Since 1940: Politics, Culture, and Society’ and ‘Art and Piety in Western Europe 1400-1700’ but I have ample time to delve into subjects more akin to my interests; Graf von Stauffenberg, the architectural works of Lorimer, the humour of P.J. O’Rourke, or the holiness of Pier Giorgio Frassati. I have always prefered self-learning to formal instruction, and I wish that it was not until my third year here before I realized I have more free time now than I ever will in my entire life.

So I do as I please. I go for leisurely strolls down the West Sands. I read random books about architecture or history or religion or whatnot in the University Library. I muse upon the architecture of St Salvator’s Chapel. I mourn the withered ruins of our once-great cathedral. I run something which can approximately be described as a newspaper. I have pints of John Smith’s in the Central or the Russell, or a Leffe in the Cellar Bar. I discuss. I go to balls. I read the paper. This and that. Were I at Oxford I would have to read and write and read and write and read and so on and so forth. What a terrible bore! Though I pine to return to the motherland, I much prefer the leafy, lacsidaisical approach to academia which I live out at St Andrews than all that work nonsense they make you do at Oxford.

That said, some part of me (say, my thumb, or perhaps my epiglottis) admires those who, both here and at Oxford, actually work very hard and get very good grades and all that jazz. David Taylor got a twenty on his dissertation. A twenty! Out of twenty! I mean, you’ve got to give a guy credit for that, especially when he’s an affable chap with a decent personality instead of some spoilsport who spends all his time in the library. I sometimes try to start arguments with him over various topics when my cook has him over for tea, but as much as I try to be approbrious to him for his ridiculous Guardian-influenced views we actually get along quite well.

Part the Second: On the merits of Miss Jennings

Speaking of my cook, there are two folks to whom I owe a lot to over the span of my university career, one of whom is my cook, Jocelyn, and the other is my secretary, Miss Jennings (or Personal Assitant to the Editor, as she is officially styled). Miss Jennings is simply amazing. Presented with any Cusackian crisis she faithfully answers the call of duty. Miss Jennings, I need a cell phone. Miss Jennings, I want to have lunch with Tom Leppard sometime next week. Miss Jennings, we need to give disapproving looks to local townsfolk. Miss Jennings, remind me I have a club dinner in the Golf Hotel on Friday. Miss Jennings, how do I get this or that, etc., etc., etc. Without her help, I would not have been able to organise my various responsibilities so that I still am able to spend half my time doing nothing in particular.

Eventually, I was convinced I needed to scale back some of said responsibilites and have done so accordingly. This freed up time for Miss Jennings to persue interests of her own (which are myriad). Nonetheless, we all need a little break sometime, and Miss Jennings has decided that she will not be finishing the semester, but will return in the fall. If anyone deserves a break it’s Miss Jennings!

In the spirit of appreciation and celebration, a good number of us gathered at the bar of the Byre Theatre last night to kick back a few in honour of this great young lady. I consumed an appreciable amount of Budvar myself, while White Russians seemed to be de rigeur for most of the ladyfolk. And best of all, since this coming Wednesday is my twenty-first, Miss Jennings conferred upon me a wonderful little gift: a coffee mug marked “His Lordship”.

Part the Third: The Evening Previous

Began with the Opus Dei talk at Canmore; a very plain-speaking guy named Jim McFie who lives in Glasgow. (Sr. Roseanne Reddy is coming back after the break, Stefano informs me). Then back home, where one of my flatmates was hosting a Chapel Choir party (pajama-themed). I changed garb to jacket and tie and headed over to the Officers Mess at Wyverne (cheapest pint in town) to enjoy a few Grolschs with Chris C., Matt Normington, and George Irwin, and to discuss affairs of varying importance. Midnight closing time we headed to George Irwin’s flat (No. 14 in my building), played some poker, lost £3, headed down to my flat around 1:00 after having a brief conversation in the hallway with George’s neighbour Tamsin who’s a friend of Piers Thompson.

I have, of late, also noticed the presence of a canine in our beloved Southgait Hall; a West Highland Terrier by the name of Molly. Has she been here the whole time and I’ve just never run into her? Perhaps. Nonetheless, I held the door open for her when she returned from an evening promenade this very evening and she growled at me! Ah well. They say you should never let the sun go down with an argument unresolved. I disagree. I find that by the time I wake up the next morning, I couldn’t give a steeplejack’s penknife for any disputes from the day before.

Last night was the St. Mary’s College Society ball, held at the St Andrews Golf Hotel on the Scores. A good time was had by all, and was augmented by the presence of our good friend Mr. Stephen Oliver up visiting from Stonyhurst where he teaches. (more…)

The editorial statement on Terri Schiavo released by the New Pantagruel effectively sums up the right attitude towards this most important case.

Here in St Andrews, there is an elderly lady named Mrs. Stevens who goes to Mass every day. During conversations after Mass one day with younger students, she said “It’s your generation that are going to have to be heroic.” Her generation did their part, and we are ready to take up that mantle, but in a sense it is the generation in between, the generation now in power, that has failed.

Where is the willingness to stand up to the courts and their ridiculous decrees? Is it not obvious that the State cannot justly starve to death a woman who, though brain-damaged, still laughs, smiles, and cries? Has Governor Bush really done everything he can to save her life? I suspect not (and those who have been lukewarm in her defense will pay the price).

Governor Bush: Damn the courts and damn the lawyers, send in the Florida National Guard and save that woman’s life!

The NYPL digital gallery has provided me with yet another photo to add to my Dewey Arch collection.

One bit of would-be classical New York I can’t seem to find much information on is the 1904 plan by Thomas J. George for a beaux-arts civic center to be built upon what we now call Roosevelt Island (previous Bramwell’s then Welfare Island), an image of which you can see below. I inquired with the Roosevelt Island Historical Society, and all they could really tell me was the date, designer, and that it merits a mention in the book ‘Skyscraper Rivals’. I’m rather fond of it. Certainly better than what they’ve got on Roosevelt Island now.

And a very poor likeness as well. A blind man could draw a wheelchair better than that one. (I think it was Miss Robinson’s work). Still, the medium of chalk is a difficult one for portraits, I am told.

Here are two photos of St Agnes on 43rd Street before the 1990s fire. When rebuilt, the Victorian gothic was replaced with neo-Roman classical. The current facade is modelled on that of il Gesu. Discovered through the NYPL Digital Gallery.

Snow-covered peaks viewed from Edinburgh Castle.

The busy nature of the past week or so has been the reason for a distinct lack of posting. And the fact that I have an essay for Monday, a presentation for Tuesday, and another essay for Friday means there may not be all that much over the next week either.

We have been graced with two guests in the Auld Grey Toon recently, the first of which was Chris Moreland, a reactionary Catholic friend of Chris C., followed this past week by my cousin Mark Gannon visiting Europe for the first time. I’m pretty sure both enjoyed it thoroughly. It was fun acclimatizing Mark to the various idiosyncrasies of St Andrews; they are legion.

In the midst of all this, Jon and Abby had a dinner party for the feast of St Thomas Aquinas and it was quite a grand affair. We consumed two bottles of champagne, ten bottles of red wine, a bottle of port, and some cognac to boot, ending at nearly three in the morning. There was more wine left and I was ready to carry on til dawn, but I don’t think Jon’s flatmates would’ve appreciated it. No doubt the ‘Dumb Ox’ was proud of our prodigious endeavour in his honor. Unfortunately the conversation was of such a jovial nature that it would not bear repeating on the internet, for fear of the entire slate of participants being banned from positions in most realms on employment. A damn good time; many thanks to Jon and Abby.

Now I’ve got to get a bite to eat for lunch and head off to rosary. Pray for the conversion of India!

Before rosary today, Clare and I sat in the living room of Canmore listening to Rachmaninov’s piano concertos on the record player. She read abour Irenaeus, whereas I read the Telegraph. We decided that we were discontented with the state of the world, and that this would be partially remedied if girls wore skirts and men wore collared shirts and ties. (Said despite Claire being trousered and me being collar-and-tieless).

I’m pulling a Buckley and self-interviewing.

Why do you blog? Out of boredom, and partly as a release for whatever little creative talents I have.

What are you reading at the moment? Pickwick Papers (Dickens), France Since the Popular Front (Larkin), France Since 1870 (Sowerwine).

Who are your cultural heroes? Hmmm… Thérèse of Liseux, Graf von Stauffenberg, the Ven. Fulton Sheen, Bl. Pier Giorgio Frassati.

What is your favourite poem? Anything humorous by Chesterton or ‘In Memoriam’ by Tennyson.

What is your favourite movie? I’d probably have to go with Rushmore.

What is your favourite song? ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’ from Bach’s Mass in B Minor. Also James Macmillan’s Mass, specifically the Sursum Corda and Preface, Sanctus and Benedictus, and Eucharistic Prayer. It is the only serious piece of music written for the Novus Ordo. Ever. And he’s working on a Missa as well.

What philosophical thesis do you think it most important to disseminate? Traditionalism.

What philosophical thesis do you think it most important to combat? Anything atheistic or which denigrates the inherent dignity of the human being (ie: Nazism, Communism, totalitarianism, modern liberalism).

Who are your political heroes? Teddy Roosevelt, Stauffenberg (again), Charles of Austria, Chesterton.

If you could effect one major policy change in the governing of your country, what would it be? Having the thirteen original colonies secede and restore the Stuart line. Juan Carlos can have California.

What do you consider to be the main threat to the future peace and security of the world? Islamic fundamentalism, secularism, materialism, individualism, in that order.

Do you think the world (human civilization) has already passed its best point, or is that yet to come? Though I’m a big fan of the pre-WWI order, I think the thousand-year reign of Jesus Christ at the end of the world will probably top it.

What would be your most important piece of advice about life? Don’t forget there’s a life after this one.

Do you think you could ever be married to, or in a long-term relationship with, someone with radically different political views from your own? Doubtful.

If you could choose anyone, from any walk of life, to be Prime Minister, who would you choose? Lord Alton.

Who would play you in the movie about your life? Joseph Cotten.

If you could have any three guests, past or present, to dinner who would they be? (Assuming this is along with the usual Rob, Maria, Abby, Matt, Jon, and Clare) G.K. Chesterton, Taki, and Noel Coward.

Where would you most like to live (other than where you do)? Well you have to have a place in town (New York) and a place in the country (upstate). Or maybe Mitteleuropa.

What would your ideal holiday be? I think anywhere when there’s a coup taking place and the goodies are ousting the badies. And hopefully enjoyable climate and pleasant scenery as well. Think springtime, restoring the Hapsburgs, Vienna or Budapest.

What do you consider the most important personal quality? Courage, sincerity.

What personal fault do you most dislike? Superficiality.

What, if anything, do you worry about? Pissing off God. (Essentially, my salvation, and friends’ salvation. All else is fluff.)

In what circumstances would you be willing to lie? Circumstances in which it would not be wrong to. And probably some in which it would.

Do you have any prejudices you’re willing to acknowledge? I’m not keen on that which lies on the other side of the Mississippi.

What is your favourite proverb? He who marries himself to the spirit of the age is soon widowed.

What commonly enjoyed activities do you regard as a waste of time? Dancing. (Except traditional dancing, of course).

What animal would you most like to be? Turtle or elephant. Either.

What do you like doing in your spare time? Laying on the hammock in our back garden at home, reading the New York Sun, the New Criterion, First Things, and the Encyclopedia of New York. Having a good pint of John Smith’s. Rueing Gavrilo Princip.

What is your most treasured possession? Perhaps the portrait of grandpa on my wall at home in New York. Perhaps my St Albans rugby top. Perhaps the Encyclopedia of New York.

If you had to change your first name, what would you change it to? Nicholas.

What talent would you most like to have? I wish I could actually tell stories. I’m a crap storyteller. I forget half the essentials and then remember them when it’s too late. And languages. I wish I could speak French, Spanish, German, and Afrikaans fluently. And Latin, of course. So storytelling and linguistics. And athleticism.

What would be your ideal choice of alternative profession or job? University principal/chancellor, philanthropist, urban planner.

Who is your favourite comedian or humorist? Chesterton and Waugh, and my fellow American, P.G. Wodehouse.

Who are your sporting heroes? Bloody heck, do I have any? Dr. Nat Kernell.

Which English Premiership football team do you support, and which baseball team? Let’s go for Man U and the Mets.

How, if at all, would you change your life were you suddenly to win or inherit an enormously large sum of money? Some more port, more sausages, and it’d be much easier to found the university I’m planning.

Questions nicked from Normblog profiles.

Today, after printing off the Review (which, by the way, is both erudite and informative, as well hilarious, especially “Ishmael”‘s contribution) and going to Rosary, I popped over to St. Salvator’s Hall (aka ‘Sallies’, seen above) where Kat and Jocie were watching a dvd of The Office. I sold Kat a copy of the MLR, and she played with a yoyo I found while I was home.

Now, there is a certain misconception going around which has reached almost mythical proportions in the Royal Burgh. It is thus: that I am an infrequent visitor to the Bibliotheca Sancti Andreae, more commonly known as the University Library (f. 1612 by one of the King Jameses). This misconception has spread to such an extent that once, chancing upon Rob and Maria in the stairwell of said insitution, Rob expectorated “Fancy seeing you here!” with the smug tone of a too-frequent visitor-of-libraries and the engaged ensemble burst into laughter.

Well, haw haw! I do visit the library, and have even gone so far as to wander the stacks on occasion, finding upon one such a misadventure, decades of bound Spectators for perusing. But to return to the story, following my visit to Sallies, I made my way towards the main library taking a route which took me through St. Salvator’s Quad, reflecting upon the comeliness of which, I decided to take a photograph.

It shows the entrance to College Hall, wherein many important events take place such as examinations, public meetings, champagne receptions, and the like. Moving along from the Quad into Butts Wynd (‘wynd’ is Scots for alley, ye uninformed), I nearly ran right into 2Lt. Robert Cockburn of the Queens Own Yeomanry, a magistrand (that’s a fourth year student, ye uninformed) who happens to be running for the presidency of our Students Union. I told 2Lt. Cockburn to strike a dashing pose, and he gave it his best.

The other candidates are unreconstructed socialist Marco Biagi, future Conservative MP Adrian Galey, and my cook Jocelyn. The real surprise is that Alex Yabroff, a Californian of liberal Episcopalian extraction and member of the Kate Kennedy Club, has decided not to run. Reasons unknown. UPDATE: Alex Yabroff is running.

Anyhow, I went to the top floor of the library and found myself a desk, from which I took the following photos.

The saltire flies from the top of the Town Hall, with the spire of Holy Trinity kirk to the right.

The sun hides behind clouds, with the rooftop and chimneys of the Crawford Centre.

Lizzie popped round to the library to purchase a copy of the Review off me, and I gave her my Spectator as well, since I was done with it. Very good article by some Oxford academic decrying attempts by that University to move away from the traditional tutorial system of education to put a greater emphasis on money-making research. Anyhow, at nearly half past five, I’d had enough of reading various books and egressed our hideous modern library, but just then took a photo of our beauteous College Tower, which I will leave you with.

The Telegraph today reports that James Mawdsley, the human rights activist thrice chucked into Burmese prisons for his pro-democracy campaigns, will be standing in the next general election as the Conservative candidate for Hyndburn.

Mawdlsey, a good Catholic and a friend of Jon Burke and Peter Cox, was only just married last month, spending his honeymoon in Rome where he and his wife Elizabeth were blessed by the Holy Father.

Best of luck to him, and I very much hope he wins. This moribnd parliament needs more ardent defenders of the right to life and civil liberties.

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