Dom Leclercq was here for three days. Very ebullient. We had some good talks.
October 13, 1965
Frost again. Yesterday–beautiful October weather. I burned some rotten logs that were behind the house, cleaned up around the woodpile. Father Arnold and Brother Stanislaus (of Mepkin) brought up a couple of loads of branches that Brother Wenceslaus has pruned off the sweetgums in the Front Avenue of the monastery. The Governor is apparently coming tomorrow but I am not concerned with that, thank heaven.
Secular workmen are now putting in the elevator (monks did the shaft) in the refectory wing. I finished Read’s Icon and Idea–Monday finished [Josef] Pieper In Tune with the World: [A Theory of Festivity, 1965] and wrote a review. Brother Dunstan is typing the last of Conjectures. The problem of Marie Tadié is still unsolved. She is very demanding and unreasonable. Have not heard from Naomi Burton, who is on vacation. Have not heard what happened in the Council last week when they debated the war question.
Saturday with Dom Leclercq and Father Prior [Flavian]–drove over the Ridge Road (Cecil Ridge) on the wilds above Edelin’s Valley and went all the way to Howardstown. It is very cold and the road easily gets lost. So did we at one point. Parts of the woods were beautiful. Much of it is just scrub. There is only one house on the whole ridge–his pigs were running loose, his two boys were operating a big chain saw. All the rest, wild thicket for five miles and more. That is how they traveled in the Middle Ages. This is one of the oldest “highways” in this part of the state. It goes back to revolutionary times.
Reading Isaac of Stella. Disappointed in Eric Gill’s book on clothes [Clothes: An Essay upon the Nature and Significance of the Natural and Artificial Integuments Worn by Men and Women, 1931]. Can’t carry on with it (I was struck by it that Christmas at Fronti in Exeter thirty-three years ago). Will return it to the Hammers.
Sun up. Say Prime and cut wood!
October 14, 1965
“When he comes toward the end he will suddenly perceive a beauty of wondrous nature…not fair in the likeness of face or hands or any other part of the bodily frame…but beauty absolute, separate, simple and everlasting…are you not certain that it will then be given him to become a friend of God?” Plato–Symposium. How little we think of the beauty of the Divine Light–and how drab life is in consequence. We do not let the beauty of earth remind us where we are to go. As a consequence, not even the earth is beautiful to us, or as beautiful as it might be.
I am not going to be bitter about Dom James, it is useless and silly, and besides shows lack of charity and of perspective in me. But–another typical instance of how he operates. To me it means something as I am sensitive to all the implications and suggestions. Today the Governor came “with his suite.” That old routine, which always used to bore me blue in the community. Delighted now that I don’t have to be anywhere near it. I have never been involved in the business of meeting the people and entertaining them. O.K. Today, I could see Reverend Father was hinting in a very confused and clumsy way that he wanted me to be there, and meet everyone or, to be exact, he wanted to provoke me to ask to be there. He kept hinting and suggesting, “the President of the University of Kentucky” is coming, etc., etc. Since I have that LL.D. from the University of Kentucky the implication is obvious. He presented this as a problem and a come on. I didn’t come on at all. If he wanted me there, he could have invited me. No, he wanted me to invite myself, get him off the hook he was on, and also give him an opportunity to play it both ways, joke with others about the hermit who wanted to get in on the Governor’s party, meet the old girls, etc. I was fed up with the whole thing. In the end he was issuing ambiguous, but of course good-humored, suggestions that because I had failed to please him I might be held to account for it in some way–(v.g., perhaps by being forbidden to see someone I wanted to see, on some other occasion). All of this completely devious. Nothing explicit. If he had simply said he wanted me there I would have gone, no doubt with a certain amount of grumbling and ire, but this refusal of frankness is in a way much more insulting.
October 16, 1965
A warm day. Everything is bronze. But too warm for fall. Art Fillmore was here taking pictures for the picture book Reverend Father has had us working on. I took Fillmore around in the woods and by a couple of lakes and up behind Nally’s. He shot a lot of film. And told me about the high new steel arch they are putting up in St. Louis, over 600 feet high and more than that. It sounds fantastic–a pleasant insanity. But something I don’t begrudge them, if they want to be extravagant! Symbolic and purposeless. I am glad they can be purposeless at such cost and with such frenzy–for it has been quite a stunt to get it all up in the air.
[François] Mauriac, reminiscing on his eightieth birthday, said of the Maritains at Meudon: “Je me demande si à l’époque actuelle il y a rien qui ressemble de près ou de loin à ce qu’il fut cette maison de J. et R. Maritain à Meudon, un foyer spirituel…etc.” [“I wonder if at the present time there is any place, near or far, that resembles this house of J. and R. Maritain at Meudon, a spiritual center…etc.”] An even more moving statement of Mauriac, on discovering Mozart in his old age: “Mozart a été–il demeure pour moi–un témoin de Dieu…. Pour moi Mozart est de tous les musicians celui quipossède cette valeur de témoignage, d’autant plus que l’on trouve chez lui cette pureté originelle l’enfance non pas de Freud mais du Christ. Mozart si frivole, son destin, cette mort…. Dans ses toutes dernières oeuvres dans ce Concerto pour Clarinette, on unit comme un reproche à Dieu, comme une plainte d’enfant” [“Mozart has been–he remains for me–a witness of God…. For me Mozart is of all the musicians the one who has this value of a witness, all the more so because we find in his childhood that original purity, not so with Freud, but with Christ. Mozart (was) so frivolous that death (was) his destiny…. In all his last works, in the Concerto for Clarinet, they join like a reproach to God, like the complaint of a child”]. He also said Colette was like a “great bee” getting in everybody’s business but that she was also in a strange way very “spirituelle” [“spiritual”].
A good long letter from [Clayton] Eshelman in Peru. Doesn’t like [Alejandro] Vignati, was disappointed in Nicaragua, didn’t click with Cardenal but liked Coronel.
October 18, 1965
[Jakob] Boehme–[Rainer Maria] Rilke. A new climate. Two people I have met in passing for years and never really talked with. Now I begin first Boehme because I have a book [J. J. Stoudt, Sunrise to Eternity: A Study in J. Boehme’s Life and Thought, 1957] that treats of his life and work and gives all the most relevant passages of his work in clear English, so that I finally have some inkling of what he is really saying–and respond to it. How much I respond to it.
At the same time I begin also to respond to a quite different quality in Rilke. This is something I had been resisting, suspicious of it, as if to be open to Rilke were a weakness. As if it were something one could not safely admit–for example his loneliness (“merely neurotic of course”) might turn out to have something to do with my own solitude and this would be a discredit to me, etc. Well, it is true. Certainly the “poetic” element in my solitude is like Rilke’s to some extent. Neurotic? So what. So I am scolded then by some Gorgon-like Hilda Graef! (Reviled incidentally by a Right-wing type called Molnar for my open letter to the Bishops. He accused me of being a communist.) So I share some of Rilke’s fear and vulnerability, and it is true. “Der Nachbar” is certainly part of my own experience of “the others”–this is the worst possible admission to make in the current enthusiasm for togetherness. But there is a deep truth in “Der Nachbar.” And those who simply rush together will only debase friendship if they never sense one another as “alien violins.” It is a very deep poem. The programs of “Klage”–a typical modern experience, trite even this experience. But under it the modern lostness, at least one star has not gone out–perhaps. One stands firm like a white city stud where the beam begins. I read Rilke, then sing the poems aloud, making up Lieder. They
are very moving. I keep notes on them. The world of spiritual senses in Rilke! How did I get this book? Yesterday after the High Mass I went to the library and was “told” to go to the poetry shelf and look. I came up with this and Peter Levi (whose stuff I greatly admired already two years ago). This has been very healing. I needed it.
I discovered yesterday that the Postulant Brother John of the Cross (Williams) had left. He had been here about four months. I rather liked him, he was a good man–sailor, carpenter, etc. He did a very good job painting the hermitage, putting up a shelf in the closet, filling in the cracks in the closet wall, etc. I will remember him gratefully. A good guy and a good workman.
What a difference from Rilke in Boehme, starting like this a vision of wrath and mercy. “When I was at Jericho there my beloved companion opened my eyes for me…etc.” Here is no weakness, and wrath is accounted for, and Jesus is no violin.
Evening. It was a little cooler late this afternoon–wind–cirrus clouds–maybe we will get cold weather again tonight. I finished revisions and additions to Climate of Monastic Prayer and am glad to get it done. It has been hanging over me for a long time. This morning there was concelebration (Dom James’ anniversary of Abbatial blessing) and afterwards as I made my thanksgiving in the Brothers choir it suddenly came to me to think, again, about what I am going to do–which is nothing. But that I should not even think of moving to another hermitage (Edelin’s for example–starting out from scratch!). This one has many inconveniences (one hears a lot of machinery and Andy Boone’s horses), but it is where God has put me. I thought–suppose after all in five or six years I die or my health gives out! I would want to have made the best of this chance. I have been thinking of this all evening. The first two months here have been a bit slack, I think. Fasted for one week (Ember week), no real vigils, prayer has been mediocre and I have concentrated too much on reading and work–with a kind of intellectual gluttony. So now I have got to emphasize prayer more: what else is there? And what could be better? I know this when I am in my right mind. Some of the offices have been fine–some meditations, etc. But here I must do better, and really get into it. I did not come here just to write–quite the contrary. (St. Francis’ Day, when I compelled myself not to do manual work in the morning or write in the afternoon, was one of the best days here!)
“Ecce ego obducam eis cicatricem et sanitatem, et curabo eos: et revelabo illis dep-recationem pacis et veritatis.” [“Behold, I will bring it health and cure, and I will cure them, and will reveal unto them the abundance of peace and truth.”] Jeremias 33:6
October 19, 1965
Last night I took an hour out of my sleep and made a two-hour meditation before retiring instead of one. As a consequence this morning’s meditation was much more serious and my reading has been more sober and fruitful. It was a good inspiration, and I will do it again once in a while. (Not habitually, for it would be just another routine.) During the night I dreamt I was in a strange city with some other monk (?), and we had to go to some place at the center and begin a journey. A waitress in a lunch-room left to come with us and show us the way. I remember the warmth of her presence sitting in the car with me. I spoke of streets like “Page” and “Sky” which I found on a map, but she had another and shorter way. All along, it was a case of her knowing the way and my not knowing it.
Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr,
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen bin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.
[Whose house is not built now shall build no more,
who now is lonely long shall be alone,
shall lie awake, and read, long letters write,
and restlessly, among the drifting leaves
of avenues shall wander, to and fro.]
Rilke’s autumn poem [“Autumn Day”]. Beautiful and close to home.
October 20, 1965
Late yesterday afternoon Brother Dunstan came up with typed copies of the book Barth’s Dream (Conjectures)–much bigger than I expected. Then it rained (quietly) most of the night and today it is cooler. I said Mass (of St. Anselm) for all my friends in England and Anglican friends everywhere. There is a woodchuck which has dug a new hole outside my jakes, and I watch him furnishing it with dead leaves for the winter.
October 23, 1965
Two remarkable days. Thursday, after Mass, I found in the refectory a note that Ernesto Cardenal was here and wanted to see me. Father Abbot had said nothing of it, though I had permission to see him (since last summer sometime). Had a very good visit. He spoke of his project for the Solentiname community (small, isolated island in Lake of Nicaragua, truly remote!) and wants me very much to come as spiritual father. Pablo Antonio [Cuadra], etc. all join in telling me to come. They are willing to go direct to the Pope with a petition signed by scores of Nicaraguan intellectuals, etc. and even the President. Certainly this much is from God, and I can only consent. I am sure even Rome will be very favorable. I am also sure that once again Dom James will do everything to block it. In the end I think the answer will rest with Paul Philippe. There is a year to wait anyway. Ernesto Cardenal and a delegation from Nicaragua plan to go to Rome in September, 1966. I have taken no initiatives, I only accept what God obviously asks of me, and give my consent-and will await the decision of superiors.
Yesterday, as planned, Hildegard Goss-Mayr who is giving talks in this country, came out for the afternoon with Jim Douglass. Rain. Talked with Cardenal while waiting (the plane was late). The visit was a real manifestation, in simplicity, of the mystery of the Church. Hildegard, from Austria, talking of her work for non-violence in Brazil. Jim who has worked so hard to get something said on peace in the Council. Ernesto from Nicaragua with his economically slanted project. Jean [Goss-Mayr] had sent Hildegard a small packet of clippings from Le Monde on the Council to await her arrival here. I had a chance to glance over them–Ottaviani’s great speech, very strong. Liénart, Léger, Dom Butler, Bishop from England, a strong stand in favor of conscientious objection, etc. All fine! Hildegard Goss-Mayr made an extraordinary impression. A warm, fine, lovely person radiating the spirit of Christ, simplicity, love, peace. One felt one was meeting a true person in all the meaning of the word. It was a real joy to sit and talk with her. Her visit was a blessing, and I think she also enjoyed and appreciated it. Also she represents all I have obscurely and confusedly tried to say in Barth’s Dream (the whole book I mean) about Christian civilization, etc. She represents all that–Vienna, her father, the Fellowship of Reconciliation, etc. I forgot to ask her about Father Metzger. She spoke of a Father Journet (not the cardinal), an O.P. who died. Wonderful things about Brazil. Urged me, from Jean and herself, to write more on non-violence.
I gave Ernesto three letters–one for himself as a statement of my understanding and consent, one for Archbishop Paul Philippe, one for the Pope.
Evening. A turning point in the weather. The heavy rain clouds, broke up a bit in the morning. There were patches of sun, a few short showers late in the afternoon. It is turning cold. I noticed that my woodchuck had buried himself completely, covering up the entrance to his hole, and had gone to sleep for the winter in his bed of leaves. I wish him a happy sleep! And today is very autumn-like–cold clouds flying, trees half bare, wet leaves lying around everywhere, the broad valley beautiful and lovely. The wonderful, mysterious, lonely sense of an autumn evening. It is not the autumn of Rilke’s poems, something hard, solid, yet more mysterious.
Thinking of Hildegard Goss-Mayr and the impression she made: perhaps she is something like what I have always thought Joan of Arc might be like. There is a strength and purity about her, though I imagine Joan must have been physically very rugged, as some French peasant girls are!
As to Solentiname–as far as national desires go, I am content with this hermitage, want nothing else for myself. It would be a great sacrifice to leave it. But i
f God asks this I will certainly go, for the grace of exile, the unknown, and to help other people find what I have found in solitude. But later!
October 25, 1965
Crispin and Crispinian are gone from the office–of course! I always liked them because they were connected with Kent–and Shakespeare [Henry V, Act 4, Scene 3]. However, it is not likely to expect them to appeal to modern people.
Some regard Ottaviani’s intervention on war–to be utterly banned–as surprising in a conservative. But was it not precisely because he is so conservative that he made such a stand? It is the traditional Christian stand, otherwise he would never have taken it. The modern view is on the contrary quite different: either it takes a purely pragmatic view of war, or else opposes it on economic and sociological grounds–which is really no opposition.
An advance copy of Seasons of Celebration came Saturday. A book club took it and produced a completely idiotic blurb about it. As usual I see the defects when the book is finally in print–! Though in going over manuscript of Barth’s Dream I see much must be cut from Part II. It is a good book in general, but there are wordy parts.
Enjoyed the passage of Isaac of Stella on his island solitude (Sermon XIV) again today. I should really write an article on him.
October 29, 1965. Saints Simon and Jude
I was finally right in the heart of Isaac of Stella–the translation of his “island loneliness” into the metaphysic of being and nothingness of the Sexagesima sermons. Hit very hard [by] a lot of ambiguities in expression, but an unquestionably deep and austere intuition, and very modern. But deeply mystical. Profound implications for my own prayer and solitude opened up. (Prayer of Christ on the Coss!)
Dancing in the Water of Life Page 40