DAldred's Blog

A blog seems as good a place as any to record walks; I’ve uploaded this one to Everytrail as well, but there’s always the risk a site like that closes.

This walk was a shortened version of one we have in a book; in all it’s just over 4 miles, and took us around 2 hours, with plenty of time within that for looking at views and climbing the tower at Crich Stand itself.  Puns available: the Cliff Inn, and the Derwent Inn at Whatstandwell (though it was closed today, despite its notices saying otherwise).

To flesh out the briefer details on Everytrail:

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  The Canal at Whatstandwell

  Start from Whatstandwell Station, where there is a pay & display carpark (currently £2 for all day)

• Cross the railway and then the canal using the two linked bridges.  Continue along this path to the road.
• Cross the road, turning right, and and almost immediately turn left up Hindersitch Lane.  The road bends sharply left: continue along it until you find The Green on your right
• Now turn into the Green and continue along this road as it in turn bends left.  At the end of the lane there is a narrow path straight ahead; take it.
• You emerge onto Top Lane.  Turn right, and within about 40 yards turn left at a footpath sign.
• Follow this footpath upward through woodland, continuing straight ahead as it crosses two larger tracks.  Once it emerges onto open land, it soon splits into two – take the right hand fork.
• Follow this to the edge of the houses, then turn right end follow it round to the left to reach Coasthill – this is the left turn before Wheatsheaf Lane
• Now continue straight ahead along this lane and then across fields – there are one or two bends and diversions.
• 

  Crich Stand

  Eventually you reach the road near the Cliff Inn.  Turn right (uphill) and pass the Tramway Museum entrance, continuing to follow the road round to the left

• Follow the road straight ahead as it rises towards Crich Stand (actually a side turning from the road which bends right)
• Once at Crich Stand, follow the signed footpath which leads off to the right of the immediate approach to the monument.
• This path curves continuously leftward round the quarries, and then drops down to cross the end of the tram tracks; then it works its way down through woods until, having become a farm track then a track by some houses, it reaches a road, Leashaw.
• Turn left, then immediately right onto another footpath.
• This path meanders downward  through fields, then through woodland among old quarry workings, now just cliffs.  After a while it reaches the Cromford Canal
• Turn left onto the Cromford Canal, and follow it back to the carpark.

A court has ruled that prayer at the start of business at Bideford Town Council is not lawful, on the grounds that it is not covered by the Local Government Act.  The Religion Law blog has a useful commentary on this.

Naturally, the atheists are rejoicing; naturally because they as always completely miss the point of prayer. But then that is not surprising.   People who do not apparently have the ability to recognise or relate to anything which is not purely material will necessarily be handicapped in understanding the nature of prayer; just as they are necessarily incapable of understanding the nature of decision making, as it too is not purely material.

Image via Wikipedia

And this lack of spiritual awareness is what appears to lie at the heart of so much atheist nonsense.   The idea, for example, that the existence of God needs some material proof is a simple lack of conceptualisation of the spiritual, which to many of us is just a natural part of life.   The idea that religion is consent to a set of propopositions – and that casting doubt on those propositions is therefore a ‘disproof’ of religion –  is equally nonsensical, because it lacks not just sense; it lacks senses.

The idea that faith is an assent to an unprovable proposition is a misreading of the very meaning of faith: we have faith in God because we know we can rely on God, just as we have faith in mathematics because we know it is reliable, not because it is a set of propositions, or despite, in the case of mathematics, even its demonstrable incompleteness.  Someone ignorant of mathematics cannot understand that; so the atheist cannot understand faith.  Exclusion of faith from the decisions of a council makes as much sense as the exclusion of mathematics.

The knowledge of God in which we rejoice and under which we live is something which brooks no rejection.   It is an aspect of human completeness; and without it no human activity can be complete.   even the American-style separation of Church and State carries the implicit acknowledgement that neither is complete without the other; that they are complementarities.

For those with a full set of senses – including the sense of the spiritual – praying before taking decisions is simply a matter of engaging all the faculties, spiritual as well as material, in the process of reaching the best balanced and informed decision.    It is inherent to the decision making process of any body, if that body is to take the right decisions.

Atheists, reject stridently the faith they do not understand, without the basis of understanding to reach a decision as to whether it should be rejected.  As noted in the Psalm, they thus doom themselves to foolishness; to incompletely based decisions, shutting out essential parts of human understanding and nature.

That is their tragedy, but insofar as they are determined to spread their tragedy to the rest of us, that is also their danger.

However the atheist victory in this case appears to be very short-lived; as has now been pointed out, the Local Government Act is very shortly to be superseded.  The new Act allows a wider interpretation; so Bideford will be able to pray again.  And the fact that the Court saw no Human Rights justification for banning prayers will,  if anything, tell against any future mischievous attempts of this sort.

What a strange place the Guardian is.

Usually a reliable source of articles which, when they relate in any way to faith, do so on the basis of a level of understanding which would lead to a fail at GCSE, suddenly it produces what looks like a very promising series on Aquinas; and the comment thread is actually literate and informed as well.

I shall follow this with interest.

The European Court of Human Rights

On 25 January, the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe declared that “euthanasia, in the sense of the intentional killing by act or omission of a dependent human being for his or her alleged benefit must always be prohibited”.

This may not be legally binding on the laws of any European state, but the Council of Europe is a highly influential body in European law; it is responsible for the European Court of Human Rights, and signatories to the European Convention on Human Rights (of which the UK is one) permit appeals on human rights grounds to this Court.

The reportage of this in the UK media is instructive, not so much about the story itself, but on the agendas of different media outlets.   The Telegraph reports it; the Mail has caught on rather belatedly.   The Guardian and the (supposedly unbiased) BBC do not.   Indeed, the BBC has a front page link to a story about a ‘right-to-die case’, but no mention of the decision which may well mean that case is dead in the water.  Most of the other media, at least in their on-line disincarmations, remain similarly silent.

The impression given, then, by the media in the UK is that this hasn’t happened; that the campaign for death continues unabated.   The portrayal of those opposed to euthanasia as out-of-touch fanatics would be undermined it it came to the attention of the public that actually pro-euthanasia views are very widely considered repulsive, and alien to a culture of human rights, and that it is the vocal and media-backed bandwagon in the UK which is radically out of step.

So it is swept under the carpet; at least until a case goes to the European Court; and meanwhile much prominence is given to the Prime Minister’s objections to the European Court’s involvement in UK legal matters.

For their different reasons, the euthanasia campaign and the Conservative element of government both need to avoid any mature and impartial human rights jurisdiction interfering with their ability to drive their own agendas, whatever the cost for humanity.

There’s a lot around at the moment about the relationship between Scotland and England.

Of course, in theory, the question should be about the relationship between Scotland and the rest of the UK, but the degree to which the UK and England are confused and conflated, and not just in the minds of those from outside these shores, is considerable; and the relative sizes of the constituents of the Union doesn’t help balance.

I’ve been a supporter of devolution for longer than I’ve been a Catholic, but I was glad to find support for the devolutionist position in Catholic social teaching, arising from the principle of subsidiarity; the principle that matters ought to be handled by the least centralised competent authority.  Matters affecting Scotland alone ought, therefore, to be handled by a Scottish authority, insofar as that Scottish authority is content to deal with them.   The same applies to England, Wales and Northern Ireland; and indeed given the diversity of the English regions there are strong arguments for more effective decentralisation within England.

The real question is perhaps more how this should be done, than whether.  The creation  of a completely seperate Scottish parliament, seperately elected, was, I believe a mistake, albeit one which was perhaps inevitable at the time it was done, but which needs review.

If subsidiarity is properly thought through and applied, the work of the UK parliament in London would reduce, as it would deal only with UK-wide matters. If the people of Scotland – or of Wales, Northern Ireland or England (or English regions) – have elected people they trust to be their representatives, then those representatives should be as trustworthy on devolved matters as they are on UK-wide matters.  And there is no reason to believe that the overall amount of legislation and debate in which the representatives of any one nation or region would be involved would change.

So MPs for constituencies in Scotland could be in the UK parliament on (say) two days a week, and in the Scottish parliament for the other three. The West Lothian question falls by the wayside.  A clear demarcation system is needed, of course, but then that is needed anyway.

We could save the cost of a dual parliamentary structure, and multiple elections; and we avoid the risk that a more local parliament, with time on its hands, finds things on which to legislate which really do not deserve legislation at that level. For subsidiarity requires that the Scottish parliament, or any other, passes any matters which can be dealt with by more local authorities to those more local authorities; and unless any level of authority is kept very busy, it is likely to lose track of that point.

I’m not quite sure how it’s that long since I last posted.   Yes, life has been full; but has it been that full?   It’s probably just not having created a habit.

Let’s have a belated New Year Resolution, then; a post a week, even if it’s a short one.  That may help.

I’ve a plugin loaded in WordPress, which looks at what I type and suggests linked blogs and media.   It’s slightly encouraging to see that it’s pulled up a number of blogs with recent posts on restarting blogging!

In Mass today, one of those moments.

The moment at which the present recedes, at which the here and now is as insignificant as this speck of rock we call our home in the vastness of space.

The moment at which there can be no doubt; the moment at which reason, logic and argument fade.

Douai Abbey

The moment at which eternity crashes like an ocean wave through the walls, and brings with it the unutterable otherness, yet undeniable closeness of God. God, the rock, the argument, the reason, the present; before whom all other realities fade and fail.

The moment when we know, and cannot not know; when we almost drown in knowing.

The moment which lasts forever; yet which lasts only minutes, perhaps only seconds.

The moment from which we return, blinking and at least mentally gasping, into a present alien and unfamiliar; reluctant to return yet filled with a newness of experience which leaves us urgent to continue, to remain, to live.

The moment which is a revelation of – no, a part of – the life which one day will be ours permanently.

Yes, one of those moments.

We chose Alençon for a stop on the way back from the Vendée to the ferry, arriving in the mid-afternoon on Saturday.

Alençon Basilica

The Basilica of Nôtre Dame, raised to this status by Pope John Paul II in recognition of its role in the life of the family of St Thérèse of Lisieux, is a strange mix of two styles. At one end the Gothic windows form a tracery along the walls of the nave; beyond this the solidity of an 18th century tower and transept (which replaced the former tower, toppled by a storm). The newer end is solid, unbreachable stone, like a fortress; the older exuberant and confident. The mixture somehow leaves a sense of change and uncertainty.

We sat outside a bar across the square from the Basilica and drank a beer, while perusing the leaflets provided by the tourist office. The English in the leaflet about the Basilica itself likewise leaves a sense of change and uncertainty; it’s once been translated well, then had extra bits added!

Inside the Basilica the side chapel dedicated to St Thérèse and her sense of peace and gentleness lies immediately opposite that of St Jeanne d’Arc, whose image is military and patriotic; two deeply contrasted derivations of the Christian life face each other, each unashamed. The information boards are clear and gently understated.

Mass is celebrated at what appears to be a wooden altar in front of the original stone one, as though the practice of the priest facing the people during Mass is still regarded as a temporary phase; the omissions and slight variations in the liturgy perhaps also indicate an uncertainty over the Roman Liturgy itself, and are even more confusing to the visitor already working in a foreign tongue.

The congregation is reasonably numerous but aging. The homily focussed on the feeding of the five thousand as a sign of the unity of bread, word and mission. One senses a contrast between the older, quieter people at Mass inside and the noisier and younger life of the square outside; but the clangour of the bells announcing finally that we were dismissed into the world to take Christ out into its carelessness brings the two into unity. If those bells did not ring out the town would not be the same, and one senses that the town knows that.

Saint Thérèse of Lisieux (via Wikipedia)

We stayed overnight at the Hotel du Dauphin, St Pierre des Nids, for which an unashamed recommendation. The room, recently redecorated, still perhaps no more than a room, but comfortable and fresh; the food is excellent and the service from the owners, Olivier and Sonia, is welcoming and cheerful. In the morning, we strolled round the village and gained the sense that there is more to do around here then we knew – we will return.

Then back to the city to visit the Martin’s House, where the parents of St Thérèse lived, and where the little flower herself was born. A smiling nun with a good grasp of English is called to show us round, and does so with a mixture of history, spirituality and personal joy which is quietly inspiring. The réalisation of the museum is very well done and brings the past alive, preserving something of the life of the family amid the shrine which has grown up alongside it. There is perhaps little of St Thérèse herself here – the house saw only some of her early childhood, though there are glimpses of her life and character – but the daily holiness of the lives of her parents stands out clearly.

Image by cloudsoup via Flickr

We’re in France, for a holiday.

The autoroute from the channel port takes us to Chartres; a convenient stop on our way to the Vendée coast. Chartres is a delight – the centre of the city with its small streets clustered round the Cathedral; one feels connected with the mediaeval. This is probably enhanced by the city having placed all its major car parks underground; the rush of the modern buried beneath the feet of the ancient.

The market in the sunshine is a riot of colours; there is a sense that there is food everywhere, from the market stalls to the dozens of restaurants. The Cathedral may be several centuries old, but the realities of life – the need for physical as well as spiritual sustenance – have not diminished.

Chartres Cathedral is a jewel; relatively untouched by the attentions of reformers and of wars, it retains a full suite of saints and angels in its carvings; its unmatched towers strive for the heavens. Inside there is more colour, at times rivalling the market; the stained glass in the windows catching the high sun and spreading a pattern of gem-like light across its floors and the ranks of chairs. On its floor is a famous labyrinth, said to have been used by the monks as part of their life of prayer – could they not have used the maze of streets outside? – but no, for they were monks, and aware of the labyrinth of daily life as well as the internal labyrinth of the soul.

There is a major programme of cleaning and restoration going on, meaning that part of the interior is clothed in scaffolding and plastic sheeting. Looking up one can see where the clean stone meets the stone still carrying the grime of centuries in an inadvertent parable of purgatory; one day, we too shall be as clean as this, having been as grimy as that.  In the cleaned area, the light is more intense, the darkness is seen as an artefact of time. We must return when it is complete (in 2014); to appreciate how this cathedral (and presumably most mediaeval cathedrals) were in fact places of light and air, not the dark and heavy places they now so often seem.

We pay our money and climb the bell tower – I have too much respect for man-made heights to venture too near edges, but there is space here to stand a little back. On the roof of the transept a stone angel blesses the town, and from the bell tower stands out against the fields of the countryside, making its own urbi et orbi, as it has for hundreds of years, and will no doubt continue to do for many more.

The Angel at Chartres