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I’m about halfway through Pedro Páramo. It’s slower-going than Borges—I have to check words and phrases more often. The story is also very surreal, with many shifts in time and place. Last night, I noticed that Netflix released a movie adaptation last year, so I’ll watch it after I’ve finished.

Katherine Rundell answers the question, Why children’s books? (h/t AL Daily)

There’s no doubt that reading for pleasure as a child can change your life. It is a key predictor of economic success later in life. But the main reason to help children seek out books is this: if you cut a person off from reading, you’re a thief. You cut them off from the song that humanity has been singing for thousands of years. You cut them off from what we have laid out for the next generation, and the next. It’s in the technology of writing that we’ve preserved our boldest, most original thought, our best jokes and most generous comfort. To fail to do everything we can to help children hear that song is a cruelty – and a stupidity – for which we should not expect to be forgiven. We need to be infinitely more furious that there are children without books.

St. Frances de Sales on the sin of detraction:

Thus we can never pronounce a man to be wicked without danger of falsehood. If we must needs speak, we must say that he has been guilty of such an evil deed, at such a time he misconducted himself, or he is now doing so; but we should not condemn today because of today, still less tomorrow.

But whilst you give good heed to speak no evil concerning your neighbor, beware of falling into the opposite extreme, as some do, who, seek to avoid slander, praise vice. If you come in the way of a downright slanderer, do not defend him by calling frank and honest-speaking; do not miscall dangerous freedoms by the name of simplicity or easiness, or call disobedience zeal, or arrogance self-respect; do not fly from slander into flattery and indulgence of vice, but call evil evil without hesitation, and blame that which is blamable.

He goes on to add certain conditions, particularly as it becomes necessary to speak in front of others:

When you blame the vices of another, consider whether if it is profitable or useful to those who hear to do so…Above all, you must be exceedingly exact in what you say; your tongue when you speak of your neighbor is as a knife in the hand of a surgeon who is going to cut between nerves and tendons. Your stroke must be accurate, and neither deeper nor slighter than what is needed; and whilst you blame the sin, always spare the sinner as much as possible.

From Introduction to the Devout Life. This comes directly after his meditations on rash judgements. Providentially, this has been my spiritual reading for the last couple of days as I’ve also concluded that I need to maintain a foothold on one or two social media platforms. I do this with extreme reluctance.

For one, I’m not keen on being at the receiving end of The Algorithms. If I let myself go down the Reels rathole, for example, the minor adjustments to the feed because obvious pretty quick and things get porny in a hurry. No thanks. Second, the engagement based on anger or fear works on me just like it does on anyone else and I can function just fine online without using a front-end which monetizes the worst. I have a decent daily rhythm of RSS reeds and other text-heavy sites and can stay pretty well informed as far as news and daily events, but there are plenty of local organizations and groups which don’t publish via RSS and only push out communications on Facebook, Instagram, or X. I wish it weren’t so, but there it is.

On the other hand, keeping up with the constant news cycle puts me alongside everyone else who’s doing the same, and who is it that I desire to serve, anyway? It doesn’t feel like I can just opt out and go completely monastic; that’s neither my station nor vocation. On the third hand, I can’t give what I don’t have, and reasonable peace feels like it’s pretty short supply so I will, once again, try to look into the craziness without wading into the middle of it. Because, let’s be honest, there’s nothing social about it it at all. When everyone’s feed is exquisitely tuned to the viewer, there is no shared experience. A bathroom wall is more democratic; at least we’re all looking at the same graffiti.

THEY PAINT THE WALLS TO HIDE MY PEN, amirite?

Wherefore now, o Poet?

Retreating into the relative silence of text is what I want to do; but this begins to feel like a withdrawal from the world (such as it is) in a way that’s at odds with diaconal ministry. And by text, I mean it: I run a local RSS aggregator called Miniflux and follow daily 160 or so feeds of varying activity. I also skim a handful of other news sites using elinks, and all of this behind a pi-hole for the times that I do use a full browser.

Anyway, I feel obliged to keep up so I don’t think this is FOMO masquerading as concern. I would happily punt it all, smartphone included, but people expect me to know what’s going on and responding with lol idk what that is doesn’t seem particularly helpful.

Unrelated: I went down a long rathole this weekend, guided by the Extropia’s Children series of posts at Gradient Ascendant. Part of this included revisiting the cypherpunks list archives from the mid-90s. I lurked on that list for quite a while but eventually drifted away because of a lot of craziness. One thing that strikes me now is how conditioned the discussions were based on the technology of the day: email. So much time spent obsessing over email: securing, authenticating, remixing/remailing anonymously, and so on. Remember anon.penet.fi? It seems so quaint now, 30 plus years later.

My opinion is that the future will look on a lot of the rationalist/extropian stuff the same way we look at the teeming chaos of 4th century gnosticism. It all seems cut from the same cloth, and will probably come to the same general ends: either death or Christ.

Into the desert

I have been thinking about the desert fathers again, and spent part of last night re-reading sections of Derwas Chitty’s The Desert a City, trying to put my finger on something. There are probably too many contingencies in history to draw direct parallels, but it surely seems that Religion has saturated the air in a way that has a lot folks wondering where and how faith is practiced. Things feel…well, not exactly unhinged, but definitely not settled. Claims are being made, victories recorded, and frisson seems to be the order of the day.

A sort of dualism has taken over completely - us and them, the pure and the impure, in and out. What’s more the conversation happens and re-happens hourly, every event read in terms of signs and symbols, every pause is an opportunity to assert, fight, and claim. We have filled our spaces with noise and have forgotten silence, if indeed we ever really knew it. Our connections to one and another have created a city of the entire world. No silence, only city. Only an endless marketplace of shouting and infinite walls of graffiti.

The answer to the city is the desert. The desert is where the demons lived and where the fathers went to fight them once the cities had been made Christian. To go into the desert was to confront the devil in your own sins, in ways that were somestimes fantastic and grotesque and in other ways that were subtle. Maybe those were the hardest. One thing the fathers learned was a sort of detachment, and the silence that was necessary to listen to God.

In Scetis a brother went to Moses to ask for advice. He said to him, ‘Go and sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.’

We need this silence now more than ever. We can’t go to the desert, not physically anyway. We can, however rediscover what Martin Laird calls the “silent land,” which is the place of silence and stillness deep within us. You laugh - I can hear it, but it’s there. It’s always been there, though it may take a bit of effort to find it.

Getting to a place of silence - contemplative prayer - is difficult, at first, because we have trained ourselves to move and think and react constantly. The world we’ve built for ourselves demands it, but we can also remake small parts of it. And in those small parts, we can rediscover that our union with God - the matrix of our very existence - this union can never be lost or buried beyond reclamation. It is yours and can never be taken away any more than you can cease to suddenly exist. There, you will find the silence of the desert, and there you can build a hermitage, Carmel, or interior castle.

Antony said, ‘He who sits alone and is quiet has escaped from three wars: hearing, speaking, seeing: but there is one thing against which he must continually fight: that is, his own heart.’

The more someone enters this silence, the more they become accustomed to it, and the fainter the noise around them becomes. And then the city is not quite as noisy, and the currents are not as strong and suddenly the swirling motion of modern life begins to break a bit against the eternal things.

Evagrius wrote: a soul which has apatheia is not simply the one which is not distrubed by changing events but the one which remains unmoved at the memory of them as well.

I can’t seem to stick with Marquez, so it’s Charterhouse. The portrayal of Waterloo was interesting, for sure. From our hero’s perspective, it’s just chaos from start to finish. He doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know what’s going on, who he fought, or even if it was the Battle of Waterloo. Granted, it’s early days but Julian was a more interesting main character for me than Fabrice is…so far. We’ll see.

In queue, I have:

  • El llano en llamas and Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo
  • Como agua por chocolate by Laura Esquivel
  • Los de abajo by Mariano Azuela
  • El laberitno de soledad by Octavio Paz

Also 2666 by Robert Bolaño, but that’s in English.

Classwise, we’re halfway through the Canon Law sequence. It’s…occasionally interesting but parts of it are pretty dry. The second section - which will focus more on marriage - looks like it will be more practical, in terms of Things Deacons Do Which The Tribunal.

Speaking of things deacons do, a recent episode of The Pillar podcast had a decent discussion about the diaconate in the present moment.

The bee collects honey from flowers in such a way as to do the least damage or destruction to them, and he leaves them whole, undamaged and fresh, just as he found them. True devotion does still better. Not only does it not injure any sort of calling or occupation, it even embellishes and enhances it.

Moreover, just as every sort of gem, cast in honey, becomes brighter and more sparkling, each according to its colour, so each person becomes more acceptable and fitting in his own vocation when he sets his vocation in the context of devotion. Through devotion your family cares become more peaceful, mutual love between husband and wife becomes more sincere, the service we owe to the prince becomes more faithful, and our work, no matter what it is, becomes more pleasant and agreeable.

— St. Frances de Sales, “Introduction to the Devout Life”

Frances de Sales has been part of my spiritual reading for some time now. I took a run at Introduction awhile back but lagged after a little while. After reading Phillipe on contemplation and Chautard on the absolutely primacy of the interior life for apostolic work, I picked up de Sales again and am finding it much more resonant. The latter chapters (“Part Second”) are nice and short - perfect for meditative reading and teeing up contemplative prayer.

For leisure reading, I am (once again) tackling Cien años de soledad. It seems to be going faster this time, but I’m not sure if it’s because this is my Nth go-round or I’m just improving. Probably a little of both.

Looking ahead, I asked Claude for book recommendations from the Mexican literary canon; it suggested Juan Rulfo, Mariano Azuela, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, Octavio Paz, Laura Esquivel, and others. Very much looking forward to digging into them soon. I also have The Charterhouse of Parma sitting here on the desk.