I
Believe in Ghosts
by
Jeffrey A. Tucker
Someone said to me the other day, "that song sounds like a
dirge!" I immediately thought: hmm, "dirge," from
the opening antiphon for the first nocturne for the Office of the
Dead for the hour of Matins: "Dirige, Domine, Deus meus, in
conspectu tuo mean," which means "Direct, Oh Lord, my
God, my way in thy sight."
Then someone gave me a rosemary plant in the shape of a tree, and
I thought: hmm, rosemary, named for the plant on
which Mary was said to have placed the garments of Jesus to dry
after washing them; God then conferred on the plant a special aroma,
and thus it was called "Mary’s rose" or rosemary.
And that tree shape: hmm, originating from Medieval liturgical
dramas staged in church that featured scenes from the Garden of
Eden, featuring Adam, Eve, and the tree—all to celebrate the coming
of the new Adam (Jesus) and the new Eve (Mary) at Christmas. These
plays were suppressed, and so the trees were brought into the home.
Then I observed someone using careful table manners and recalled
that American manners were so influenced by George Washington’s
own fastidious ways, which were picked up from the 1595 maxims written
by French Jesuits: Decency of Conversation among Men. It
circulated widely.
Now, anyone who would voice these observations would either be
considered the most erudite person in the crowd or a huge pain in
the neck. But after reading Why
Do Catholics Eat Fish on Friday by Michael Foley, there
is nothing you can do to suppress such thoughts. The feeling becomes
overwhelming that you are surrounded by the ghosts of monks, nuns,
priests, bishops, and popes from all ages.
In two hundred pages, Foley (who teaches at Baylor University)
covers the Catholic origins of everyday objects, words, practices,
and institutions in our life, in entertainment, manners, food, music,
sports, flowers, science, technology, law, and language. The title
of the book is slightly misleading, since the purpose is not to
explain Catholic practices but rather to show how we all practice
Catholicism without really knowing it.
We can quickly note the Catholic origins of the names of certain
cities: Los Angeles (Our Lady, Queen of Angels), San Antonio (discovered
on the Feast of St. Anthony of Padua), and San Francisco (St. Francis),
but the town of Boston founded by the Puritans? Well, it turns out
that Boston is named for St. Botolph, a Benedictine saint who founded
the Ikanhoe monastery in 654, and after whom many English churches
and town centers were named, as in Botolphstown, later Botolphson,
and then Botoston, and finally Boston.
Not even the Puritans could fully escape their papist history!
Apparently no one can.
The judge’s black gown derives from the clerical cassock worn when
the clergy studied and practiced law. To be "born with a silver
spoon in one’s mouth" is a reference to the apostle spoon given
by godparents to newly baptized children. When we say there is "not
one iota" of difference between this and that, we are recalling
the debate at the Council of Nicea in 325 as to whether Christ was
the selfsame substand as God (homoousious) or distinct substance
(homoiousios), where the difference between orthodoxy and heresy
was only one letter (i) or iota.
Do you see how this book can make you crazy? It sounds slightly
nuts at first, almost like the author is obsessed with a single
idea and can’t get it out of his head and teaches it relentlessly
to students who can only roll their eyes.
I mean, how can the idea of autobiography be secretly Catholic?
Surely not.
And yet: the prototype for the Western autobiography is St. Augustine’s
amazing work Confessions, which is addressed to God and tells
of his painful path from sinner to saint. Later the autobiographical
genre was subverted by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who loathed Catholicism
and wrote a narcissistic revelation by the same name that removed
God completely from the picture. When I first read the author’s
point, I thought: now that’s a stretch. But over time, the point
has sunk in.
Here is one you won’t believe. Bowling has Christian origins in
the form of a religious ceremony held in the cloister of a church.
In the 3rd and 4th centuries, peasants placed
the clubs they carried for protection, called kegel in German,
at the end of a lane. The clubs were said to represent heathen and
were toppled. The clubs later became pins. Don’t believe it? Then
explain why a bowler is sometimes called a kegler.
Do you knock on wood? The wood is the wood of the Cross. Three
times? It’s for the Trinity. The purpose is to invoke the blessing
of God on what one wishes to be the case. Do you cross for fingers?
It dates from the 2nd century. You are hoping that the
glory of the cross of Calvary will cancel out the evil of the lie.
Do you worry about Friday the 13th? Friday is the day
Christ died, and 13 joins the number of Christ and his apostles,
one of whom was the traitor Judas Iscariot.
Do you see how this crazy obsession of this professor is not so
crazy after all, or, rather, how he works to draw you into his obsessive
world, and manages it rather successfully? Of the sheer detail and
expanse of the volume, you can only say "Holy Smoke!"
which of course refers to the smoke that emanates from St. Peter’s
after the Pope is chosen.
Maybe you would be better off not reading this book but rather
watching something thoroughly non-Catholic like watching television,
except that television stemmed from a technological breakthrough
in 1862 by Abbe Castelli, an Italian priest working in France.
Most
of what you discover in this pithy volume you won’t find out in
college, even though colleges themselves are Catholic in origin,
as is the cap and gown, which were both developed from medieval
Catholic prototypes (the same goes for the academic hood, which
derives from the cowls of the Middle Ages).
And there are the anti-Catholic bits here too. Hocus Pocus is a
reference to the words of institution at the consecration of the
blood ("Hoc est enim corpus meum"). A Dunce cap is worn
to reflect agreement with the early modern attack on the work of
Blessed John Duns Scotus of the 14th century.
Remember
the invisible ink you used when you were a kid? You would write
and not see it until you held it up to the light or covered it with
a special liquid. This book is that light, that liquid, that brings
into sharp relief what was there and yet could not see. These are
the ghosts that surround us on all sides, and they are here to stay
and dwell among us so long as we are civilized.
As to the origin of the idea of ghosts, well, just get the book
and turn to page 16.
December
15, 2005
Jeffrey
Tucker [send him mail]
is editorial vice president of www.Mises.org.
Copyright
© 2005 LewRockwell.com
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