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‘All Are Punish’d!’ The history and import of ‘Romeo and Juliet’

Written by Brad Miner

Friday, January 31, 2025

The word “plagiarism” comes from the Latin plagiarius, meaning “kidnapper.” I’ve known writers who’ve referred to a book or a poem or a play they’ve written as their “baby.” And if somebody had pilfered their text, they’d have considered it tantamount to child abduction.

The word, rendered as plagiary, didn’t find its way into English until the beginning of the 17^th century, specifically in 1601, when dramatist Ben Jonson (author of The Alchemist and Shakespeare’s acquaintance and rival) first used it.

It’s rather like this exchange in Lewis Carroll:

Alice: Well, I must say I’ve never heard it that way before. . .
Caterpillar: I know, I have improved it.

And it captures the attitude of writers in the 17^th and earlier centuries. It wasn’t so much that, say, William Shakespeare stole from Luigi da Porto (1485-1529), or Matteo Bandello (c. 1480–1562), or Arthur Brooke (d. 1563) – all of whom had written earlier versions of a tale of star-crossed lovers. It’s that the Bard of Avon improved them all in his Romeo and Juliet.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

The Angelic Doctor Today

Written by Robert Royal

Tuesday, January 28, 2025

sometimes wonder whether Thomas Aquinas, whose feast is today, hasn’t been ill-served by being so universally praised – and therefore less really read. Please don’t misunderstand. He’s the GOAT (“Greatest of All Time,” in sports parlance) among Christian thinkers. And – except for a few names like Plato and Aristotle – among all human thinkers, period. But in the general decline of culture and its many current perversions, to have once been thought great in that way is now to become a prime target.

When I was young and trying to find my way through the thickets of thought, I had a Catholic-schoolboy’s assumption that Aquinas was, at the very least, someone to be reckoned with. But then you might come across a passage like this in what many might think an authoritative source:

He [Aquinas] does not, like the Platonic Socrates, set out to follow wherever the argument may lead. He is not engaged in an inquiry, the result of which it is impossible to know in advance. Before he begins to philosophize, he already knows the truth; it is declared in the Catholic faith. If he can find apparently rational arguments for some parts of the faith, so much the better; if he cannot, he need only fall back on revelation. The finding of arguments for a conclusion given in advance is not philosophy, but special pleading. I cannot, therefore, feel that he deserves to be put on a level with the best philosophers either of Greece or of modern times.

That’s from Bertrand Russell’s History of Western Philosophy. I wonder if anyone reads it anymore, except for those ensorcelled by Russell’s narrow, mid-20^th-century skepticism cum libertinism.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

A Work of Special Providence

Written by Robert Royal

Monday, January 20, 2025

This is a red-letter day for the United States of America. We come to the end of a deeply divided, often bad-tempered – someone might even say venomous – national contest. The Constitutional order held, the vote was clear, and today there will be yet another peaceful transfer of power between two parties, despite little love for one another.

“Democracy,” in short, did not die.

Anyone who believes that our Constitution is an outdated eighteenth-century document inadequate for dealing with modern conditions – as a recent former president has suggested – might be asked: What, in such contentious circumstances, might have worked better?

At the Third Plenary Council of Baltimore in 1884, our bishops debated the pros and cons of America’s Constitutional order. But Archbishop James Gibbons, speaking on behalf of his fellow bishops, concluded:  “We consider the establishment of our country’s independence, the shaping of its liberties and laws, as a work of special Providence, its framers ‘building better than they knew,’ the Almighty’s hand guiding them.”

A just judgment, except that the framers – including Charles Carroll, the Maryland Catholic who signed the Constitution – knew quite a lot about how states had succeeded and failed in the past. They did their best in terms of institutional structure, designing a democratic republic, to avoid such disasters on these shores. For the rest, as Franklin famously remarked, it would depend on the people to keep it.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

Popes and POTUS

Written by Brad Miner

Tuesday, January 14, 2025

Before he leaves office, Joe Biden will not be meeting with Pope Francis as planned. The Los Angeles wildfires put an end to that – or so we’re told. But the original plan got me curious about such meetings and what they mean. It’s a complex but, at least sometimes, significant history.

If you were to do an Internet search, you’d likely read that the first president to visit a pope was Woodrow Wilson in 1919. That’s not true, not even close, unless you add the modifier sitting. Then, yes, Wilson, who was in Europe after World War I for the Paris Peace Conference (1919-1920), was the first “current occupant of the White House” to visit the Apostolic Palace.

A further distinction: some former presidents met with popes (or tried to), and sitting presidents have met with men who would become popes. In this latter category, Franklin Delano Roosevelt met with Vatican Secretary of State Eugenio Cardinal Pacelli at the president’s Hyde Park home during the future Pius XII’s 1936 visit to the United States. A similar meeting happened in Rome when George W. Bush met with Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger at the funeral of John Paul II.

But before the 20^th century, official meetings with a pope in the U.S. would have been unwelcome had they been possible. No pope had ever crossed the Atlantic until Paul VI’s historic visit to America in 1965. Pope Paul would eventually visit twenty countries and was the first ever to travel outside of Europe. In New York, he met with Lyndon Johnson at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

Cardinal McElroy and the God of Surprises

Wednesday, January 8, 2025

don’t make any great claim to virtue, but one vice that I’ve (mostly) avoided is the itch to predict the future. Especially around the New Year, when people – even Catholics – despite warnings from Scripture and Jesus Himself (“sufficient to the day”), often offer themselves as prophets, sometimes even something closer to soothsayers. Not only do we make predictions for the next twelve months, lament or exult over what we think is coming, but we recommend new books or diets or exercise programs or spiritual practices. As if human life is – or should be – a rationally manageable, wholly predictable thing.

Life’s a pilgrimage. An adventure. And often, under God, deeply and happily unpredictable.

Item: Practitioners of the dismal science, which is to say economists, often hedge their bets by saying such and such will happen to the economy “all things remaining equal.” Which of course, they never are.

Item: Lately, “The Science” does things like predict that even small amounts of alcohol may give you cancer in some far-off future, unless a meta-analysis this year or the next questions those findings and may even recommend a drink or two.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

On the Objective Power of Music

Written by Brad Miner

Monday, December 30, 2024

I’ve often written here about painting. Now, I want to write about music, a subject about which I’ve no expertise, although I do have 6,261 tracks on my iPhone.

Act I of Noël Coward’s “intimate” comedy, Private Lives, begins with an off-stage orchestra playing some innocuous tune, to which it “returns persistently,” and occasions this exchange:

Elyot: Nasty insistent little tune.

Amanda: Extraordinary how potent cheap music is.

The notion, I guess, is that emotive music – strings swelling in crescendo, perhaps – is manipulative. Sometimes that’s true. Or it may be what these days we call an “earworm.” My grandchildren, still in their toddler period, can’t get enough of the nasty and persistent “Baby Shark.” It’s on my iPhone, of course.

But to my mind, there’s nothing as potent as great music. Plato and Pope Benedict XVI had a similar view. And I have proof.

There’s an Internet meme called “reaction videos,” in which a young adult YouTuber with a “channel” listens to music suggested by a “follower.” Music, that is, the host has not previously heard.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

Of Christmas and Dynamite

Written by Robert Royal

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

Given all the toil and trouble of the human race in a fallen world, it’s only right that we look to some peace on earth and goodwill to men in this season. There’s certainly no excess of brotherhood and fellow feeling during the rest of the year. And let’s stipulate: It’s not just our happening to be alive at this moment that makes us believe that – anno Domini 2024 and perhaps even more 2025 – things look particularly troubled: Wars and rumors of wars, widespread unrest at home, deep division in the Church. You don’t need to look far for why, to slightly adapt a famous modern philosopher, only the coming of God can save us now.

Or at least that’s the lesson that bad times should teach us.

But there’s another lesson about His Coming. As Bishop James Edward Walsh, one of the first Maryknoll missionaries in China, said after years of experience, even before spending nearly two decades in captivity: “Christianity is not a private way of salvation and a guide to a pious life; it is a way of world salvation and a philosophy of total life. This makes it a sort of dynamite. So when you send missioners out to preach it, it is well to get ready for some explosions.”

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

The Church Somnolent

Written by Robert Royal

Tuesday, December 17, 2024

Among the many things that the current Church seems no longer awake to is a crucial trinity: the Church Militant, the Church Penitent, and the Church Triumphant. If you didn’t learn about those three growing up, they’re not so hard to understand. The Catechism of the Catholic Church puts it, simply, under the rubric The Communion of the Church of Heaven and Earth: “The three states of the Church. ‘When the Lord comes in glory, and all his angels with him, death will be no more, and all things will be subject to him. But at the present time some of his disciples are pilgrims on earth. [i.e., Church Militant] Others have died and are being purified [i.e., Church Penitent], while still others are in glory [i.e., Church Triumphant], contemplating ‘in full light, God himself triune and one, exactly as he is.’”

It’s worth noting, among other notables in this passage, that the Church Militant is not just out for a stroll; it’s headed in a definite direction and, given the threats within and without, is engaged in what used to be called spiritual combat. It would be hard to say that the recent focus on “walking together” gets all that. The Church Militant pilgrimage includes much more than endless conversation, in which the process itself is more important than the final destination. It’s about the literal – and in the deepest possible sense – struggle to arrive, in the end of time, at the unity of Heaven and Earth.

All this used to be understood as the very reason for the Faith and the Lord’s coming into the world, as we will remember at Christmas: to redeem us from sin and death.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

Between the Dog and the Wolf

Written by Robert Royal

Monday, December 9, 2024

The re-opening of the Cathedral of Notre Dame this weekend reminded me of an experience I had there over a decade ago – and has stayed with me ever since. I was in Paris to give a lecture on my book about the twentieth-century martyrs. (The sequel, on the 21^st-century martyrs, will be published in May for the 2025 Jubilee). I stopped into Notre Dame for evening prayer. There was just a small group of us – not even fifteen. Afterwards, the priest remarked that all the scaffolding had, finally, just been taken down. (There had been internal work being done for what must have been years.) He said, enjoy seeing the whole church again, but don’t linger too long. The guards and other workers had to lock up and get home.

I must have been the sole non-Parisian because everyone else just vanished. And, marvelously, I had Notre Dame de Paris all to myself for a few minutes. It felt like being engulfed, not so much by the beauties of the building, which are countless, to be sure. But you can mostly see those even when the church is full of tourists. Wh

at struck me, without thinking about it, was the length and breadth and height of Notre Dame, and the sheer scope of the Faith in France, with its centuries of great geniuses and saints – and also, alas, since the French Revolution, its many martyrs and apostates.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .

Home Free: a review of ‘The Best Christmas Pageant Ever’

Written by Brad Miner

Tuesday, December 3, 2024

I’m pretty sure I was in a Christmas pageant when I was a little boy, probably at the Worthington (Ohio) United Methodist Episcopal Church, where I also sang in the children’s choir. I’ve never been able to read music (except drum notations), and I can’t carry a tune. But I could listen and imitate, although I mostly hummed. Still, this was almost 70 years ago, and memory fades.

Christmas pageants have been featured in a number of movies, most notably in The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945), in which “Billy,” who can’t be more than 6 years old, does a run-through of the story of the birth of Jesus for Fr. O’Malley (Bing Crosby) and Sister Mary Benedict (Ingrid Bergen). It’s funny and charming.

Just released is The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, and it’s funny and charming. It’s about a church in a small town that yearly puts on a pageant, which the longtime director insists on keeping unchanged in almost every detail, save the kids cast to play Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds.

For the rest of the column, click here . . .