Letter from Oxford

This post is a sort of letter to my friends in the Cornell Society for a Good Time in which I relate odds and ends about my time in Oxford over the past few weeks.

I begin by saying that my time in England has enabled me to discover another dimension of the heresy of Americanism: an abhorrence of doublets. (Naturally, I base my conclusions upon one instance.) As for doublets themselves, one either appreciates their inherent worth or one does not; but there is no argument, excepting an appeal to a sort of atavism, in their defense. At any rate, how did it come to be that in the American translation of the Salve, Regina we say: "Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness, etc." whereas the English translation retains the doubled "salve" of the Latin: "Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, hail! our life, our sweetness, and our hope." Salve, Regina, Mater misericordiae, vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve.

*******

As anyone would imagine, the libraries in Oxford are wonderful. I knew this before, but when I first studied here, I was doing Hebrew and Jewish studies. Now, my interests and reading are mostly in the area of Classics and medieval philosophy. In what is called the lower reading room of the main Bodleian library, one finds all the classical works in three rooms which are connected to what is called the theology reading room. In the theology reading room I sit, because there, I need but walk a step or two and I have the opera omnia of Thomas, Bonaventure, Albert, Scotus - to give some instances - besides all the writings of the Church Fathers, Latin and Greek, and the other authors of the medieval period besides.

I imagine that there are few libraries with such a complete collection combined with such a convenient arrangement for the classical and medieval student. (Apparently, the former head of libraries at Cornell is the recently appointed head of the Bodleian, and the first woman to hold the post. I was so pleased to hear the news.)

Of course, for the most part, one can find the books I mentioned in the library at Cornell and at many others, and these books aren't yet the real treasures of the Oxford libraries. No, the treasures are found among their rare books and manuscripts. On Monday morning, I went to Magdalen College where I had an appointment with the librarian. I had a question about an alternate manuscript reading given in Nicholas Wicki's critical edition of Philip the Chancellor's Summa de bono. My question was precise; it was really but two words that I needed to see. In the phrase from the critical edition, "vel ipsum tempus finitum", I thought it would make more sense if it read, "vel ipsum tempus infinitum," given the argument. Then, a sentence later, I wanted to see a "si" rather than a "sed."

When I arrived at Magdalen, I went first to the New Library, and then I was directed to the Old. I was at Magdalen College for the reason that their Latin Manuscript 66 is one of 14 which Wicki used to put together the critical edition. Unfortunately, the manuscript with the variant I was interested in - infinitum instead of finitum - is in Padua. Still, I thought I would double check Wicki's work and make sure that he hadn't missed a few letters in Magdalen's manuscript.

I was impressed both by the library and the librarian. The room itself is simple, rectangular in dimension, with windows for light in between the shelves and shelf after shelf of old, brown, leathern looking bindings. It reminded me of the Duke Humphries reading room in the Bodleian, though the room in Magdalen is not as ornate as Duke Humphries.


There was no one in this library room at Magdalen except for me and the librarian. In fact, the librarian was there just for me. Latin Manuscript 66 awaited me at a desk by a window, already laid out on the cushioned props used for reading books with delicate bindings. However, with the text, it was as I feared, and that in two respects. First, it was extremely difficult to read; second, I was only able to confirm the good work which Wicki had already done.

I had no previous experience with manuscripts, except for a glimpse or two of photocopies which thoroughly impressed me with the difficulty of reading them. As Wicki had noted, the hand in MS Lat 66 is very regular - a helpful thing! - but I would need some introduction to paleography to appreciate or to read fluently from this manuscript. Thankfully, I had a good idea of where the passage I was interested in occurs relative to the beginning of the book. Consulting my notes while looking very carefully at the dense, black column of writing, I was able to find the very words I had wanted to see. The task of finding the right spot was eased somewhat by illuminated letters - not overly fancy, but nonetheless striking - with which each new section began.

I was only there for an half hour or so. It took me a few minutes to find my place in the book, another few to make notes about what I had seen, and then I was done. It seems that the librarian was slightly disappointed; I think she had expected me to be able to give an appraisal of the manuscript as a whole. Would that I could have! but I'm in the business as a philosopher, and I tried to explain to her why my visit had been one more of curiosity rather than of great importance to my work. She asked me whether I wouldn't want to see the manuscript in Padua. This would be fun, but I'm confident that Wicki got the variant right in the first place, and if he did, I'm no better off than I was before. If he got it wrong, and there's not even one manuscript with the reading which I think makes sense, well, then two things. My supposition may well be wrong or what have I to say in defense of an emendation makes sense regardless of what the manuscripts say. In either case, the point is of relatively small importance to my chapter as a whole.

But to visit such a manuscript is the kind of thing which is possible in Oxford and in few other places.

*******

There are too many concerts and recitals each week in Oxford, but while I'm here, I like to go to one or two per week. On Tuesday night, Catharina Oxoniensis and I went to Christ Church Cathedral expecting to hear some Mozart and Shostakovich. As it turned out, I had bungled the date or the time or something, and so we walked most of the way back when we met two others going to a meeting of the Newman Society to hear a talk by the schismatic Bishop Kallistos Ware of Diokleia. For those of you unfamiliar with Bishop Kallistos, he is an Oxford academic, a member of the theology faculty, and also a monk of the Greek Orthodox monastery on the island of Patmos.

The Newman Society is the oldest continuous student society in Oxford; kind of surprising, I should think, given the age and traditions of this university. Unfortunately, the Newman Society is under the patronage of the university's Catholic chaplain, Fr. Jeremy Fairhead. I say "unfortunately" because Fr. Fairhead is a man given to views which I have long found unpleasant. He once referred to the Oxford Oratorians, in my presence, and knowing that I was a regular Mass goer there, as "ultra-montane." I have never forgotten this remark nor the strong sentiment which would have been necessary for him to speak it in my presence. Of course, I was only a new convert at the time, and what did I know?

Though I believe that the liturgical standard of the Chaplaincy is by and large decent (by Novus Ordo standards), Catharina Oxoniensis has attended some awful Masses there, including one offered by Fr. Nicholas King, S.J. Fr. King insisted that, during the Mass, no one kneel and that all should stand around the altar during the Consecration. Then, they were all given a host to hold in their hands after the Consecration and before the Communion. (Coming from Cornell, this is hardly scandalous or even worthy of mention!) But this is the kind of thing that goes on at the Chaplaincy which was first established at the University during the reign of Leo XIII of immortal memory.

At any rate, we were there last night to hear Bishop Kallistos speak about his life as a monk at the monastery on the island of Patmos. BIshop Kallistos is extremely articulate, clearly a very intelligent man, and an engaging speaker. I knew his name well, but I had never seen him in person nor heard him speak, so it was an agreeable evening.

*******

A final note. While Catharina Oxoniensis and I were at Blackfriars for Confession on Saturday evening, I picked up a little pamphlet they have there, among some others, about the martyrs of Oxford. The Catholic history of this University is wonderful, and I'm always inspired when I read about the English martyrs during the Protestant revolt. But in a characteristically liberal style, which I have come to expect from the English Dominicans, here is the opening paragraph of their pamplet:

Oxford's most famous martyrs are the bishops Hugh Latimer, Nicholas Ridley and Thomas Cranmer, who died courageously for their Protestant faith by being burnt to death, ironically the same method they themselves had approved of (when they still enjoyed the Crown's favour) for dealing with stubborn Catholics and other heretics.

After the opening paragraph, the rest of the pamplet is wonderful, but this is the sort of courageous nonsense talk which is found no less among Catholics in Oxford than in America. I wouldn't expect any less, though, from folks who have all sorts of "fair trade" posters tacked on the bulletin board near the confessional and to the rear of the nave.

There were goods part of the pamphlet, and this was my favorite:

Bl William Davies, seminary priest. Born at Croes-yn-Eirias, Denbighshire. Studied at St. Edmund Hall and Rheims, where he was ordained priest in 1585. Worked on the mission in North Wales. Condemned for priesthood. Compelled to attend Evensong during which he recited Vespers loudly and protested to the crowd that he "would rather die than take part in an heretical service." Hanged, drawn and quartered at Beaumaris, Anglesey, 27 July 1593.

I leave you with that piece of English inspiration!



go to main page