Hilaire Belloc bought King's Land (in Shipley, Sussex), 5 acres and a working windmill for £1000 in 1907 and it was his home for the rest of his life. Belloc loved Sussex as few other writers have loved her: he lived there for most of his 83 years, he tramped the length and breadth of the county, slept under her hedgerows, drank in her inns, sailed her coast and her rivers and wrote several incomparable books about her. "He does not die that can bequeath Some influence to the land he knows, Or dares, persistent, interwreath Love permanent with the wild hedgerows; He does not die, but still remains Substantiate with his darling plains."

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Tuesday, 14 May 2013

The Walk - this Saturday: 'Lift up your hearts in Gumber...'





The much anticipated Belloc Walk will be commencing this coming Saturday at 11.00 AM. We will be meeting at the George Inn, in Eartham (there will be a brief tour of the village). From there we will be walking to Gumber Corner via Slindon. If we have time we will pop into the parish church, in Slindon, to view the wooden effigy Belloc wrote a poem about when he was a little nipper: 'The Nameless Knight' (in fact it does have a name!).We may also visit his mother's grave as she is buried in the Catholic churchyard. Slindon has an interesting recusant Catholic history: Mass was celebrated at Slindon House (now a private college) for centuries. On the way out of the village we will pass Courthill Farm where Belloc briefly lived. At Gumber Farm we will picnic. There is a blue plaque, commemorating Belloc, at the Farm (it was erected by West Sussex Council on the 50th anniversary of his death).Gumber was Belloc's favourite place to walk and he mentions it in Sonnets and Verse (1923):

Lift up your hearts in Gumber, laugh the Weald
And you most ancient Valley of Arun sing.
Here am I homeward from my wandering,
Here am I homeward and my heart is healed.
If I was thirsty, I have heard a spring.
If I was dusty, I have found a field.

After the Gumber picnic the walk will resume down the old Roman Road of Stane Street. In the evening, from about 8, there may be (no promises!) a folk music session in The George (which is a splendid establishment serving splendid beer).

For those of you who would like to attend, and will be travelling down from London, the mini-bus we were going to use is currently out of action. Therefore I would recommend catching the 09.02 from Victoria to Arundel which arrives at 10.29. It would be possible to pick some people up from the station (space permitting). If you would like a lift, from the station, then please e- mail me in advance. I will only be picking up those of you who have made a prior arrangement with me.

thehilairebellocblog@gmail.com

We would also request that people e-mail us, if you intend to participate, so that we can make you aware of any last minute alterations. Please do, also, advise if you intend to eat at the pub later. If you are dining, please feel free to bring an instrument and, or, a voice for the folk session. 

For those of you who would prefer to travel by public transport, all of the way, the nearest station is Chichester where you could get the number 99 from Chichester Cathedral (15 minutes). Failing that, you could catch a taxi from Chichester, or Arundel, to Eartham (5 miles).

Join the walk on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/events/153513111493889/



Thursday, 9 May 2013

“The only man I regularly read”...


Belloc, Chesterton and unknown man - 1932


I LIKE to read myself to sleep in Bed,
A thing that every honest man has done
At one time or another, it is said,
But not as something in the usual run;
Now I from ten years old to forty one
Have never missed a night: and what I need
To buck me up is Gilbert Chesterton,
(The only man I regularly read).

The Illustrated London News is wed
To letter press as stodgy as a bun,
The Daily News might just as well be dead,
The ‘Idler’ has a tawdry kind of fun,
The ‘Speaker’ is a sort of Sally Lunn,
The ‘World’ is like a small unpleasant weed;
I take them all because of Chesterton,
(The only man I regularly read).

The memories of the Duke of Beach Head,
The memories of Lord Hildebrand (his son)
Are things I could have written on my head,
So are the memories of the Comte de Mun,
And as for novels written by the ton,
I’d burn the bloody lot! I know the Breed!
And get me back to with Chesterton
(The only man I regularly read).

ENVOI

Prince, have you read a book called “Thoughts upon
The Ethos of the Athanasian Creed”?
No matter—it is not by Chesterton
(The only man I regularly read).



A nameless Ballade by Hilaire Belloc (quoted in Return to Chesterton, by Maisie Ward, p. 131.)


Tuesday, 7 May 2013

Treasures in Trust on the Slindon Estate and the Belloc connection...




Much of the West Sussex village of Slindon is part of the National Trust's 3,500-acre (1,419ha) Slindon Estate on the southern slopes of the South Downs between Arundel and Chichester. The estate, the setting for this lovely walk, was originally designed and developed as an integrated community and it is the Trust's aim to maintain this structure as far as possible.

As well as the village, it consists of a large expanse of sweeping downland dissected by dry valleys, a folly, several farms and a stretch of Roman road. Glorious hanging beechwoods on the scarp enhance the picture, attracting walkers and naturalists in search of peace and solitude. Parts of the estate were damaged in the storms of 1987 and 1990, though the woods are regenerating, with saplings and woodland plants flourishing in the lighter glades. Typical ground plants of the beechwoods include bluebell, dog's mercury, greater butterfly orchid and wood sedge.

Take a stroll through Slindon village as you end the walk and you can see that many of the cottages are built of brick and flint, materials typical of chalk country. During the medieval period, long before the National Trust was established, Slindon was an important estate of the archbishops of Canterbury. Even earlier it was home to Neolithic people who settled at Barkhale, a hilltop site at its northern end.

To help celebrate its centenary in 1995, the National Trust chose the Slindon Estate to launch its 100 Paths Project, a scheme designed to enhance access to its countryside properties by creating or improving paths. This glorious, unspoiled landscape offers many miles of footpaths and bridleways, making it an excellent choice for a country walk.

What to look for:

As you stroll through peaceful Slindon Wood, at the start of the walk, look for the remains of the medieval Park Pale, more commonly described as a bank and ditch. This was originally designed to protect the park's deer. In palaeolithic times, the sea extended this far inland - hard to believe now as you look at the wooded surroundings. A preserved shingle beach indicates that the sea was once 130ft (40m) higher than it is today. Courthill Farm, towards the end of the walk, was once the home of the French-born writer Hilaire Belloc and his wife when they were first married. He spent part of his childhood in the village.

Where to eat and drink:

The Newburgh Arms at Slindon has a good choice of food. As well as sandwiches, jacket potatoes and salads, the menu offers steak and kidney pie, shepherds pie and a selection of roasts. There's also a children's menu and a summer beer garden.
While you're there

Have a look at the Church of St Mary, which is partly Norman and greatly restored. Inside is a rare wooden effigy to Sir Anthony St Leger who died in 1539. Slindon House, now part of a college, was one of the rest-houses of the Archbishops of Canterbury during the Middle Ages.

Tour and explore a sprawling National Trust estate on this glorious woodland walk which offers fine views of Sussex:

Distance 4 miles (6.4km)

Minimum time 2hrs

Ascent/gradient 82ft (25m)

Level of difficulty Easy

Paths Woodland, downland paths and tracks, 4 stiles

Landscape Sweeping downland and woodland

Suggested map aqua3 OS Explorer 121 Arundel & Pulborough

Start/finish SU 960076

Dog friendliness Unless signed otherwise, off lead, except in Slindon village

Parking Free National Trust car park in Park Lane, Slindon


1 From the car park walk down towards the road and turn right at a 'No riding sign', passing through the gate to join a wide straight path cutting between trees and bracken. The path runs alongside sunny glades and clearings and between lines of beech and silver birch trees before reaching a crossroads.


2 Turn right to a second crossroads and continue ahead here, keeping the grassy mound and ditch, all that remains of the Park Pale, on your right. Follow the broad path as it begins a wide curve to the right and the boundary ditch is still visible here, running parallel to the path. On reaching a kissing gate, continue ahead, soon skirting fields. As you approach the entrance to Slindon campsite, swing left and follow the track down to the road.


3 Turn left and follow the road through the woodland. Pass Slindon Bottom Road and turn right after a few paces to join a bridleway. Follow the path as it cuts between fields and look for a path on the right.


4 Cross the stile, go down the field, up the other side to the next stile and join a track. Turn right and follow it as it immediately bends left. Walk along to Row's Barn, cross the stile and continue ahead on the track. The folly can be seen over to the left.


5 Continue straight ahead along the track, following it down to some double gates and a stile. Pass to the right of Courthill Farm, turn right and follow the lane or parallel woodland path to the next road. Bear left and pass Slindon College on the right and St Richard's Catholic Church on the left before reaching Church Hill.


6 To visit the Newburgh Arms, continue ahead along Top Road. Otherwise, follow Church Hill, pass the church and make for the pond, a familiar weeping willow reaching down to the water's edge. Look for mallard ducks here. Follow the obvious waterside path to enter the wood and on reaching a fork, by a National Trust sign for Slindon Estate, keep left and walk through the trees, back to the car park.






Courthill Farm





Sunday, 28 April 2013

The House of Commons and Monarchy...


                             
The State Opening of Parliament. The Queen commands that the MPs attend  her  in the Chamber of the House of Lords. The Commons have just slammed the door in Black Rod's face. 
                             
“And You Cannot Build Upon a Lie” (H. Belloc)—
When the Humbug Has Broken Down and the Sham Exposed.
            
Epigraph:

“But the answer to all this [“sort of hopeless feeling”] is that these growing evils (and they have almost reached that limit after which the State breaks down) are not inevitable and are not necessary—save [i.e., except, unless] under an anonymous system” (Hilaire Belloc, The House of Commons and Monarchy, p. 181—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).

***

“It is [in this context] far more important for us to see and admit what has happened than to discuss why it has happened. It is much more important to find out that your rudder has dropped off in the deep sea than to discover how it dropped off. Yet it may be of service to mention causes briefly before we proceed to the chances of the future” (Hilaire Belloc, The House of Commons and Monarchy, p. 115—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).



In 1920, ten years after Hilaire Belloc had stepped down from his four maturing years of  publicly elected service in the House of Commons, he published a lucid book-length essay, entitled The House of Commons and Monarchy.[1] It is a forthright and equitably proportioned work with a clearly stated thesis; and the development of Belloc's presented evidence and argumentation will help us still  better understand—even in the United States—many timely and timeless things of political and moral moment. For example, the reality of power, especially the formation, sustained moral authority, and gradual decay of a “new governing class” (39): indeed, a wealthy Oligarchy that had indispensably become a well-rooted Aristocracy, “after a sufficient tradition has confirmed them,” (47) even so as to become “a sacramental thing.”(39) Regrettably then, but truly, Belloc says, “one of the causes of the decline of Aristocracy” (179) is “the accumulation of...corruptions.” (179) Thus, Trust is broken; the earlier “general respect” (47) and “ reverence upon which Aristocracy reposed,” vanish.

For it is so, he says, that:

 ''The characters [the enduring qualities] which keep an Aristocratic body in the saddle are easily recognized, though difficult to define. The first, undoubtedly, is dignity. The second, closely related to dignity, is a readiness in the individual to sacrifice himself for the good of the whole. The Aristocratic spirit demands in those who govern a readiness to suffer personal injury and loss for the sake not only of the State...but [for the sake] of the Aristocratic quality of the State, and in particular of the special Aristocratic organism [i.e., the House of Commons] to which the individual belongs'' (85-86—my emphasis added).

However, when then later speaking of the growing “ineptitude” (88) of a governing class, and its selfish, even “ardent passion” to serve “personal safety” (89) rather than the larger Common Good (Bonum Commune), Belloc, by way of sharp contrast, also says:

''When a governing clique ceases to be Aristocratic you feel it not only in specific indignities and particular buffooneries, or petty thefts; you feel it in a sort of insecurity [as well as an insufficiency]. The frantic efforts to conceal, the silly blushing denials, the haste to get away with the swag—all of these are the symptoms: and worst of all is the incapacity for sacrifice'' (88-89—my emphasis added).

Furthermore, in Belloc's words:

Lastly, from two most powerful sources, the Aristocratic State tends to suffer from Illusion, especially in its old age—and illusion is the most dangerous of all things. The two sources whence Illusion insinuates itself into the mood [or “atmosphere” (82)] of an Aristocratic State are, first, its internal security; and second, the legendary nature of the moral authority which the governing class exercises'' (55—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).

Belloc also came to believe that, in the House of Commons, there is “a lack of machinery for recuperation” (57) and, so, “They nourish Illusion to protect their decay” (58—emphasis added). However, although it is so that “Parliaments must be Oligarchies;” (63) likewise “it is universally true of oligarchies that they cannot govern unless they are Aristocratic.” (64) Moreover, an “Aristocratic State demands Aristocratic Action and Temper both in those who govern and in those who are governed” (63—my emphasis added). Such must be, in good times, the reciprocally nourishing culture.

Belloc's main thesis, in the light of earlier English history (especially since the Regicide of 1649) is, as follows:

“The House of Commons was formed by, and is essentially part of, an Aristocratic State. England having ceased to be an Aristocratic State the House of Commons is ceasing to function” (this clear formulation is repeated three times at the outset of his argument, i.e., on pages 4, 7, and 9).

For, “the central institution of that Aristocratic England which the Reformation had made was [and still is] the House of Commons.” (63—my emphasis added) Speaking of the mid-seventeenth century in England and the contention between the newly strengthened vested interests and the Stuart King,  he says:

''The rising quarrel (confused in its eddies  but clear in its main stream) produced the Civil Wars and the destruction of English kingship. The new Oligarchy [with the help of the martial Calvinist, Oliver Cromwell] put to death the last true Monarch in 1649 [Charles I]. His son [Charles II] came back eleven years later, but only as a salaried official.... But why was all this? Why should the supplanting after civil war of one form of government by another, of Monarchy by Oligarchy, have produced so large an effect and one of such advantage to national greatness and glory?....The masses grew more dependent, the rich more powerful and even immune; but of the external growth and wealth and dominion, and all that of which patriotic men are proud, there can be no doubt'' (37-38—my emphasis added).

Belloc considers his own terse answer to the question (“And why?”) to be so important to his overarching argument that he puts his brevity in emphatic italics:

''Essentially because the Oligarchy, which had thus seated itself firmly in the saddle after the destruction of the Monarchy, was growing (through the national sentiment and through the new religion on which that sentiment was based) into an Aristocracy. That is the point. That is the whole understanding of modern English history. As an ultimate result of the Reformation the Kings were broken and replaced by a Governing Class, of which the House of Commons was the [“sovereign”] organ. But that new governing class was not a mere clique, not a small minority merely seizing power. Men have never tolerated such usurpation. They have never allowed an irresponsible few to rule without moral sanction. It would be an insupportable rule....What had come, in the place of kingship, was an Aristocratic State, a State governed by an Oligarchy indeed, but by an Oligarchy which received the permanent  and carefully preserved respect of its fellow-citizens''(38-39—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).

Throughout the later parts of his book, Belloc shows how and why that indispensable and cherished respect gradually (and very consequentially) decayed—while emphasizing the stark fact that it had indeed happened!
In the remainder of this essay, I propose to give special accent to Hilaire Belloc's articulate insights about general moral matters, to include the importance of virtuous, as well as vicious (or subtly degraded), moral character in members of a ruling Elite. For moral character also has social consequences, and, as Belloc has incisively written “The statement that Parliaments are, or can be, democratic is a lie; and you cannot build build upon a lie” (177—my emphasis added). Reform of a long-traditional Governing Class must come from deeper sources, from within and from without. In any case, it must be based on reality, on truth presented fully and in its proper proportions—even though, as Belloc knows well, there are always “critics of too much truth-telling,” (82) in spite of a “known internal breakdown” (82) of an “existing organ of government,” (82) such as the House of Commons. For, he had said: “It is always so when an institution breaks down. The crust survives by a few years the rotten interior.” (81)

Despite its special strengths, an Aristocratic State—in Belloc's view—has its own special vulnerabilities:

''An Aristocratic State is less able to reform itself than any other, and if its essential principle [deserved mutual respect, and even reverence] grows weak, it has the utmost difficulty in finding a remedy for its disease.... An Aristocratic State attacked in its vital principle has no medicinal rules, no formulae upon which to fall back for its healing. Its diseases [in the face of “civil dissension” and distrustful disrespect] are profoundly organic, never mechanical; for the whole action [and “temper”] of an Aristocracy is less conscious and less defined than that of a Democracy or Monarchy.'' (55)

There is “another element” in this matter of the “old age” of an Aristocratic State: the factor of “weariness” (97):

''The weakening of contempt [for moral baseness, and for coarse and cunning “adventurers and rapscallions” (97)], this new intimate companionship with financial powers, not only ephemeral but base, comes in part from fatigue. And this we see in a process everywhere observable: which is the admixture of apology and impudence.... [For example,] to find a man or woman of the governing type (they no longer possess the governing power) apologizing for their frequentation of such and such a [plutocrat's] house, for their acceptation of such and such an insult, and accompanying the apology with a phrase which admits their incapacity to stand firm. It is an attitude of drift and of lassitude in luxury: of a tired need for money. It is the very contrary of that atmosphere of discipline which all governing organs, Monarchic, Democratic, or Aristocratic, must maintain under peril of extinction. Next to this abandonment of principle, this loss of a stiffening standard round which the governing body could rally, and to which it could conform, we note [now, indeed, as of 1920] the disintegration of the governing body. That process has not yet gone very far, but it is going very fast'' (97-98—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).

As to another important quality of Elites, Belloc piquantly observed that, “at the time when the Aristocratic spirit was most vigorous,” (99) “we have seen, not only in our own, but in every other country” that a “ 'Representative' Assembly” itself “does only work” (98-99) when it is

 ''A body slowly renewed, and renewed largely by its own volition; that is largely co-opting [selecting and recruiting] its own membership as elder members  drop out through age, glut of loot, fatigue, tedium, disgrace, or pension. But an organism of this kind, an instrument of government of this kind, a body comparatively small, in the main permanent, and continuous in action, is an Oligarchy by every definition of that term'' (68—my bold emphasis added, italics in the original).

As such an Oligarchy itself develops slowly into a more “rooted” Aristocracy, “there is an aristocratic way of doing it and an unaristocratic way of doing it” (87), thus without “undignified mountebank tricks” (85):

''For instance, it is in the Aristocratic spirit that a member of the Government caught taking a bribe, or telling a public lie, should resign: and until quite lately such resignations were the rule. Another subtle character, and one very little recognized because it is so difficult to seize (yet its presence is powerfully felt), is the representative character of the Aristocrat properly so called.... A living Aristocracy is always very careful to be in communion with, actually mixed with, the mass of which it is itself the chief. It has an unfailing flair for national tradition, national custom, and the real national will. It has, therefore, as a correlative, an active suspicion of mere numerical  and mechanical tests [and even mere financial tests?!] for arriving at that will. To take a practical example: an English governing class, which in the middle of the nineteenth century had given up riding horses or playing cricket, would have ceased to govern; but the extent of the franchise was indifferent to it'' (86-87—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).

On the premise that contrast clarifies the mind, we may see how our Belloc will first have us appreciate the earlier composite of Aristocratic qualities and dispositions, so as to enhance his insights about the drab  or monochromatic sequels:

''Under the old order the governing class maintained a certain hierarchy, and had a regular process of digestion and support [i.e., of incorporating recruitment and as patrons of a richer artistic culture]. The best example of this function in the old Aristocratic organism, the gentry, is its old attitude toward intelligence and creative power (intelligence and creative power are between them the mark of the arts).... In an Aristocracy, while it still has its vigour, the Aristocratic organism recognizes and selects (though itself is not for the most part creative) true creative power around it. It recognizes above all proportion and order in creative power. It has an instinct against chaos in the arts. When what remains of a governing class seeks only novelty and even absurdity, or, what is worse still, a mere label, in its appraisal of creative power, it is a proof that the Aristocratic spirit has declined. The disintegration of the class that should govern is to be seen in another fashion: the substitution of simple, crude, obvious, and few passions for a subtle congeries of appetites'' (98-99, 101-102—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).

Acutely aware as he is of the seductively specious, but deeply corrupt, Vitality of Mammon in the Decline of a State—as some of his richly differentiated essays also confirm, Belloc exemplifies in this 1920 book what these crude and coarse passions, or isolated and inordinate desires, actually mean:

Consider the passion for money. The necessity for wealth, position through wealth, the digestion of new wealth, all these are indeed native to the governing class of an Aristocracy. But they are native only as part of a much larger whole. Wealth thus sought in a strong governing class is subject to many qualifications, the desire is balanced against many other desires. When the attitude towards wealth becomes at once a principal thing and an isolated thing it is a proof, and a cause, of disintegration in a governing class; for instance, when wealth is divorced from manners, or is accepted or sought for at the expense of a grave loss of dignity. And what is true of the appetite for wealth is true of many other things, the appetite for physical enjoyment, the appetite for change, the appetite for new sensation (an appetite born of fatigue and accompanying not strength, but weakness)'' (102-103—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).

 Among “the Governed,” (107) there has also been “a portentous change” (118), as a result of the Industrial and French Revolutions:

''These masses [of the Governed] have been born and have lived their lives utterly divorced from the remnants and even the tradition of the old Aristocratic organism....The new wealthy classes which might have imitated the [landed] squires of an older time, and which at first were  largely assimilated into the governing class, do not live with their workmen. They fled the towns. They established colonies, as it were,...of luxurious houses [not yet “gated communities”] standing miles away from the workshops...., and the proletariat lived, grew, formed (or half formed) its political desires, nourished its bitterness, apart. No social condition more directly contrary to that of aristocracy can be imagined. And this is the immediate as well as the major cause of the phenomenon we are studying. This it is, the substitution of the new great towns for the old country sides as the determining body of society which has transformed the political of England and of the Lowlands of Scotland'' (118-119—my bold emphasis added; italics in the original).

Belloc, very importantly, then says that it was “not, indeed, anything material,” but “it was a spirit; the religion and philosophy of Industrial Capitalism” and “the outward effects of that religion acted as I have said.” (119) One stark result was that:

''The great mass of the populace was left with no bands [no bonds] attaching it any longer to the form of the Aristocratic State....There you have the final condemnation to death of Aristocracy as a principle in this country, and with it a corresponding condemnation to death of the House of Commons. Side by side with the loss of the Aristocratic spirit in those who should have governed there has gone the loss of any desire for, and even the mere knowledge of, Aristocratic government in the mass who are governed'' (119—my emphasis added).

Another result of this “binary” combination is that it “has left the House [of Commons] to-day bereft of moral authority.” For it is fundamentally true, as  the Catholic Church well knows (and as Belloc himself often elsewhere quotes) that “without authority there is no life” (“sine auctoritate nulla vita”). Furthermore, says Belloc with a sense of irreversibility and even a sort of tragic finality:

''Even though the House of Commons were to become as clean as it is now corrupt, as nice as it is now nasty, as noble as it is now mean and petty, or as dignified as it is now vulgar and contemptible, this factor alone, the loss of the popular desire to be ruled by a few, would be fatal to its continued power. (120)
 Even if the House of Commons “might (in part) revive its moral authority,” (132) “who on earth believes that such things will ever be done by the authority of the culprits themselves?” (132) For, though miracles certainly happen, yet the rarest of all miracles is a moral miracle of this kind. A rotten institution reforming itself, and not only reforming itself but being aided in its reformation by all its own corrupt members, servants, parasites, and masters [or “paymasters”], is a thing that history has never seen. History has seen plenty of men raised into the air, many walking on the water, and a few raised from the dead. But it has never seen an institution in the last stages of decay and still possessing nominal power, using that power to chastise and to reform itself'' (132-133—my emphasis added).

Without having any utopian expectations, and knowing well the problems with historic or actual kingship, Belloc does nevertheless believe that a substantive improvement could be attained amidst this cumulatively grim state of affairs if a strong, virtuous, and intimately personal Monarchy were to be restored and again to control the Money Power, inasmuch as:

''The leading function of the Monarch is to protect the weak man against the strong, and therefore to prevent the accumulation of wealth in a few hands, the corruption of the Courts of Justice and  [the corruption] of the sources of public opinion [ thus, the full range of “the Media”]'' (178—my emphasis added).

As a counterpoint to this monarchical preference, Belloc admits that:

''A Democracy also, where it is active and real, can do all these things.[2] You may see every one of these functions at work in a Swiss Canton, for instance. There you may see [legal] tribunals which dread public opinion, judges who are afraid of giving false judgments, laws which forbid too great an inequality of wealth, and the absence of any vast or sudden profits acquired through the cunning of one against the simplicity of many. But where very great numbers are concerned [as in a “numerous democracy”] all theses functions are atrophied if you attempt to make them Democratic in their working; and in the absence of an Aristocratic spirit there is nothing but a Monarch to exercise them [the essential “functions” of just and equitable Governance]....He [the Monarch] knows that he is responsible. He cannot shift the burden to some anonymous or intangible culprit'' (179-180—my emphasis added).

Earlier in the book, Belloc had especially noted, as one of the potential weaknesses of an Aristocratic country (even in its commendable vigour) is to see “how strangely deep in such a country is the worship of powerful men, and how rooted is the distaste in the masses for the responsibilities of government” (79—my emphasis). He later adds a complementary reinforcement to his earlier wise insight:

''Out of citizens who have always been passive of their nature [especially about the burdensome responsibilities of governance], and whose passivity was the very cause of Aristocracy among them, you will never get the Democratic spirit of corporate initiative, and of what is essential to Democratic institutions, a permanent, individual interest in public affairs'' (176—my emphasis added).

After then returning to the matter of monarchy and briefly considering some of the prominent Kings (or Emperors) of history, our Belloc then tries to imagine any of these men in action today, if they were to be “placed at the head of the modern State,” (182)—and yet “not through their [virtuous] character, but [only] through the powers  granted  them by the constitutions of their times” (181-182). Asking and happily (or impishly) answering his own question, he says:

''What do you think would happen to the corrupt judges, to the politicians who take bribes, to the great trusts that destroy a man's livelihood, to the secret financiers boasting that they control the State [“Le pouvoir sur le pouvoir”—in the oft-quoted words of Jacques Attali]? Their blood would turn to water'' (182—my emphasis added).

Belloc often accents the danger of unaccountable finance and its corrupting Oligarchical power, especially to mislead “the remaining inheritors of the old Aristocratic position” (103) in “their now irretrievable mixture with international finance and consequent degradation of blood” (104—my emphasis added). A few pages later, Belloc even says that, for the governed populace, as of 1920, “the [old] gentry no longer means anything to them,” (112) and even the idea of “one governing class is no longer within the vision of the governed” (112)—and “What may be left of such a class they merge in a general vision of excessive, unjust, and indeed malignant wealth” (112—my emphasis added). That is to say, they are seen as if they were all merely detached and frigid Plutocrats or selfishly Squalid Oligarchs—inaccessible and  also still immune from any just accountability in this world.

Hilaire Belloc always combated “an anonymous system,” and its evasive diffusion of personal responsibility and accountability, and he argued, instead, for the return of a Popular Monarchy as was known in historic Christendom, but now, as is just, in prudent view of unique modern conditions and technologies.

The House of Commons and Monarchy, by way of summary, began by showing how Kingship in England was first weakened by the monarchs themselves, to include Henry VII's sly usurpation of the throne, and then especially the spiritual and temporal actions of Henry VIII, who more or less unwittingly helped create a new and powerful Oligarchy which materially profited from the general loot of the monasteries and monastery lands. That new landed Oligarchy gradually incorporated the merchant and professional elements—the lawyers and the financiers, for instance—and that Oligarchical power increasingly worked to weaken (and have leverage over) the Sovereign King, culminating in the Regicide of 1649: the execution of the Stuart King, Charles I. As the new Oligarchy—or somewhat differentiated, and rival, oligarchies—grew in power and influence, they also became more rooted and stable and continuous, until the Oligarchy became an Aristocracy and the Parliament effectively became the Sovereign, Aristocratic  House of Commons. The gradual decay of that House of Commons showed once again the coarser qualities of an Oligarchy, now also containing various alien elements from the outside, as it were—to include the leverage and power of “the Money Power” (as Belloc elsewhere calls it): the Elements and Organs of Finance, to include International Finance—and the Power of the Public Media of Communications (the Press, as it was then known). Then came the further (often anonymous) Oligarchic Manipulations of what was increasingly (but misleadingly) called Democracy—a coarsening and deceptive and drifting development, for sure, which thereby called out, once again, for a restoration in principle, and establishment in actuality, of a sound and strong Personal Monarchy which was attentive to, and finally responsible for, the whole Bonum Commune—as a good Father would care and sacrifice for the common good of his whole family, for which he will finally be held strictly accountable, coram Deo. Before God, in the Final Verdict of Truth—at least in the Faith of a Catholic. And not only Belloc's. “To whom much has been given, much will be required; to whom much has been entrusted, more [even more!] will be required.” (Luke 12:48)

In any case, Belloc saw the humbug and sham of so much of Modern Democracy, as did the honest French intellectual historian, François Furet, who also (like Belloc) wrote books on the French Revolution, one of which contained an important chapter, near the end of his text, on Augustin Cochin (1876-1916), the young French Catholic historian of the French Revolution who was killed on the battlefield of World War I. In that chapter, Furet said with unexpected candor: “Modern Democracy is based on [depends upon] a hidden oligarchy [“oligarchie cachĂ©e”], which is contrary to its principles, but indispensable to its functioning.”[3] That is to say, though in even more trenchant words: “Modern Democracy is based upon a Deception.”

Moreover, since there are always “civil wars within the Revolution itself,” as the French Catholic scholar, Leon de Poncins, often noted, François Furet's insight would be rendered even more perfectly if we put his singular “oligarchie cachĂ©e” into  the plural, “oligarchies cachĂ©es.”  For, there are, indeed, rivalries among the variously manifold and active oligarchies in their quests for advantage and power (as was so, historically, between the Girondins and the Jacobins and their respective Financiers), especially when it is for “Power without Grace” (an acute phrase said more than once by Saint Helena in her candid, cautionary guidance to her own beset and perplexed - and as yet unbaptised - son, Emperor Constantine, amidst the deficiencies and delusions of his burdensome Rule, as so eloquently presented by Evelyn Waugh in his highly differentiated historical novel, Helena (1950). 

When we also recall the title of this essay, we may now appreciate a further nuance of meaning. To the extent that Modern Democracy itself is based upon a Deception—indeed a deliberate deception of rival and often-anonymous oligarchies—it is based upon a Lie (and the greatest social effect of a Lie is that it breaks Trust, even the deepest Trust—as in an intimate Perfidy—and that deeply shattered trust is so hard to rebuild. Even with mercy and grace and “forgiveness from the heart,” wholehearted forgiveness).

When the Humbug has broken down and the Sham exposed—whether about Democracy or Oligarchy or Ecclesiastical Sophistry—we must still  remember, in our sustained and faithful efforts at reconstruction, Hilaire Belloc's own essential words: “And you cannot build upon a lie.” (177)

“The Moral is, it is forsooth: You mustn't monkey with the Truth.”[4]


--Finis-- 

© 2013 Robert D. Hickson



[1]    Hilaire Belloc, The House of Commons and Monarchy (London: George Allen & Unwin LTD.,1920), 188 pages. References to this text will henceforth be in parentheses in the main body of this essay.
[2]    In an earlier footnote, on page 113, Belloc himself says: “The test of the Democratic temper is a popular craving to possess  public initiative, and the test of Democratic government is the exercise of that initiative. Chance consultation by vote has nothing to do with Democracy.” The American Founding Fathers, in The Federalist Papers, also disapprovingly spoke  of the instability and irresponsibility of mere “numerous democracy.” A rule by mere number and quantity, that is.
[3]    François Furet, Penser la RĂ©volution française  (Paris: Gallimard, 1978), Part II, Chapter 3 (Augustin Cochin: la thĂ©orie du jacobinisme), p. 241.  Another rendition of the French original is: “There is in all democratic power, a fortiori in all pure democratic power, a hidden oligarchy, which is at the same time contrary to its principles and yet indispensable to its functioning.” Augustin Cochin himself especially, and famously, studied those active leavens of the Revolution: the  so-called associations or societies of thought (SociĂ©tĂ©s de PensĂ©e). These intellectually and operationally active groupings would also be properly considered as networks of little, though disproportionately influential, “oligarchies.”
[4]    This is a close paraphrase of the two concluding lines from one of  Hilaire Belloc's own buoyant verses, entitled “The Example.” See, for example, Hilaire Belloc's Cautionary Verses (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1941), pp. 402-407. The last two lines of that sprightly, cautionary verse are: “The Moral is (it is indeed!)/ You mustn't monkey with the Creed.”



Monday, 22 April 2013

Religion and politics in Bellocian biographies...

Cardinal Richelieu at the Siege of La Rochelle

In any brief discussion of Hilaire Belloc, the subject matter must be restricted rather severely. This essay will examine just one type of writing, his political works, and a specific genre at that, namely, his biographies. But even this narrowing leaves a large number of actual works. Because of Belloc's ability to present timeless material in a timely manner we will consider a subject of perennial importance, namely, Belloc's views on religion and politics, and, specifically, his opinion of priests in political office.

Belloc wrote three major book-length essays about priests who were of political importance. Two of these men, Thomas Cardinal Wolsey and Armand-Jean Cardinal Richelieu held explicitly governmental posts; indeed, both men were for some time second only to their respective kings in national authority. The third, Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, while not a political office-holder, nevertheless had a great political impact in his day. Before turning directly to these three works, we must keep in mind four strong views which animated much, perhaps most, of Belloc's political thought, views concerning the Catholic Church, European unity, democracy, and the monarchy. While one might well disagree with what Belloc has to say on these matters, one cannot understand him without an appreciation of the role that his views on these four subjects played in his work.

The Catholic Church was for Belloc what it is for any Catholic, the divinely founded means to Eternal Salvation. All other things pale in comparison to it, to its health, and to its mission. From this basis, Belloc did not, contrary to some critics, argue the unimportance of the secular order or of profane institutions. He was, in fact, frequently a staunch supporter of these things. But he did argue their relative unimportance when compared to that of the Church. For this reason that which was dearest to Belloc's heart was European unity, that trans-ethnic unity which pre-dated Charlemagne and survived fairly intact until the time of Luther. For Belloc, this unity was not just a good in itself, but it was also an able means of protecting the Church and of facilitating her work. In considering Belloc's views on democracy and the monarchy, however, we note some incongruity, for Belloc was at once a democrat and a monarchist. A little reflection, though, will clear the confusion.

Belloc was a democrat in that he firmly supported the right of each man to own property and to manage his own affairs as much as possible. His love of local tradition only enhanced his democratic inclination. It goes without saying, of course, that Belloc was a militant anti-socialist, no doubt because socialists are militantly anti­democratic. In light of this pronounced democracy, it might come as some surprise that Belloc wrote with such respect for the monarchy, even while he criticized many individual monarchs. Why this love of the monarchy, and how do we reconcile it with Belloc's concern for democracy?

The monarchy, according to Belloc, presented many advantages. It could provide single and effective leadership in matters concerning the public practice of religion both through official legislation and by personal example. More importantly, for Belloc, the monarchy, was the traditional bulwark protecting the common man—the democrat—against the greed and domination of the rapidly rising wealthy classes. Although the monarchy could, and did, abuse the people, it was more frequently the only power that checked the well-armed and wealthy baron from moving against the individual farmer and peasant. Thus the monarchy could be seen as the guarantor of democracy. When we combine these views about the Church, European unity, democracy, and the monarchy, we find that the single unifying thread of Belloc's political thought seems to be the search for that political system in which men could best save their souls.

In light of this principle it is clear that Catholic priests, espe­cially priests in political life, would play a great role. How they behaved and how they conducted affairs of Church and State could not but be a matter of great interest to Belloc. In his books on Wolsey (1930), Cranmer (1931), and Richelieu (1930), Belloc explicitly disclaimed to be writing histories of these men, or even biographies in the strictest sense. Rather he sought to examine why these men acted as they did and to discern their characters and motivations. All three men were responsible for acts with which Belloc strongly disagreed. His disappointment in each man was profound. Wolsey's gross mismanagement and abuse of authority as Chancellor under King Henry VIII provided the crucial backdrop for the English schism. As Belloc repeatedly laments, Wolsey watched uncomprehendingly as England was lost to the Church. Cranmer, in turn, through his admittedly magnificent use of the English language, provided Protestant preachers with an invaluable tool, the Book of Common Prayer. Without it, suggests Belloc, the English schism would never have caught on with the same depth or rapidity. Richelieu, finally, had and lost the last clear chance to restore a united Europe before the religious division there became, for all human intents, permanent. His efforts to advance France at the expense of her Catholic neighbours closed off any reasonable hope of healing the religious wounds of western Europe.

Yet in his historical essays, Belloc genuinely respected and wrote charitably and truthfully about Wolsey, Cranmer, and Richelieu. Belloc's reputation as a bitterly anti-Protestant writer or as caustic critic of weak Catholics is not borne out here. The point is clearest in Wolsey. Belloc is careful to note, for example, that, as nearly as a human being can judge these things, Wolsey reconciled himself to the Church prior to his death. Despite the immeasurable damage that Wolsey did to the Church in England, Belloc credits him with repairing his own relationship with God. That, after all, is what is most important. Belloc, more over, is objective enough to note that Cranmer did not seek any position of influence for love of money--no mean praise for men of power of that age. While Belloc does have a rather critical tone for Cranmer in some of his other histories, that tone is greatly reduced in his full-length study of the man. The main difference, of course, and the one that likely explains Belloc's differing evaluations is in the death of each man. Wolsey sought and likely achieved reconciliation with the Church; Cranmer abjured it. Of the three. Richelieu wins as much praise as one could possibly expect from Belloc, considering his fundamental disagreement with Richelieu's programme. He cannot resist at nearly every turn the desire to praise Richelieu's intelligence, his foresight, his love for France, and his deferment--in more cases than not--to the immediate needs of the Church. Belloc, then, has clearly demonstrated his ability to write in measured, charitable terms about men with whom he strongly disagrees. It is a lesson from which all may learn.

The second observation we should make on Belloc's works is also one that might strike us as odd coming from Belloc, the Catholic political thinker, namely, that priests have no special skill at politics by reason of their priesthood. This point is especially well made in Wolsey and in Cranmer. While Wolsey is praised for having a mind capable of dealing with fantastic detail, he still lacked, in Belloc's analysis, that crucial ability to discern men's motivations. Wolsey failed, of course, in nearly every major attempt at foreign affairs. Only his successes at home—successes that were, by and large, administrative, not political—kept him in power. And Cranmer exhibited little interest in politics, except in so far as it facilitated his efforts to make the English Church autonomous. Cardinal Richelieu, on the other hand, was by any measure a genius at politics. There is nothing in Belloc's account, however, to suggest that Richelieu owed this ability to his priesthood.

What Belloc does say, especially concerning Wolsey and Cranmer, and arguably concerning Richelieu, is that the Church and the priesthood gave these men extensive political opportunity. Wolsey and Cranmer were middle-aged clerics possessed of little more than minor benefices when they were noted by political leaders and advanced along the political ladder. Richelieu, while making this advance at a much earlier age, also owes it to his priesthood that he was noticed and trusted with political matters. Consequently, because these men received their political opportunity from the Church, Belloc judges all three men more strictly than he otherwise might have judged them. All three were failures in Belloc's eyes.

The third lesson that we may draw from Belloc's essays is that commitment to the religious life tends to decline in the face of partisan politics. The crush and pace of the political world is incompatible with the thoughtful reflection needed to nourish a life in the Lord. For Wolsey, this principle was startlingly true. He gave himself most completely to the worldly and to the profane. Richelieu did practically the same thing, though he seemed somewhat more attracted to abstract notions of power and influence than to material goods. Only Cranmer maintained a substantial degree of religious commitment; indeed, Belloc suggests that this commitment was the guiding force in Cranmer's life. But if Cranmer resisted rather well the allurements or worldly power, he was also the least directly involved in political affairs. About the best thing that Belloc can say about these priests in politics is that, almost without exception, their lay peers were worse. Perhaps the priesthood introduced some moderating influence after all.

A question now presents itself: is the incompatibility of priesthood and politics (an incompatibility which Wolsey, Cranmer, and Richelieu betray so forcefully) something that is unavoidable in the combination, or was it merely peculiar to these three men? To answer this question, we can only speculate for nowhere in his studies of these men does Belloc directly address the matter. (The only reason for this apparent lacuna is that, when Belloc was writing, priests in political office posed no serious problem. Certainly none presented the complex problems that priests involved in the politics of North and Central America present today.) The answer to the question lies in the nature of the religious vocation itself.

Overlooked though it may be, the essence of every religious vocation is contemplation. While different apostolates call for greater or lesser time devoted to contemplation and meditation, every priest and religious must practice some meditative prayer and usually a fairly large amount of it. Here, Belloc would insist upon the final incompatibility of the priesthood and politics. The political world does not give itself to detached reflection about ultimate things; it does not even give itself to any reasonably necessary contemplation about religious matters. Of course, politics can be a moral, noble undertaking in itself, and religious belief should guide political decision-making. But it is not proper to the religious vocation to cut it off from its contemplative roots and to immerse it in profane matters, and frequently, in personal personal political preferences. Yet such is the inevitable result of absorption in political affairs. Religion is indispensable to public policy; but, as Belloc's three extended essays have shown, priests are out of place in political office.


 Edward Peters, "Religion and politics in Bellocian biographies", Chesterton Review 12 (1986) 195-199.


Cardinal Wolsey

Monday, 15 April 2013

On Irony as the 'Avenger of Truth' - James V. Schall S.J.




Irony is a flourishing topic of study today in many academic circles. Indeed, academia itself is one of the prime subjects for irony -- no one today, for instance, would simply accept without amusement the notion that the academy is where you find unvarnished truth in our society. Almost everyone has heard of the rigid closure to truth that is found throughout the universities. The very title of Allan Bloom's now famous, but hardly attended to, book, The Closing of the American Mind, is ironical, as befits a good student of Plato. It is simply amusing and bitter-sweet that a book on the status of the open university would portray its mind as precisely "closed."

In the Selected Essays of Belloc (Penguin), we find an essay, "On Irony." It is a remarkable essay. Indeed it is the justification of irony as a legitimate but dangerous tool in the pursuit of truth itself. We sometimes have to speak the truth over the heads of someone who will not listen, but it is not irony unless there is some third party, even if it is God, who does listen to the implied, hence ironical, truth.

Take for instance that passage from the Declaration of Independence about self-evident truths among which is that all men have a right to life. Our judges, politicians, and reporters may well cite this passage with great solemnity as if this obvious principle is one quite widely accepted in our society. The very reciting of the passage is ironical in a society where millions are legally killed and the lives of many others constantly in jeopardy. A Pope will say, on the contrary, that we live in a culture of death. He speaks no irony.

"It is the intention of irony," Belloc tells us, "that it should do good, because it is of the nature of irony that it should avenge the truth." How does it do this avenging? Irony intends to inflict a wound. It points out to someone, anyone, the breach not only between what we say and what we do, but between what we do and what is right. Irony cannot be used with any "propriety except in God's service." Thus Belloc thinks that if we are morally compromised, we will not see ourselves as we are. We will have no criterion against which to see our depths. "The history of Letters is full of men who, tempted by this or that, by money or by ease, or by random friendship, or by some appetite lower than the hunger and thirst after justice, have found their old strong irony grow limp and fruitless after they had sold their souls." What a remarkably powerful sentence that is -- limp and fruitless men who have sold their souls!

Irony seems to be for men of the world. It is a strange virtue, if virtue it is. "To the young, the pure, and the ingenuous, irony must always appear to have in it a quality of something evil, and so it has, for ... it is a sword to wound. It is so directly the product or reflex of evil that, though it can never be used -- nay, can hardly exist -- save in the chastisement of evil, yet irony always carries with it some reflections of the bad spirit against which it was directed." The "ironical man" -- Socrates was said to be such -- was often seen by his listeners to be mean-spirited or merely jesting with them. They did not grasp the truth he was indicating.

Belloc understands irony to be a primary weapon to "defend right against wrong." Indeed, the "bad spirit" that irony seems to take over from the evil it attacks would suggest that we should not use it. Yet, Belloc says, "how false it is to say that vengeance and the hatred of the evil men are in themselves evil, all human history can prove." This sentence needs sorted out. Vengeance, the requiting of an evil in the name of justice, the hatred of evil men, that is, the hatred of what they do, is not itself evil. Belloc appeals to the common sense and practice of mankind as witness. A society or people that bear absolutely no anger at evil done to the good or innocent, that has nothing but praise for the evil that men do, is itself a corrupt society that can feel nothing of the divine wrath, nothing of the divine criterion of right and good.

This is heady doctrine, Belloc knows. "A happy world, such as the world of children, or any society of men who have still preserved the general health of the soul -- such a society may be found in many mountain valleys -- needs none of this salt for the curing and the preservation of morals." But most societies are filled with the evil that occasions irony, from the poets and the old men who have known some wisdom.

But, perhaps too close to home, what about a generally corrupt society, one that enacts the violations of the commandments as its good deeds, as its rights? "There is a last use for irony, or rather a last aspect of it, which this general irony of nature and nature's God suggests: I mean that irony which can only appeal in the letters of a country where corruption has gone so far that the mere truth is vivid with ironical power." We can live in a society in which even the statement of the Commandments is ironical, since their very statement speaks against what is going on everywhere.

Belloc concludes with a penetrating sentence: "No man possessed of irony and using it has lived happily; nor has any man possessing and using it died without having done great good to his fellows and secured a singular advantage to his own soul." No doubt there is something autobiographical in these powerful lines of Belloc. He did not suffer fools lightly, but he did enjoy them. But he hated evil and was not afraid to call it such, even when he had to speak ironically about it, even when, even today, when we read him, we see that he speaks to God when he refuses to call evil anything other than it is.

Belloc did not live a happy life in many ways. But he did great good to his fellows and secured a "singular advantage to his own soul" because the evil in things was not allowed to pass unspoken. "How false it is to say that vengeance and the hatred of evil men are in themselves evil." What Belloc added to the normal wounds that irony is intended to inflict on evil doings is wit and laughter, the two things the mind in moral and intellectual error can least stand to hear directed to itself.


From Schall on Belloc, Unpublished, 1997.

James V. Schall S.J.