Latin Sermon 2023

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

Haud sine causa defuit spiritus reginae Saba videnti splendorem Salamonis ac audienti sapientiam regis Israel. Haud sine causa, quia hic occursus regalis nobis significat non solum splendorem sed et sapientiam sensus eripere posse et flammam in cor iam ardens inserere maiorem.

Nam haec fabula, quam hodie tractamus, non est magis discendi historia, quam historia conversionis, in qua Regina, sapientia Salamonis confutata, superbiam suam deponit, beatitudinem filiorum Israel confitens, et nomen Domini glorificat.

Quae res, puto, est nobis mirabilis. quomodo enigmatum responsa non solum mentem regalem illuminare, sed exultationem regalis cordis infringere poterant? quomodo ille, quem delectabat de lignis disserere et iumentis et volucribus et reptilibus et piscibus reginae animam, superbia superata, in humilitatem, liberalitatem, et denique cultum Dei Abraham convertere poterat?

Quodsi nobis mirabilia omnia haec, manifesto nescimus quare studeamus ipsi et quo consilio dedicemus vitas nostras in educationem discipulorum. nam textus, eventa, vitas avorum, sane omnia praeterita, sine ira et studio intellegere cupientes, saepe falsum discrimen interponimus inter nos et quod studemus, inter intellectum et sensum, inter, si vultis, discere et educari. fortasse imaginem in mente habemus, nesciocuius physici qui externum mundum per saeptum speculi sui spectat. sic nos, qui studium literarum humaniorum curamus – et magis in diebus nostris – saeptum inter nos et quod studemus interponere nitimur, ac immensum barathrum inter lectorem et quod legimus, alliciti fortasse honore, favore, et divitiis physicorum, obliti et officii ad quod vocamur, et finis ultimi laborum scholasticorum.

Si quis roget physicum, “quare discis?” Respondeat fortasse “ut medicinam inveniam” aut “ut machinam perficiam” aut “ut afflictionem et laborem et egestatem hominum molliam.” sed si quis nos idem roget, fortasse sine cura dicamus, “disco ut discam” aut “disco discendi causa.” fortasse est nobis satis haec sententia. sed non diu satisfaciet, ut puto, rerum administratoribus. et, quod gravius est, non diu satisfacere debet nobis ipsis.

Si desideramus in studiis satisfactionem invenire, necesse est ut speculum physici deponamus et quaeramus hoc genus discendi ad quod se quondam regina Saba applicavit; genus discendi quod non solum mentes sed et corda fovet. et si pudor est, nos non studia nostra transformare sed studiis ipsis transformari, libenter nos pudeat.

Quid dico? celeberrimus almae matris meae magister dixit olim legere debere nos et sacras scripturas quasi alios libros. porro ego dico fortasse legere debere nos aliquando et alios libros quasi sacras scripturas. id est, legere debemus nonnumquam textus, eventa, et omnia quae studemus cum ira et studio, ut transfigurent vitas nostras, corda nostra, ac mores nostros.

Quomodo hoc officium possumus efficere? incipiamus in inceptum ipsum – quia, ut dicunt, incepto bene incipitur – apud Homerum. videmus in incepto carminis duos viros, in certamen cito incitatos. et causa huius fatalis iurgii? non quaelibet res solida sed vanae et incertae notiones. urget enim Peliaden sensus infamiae, qua affligitur, urget autem Atriden edax libido honoris et exsuperantiae, quae ut dilabli videtur. quodsi iurgium notionibus tantum suscitatum est, eventus iurgii sunt valde solidi: raptus Briseidos crudelis, et frigida mors in corpora Danaum descendens. sic enim notiones duorum virorum transformant quasi in res inanimas et mulieres et viros. mulier fit praemium, viri fiunt praeda ferorum.

Quomodo interpretemur hanc historiam? nempe possumus tempore suo continere significationem. Erant homines aetatis aeneae crudeles. erant eorum mores dignitate ac honore obsessi. erant feminae et servi semper foede contumeliis affecti. mortes pauperum pro nihilo habebant. erat illis sanguinis non horror sed fulgor honestus, erat in aciei sudore odor non misericordiae sed immortalitatis.

Licet ut talia deploremus, et ipsi securi maneamus. sed, si audemus, et si in studiis plus quam mores alterius mundi melius intellegere petimus, in illo prisco certamine videmus et nos ipsos et mundum nostrum, quasi in speculo. quot iurgia aetatis nostrae sunt non rebus certis sed notionibus inanissimis incitata? quot mulieres crudeliter sunt tractatae vanis obsessionibus virorum fragilium? quot moriuntur, et hodie, et in Europa, propter stultam libidinem honoris paucorum senum?

Si aperimus libros nostros non solum aperta mente sed et aperto corde, sicut aperimus sacras scripturas, reperimus in illis id quod affert superbiam, id quod frangit cor lapideum, id quod manifestat ante nostros oculos incuriosos humanitatem, necessitudinem, ac amabilitatem vicinorum. tunc demum, videntes omnem sapientiam, qua hac in urbe circumdamur, cum illa illustrissima regina, benigne depressi, deficiet nobis spiritus, confitebimur nostra vulnera et vulnera huius mundi, petentes medicinam, et fortasse medicum ipsum.

Et si recte locutus sum, magnum est nobis officium. non praesertim hic contendimus quo melius praeparemus ad munus scholasticum hos paucos, qui totas vitas dedicabunt studiis. sed immo contendamus ut omnes discipuli studiis inducantur ad transformanda corda, ut si quis rursus nos interroget, “quare docetis?” respondeamus, “ut sit in diebus futuris terrae nostrae ac universo mundo plus humanitatis plus misericordiae plus pacis plus concordiae quam nos in diebus nostris patimur, quod hoc in loco apud libros et sermones didicissent discipuli nostri benignitatem.

Quod dico, reor, haud novum est, sed non moribus huius aetatis aptum. quamobrem? reus, puto, fortasse ille vetus magister, qui ut legeremus sacras scripturas quasi alios libros nobis suadebat. nam ille voluit sinere Athenas Hierusalem inire – et recte – ut intelligamus quod credimus, haudquaquam dubitans, cum omnibus suae aetatis, quin, veritatibus rerum melius intellectis, discipuli sui in Hierusalem redituri essent ad vitam meliorem perficiendam. opera Platonis ergo in linguam nostrum vertit non quo discipuli antiquum philosophum melius intellegerent magis quam ut bene viverent multo postea, diu verborum viri Atheniensis obliti.

Sed diebus in nostris, omnino Hierusalem obliti sumus, et oblivione data est dextera nostra, et videtur Hierusalem, Athenis capta, numquam captura esse celerem sed ferum victorem. mores, leges, litterae, rationes vitae et omnia genera sapientiae, res ratiocinandae videntur et minime res agendae esse – res quas nos, nomine magistrorum et doctorum vocati, putamus dominare, quasi longe a studiis nostris elevati.

Cognovit et Homerus noster, credo, hanc infamem temptationem, cum in eodem libro primo dicit Apollinem cantare apud cenam deorum, simili modo quo poeta ipse fortasse cantabat auditoribus apud iucundum convivium. nos enim deum deis cenantibus canentem spectantes discernimus nos ipsos, edentes et bibentes, poetam ipsum audientes. et interrogat nos Homerus, puto, ubi simus. an sumus apud deos, longe a factis semotos, eos quibus clades hominum sunt modo delectabile spectaculum? vel sumus immo in acie, doloribus et formidinibus et lacrimis involuti? si apud deos, securi manemus, sed intacti; si in acie, illic reperimus nostro in pectore id cor carneum quod est summum praemium omnium studiorum et summa corona vitae humanae.

Pauci sunt, credo, et contempti, qui nunc doceant et discant, talem finem in animo habentes. facilius nempe et honorabilius (quasi histrioni) agere physicum inter textus et res gestas avorum. sed et adhuc manent in hac Universitate nonnullae reliquiae huius sententiae tam antiquae et, credo, tam novae. manent quasi cineres, diu relicti, diu neglecti, sed in se valentes incendium incendere, quod totum mundum illuminet benignitatis fulgore. modo deest sufflatus noster.

Sed si quis me interroget, “ubi sunt cineres, de quibus loqueris,” fortasse dicam, “hic, hac in ecclesia, his in rostris, in quibus semel modo in anno, vetere more disserimus Latina lingua.” cum enim Latine loquimur non studia a longe spectamus, ultra illud barathrum scholasticum, sed in studia inserimur, in communitatem patrum et avorum et proavorum. loquimur enim verbis linguae non mortuae, moribus Tullii fixae, sed vivae, linguae vivae in elegantia sermonum oratorum apud quos insignissimos hodie audeo proloqui, vivae et in asperitate et paupertate moris loquendi huius sacerdotis, diu a libris remoti, facultate huius linguae tot annis desuetudinis eheu privati.

Sed quocumquemodo loquimur, sive apud doctos plausum provocamus sive risum, sudore nostro manifestamus non super quod amemus stare nos velle, quasi Homeri dei, sed in quod amemus desilire nos desiderare, ut ex hoc vasto mari, cuius immensum spatium humilitatis optimus magister, resurgamus, quasi Laertiades, quassati, superbia et arrogantia denudati, afflicti, corda vulnerati, denique tandem agnoscentes non nostri esse deos esse sed animas humanas viventes, populum cordis carnei, ut dicamus cum Saba regina nostris doctoribus:

Beati viri tui et beati servi tui hii qui stant coram te semper et audiunt sapientiam tuam.

Deo Patri, Filio, et Spiritui Sancto sit gloria et magnificentia, imperium et potestas, et nunc et in omnia saecula saeculorum. Amen.

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In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Not without cause did the Queen of Sheba’s spirit fail her when she saw the splendour of Solomon and heard the wisdom of the King of Israel. Not without cause, because this royal encounter indicates to us that not only splendour, but also wisdom has the power to arrest the spirit, and to ignite a greater flame in a heart that already burns.

For this story, which we are exploring today, is not so much a story of learning, as a story of conversion, in which the Queen, confounded by the wisdom of Solomon, lets go of her pride, confesses the blessedness of the Sons of Israel, and glorifies the name of the Lord.

And this, I think, seems strange to us. How could the responses to riddles not only illuminate the royal mind but also break the pride of the royal heart? How could he, who loved to speak of trees, and animals, and birds, and reptiles, and fish, convert the soul of the Queen, her pride overcome, to humility, generosity, and – at last – the worship of the God of Abraham?

But if this appears strange to us, it reveals that we do not really know why we undertake study ourselves and why we dedicate our lives to the education of students. For by seeking to understand the texts, events, historical characters, and indeed the whole of history “without bias or partiality,” we often impose a false distinction between ourselves and that which we study, between the understanding and the senses, between, if you like, learning and being educated. Perhaps we do this imagining ourselves to be some kind of scientist, who sees the external world through the barrier of their magnifying glass. So also we, who apply ourselves to the study of the humanities – all the more in the present age – seek to impose a boundary between ourselves and that which we study, and a huge abyss between the reader and that which is read, allured, perhaps, by the honour, the success, and the wealth of our scientific colleagues, and forgetting the true role to which we are called, and the highest end of all scholarly endeavour.

For if someone were to ask a scientist, “why do you learn,” they might reply “in order to invent a medicine,” or “in order to improve a machine,” or “in order to relieve the sufferings and labours and want of humanity.” But if someone were to ask us the same question, perhaps we would say, unthinkingly, “I learn in order to learn,” or “I learn for the sake of learning.” Perhaps this answer is satisfactory enough for us. But I do not think it will satisfy for long our government. And, more seriously, it ought not to satisfy us for long either.

If we desire to find true satisfaction in our studies, it is necessary to put down the magnifying glass of the scientist and to seek that kind of learning to which the Queen of Sheba applied herself; a kind of learning which nurtures not only minds but hearts. And if this is something people feel embarrassed about – not to seek to transform our field of study but rather to be transformed by it – then we ought to be willing to be embarrassed.

What do I mean? The most famous Master of my own undergraduate College once said that we ought to read the Scriptures like any other book. But I say that perhaps we sometimes also ought to read other books like the Scriptures. That is, we sometimes ought to read some texts, events, and everything which we study with some degree of personal investment, in order that these things may transform our own lives, our hearts, and our behaviour.

How can we achieve this? Let us begin with the beginning itself – for, as they say, the beginning is a very good place to start – with Homer. We see at the beginning of Homer’s poem two men, swiftly driven to a quarrel. And the cause of this fatal argument? Not any concrete thing, but rather abstract ideals. What drives on Achilles is a sense of dishonour, which torments him, what drives on Agamemnon is a biting desire for honour and superiority, which seems to be slipping from his grasp. But if the quarrel arises from abstract ideas, its results are concrete indeed: the cruel seizure of Briseis, and cold death descending upon the bodies of the Greeks. Thus do the abstract notions of two men turn both women and men into, as it were, inanimate objects: a woman is turned into a prize, and the men are made the prey of wild beasts.

How are we to interpret this story? Of course, we could seek to encompass its significance within its own context. Bronze Age men were cruel. Theirs was a culture obsessed with status and honour. Women and slaves were often appallingly abused. The death of the poor was of no concern to them. For them there was not a horror in the shedding of blood so much as an honourable glory, for them there was in the sweat of battle the fragrance not of pity but of immortality.

We can deplore these facts about the past – and remain unchanged ourselves. But, if we dare, and if we seek in our studies something more than to understand better the ways of another world, we can see in this ancient conflict both ourselves and our own world, as if in a mirror. How many of the disputes of our own age are not caused by any “thing” at all, but rather by abstract ideas? How many women are cruelty treated because of the empty obsessions of fragile men? How many die – even today; even in Europe – because of the stupid love of glory of a few old men?

If we open our books not only with an open mind, but also with an open heart, just like when we open the Bible, we find in them that which challenges our pride, that which breaks our heart of stone, that which brings before our apathetic eyes the humanity, the struggles, and the “loveability” of our neighbours. Then, finally, seeing all the wisdom by which we are surrounded in this city, in union with that most illustrious Queen, and gently brought to humility, will our spirits fail us, will we confess our wounds and the wounds of this world, will we seek the medicine of our afflictions, and perhaps also the Doctor himself.

And if I have spoken rightly, our calling is a high one. Our first priority is not to better prepare for scholarly work those few, who will dedicate their entire lives to academia. Rather, let us strive for all our students to have their hearts transformed, so that if someone asks us once again, “why do you teach?” we may respond, “so that in the future there may be for this country and for the whole world something more of humanity, something more of pity, something more of peace, something more of harmony, than we experienced in our own lives, because in this place, amongst their books and their lectures, our students learned to be kind.

I do not think that what I have said is at all original, but it is not fashionable today. Why? I think the guilty party is perhaps that old Master, who encouraged us to read the Bible like “any other book.” For he – rightly – wanted to allow Athens to enter Jerusalem, in order that we might understand what we believe, firmly believing, along with everybody of his era, that once his students had understood their subjects better, they would return into Jerusalem in order to live out a better life. He translated Plato not so much so that his students would understand an ancient philosopher better, but so that they would live better lives far into the future, long after they had forgotten the words of the Athenian.

But in our days, we have forgotten Jerusalem completely, and our right hand has forgotten its cunning, and it seems that Jerusalem, carried into captivity by Athens, will never capture its clever but rough conqueror. Behaviour, laws, literature, philosophies of life, and all types of knowledge seem to have become things to think about rather than things to do – things which we, who are called Masters and Doctors, think we “master,” as if we were perched high above the subjects of our study.

Homer, I believe, was also aware of this unworthy temptation, when in that same first book he says that Apollo sung at the feast of the gods, in the same way, perhaps, that the poet himself sang to his audience amidst pleasant feasting. For when we see the god singing to the gods at dinner we discern there the image of ourselves, eating and drinking, listening to the poet. And Homer asks us, I think, where are we? Are we among the gods, far removed from the action, for whom the slaughter of men is merely an entertaining spectacle? Or are we upon the field of battle, involved in the sufferings, and anxieties, and tears of the mortals? If we are among the gods, we remain secure, but untouched. If we are amidst the battle, we find there in our breast that heart of flesh which is the greatest prize of all our studies and the highest crown of a human life.

Those who teach and learn with such a goal in mind are few and held in little respect. It is easier, of course, and more respected to play the scientist (like an actor) amongst the literature and history of the past. But yet there remain in this University some remnants of this approach, which is so old and yet, I believe, so new. They remain like ashes, long abandoned, long neglected, but having within them the power to ignite a fire which would illuminate the whole world with the light of kindness. All that is lacking is our breath.

And if someone were to ask me, “where are these ashes of which you speak?” Perhaps I might say, “here, here in this Church, in this pulpit, in which one day in the year we speak according to ancient custom in the Latin language. Because when we speak in Latin we do not view our studies from afar, from across that scholarly abyss, but we bind ourselves into our studies, in communion with our ancestors and their ancestors before them. For we speak in the words of a language which is not dead, fixed for ever by the style of Cicero, but alive. A language that is alive in the elegance of the distinguished orators amongst whom I dare to speak today, and a language that is alive in the roughness and poverty of style of the priest standing before you, one who has long been kept from his books, and is deprived of his facility in the language by years of disuse.

But in whatsoever manner we speak, whether we provoke amongst the learned applause or mockery, by our sweat we demonstrate that we do not wish to stand above that which we love, like the Homeric gods, but that we wish to plunge ourselves into that which we love. In order that from this vast ocean, whose immense extent is the best teacher of humility, we may re-emerge, like Odysseus, shaken about, stripped of our pride and arrogance, afflicted, wounded at heart, and finally recognising that it is not our place to be gods, but to be living human souls, a people of the heart of flesh, and then we may say with the Queen of Sheba to our own teachers:

Blessed are your people and blessed are your servants who stand in your presence always and who hear your wisdom.

To the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit be glory and honour, power and dominion, now and for ever. Amen.