Book Reviews
Book Reviews FAITH MAGAZINE March - April 2016
The Evidence for God: The Case for the Spiritual Dimension by Keith Ward
Facing Up To Real Doctrinal Difference by Robert Magliola
Courage and Conviction: Pius XII, the Bridgettine nuns, and the rescue of the Jews - Mother Riccarda Hambrough and Mother Katherine Flanagan by Joanna Bogle
Saint Therese of Lisieux and her Sisters by Jennifer Moorcroft
The Evidence for God: The Case for the Spiritual Dimension by Keith Ward, DLT, 142pp, £9.99
Reviewed by Hugh Mackenzie
Keith Ward is attempting something in this book which is important for the rebuilding of western civilization. He aims to synthesise prominent aspects of contemporary philosophies of perception and science in a way that supports a realm transcending the sensed physical realm. He edges towards creating room for those twin doctrines of Christian natural philosophy, the transcendent Creator with Man in his image. Deepening such key beliefs through taking seriously the profound impact of modern scientific method upon Greco-scholastic epistemology is highly unusual, yet in tune with the goals of the Faith Movement.
Ward’s succinct prose and his deft use of western philosophy, from the latest insights into Plato up to the current state of post-Kantian epistemological debate, might have justified the subtitle ‘An engaging primer for the history of western natural philosophy’ – omissions from contemporary thinkers mentioned below notwithstanding. His actual subtitle captures the fact that he is just trying to suggest that the balance of evidence is in favour of a non-material realm.
Ward presents a range of good evidence that the ‘felt’ perception of ‘values’ is of a reality which to some extent transcends the perceiver. The experience of personal benefit, harm or duty such as ‘dangerousness’ and ‘goodness’ is evidence of the non-physical for Ward. This is because he assumes that the objective physical, conceptualised, for instance as ‘lion-shape’ or ‘lion-ness’, is value-less. This is indeed a prominent assumption in the post-Humean philosophy of science, with roots in Greco-Scholastic hylomorphism. Ward is not alone in making the ‘fact-value’ distinction one concerning two metaphysical realms. But he fails even to allude to the radical challenges to this which emerged in the 20th century from some Pragmatists and from Ludwig Wittgenstein, with their “collapse of the fact-value system”, a view now prominent in contemporary philosophy of science. For myself, using mind- matter realism of Edward Holloway, founder of the Faith Movement, the failure to see physical things and their values as aspects of one dynamic metaphysical order undermines his laudable project. For he falls short of central tenets of Christian tradition in these ways:
He self-consciously prescinds from claiming his evidence conclusively supports the
spiritual realm, as it is second class to the scientific evidence of value-free facts.
His Creator is decidedly not transcendent of values – that is the goodness of a
person, the beauty of art and even the dangerousness of a lion.
The line between something having a spiritual dimension and not seems to be
sentience.
Intentional freedom seems to be, for him, increasingly present in increasingly sophisticated life forms, not just a human thing.
This in turn means that he loses the Judaeo-Christian revelation of moral evil as metaphysically secondary and radically unnecessary relative to the intrinsic goodness of creation, and as resulting from the human abuse of his unique spiritual freedom. Indeed he virtually subsumes moral evil under natural evil, and sees Eastern answers to the problem of evil as essentially compatible with the Christian one.
The false assumption then is that it is manifest in our experience that concepts such as ‘lion-shape’ and ‘lion-ness’ do not intrinsically impact upon the well-being of (i.e. have value for) the perceiver in the way that felt’ predicates such as ‘dangerousness’, ‘health’, ‘beauty’, ‘justice’ and ‘good’ do.
Yet Pragmatism has effectively questioned the intrinsic lack of something beneficial in coherently conceptualised information – and so should really be discussed in a book like this. More importantly, I could find no clear-cut criteria for a affirming the value-neutral character of Ward’s ‘physical’ forms. For instance, public veriability (e.g. through experiment-like activity) is acknowledged by Ward as applying clearly to some values, and to a limited degree to most values. The only possible exceptions I can see are but briefly adduced by Ward, namely the measurability and reducibility of physical objects of the sense, which would seem not to apply to values. Yet post- Wittgensteinian philosophy challenges the use of measurement for this purpose and the very reality of ontological reducibility. Furthermore, assuming the non-reducibility of a value, having purportedly established the reducibility of value-less predicates like lion-ness, rather begs the question.
So this question remains unanswered by the end of this book: how do we know that value neutrality is intrinsic to first order mental conceptualisation of sensation? To paraphrase his subtitle, if we call the realm of value spiritual, what is ‘the case for the existence of the non-spiritual dimension’?
For Edward Holloway, all the physical is in intrinsic relationship with intelligent, active, spiritual perception. All known things are de nied in reference to being known by mind. All things are, to some degree, in unison with each other and do something meaningful, and so valuable, for the perceiver. The degree to which this is constructive, and the degree of its unison with other objects of perception, constitutes the degree of positive value.
Value-laden functionality is a necessary dimension of all experience of any sentient being with a dynamic, seeking nature, which engages constructively, and often according to manifest desires, with its dynamic environment. Indeed, actuality and potentiality, value, universality and objectivity are intrinsically interdefined in any ecosystem. Ward is right that all value must be perceived by mind and such perception terminates for intelligibility in the perception of another mind. But for us this is true, in varying degrees, of all perception whatsoever.
All of the thinkers I have mentioned, Ward included, acknowledge a further cognitive dimension in humans, namely that of knowledge. For most this involves most or all of these: discursive reasoning, intentional reference (thinking ‘of’), propositional inference, judgement of relative values across a range of (‘modal’) possibilities, and positive intentions leading to action.
Ward briefly mentions intentional reference as being increasingly recognised today as irreducible to the categories of physical causation. For Edward Holloway the ability to form intentions is at the heart of the spiritual. He therefore makes a much clearer and consistent distinction between animals and humans than Ward. Such spiritual mind immediately controls and directs the material body and therefore the material environment. The distinction between spirit and matter is ultimately that between freedom and determinism, between that which can form and enact intelligent intentions, and that which is simply the value-laden object of that free action according to the categories of physical, deterministic causation.
So material, deterministic things are easier to understand and measure than free spiritual persons, but all meaningful experience, including sense-concepts, intellectual judgment, moral evaluation and personal communion, is rooted in common, social engagement with our environment. Nothing we know could be known without it. To exist, as far as we can know, is to be part of such meaningful engagement. It is not values per se but intentionality, and its fruition in free intelligent intentions, which indicate the spiritual dimension and offer the heart of the analogy to absolute, creative mind.
Ward has made his good knowledge of the state of secular and Christian scholarship on this debate accessible to a wide range of readers. His is an important contribution to a crucial debate. In my view he inadvertently highlights the need to follow the post-Kantian momentum to a realism that relates matter and mind immediately and as a primary reality.
Fr Hugh MacKenzie is a Westminster diocesan hospital chaplain who is studying for a PhD in the history of the philosophy of science at UCL.
Facing Up To Real Doctrinal Difference by Robert Magliola, 2014, Angelico Press, 224 pp, £10.95
Reviewed by John Walsh
This is a challenging book. The author is a professor of philosophy and religious studies at the Assumption University in Thailand. He is a Carmelite lay tertiary and is a liated to a Buddhist centre in New York. The book has received praise from Christian and Buddhist writers and figures.
The book is an attempt to see how some thought motifs from the philosopher Jacques Derrida ‘can nourish the Catholic-Buddhist Encounter.’ This encounter- dialogue is a rich one and is associated with great names such as Fr. William Johnston SJ. I did not find this an easy book to read, and this review will touch on three areas that come from my encounter with the writing. I will bracket them with the words: the positive, the negative and the uncertain.
The positive. The author has a knowledge which is deep and wide. It is also joined to practice and life which is great to see. There are interesting explanations of what Catholicism and Buddhism both are in their teaching and understanding. There is a chapter looking at the Hellenization of Catholic theology and how this touches the dialogue. There is a good summary of what leading Buddhist figures such as the present Dalai Lama and Thich Nhat Hahn see as the place of Christian faith and presence in the world. There are also some lovely quotes such as the great Jesuit dialogist Fr Yves Raguin SJ on page 134 and Fr Michael Barnes SJ on page 133. There is much in this book to help us learn and see aspects of the two great faiths and their modern encounter.
The Negative. The Foreword is key to this book. It looks at pertinent Derridean concepts. This helps set the aim for the work. The problem is that the writing is very academic and people will struggle to read and understand it. An example of one such sentence is on page 29 where the author writes:
‘The diachronic incessancy of (negative-) time thwarts any spatial “fixation”; the synchronic demands of (negative-) spatial measurements thwart incessant temporal flux’.
I appreciate the book may be aimed at academia and philosophy and theology departments primarily. However, the back of the book claims it as a resource for interfaith directors and lay participants. The book does not continue in this vein, but this approach does hamper its message, and in my amateur opinion makes it more difficult to understand. I can’t help thinking of Jesus the Master sitting with sherman, talking to women involved in prostitution and sharing with tax collectors in a language simple, deep and engaging. I wonder if the best language in the world of inter-religious dialogue has that same feature.
The Uncertain. Robert Magliola presents the case that the work of Jacques Derrida nurtures the Catholic-Buddhist understanding and exchange. He uses Derridean themes like ‘Overlap-in-the-obverse’ to express possibilities for the dialogue. This thought motif is where on common ground one party is in possession and one is in default. This does not lead to synthesis or merger. The author argues that in the Catholic-Buddhist dialogue this can lead to the discovery in ourselves of parts of our own tradition that lie dormant and untapped. This can lead to the discovery and activation of what we encounter in our own tradition analogous to the other. I am not certain if the Derridean approach can support and nourish the dialogue in the ways we all hope.
This book I would recommend to understand the dialogue and encounter, to think through the world view of Catholicism and Buddhism and to start to think how modern philosophy can support the work. The real deep nourishing of the Catholic- Buddhist encounter I think may well come from other places.
John Walsh has a BA in History and an MA in Theology; he lives in Bradford.
Courage and Conviction: Pius XII, the Bridgettine nuns, and the rescue of the Jews - Mother Riccarda Hambrough and Mother Katherine Flanagan by Joanna Bogle, Gracewing, 86pp, £6.99
Reviewed by Richard Marsden
Three afternoons a week, two or three students at the Venerable English College in Rome turn left out of the seminary door and take a short walk to serve Benediction for their neighbours at the Bridgettine convent. Afterwards, the sisters provide tea and cake, an added incentive for the seminarians to put their name on the rota. But perhaps not all trainee priests realise they go to a place where two holy Englishwomen helped hide Jews during World War II and were key players in the post-war relief effort. The causes for their Beatification are open, and one day they may join the majority of the 44 martyrs of the seminary as Beati or even in the communion of saints. Via di Monserrato and Piazza Farnese truly is a little English corner of Rome.
Joanna Bogle’s book follows the story of these two Englishwomen – Mother Riccarda Hambrough and Mother Katherine Flanagan. The reader has to wait for the main subject of the title until the last two chapters as the middle part focusses comprehensively on the earlier life of the two gures. In fairness, the author points out the dificulties of providing a detailed account of the assistance to the Jews because, after all, it was conducted in secrecy. The more general story of Catholics helping Jews in Rome and Italy as a whole is outlined in the rst chapter. Several examples are given of how Pope Pius XII was instrumental in ordering the protection of Jews in the Vatican, religious houses and any other place possible. These concrete reports dispel any modern day theories which accuse the ponti of collaborating with the Nazis. Some interesting facts and gures are presented. Italy had one of the highest rates of Jews that were saved in any one country – 35,000 to be precise. Between 4,000 and 7,000 Jews were hidden in Vatican City alone. The Church saved 700,000 Jewish lives as a whole during World War II.
The story then switches to the early life of Catherine Hambrough. Her family di culties are documented as well as her baptism into the Catholic Church in Brighton under the name of Madeleine. She was sent to boarding school but shortly after the death of her father was inspired by a Swedish noblewoman and mystic of the 13th century – St Bridget (or Birgitta).
A chapter is devoted to introducing the Bridgettine order and the enthusiasm of Fr Benedict Williamson in restoring it to England through his parish of St Gregory’s Mission in Earlsfield, Wimbledon. This became a centre of religious life based on Mass, Benediction, confessions and nightly compline. ‘Kitty’ Flanagan is introduced as someone who went there regularly for Compline and, under Fr Benedict’s in uence, discerned a vocation to the Bridgettines. She travelled with the priest and another local girl to begin as novices at the Mother House in Rome where St Bridget herself lived.
The story now gathers pace with the toing and froing of the order between a number of premises in Rome and the arrival Madeline Hambrough, who takes the name of the English Bridgettine martyr Richard (Riccarda) Reynolds (canonised later in 1970). The outbreak of World War I puts the English sisters on the other side of battle lines from their families. When a massive earthquake struck the country a year later, the sisters took in orphans. A charism of the order responding to immediate needs was emerging, as was a practice of daily sung offieces. Bogle gives a detailed description of the order’s expansion, such as the founding of a house at Uxbridge by Katherine Flanagan, of which she became mother superior before moving to Vadstena, Sweden, the birthplace of St Bridget.
In Chapter 7, Bogle reaches the main thrust of her work. In the 1930s, the sisters in Rome nally settled at the original Casa di Santa Brigida in Piazza Farnese. What was initially a guest house became a secret hiding place, particularly after German troops entered Rome in 1943. The story of the Piperno family forms the main illustration of how the Bridgettines played their part. An account of one of the children, Piero, talks about the discreetness of the sisters, and the di erence in nature between them. The German authorities generally left the convent alone, particularly when the nuns declared it, probably uno cially, to be Swedish territory. When French forces arrived on 4 June 1945, the relief work of the Bridgettines was not over. They were instrumental in the post-war e ort, with long queues of people emerging at their door for food and clothing.
Bogle’s short book marks out Mothers Katherine and Riccarda as great heroes in dangerous times, motivated by their deep love of Christ and devotion to St Bridget. It expresses enthusiasm for their causes and the mind-matter hope that one day, they might join their Mother Superior, Elizabeth, in being declared beati ed by the Church. For now, Mother Riccarda is most publically commemorated by having a number 7 bus, which ends up at Brighton Marina, named after her.
Richard Marsden is a seminarian for the Diocese of Middlesbrough, studying at the English College, Rome.
Saint Therese of Lisieux and her Sisters by Jennifer Moorcroft, Gracewing, 201pp, £9.99
Reviewed by Clare Anderson
With an avalanche of books about Therese, do we really need another? The author addresses this in her introduction, stressing that this work will focus instead on ‘those around her who would describe themselves as “lesser souls” compared to Therese, but who nevertheless put into practice her “Little Way”, those who were part of her life, both in her family and in the monastery. In biographies of Therese they appear almost like bit-players in her life, in the periphery ... But these people are interesting in their own right’ (p.vii).
Indeed they are. Jennifer Moorcroft, a lay Carmelite, brings a deep understanding of the Carmelite tradition, combined with sensitivity and insight into human nature to introduce the reader to the ‘bit players’. Beginning with Therese’s four sisters, each with a chapter of her own, we first meet Marie, later Sister Marie of the Sacred Heart. Born in 1860, she was the first child born to Zlie and Louis Martin whose story is briefly described in the first pages. Both Louis and Zlie had wanted to enter religious life but been turned down. Nine children were born to them but only five daughters survived, all of whom were to become nuns.
Many people already know the story of Therese and her siblings, but for this reader, much of the information was new. After Marie came Pauline, Sister Agnes of Jesus, who would become Prioress and whose natural leadership would help to heal a dysfunctional community. Lonie, the only sister who did not become a Carmelite, entered a Salesian convent as Sister Francoise-Therese. Regarded as ‘the cuckoo’, Lonie never quite fitted in; plain and asocial, she found it impossible to conform to the expected image of a late nineteenth century woman. It is possible that Lonie may have suffered from a form of autism. Misunderstood and frustrated, she made three attempts at entering religious life before finally settling down and finding peace of mind in her vocation. More recently, Lonie’s cause has been opened in Rome and she is increasingly regarded as the patron of people for whom life is not easy.
Celine Martin, Sister Genevieve of the Holy Face, also had her own struggles. Left alone to care for their father who had begun to suffer from mental troubles, she needed every ounce of her remarkable strength. Eventually she, too, was able to enter the Carmel, where her scholarly nature found fulfilment as the monastery archivist.
The rest of this absorbing book deals with Therese’s sisters in religion, some more endearing than others, but all described with understanding and compassion. Among them we meet the redoubtable Prioress, Mother Marie de Gonzague, whose vanity, volatility and desire for control caused serious friction in the community. Undoubtedly, she possessed spiritual gifts and sincerely sought God’s will, but it is gently noted that when Therese entered, the Lisieux Carmel seemed far from happy. ‘It could be true to say that she had rarely met malice, jealousy, spitefulness, except at school. So was she aware beforehand of the various and often difficult characters of the sisters in the Community?’ (p.173)
Spiritually, the convent harboured traces of Jansenism: a dour and joyless God never fully appeased. This was not Therese’s view at all. As assistant novice mistress, she was able to form the young postulant nuns in her own Little Way, encouraging them to respond to God’s infinite love for each of us. She was also a passionate believer in frequent Holy Communion, and her writings on this were brought to Pope St Pius X, as they conformed so closely to his own. It is also as much through her love and the little sacrifices that she made, in particular, in favouring the sisters she found least congenial, that helped the community to change. ‘Gradually, the sense of God’s judgement that needed to be appeased gave way to living in the good God’s infinite love. They saw the value of demonstrating their love for God by being faithful in the little things; a community that was so dysfunctional became one that was a true “school for saints”. The renowned Lisieux Carmel was truly one of Therese’s greatest miracles...’ (p.186).
Although we only see Therese through the eyes of those who knew her, she still manages to shine through. The author does assume a prior knowledge of Therese, and some instances of her life are mentioned with little explanation, but this is not off-putting; rather it makes the reader want to learn more.
There is so much of value in this delightful book that it is difficult to be brief, yet it is not a long book. It could be said that almost all of human nature is here, yet the writer tackles her subject with charity, attempting to be fair to everybody, while being honest about the problems. It’s a good read but contains much that can be used for private reflection: the meaning of suffering, relationships, how they help and hinder our search for God. Jennifer Moorcroft brings her great understanding and knowledge of the spiritual life to produce a work that not only brings Therese’s world closer to us, but makes us also glimpse longingly at the effects of grace on the human soul.
Clare Anderson is a Catholic writer and broadcaster and mother of four.
Courage and Conviction: Pius XII, the Bridgettine nuns, and the rescue of the Jews – Mother Riccarda Hambrough and Mother Katherine Flanagan by Joanna Bogle, Gracewing, 86pp, £6.99.
Reviewed by Richard Marsden
Three afternoons a week, two or three students at the Venerable English College in Rome turn left out of the seminary door and take a short walk to serve Benediction for their neighbours at the Bridgettine convent. Afterwards, the sisters provide tea and cake, an added incentive for the seminarians to put their name on the rota. But perhaps not all trainee priests realise they go to a place where two holy Englishwomen helped hide Jews during World War II and were key players in the post-war relief effort. The causes for their Beatification are open, and one day they may join the majority of the 44 martyrs of the seminary as Beati or even in the communion of saints. Via di Monserrato and Piazza Farnese truly is a little English corner of Rome.
Joanna Bogle’s book follows the story of these two Englishwomen – Mother Riccarda Hambrough and Mother Katherine Flanagan. The reader has to wait for the main subject of the title until the last two chapters as the middle part focusses comprehensively on the earlier life of the two figures. In fairness, the author points out the difficulties of providing a detailed account of the assistance to the Jews because, after all, it was conducted in secrecy.
The more general story of Catholics helping Jews in Rome and Italy as a whole is outlined in the first chapter. Several examples are given of how Pope Pius XII was instrumental in ordering the protection of Jews in the Vatican, religious houses and any other place possible. These concrete reports dispel any modern day theories which accuse the pontiff of collaborating with the Nazis. Some interesting facts and figures are presented. Italy had one of the highest rates of Jews that were saved in any one country – 35,000 to be precise. Between 4,000 and 7,000 Jews were hidden in Vatican City alone. The Church saved 700,000 Jewish lives as a whole during World War II.
The story then switches to the early life of Catherine Hambrough. Her family difficulties are documented as well as her baptism into the Catholic Church in Brighton under the name of Madeleine. She was sent to boarding school but shortly after the death of her father was inspired by a Swedish noblewoman and mystic of the 13th century – St Bridget (or Birgitta).
A chapter is devoted to introducing the Bridgettine order and the enthusiasm of Fr Benedict Williamson in restoring it to England through his parish of St Gregory’s Mission in Earlsfield, Wimbledon. This became a centre of religious life based on Mass, Benediction, confessions and nightly compline. “Kitty” Flanagan is introduced as someone who went there regularly for Compline and, under Fr Benedict’s influence, discerned a vocation to the Bridgettines. She travelled with the priest and another local girl to begin as novices at the Mother House in Rome where St Bridget herself lived.
The story now gathers pace with the toing and froing of the order between a number of premises in Rome and the arrival Madeline Hambrough, who takes the name of the English Bridgettine martyr Richard (Riccarda) Reynolds (canonised later in 1970). The outbreak of World War I puts the English sisters on the other side of battle lines from their families. When a massive earthquake struck the country a year later, the sisters took in orphans. A charism of the order responding to immediate needs was emerging, as was a practice of daily sung offices. Bogle gives a detailed description of the order’s expansion, such as the founding of a house at Uxbridge by Katherine Flanagan, of which she became mother superior before moving to Vadstena, Sweden, the birthplace of St Bridget.
In Chapter 7, Bogle reaches the main thrust of her work. In the 1930s, the sisters in Rome finally settled at the original Casa di Santa Brigida in Piazza Farnese. What was initially a guest house became a secret hiding place, particularly after German troops entered Rome in 1943. The story of the Piperno family forms the main illustration of how the Bridgettines played their part. An account of one of the children, Piero, talks about the discreetness of the sisters, and the difference in nature between them. The German authorities generally left the convent alone, particularly when the nuns declared it, probably unofficially, to be Swedish territory. When French forces arrived on 4 June 1945, the relief work of the Bridgettines was not over. They were instrumental in the post-war effort, with long queues of people emerging at their door for food and clothing.
Bogle’s short book marks out Mothers Katherine and Riccarda as great heroes in dangerous times, motivated by their deep love of Christ and devotion to St Bridget. It expresses enthusiasm for their causes and the hope that one day, they might join their Mother Superior, Elizabeth, in being declared beatified by the Church. For now, Mother Riccarda is most publically commemorated by having a number 7 bus, which ends up at Brighton Marina, named after her.
Richard Marsden is a seminarian for the Diocese of Middlesbrough, studying at the English College, Rome.
