Postcard from Slovenia

I have undertaken a PhD viva, climbed at the absolute limit of my ability on El Capitan and deployed to a war zone. None of these was as stressful as making a short visit this week to the University of Maribor in Slovenia to pick up a Doctor Honoris Causa awarded over a year ago, before COVID-related travel restrictions kicked in. Pre-pandemic I flew at least one long-haul flight a month and have regularly clocked 150,000 airmiles annually for the past twenty years. It was novel for my wife to see me ‘in a flap’ over simple things like checking in online and fretting over the contents of my bags.

The experience of international travel and the concomitant stress is exacerbated by the additional forms to be completed. I had to complete a set of PLFs (Passenger Location Forms). For Slovenia this had to be completed over 24-hours prior to arrival but for my return to the UK it had to be completed within 48-hours of arrival. I had to be Covid tested before returning home and book a PCR test to be taken two days after return. This cost an exorbitant £70, and purchase had to be proved for the return journey. The cost is infuriating, especially given that I live about half a mile from a free testing centre in Hull which, when I pass it, is always empty.

I travelled to Manchester Airport the evening before my flight to a very quiet Holiday Inn Express where they seemed delighted to see me. I guess they were delighted to see anyone. Checking in was easy and this was the first airing of my NHS vaccine passport. The security staff, normally the most rude and illogical in the UK, also seemed glad to see me. One point in favour of pandemics is how short the queues are.

I was transiting out via Brussels and my stress levels nearly diverted the plane when it was announced that we had to have completed not one but two PLFs for transit through Belgium. But the cabin crew then distributed forms that could be completed by hand…and relax! The final leg to Ljubjana went smoothly. Another advantage of relatively quiet airports and fewer flights is that planes leave punctually and arrive early.

I abandoned my mask in the UK when we were told we could and decided, even if they are reintroduced, that I will never wear one again in my own country. I was not so sure about foreign destinations. I ignored the ‘mask up’ tannoyed instructions in Manchester Airport with impunity and even boarded the plane and remained maskless until well after take-off. But at the first polite ‘invitation’ to wear my mask I crumbled and put one on. I was worried that the next flight might get a tipoff that one of the awkward squad was on the way and deny me boarding. On the return journey, via Frankfurt, I had to promise during online check-in that I had a mask so there was no getting out of it on the way home. Travellers beware, your mask must be of at least ‘surgical grade’, so no flimsy cloth ones permitted.

My destination, Maribor, is a delightful small Slovenian city near the Austrian border. In winter it is a skiing resort. There is a local saying that translates roughly as ‘babies ski out of the womb’. Everyone skis. In summer it is just a lovely place to hang out with a picturesque river and an historic town centre with good food and good beer. The local wine is also excellent.

But Slovenia is a country still in the psychological grip of the pandemic. Masks are prominent and required indoors. I had to show my vaccine passport to stay at my hotel and again to get back into Ljubjana airport. Restaurants are supposed to check your COVID status, and the Slovenian government uses the slogan PCT (prebolevniki (patient); cepljeni (vaccinated); testirani (tested)) meaning that to sit in a restaurant you must provide proof of one of these. By ‘patient’ they do not mean polite, they mean someone who can prove they have recovered from COVID. However, in a tussle between restaurateurs and local authorities over whose responsibility it was if a person was found in a restaurant without being PCT—the restaurant or the diner—most restaurants have rebelled. In fact, I was not even asked to wear a mask in any restaurant or bar.

I have been working at the university for years holding a series of visiting and honorary positions and was blown away by the offer to make me a Doctor of the University. The ceremony was somewhat attenuated due to Covid restrictions. I was co-presented alongside this year’s candidate Drago Jančar, one of Slovenia’s greatest living authors who belongs to Maribor. He was swamped after the ceremony by people asking him to sign copies of his books which they had brought along. I got the impression that none of them had read my best-selling Anatomy and Physiology for Nurses (now in its 14^th edition). I had to wear a mask for the duration of the graduation, so no pictures of the event will ever see the light of day if I have my way. With the graduation gown and mortar board I looked like Darth Vader.

I was interviewed by Slovenian TV and, of course, asked about the pandemic. I told them that while nurses at the frontline in the UK were busy and had proved their worth, the effort needed to see us through the pandemic will pale into insignificance compared with the effort we will now need to see us through the waiting list for missed investigations and operations already over 5 million and tipped to grow to more than double that.

Slovenia has shaken off most of its Communist past when it was part of Yugoslavia. But there are vestiges such as the impressive array of forms to be signed for expenses, the state regulated system of academic promotions and a tangible inflexibility generally about how things are done. COVID—according to my local colleagues—has had one positive effect. Prior to the pandemic working from home, even for academics, was forbidden. ‘Not in the legislation’ as one colleague expressed it. Lockdown has ended that, and a more flexible system of working has proved effective. It is unlikely they will revert to the old system.

Law in a Time of Crisis by Jonathan Sumption

Jonathan Sumption is a prolific author, a former Supreme Court judge and a respected historian. While some may have known him for the above reasons, few can fail to know him now. He has risen to prominence, despite the best efforts of the BBC and other elements of the mainstream media, due to his frank, articulate and heartfelt opposition to the lockdown policies brought in by the governments and assemblies of the United Kingdom, allegedly to fight the coronavirus. Naturally, the book includes some of these views.

However, this book is about much more than COVID-19. Comprised of 12 chapters, all of which are updated versions of speeches given over the past few years, it is a short and readable collection. Incidentally, none of these are based on his 2019 Reith Lectures. The topics covered are wide but all related to law and the constitution of the United Kingdom and are presented in three sections: 1. History and the Modern World; 2. Law: Conceptions and Misconceptions; and 3. The Constitution: Towards an Uncertain Future.

In the first section he considers the trend towards apologising for our history, the influence of Magna Carta, state secrets and independence for the four entities of our increasingly disunited kingdom. In the ‘Historian as judge’, and Sumption is both, he displays his grasp of both history and the law. He defends the fact that many judges, according to the journalistic trope, are ‘out of touch with real life’. What is more, the whole legal profession is out of touch and how could it be otherwise? The law, or the speciality of the person practising it, is a finite body of knowledge; ‘real life’ is infinite and impossible to experience in its entirety. On apologising for history, he draws a distinction using the Catholic Church’s reasonable apology for historical abuse of young boys, many of whom and their abusers are still alive, with the issue of Pope John Paul II apologising for The Crusades which is patently ridiculous. It will come as a surprise to many, including some on the other side of the Atlantic, who still display a copy in their National Archives, that Magna Carta is not as influential on our legal system and constitution as commonly held. Frankly, it is a bit of a myth. The chapter on state secrets does not give much away but the chapter on the ‘Disunited Kingdom’ reveals the multiple cases for independence in the United Kingdom, including for England, to be complex to say the least. There is little in common between the three cases for independence for Scotland, Wales and Ireland; the last having been achieved with a few issues remaining to be resolved. His view on single question referendums, such as the one that led to Brexit, is that these are not helpful in settling matters of independence and they completely ignore the consequences.

The most interesting chapter in the second section on ‘Conceptions and Misconceptions’ about law is the opening one on judicial diversity. Sumption’s view, a restatement of the blindingly obvious—to which a great many of the quota mongers seem obviously blind—is that quality simply cannot be sacrificed for mere representativeness. If the latter prevails, the law will suffer, and judgements will be poorer. A chapter on personal injury law and the prospect of abolishing it is an interesting diversion. The case for abolition is based on the premise that, while the statistics on accidents remain relatively static, the number of claims rises ‘inexorably’. Moreover, while there is a moral case for compensation on the grounds of deliberate harm, the same case cannot necessarily be made regarding accidents caused by negligence. In ‘A Question of Taste’, Sumption is at his most entertaining with some amusing examples of how various interpretations of situations can, and do, lead to varying legal outcomes.

I enjoyed every chapter of this relatively short and very readable book. But I would pay the same cover price simply to have the final four chapters collected and published. I think anyone with an interest in Brexit, the United Kingdom constitution and COVID-19 should read this section. Sumption is a proclaimed Remainer yet his ‘Primer for Foreigners’ is one of the most sensitive treatments of the Brexit issue I have read. The Remainers have many reasons for wishing to remain and throw many insults at those who voted for Brexit. But Sumption’s conclusion and lesson for foreigners is that people voted to leave for the simple reason that they wanted to leave. The potential economic consequences were not taken into consideration and Sumption, who exemplifies why, passes no judgement. This is remarkably refreshing and generous. ‘Brexit and the British Constitution’ is a denser consideration of the parliamentary and legal proceedings around Brexit. In the process, Sumption pays a tribute to former Speaker of The House of Commons John Bercow MP on the grounds that he found a way to prevent some of the potential constitutional abuses of both the May and Johnson governments. A fascinating chapter on the British Constitution is very informative. Of course, it is well known that the United Kingdom does not have a written, codified constitution like many other countries, the United States being a prime example. Sumption offers a brilliant defence of the British situation saying that a written constitution deals with yesterday’s problems and lacks the flexibility to deal with tomorrow’s problems.

The final chapter on COVID-19 based on a lecture of the same name: ‘Government by Decree: COVID-19 and the British Constitution’, which is available online, is a masterpiece. The reaction to and management of the coronavirus pandemic by the governments and assemblies of the United Kingdom was based on panic, was not evidence based and does not work. Principally, however, it is an enormous affront to civil liberties, the greatest ever even in wartime. Lord Jonathan Sumption has risen to prominence for his outspokenness on the issue of economic lockdown. This has gained him a following among the lockdown sceptics and, undoubtedly, opprobrium from the COVID-orthodox. Somehow, I doubt either reaction is of much interest to the author. Few are so confident in and able to support their arguments.

Law in a Time of Crisis, Jonathan Sumption, Profile Books, 2020, £16.99

 

Salisbury Review article

The fall of the house of Rome (titled: 'The next target of the left' online) 

Frank Skinner's Catholicism

Frank Skinner is a British comedian and probably my favourite. He is a master of riposte and double entendre, a genuinely well-educated man from a working class background. And he is a Roman Catholic.

He describes himself freely and frequently on his Saturday morning Absolute Radio The Frank Skinner Show as a ‘follower of the Nazerne’ and many stories are based on something that happened at Mass or speaking to the Parish Priest. He conducted and excellent interview with the former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, available as a transcript or on YouTube, and has even crossed swords with arch-atheist Richard Dawkins as explained in The Daily Telegraph. He is an alcoholic who has been dry for decades and his life in comedy began when he sobered up and decided to give it a try. He is fabulously rich and once lost a fortune in an economic slump - but recovered. He probably first came to the wide public attention through a show with his good friend and one time flatmate David Baddiel but later through the Frank Skinner Show on TV and Room 101 where his witty banter with a wide rage of celebrities - from Noel Gallagher to Cliff Richard - were always good television. 

His stand-up career - which he still pursues - is legendary and I’ve seen him. His routine is good, hilarious in places and he has an excellent rapport with his audience and has a answer for every comment. He is very amusing on his relationships, including with his present partner Kath with whom he has a son Buzz. Their relationship is often stormy - or has been - and the insights into such relationships resonate with any couple. However, the second half of his show deteriorates into what can only be described as filth. He is well known for this aspect of his routine which used to feature from the outset as a cursory YouTube search will reveal.

He has toned things down a lot in recent years but retains a part of his act which, while extremely funny, made my late teenage and early twenties children - no strangers to the live comedy circuit - blush. His Catholicism is always to the fore but I am curious about how he reconciles some aspects of his stand up routine, a divorce and now living out of marriage with a son, with his Catholicism - or who has helped him to achieve this reconciliation. It is perfectly possible to remain a Catholic under most circumstance - including excommunication (which only prevents you from receiving the sacraments) - on the proviso that you do not receive Communion. He does; I have seen it on TV.

I am not judging and would readily concede that he is probably a ‘better Catholic’ than most, including many seemingly pious people who are regularly at Mass. Undoubtedly he is a Better Catholic than me. But, unless I have missed something - and that is quite possible with the present reforming Pope - there has not been some wide-scale relaxation of the ‘rules’ regarding eligibility to take Communion.

He remains my favourite comedian and personality. I am glad that he is not afraid to proclaim is faith and that he is, undoubtedly, on the side of the angels. I do hope that he has properly understood his faith and has not been misled or made the wrong assumptions about what is expected of a Roman Catholic. 

Catholics and haiku

Should Christians and, especially, Roman Catholics dabble with things like haiku? What would be the problem? There are certainly ‘Christian’ and ‘Catholic’ haiku - Google them. They are sentimental nonsense and nothing to do with haiku. But this led me as a Roman Catholic to question if the practice of haiku - both reading and writing them - is compatible with my faith.

Haiku has its origins in Japanese Zen Buddhism and it is obvious that the Buddhist influence persists from my extensive reading of haiku. The influence is not only in the haiku but in essays around haiku, book reviews and books where people expound on haiku both generally and specifically. It is abundantly clear that many practitioners of haiku are Buddhist. There is no Roman Catholic line on haiku but there certainly is on Buddhism. While Pope John Paul II wrote very positively about Buddhism in the Opus Die inspired Crossing the threshold of hope, it is clear that it is incompatible with Roman Catholicism if, for no other reason, than it denies the existence of a personal God and strays into some practices and holds some beliefs that many would easily see as not being remotely Christian, such as reincarnation.

On the other hand, to deny, as some would, that there is nothing in common between Catholicism and Buddhism is ridiculous - even in our beliefs. We can look at spiritual practices such as meditation and liturgical devices such as burning incense and church bells and it is hard to deny this superficial influence of Buddhism on Christianity. After all Buddhism preceded Christianity by centuries. But, what about haiku and what are they?

Haiku are, essentially, poems. Traditionally, in Japanese, they had a three line, seventeen syllable structure with a seasonal reference (kigo) and a cutting word (kareji) to indicate a break in the flow of ideas. When haiku were imported to the west the three line seventeen syllable structure was mimicked but has gradually disappeared as it only had meaning when the Japanese language was used. Most poems described as haiku now are, strictly, senryu as mostly they do not contain a seasonal reference and deal with a very wide range of topics. But the essence of haiku is not in its structure or specific features of its content. Haiku are about the celebration of the mundane, in the present moment, the taking notice of small things but represented in such a way that there may be ambiguity in the form of words - openness to interpretation - with no moral message and a minimum of emotion and sentiment. For example, one of my own haiku:

the ploughman

his thoughts mingle

with the gulls 
(Published (2018) in Blithe Spirit (Journal of the British Haiku Society) Volume 28, Number 1, page 19. LHA Ref: Blithe Spirit 28.1, February 2018)

Not too ambitious but a moment captured and an impression conveyed. Perhaps a new way of looking at something that you have often seen. Rarely are haiku explained and expounded on - but occasionally they are. The above haiku was inspired by seeing fields being ploughed, a very common sight from my youth in rural Kincardineshire but still visible from roads as we drive past fields in Spring. The gulls follow the plough where the newly turned earth offers worms and other edible substances that have been buried beyond their reach. I imagined the ploughman thinking and his thoughts rising to join the gulls. Obvious, perhaps, but some haiku are quite obscure.

What would there not be to like about haiku from the Christian perspective? Well, nothing in my view but this celebration of the moment and the mundane is certainly very ‘mindful’ - to use a current term which definitely has Buddhist meditational origins. Such meditation emphasises a focus on small things and not on the eternal and this may seem like dangerous meddling with another form of thought, even a syncretism. Perhaps it is but I see no incompatibility between Christianity - and Catholic Christianity - and celebrating the mundane and elevating it to consciousness. After all, the mundane and the 
                                                 eternal are equally part of God's creation.

The University of Navarra

The Edificio Central

The University of Navarra is a catholic (ie not Catholic) university which was founded by and operates under the prelature of Opus Dei. The founding principles of Opus Dei (´The Work´) set the tone of the university and a great many staff - possibly the majority - belong to The Work. I have never met anyone at the decanal level or above who is not a member. In theory this need not be the case and would certainly conflict with the equal opportunities legislation so prominent in Europe. But, I guess, there are ways and means to ensure that the university remains in the grip of this powerful and very rich international organisation.

The university is located in Pamplona, Navarra in the North of Spain, just below the Basque country. I have been visiting since 1991. Naturally, as a fellow-traveller in the sense that I am a Roman Catholic and a fairly conservative one, I have been curious about Opus Dei. While I have never considered joining I have enquired, met people and attended a few events. I find the writings of the founder - the relatively fast-tracked Saint Josemaria - anodyne and uninspiring. People who have left the work report badly on him - perhaps they are biased - and I hear some unpleasant things about the work, even from people still active in it. I was exposed to their methods on my first visit when, after expressing some negative views about the late, publicity hungry and fairly disastrous Pope Jonh Paul II over lunch - also fast-tracked to sainthood by his own procedure - I was told an English Priest of The Work would like to meet me for coffee. This turned out to be to correct me in my ways and help me to understand the error of them; someone had reported on my conversation. It also concerns me greatly that The Work - uniquely in the Roman Catholic Church - ordains its own priests. Claims of secthood and culthood are always rebuffed but, if it is not already those things, then it soon will be despite its outward tactic of unswerving loyalty to The Pope.

On the other hand, I have been shown nothing but kindness at the University of Navarra and count some of its members - male and female - amongst my best friends. I had no hesitation in appointing a couple I know well as godparents of one of my sons and I have no questions about their faith and good intentions.

I am writing this from Pamplona and what has impressed me most during my week here has been the students. Not necessarily the ones I have met but the ones who make a beeline for the Oratorio on the ground floor of the Science Faculty Building to visit the Blessed Sacrament. Every building has an Oratotio - a chapel - and I make it my own habit to ´visit´on the way to my office. It reminds me I am a Catholic and it is something I cannot do in my own university. But in all my years of coming here and my many visits I do not recall fighting past queues of students to get a glimpse of the tabernacle; most students do not appear to have any allegiance to The Work. Young men and women, ordinary students, who are unafraid to express their faith, groups of friends - a few young men pushing each other about on the way across the campus go to the Oratorio together, all genuflect and then walk on; another breaks from a group of friends to do the same and then runs to re-join the group. I find this remarkable, undemonstratve and sincere. If there is a spirit of Opus Dei then, while I will not be joining to find out more, this is it to me: making faith normal and leading a good life.

St Augustine´s Church,Washington DC

I Googled my nearest Roman Catholic Church from our hotel - the Washington Hilton - and found St Augustine´s. According to the information it was Washington´s first black Roman Catholic Church. I had been to a predominantly black Church once before in Virginia, but this was different; it was described as a black church and I was curious...but also concerned. I associate black churches with a very expressive form of religion; evangelical, pentocostalist and always Protestant. I was curious to see if this Roman Catholic Church had any of these features but I was also concerned as I loathe that kind of religion; not the faith, but anything that purports to get me on my feet, expressing my faith and generally interacting.

Well, it was everying I imagined! The Church was not all black, but predominatly so. I found the white Christian Saints and Martyrs displayed in the copious stained glass windows an amusing contrast. The Church was of a very classic design, nothing modern about it. The cantor was a young white woman, the servers were black and, when he finally arrived, the priest that day was white.

The priest was a larger than life character and equally loud and his opening lines of welcome were punctuated with ´halleluha!´ to which the congregation readily replied in kind. Likewise the sermon - ´halleluha!´ The singing was relatively restrained but I did note a drum kit at the front, presumably for a even livelier Mass later that day. I had gone to the early morning Mass as I had a flight to catch that day.

The Mass had its own unique features. As I could have predicted, hands were raised during the Our Father. This is an abomimable practice in which I had never participated...until this Mass! I had no choice. The people nearest me - one woman in front and another beside me - grabbed my hands and raised them up and I noted that the whole congregation was holding hands as one. At the end of the prayer, the affectionate squeeze on the hand I was given before we all disengaged was a friendly gesture. Of course, when it came to the sign of peace, this lasted a good five minutes or more as everyone in the Church had to shake hands with almost everyone else, including me. I did not take Communion, partly due to time but mainly as I did not want to get tied up in any post-Mass activities. I really like to enter and leave Mass anonymously.

Not my style of worship but I came away with a huge smile on my face. I was struck by the utter sincerity of what I had witnessed and on my next visit to DC, I may go back. Halleluha!