Fencing Bear at Prayer

Here be dragons. And doves. Human beings long for transcendence. Such longing is, for the world, always out of fashion because, of course, it is not a longing for the world, and the world knows it. We know what the world wants. The world—by which we mean Satan, the Lord of the World—wants above all our obedience, a jewel so precious that he will do anything to get it: lie, steal, murder, bear false witness, pretend to social standing, pretend to insider knowledge to get us to consent to his influence.  “God lied to you. You will not die.” And suddenly we are anxious about having other people dislike us, about losing prestige in our social circles, about other people being more popular or influential or successful, about other people having secret knowledge, about our own influence and fame. “You shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.” And with that temptation, our first parents fell. The irony is cosmic. There they were in the Garden, privy to conversation with God face-to-face, ...

Learn to discern. We all know what sin is, right? Right?!  Once upon a time in the desert , the hermit Evagrius Ponticus (d. 399) set out to make a list of the most deadly ones, albeit he called them “deadly thoughts,” not “sins.” You probably know the list, even if you don’t think you do: gluttony, impurity (a.k.a. lust), avarice (a.k.a. greed), sadness (a.k.a. feeling sorry for oneself), anger or wrath, acedia  or sloth, vainglory, and pride (two different things).  Not quite the list you were expecting? That is because some centuries later—we’re talking ancient times here, when centuries passed like decades do now (or vice versa)—Pope Gregory the Great (d. 604) revised the list, somewhat accidentally, in his commentary on Job.  Gregory had been expounding Job according to its multiple layers—yes, that’s right! Job, like Shrek, has layers! —and he happened somewhere in book XXXI to mention the “seven principle vices” to which Pride,  the “Queen of S...

The world needs good stories. Caedmon the cowherd sang songs about Creation (see previous layer ). He also sang songs about other stories in the Scriptures.  According to Bede, he sang about “the creation of the world, the origin of the human race, and the whole history of Genesis, of the departure of Israel from Egypt and the entry into the promised land.” Which should be a bit confusing, given the way most people talk about the Old Testament these days.  Wasn’t Caedmon supposed to Christian? Why wasn’t he singing stories about Christ? Well, you see, he was singing those, too. Songs “of the incarnation, passion, and resurrection of the Lord, of His ascension into heaven, of the coming of the Holy Spirit and the teaching of the apostles.”  But wait! There’s more: “He also made songs about the terrors of future judgement, the horrors of the pains of hell, and the joys of the heavenly kingdom.” [1] By which time, we are certain he was telling fairy tales, not history. ...

Learn to scan. Literature in English begins in poetry. Not because it was highfalutin’ and inaccessible, although literature in Latin was. But because it was not.  Literature in English begins in a poem composed, or so the story goes, by a cowherd at the monastery of Whitby in Northumbria around the year of Our Lord 700. Our cowherd—his name was Caedmon—had left the feast when the harp came round because he was too embarrassed not to be able to scan. He went back to his cowshed to hide, but the Holy Spirit found him anyway (you know it was the Holy Spirit because it looked like a dove) and told him to write down what he heard.  Okay, that’s not quite the story. Doves tended to talk to great composers like Pope Gregory the Great (see the manuscripts). Caedmon reportedly was visited by an angel in a dream, but the result was similar. Just as Pope Gregory the Great (d. 604, but only after he sent missionaries to England) was credited with composing chants for the liturg...

Good stories, like Ogres and onions, have layers. [1] We are not sure how many layers Ogres and onions (or cakes) have, but thanks to Dante Alighieri (and, before him, John Cassian) we know good stories, like Scripture, have four: historical, allegorical, moral, and anagogical. Are your eyes watering yet? Dante Alighieri was, of course, the author of one of the greatest stories ever written (the Divine Comedy ) so we may take him at his word that his own story had layers, but even Dante found that his readers needed help recognizing the layers through the tears. (Real Ogres cry.) Accordingly, Dante (near rhyme with Donkey) found it necessary to explain to his friend Cangrande della Scala (near alliteration with Shrek) what those layers were: For the sake, then, of clarifying what we have to say, it has to be understood that the meaning of this work [the Commedia ] is not of one kind only [ non est simplex sensus ]; rather, it may be described as “polysemous”, as havi...

We made it! Our first-ever Kickstarter  for the  Dragon Common Room concluded on Tuesday, June 20, at 8:02am CDT. We have successfully funded the first three Acts of our five-Act faërie tale, while at the same time learning valuable lessons in advertising, promotion, and design.  Most important lesson: Be clear, rather than clever when telling people about your work. Not an easy lesson for dragons who love riddles! FAQ What is Draco Alchemicus ? A faërie tale, fully illustrated, with dragons. Why is it called Draco Alchemicus ? “Draco” is Latin for “serpent” or “snake.” In English, the title might be rendered as “The Alchemical Dragon” or, more properly, “Snake Oil,” which should make you wonder about how (and why) scientists and physicians similarly use Latin to obscure the ingredients of the potions they sell. You know how doctors use fancy words to disguise the fact they are prescribing you poisons? So do drakes. You claim to be writing as Christians. Aren’t dragons a...

1) Evangelical Animals, The Book of Kells, Trinity College, Dublin, MS 58, fol. 27v 2) Baptistery, St. John Lateran, Rome 3) The Copernicus Planisphere, by Andreas Cellarius, Harmonia Macrocosmica , plate 4 Act I, scene i  12 He stood beneath a dome of tow’ring height. The ceiling of the room was far away; a false sky met his gaze with twinkling lights, a belt of time in Zodiac array. Gold curtains fell like waterfalls, risqué and riverine they flowed around the vault. The veils were drawn across the grand archways and framed the ceiling made of dark cobalt. The neon lights flashed on and off like flaming salt. 13 A sea of bronze upheld by oxen pairs stood brimful with the waters of the skies. The waters poured out over stony stairs into a fountain filled with golden bribes. A sterling current rolled its liquid ice spewed by a dragon from the fountain’s hearth, while on its base were words deeply incised: “All fate’s a wager—boldly now cast forth! Dame Fortune favors those who go i...

The Trinity in the Unity, and The Cosmic Egg Hildegard of Bingen, Scivias , II.ii and I.iii Rüdesheim/Eibingen, Benediktinerinnenabtei St. Hildegard, MS 1, fols. 47r and 14r Act I, scene i  1 A band of crystal lit with heaven’s fire burst o’er the earth and flashed across the plain, reverberating through the raining pyre of stories sung in cities built by Cain. A pinioned cloud danced rings around the flame, its cooing harmonized with chords of grace. A deep base note encoded love reclaimed from kingdom’s fall of mankind’s ancient race. The resonating wings revealed a clouded face.   2 The pigeon ether undulated free, an orchestra of feathers white as frost. The wingéd loom descended on the sea; from light it spun a subatomic cross. Bright feathers knit atomic Helios, while oscillating sparks set fire to quills. Reverberating wings turned light to dust. The looming man from loom that seemed to trill emerged in flesh from cloud of sapphire-blue beryl.   3 The chorus swelle...