A beautiful place to visit on a Sunday morning, thank you.
I am not afraid of decay.
There came a moment when I realized that the work of Man is to be constantly weeding, keeping Nature from overcoming his surroundings, that whatever he does, he will have to keep Nature out a little bit, to keep from being overwhelmed, and maybe to be able to settle down and eat at a table.
Weeding is never done. Every spring brings new weeds, and they follow their timetable, too.
It is nice to see the Christmas manger at the site.
In the south of France, there is a tradition of "santons", clay ? figures that are fashioned to represent the Holy Family at Christmas, with people in traditional garb. The figurines are beautifully crafted.
I have noticed that our children seem to be much more superstitious than we are... as though Christian ? rationalism were losing its hold on them. My daughter is unreasonably afraid of spiders, the way that many people seem to be unreasonably ? superstitiously ? afraid of microbes.
Would Nietzsche have thought that this is progress at work ?
Good observation. Rationalism by authority has ruined itself. Superstition is real science. Superstition comes from personal experimentation, not from reading or listening to experts.
The experts have told us that superstition is bad because it subverts their "scientific" dogmas. Now we're not listening to them.
For starters, I looked up "superstition" in my trusty French etymological dictionary, which is a history of the French language. Sometimes I dream about having a historical dictionary of Latin, and Greek, because I know (though I'm not an expert...) that Cicero already had questioned the etymology of the word "religere" that our word "religion" comes from. Popular belief held that it came from tying people together... connecting them, we would probably say now, but Cicero already was challenging popular belief on the etymology of the Latin language in his day. That... boggles my mind, although it probably shouldn't.
To start with, since I feel like starting here, "superstitio" derives from "superstare" which means to stand above, to dominate, in one of the meanings of the word "dominate". You could say that a dominant person stands above, as in "superstare".
The word was borrowed from sophisticated, "savvy" latin, in opposition to "religio", and indicates ritual that is too scrupulous, with unnecessary and superfluous details around 1375.
It came to designate irrational beliefs and practices with respect to the sacred. In this light, you might say that Jesus's preaching concentrated on criticizing superstitious Jewish rites around the Sabbath, for example.
From what I understand in reading my dictionary, the criticism of superstition shares the Jewish mistrust of everything that is connected with magic. The Jewish religion eschews the practice of magic, and firmly condemns it, from what I have learned about Judaism.
From the 16th century onward, superstition has been associated with idolatry, opposed either to the "true religion" or to reason. Superstition is attached to the belief in the power of certain acts, and of certain signs.
Initially, the word was associated with the idea of excessive scruples within a religious framework, before coming to designate religious practices themselves in opposition to pure ? faith in reason. (1742, Voltaire, not long before the French revolution)
I, for one, believe in the necessity for society to establish recognized authority in order to function. And individual personal experimentation is not enough to found a.. society.
Just wanted to say how much I’m enjoying your ‘Well’ series Paul. I’m a relatively new subscriber after being drawn to your Machine essays during a period of desperately seeking out like minded souls in the covid darkness. I too have sought out these little sacred spots, particularly here in the Black Mountains of Wales where I live, venturing down barely accessible brooding moss laden lanes, and clambering through muddy fields and prickly hedgerows to find these little gems, and the sweet offerings adorning them by fellow pilgrims. If you ever find yourself in this neck of the woods, I can highly recommend the well (and church) at Patrishow, and the story of St Issui who lived by the well.
Wonderful..I like the figures and the cup and saucer perched as an offering. How does anything get accomplished without a welcoming cup of tea? Especially in Ireland.
Thank you for the look through the archway! Gave me a very real sense of being there. I had to chuckle at your son’s trepidation of the Ash trees! George MacDonald uses the Ash as a menacing character in his novel Phantastes. Here are a couple of excerpts on the Ash.
“She rose and looked out of the little window. My eyes followed her; but as the window was too small to allow anything to be seen from where I was sitting, I rose and looked over her shoulder. I had just time to see, across the open space, on the edge of the denser forest, a single large ash-tree, whose foliage showed bluish, amidst the truer green of the other trees around it; when she pushed me back with an expression of impatience and terror, and then almost shut out the light from the window by setting up a large old book in it. “In general,” said she, recovering her composure, “there is no danger in the daytime, for then he is sound asleep; but there is something unusual going on in the woods; there must be some solemnity among the fairies to-night, for all the trees are restless, and although they cannot come awake, they see and hear in their sleep.” “But what danger is to be dreaded from him?”
Instead of answering the question, she went again to the window and looked out, saying she feared the fairies would be interrupted by foul weather, for a storm was brewing in the west. “And the sooner it grows dark, the sooner the Ash will be awake,” added she.”
“I lay still, petrified with dismay and fear; for I now saw another figure beside her, which, although vague and indistinct, I yet recognised but too well. It was the Ash-tree. My beauty was the Maid of the Alder! and she was giving me, spoiled of my only availing defence, into the hands of my awful foe. The Ash bent his Gorgon-head, and entered the cave. I could not stir. He drew near me. His ghoul-eyes and his ghastly face fascinated me. He came stooping, with the hideous hand outstretched, like a beast of prey. I had given myself up to a death of unfathomable horror, when, suddenly, and just as he was on the point of seizing me, the dull, heavy blow of an axe echoed through the wood, followed by others in quick repetition. The Ash shuddered and groaned, withdrew the outstretched hand, retreated backwards to the mouth of the cave, then turned and disappeared amongst the trees.”
I love your description of the lane that "snakes down to the well." I've always been charmed by the word "lane." It is a cheerful word, and lanes are always made of stuff like cobble stones and never have painted lines. Interesting people live on lanes; tweedy old gentleman, crones, village idiots, and all sorts of eccentrics. Shops are to be found on the lane, never stores or, God forbid, malls. Trees overhanging lanes heighten the effect that a traveler is perhaps not merely on a road but has entered a portal into the numinous. Destinations become secondary. Lanes are the polar opposites of highways, which are smelly and noisy and are used by lonely people traveling from nowhere to nowhere. You are always at home on a lane.
Thank you so much for sharing this particular well. I was hoping I might see it pop up in this series. I had the good fortune to stumble across it while visiting Ireland as a teenager nearly 20 years ago now. I thought it might be in the Galway area, but I did not remember it's precise location or any name associated with it. It's good to see it again here in your post.
I love the way you end this piece, "Then we turn around and go home." For all its loveliness and adulatory nature, the wells are part of our world, and though they draw us toward the heavenlies, they leave us here and we must go home. While here, our hearts alternate between the heaviness of matter and the lightness of spirit, depending on where our focus is, thankful always for those times we are more in touch with our true life at home with God.
It's like there are two countries, one sleeping and one newly arrived which built a concrete driveway on top of the old one. The new one likes to pretend, with the benefit of concrete, that the old one does not exist. Weird.
Love this - and am enjoying the series, which finally lured me onto Substack. You reminded me here of a conversation with a young Russian woman who I met through old friends in the Orthodox community here in Cornwall. Hearing that she lived in a local village that sits below a much-loved wooded valley where the trees now grow up through and around the ruins of an old gunpowder mill (Kennal Vale), I asked her if she liked walking up there. 'No,' she said, 'that place is full of sadness. Why would you want to go there?'. It hadn't occurred to me how very English (?) of me it might be to love the haunted feel of the place. It's been good to reconnect with your work of late, ten years on from discussions around In the Black Chamber. Happy Christmas Paul.
A beautiful place to visit on a Sunday morning, thank you.
I am not afraid of decay.
There came a moment when I realized that the work of Man is to be constantly weeding, keeping Nature from overcoming his surroundings, that whatever he does, he will have to keep Nature out a little bit, to keep from being overwhelmed, and maybe to be able to settle down and eat at a table.
Weeding is never done. Every spring brings new weeds, and they follow their timetable, too.
It is nice to see the Christmas manger at the site.
In the south of France, there is a tradition of "santons", clay ? figures that are fashioned to represent the Holy Family at Christmas, with people in traditional garb. The figurines are beautifully crafted.
I have noticed that our children seem to be much more superstitious than we are... as though Christian ? rationalism were losing its hold on them. My daughter is unreasonably afraid of spiders, the way that many people seem to be unreasonably ? superstitiously ? afraid of microbes.
Would Nietzsche have thought that this is progress at work ?
Good observation. Rationalism by authority has ruined itself. Superstition is real science. Superstition comes from personal experimentation, not from reading or listening to experts.
The experts have told us that superstition is bad because it subverts their "scientific" dogmas. Now we're not listening to them.
I'm not sure that I understand you.
For starters, I looked up "superstition" in my trusty French etymological dictionary, which is a history of the French language. Sometimes I dream about having a historical dictionary of Latin, and Greek, because I know (though I'm not an expert...) that Cicero already had questioned the etymology of the word "religere" that our word "religion" comes from. Popular belief held that it came from tying people together... connecting them, we would probably say now, but Cicero already was challenging popular belief on the etymology of the Latin language in his day. That... boggles my mind, although it probably shouldn't.
To start with, since I feel like starting here, "superstitio" derives from "superstare" which means to stand above, to dominate, in one of the meanings of the word "dominate". You could say that a dominant person stands above, as in "superstare".
The word was borrowed from sophisticated, "savvy" latin, in opposition to "religio", and indicates ritual that is too scrupulous, with unnecessary and superfluous details around 1375.
It came to designate irrational beliefs and practices with respect to the sacred. In this light, you might say that Jesus's preaching concentrated on criticizing superstitious Jewish rites around the Sabbath, for example.
From what I understand in reading my dictionary, the criticism of superstition shares the Jewish mistrust of everything that is connected with magic. The Jewish religion eschews the practice of magic, and firmly condemns it, from what I have learned about Judaism.
From the 16th century onward, superstition has been associated with idolatry, opposed either to the "true religion" or to reason. Superstition is attached to the belief in the power of certain acts, and of certain signs.
Initially, the word was associated with the idea of excessive scruples within a religious framework, before coming to designate religious practices themselves in opposition to pure ? faith in reason. (1742, Voltaire, not long before the French revolution)
I, for one, believe in the necessity for society to establish recognized authority in order to function. And individual personal experimentation is not enough to found a.. society.
A lovely setting, and an enjoyable essay. The Norman tower looks terrific. We don't get those so much in Ohio.
In Ohio there are old barns with a sense of melancholy of their own.
True, Susan. Plenty of old barns and old farmsteads. And lovely vistas aplenty.
Just wanted to say how much I’m enjoying your ‘Well’ series Paul. I’m a relatively new subscriber after being drawn to your Machine essays during a period of desperately seeking out like minded souls in the covid darkness. I too have sought out these little sacred spots, particularly here in the Black Mountains of Wales where I live, venturing down barely accessible brooding moss laden lanes, and clambering through muddy fields and prickly hedgerows to find these little gems, and the sweet offerings adorning them by fellow pilgrims. If you ever find yourself in this neck of the woods, I can highly recommend the well (and church) at Patrishow, and the story of St Issui who lived by the well.
Thanks Em. I love the Black Mountains, though I've not visited for years. I've not heard of St Issui. I will dig in!
Wonderful..I like the figures and the cup and saucer perched as an offering. How does anything get accomplished without a welcoming cup of tea? Especially in Ireland.
Thank you for the look through the archway! Gave me a very real sense of being there. I had to chuckle at your son’s trepidation of the Ash trees! George MacDonald uses the Ash as a menacing character in his novel Phantastes. Here are a couple of excerpts on the Ash.
“She rose and looked out of the little window. My eyes followed her; but as the window was too small to allow anything to be seen from where I was sitting, I rose and looked over her shoulder. I had just time to see, across the open space, on the edge of the denser forest, a single large ash-tree, whose foliage showed bluish, amidst the truer green of the other trees around it; when she pushed me back with an expression of impatience and terror, and then almost shut out the light from the window by setting up a large old book in it. “In general,” said she, recovering her composure, “there is no danger in the daytime, for then he is sound asleep; but there is something unusual going on in the woods; there must be some solemnity among the fairies to-night, for all the trees are restless, and although they cannot come awake, they see and hear in their sleep.” “But what danger is to be dreaded from him?”
Instead of answering the question, she went again to the window and looked out, saying she feared the fairies would be interrupted by foul weather, for a storm was brewing in the west. “And the sooner it grows dark, the sooner the Ash will be awake,” added she.”
“I lay still, petrified with dismay and fear; for I now saw another figure beside her, which, although vague and indistinct, I yet recognised but too well. It was the Ash-tree. My beauty was the Maid of the Alder! and she was giving me, spoiled of my only availing defence, into the hands of my awful foe. The Ash bent his Gorgon-head, and entered the cave. I could not stir. He drew near me. His ghoul-eyes and his ghastly face fascinated me. He came stooping, with the hideous hand outstretched, like a beast of prey. I had given myself up to a death of unfathomable horror, when, suddenly, and just as he was on the point of seizing me, the dull, heavy blow of an axe echoed through the wood, followed by others in quick repetition. The Ash shuddered and groaned, withdrew the outstretched hand, retreated backwards to the mouth of the cave, then turned and disappeared amongst the trees.”
- George MacDonald
If you haven’t read it to him yet.............
That's exactly the story I thought of when I saw it was a spooky ash tree! Excellent book!
Mystical and beautiful. I want to go there!
I love your description of the lane that "snakes down to the well." I've always been charmed by the word "lane." It is a cheerful word, and lanes are always made of stuff like cobble stones and never have painted lines. Interesting people live on lanes; tweedy old gentleman, crones, village idiots, and all sorts of eccentrics. Shops are to be found on the lane, never stores or, God forbid, malls. Trees overhanging lanes heighten the effect that a traveler is perhaps not merely on a road but has entered a portal into the numinous. Destinations become secondary. Lanes are the polar opposites of highways, which are smelly and noisy and are used by lonely people traveling from nowhere to nowhere. You are always at home on a lane.
Paul,
Thank you so much for sharing this particular well. I was hoping I might see it pop up in this series. I had the good fortune to stumble across it while visiting Ireland as a teenager nearly 20 years ago now. I thought it might be in the Galway area, but I did not remember it's precise location or any name associated with it. It's good to see it again here in your post.
I love the way you end this piece, "Then we turn around and go home." For all its loveliness and adulatory nature, the wells are part of our world, and though they draw us toward the heavenlies, they leave us here and we must go home. While here, our hearts alternate between the heaviness of matter and the lightness of spirit, depending on where our focus is, thankful always for those times we are more in touch with our true life at home with God.
Your son is blessed by a father who takes him on such special outings. :)
It's like there are two countries, one sleeping and one newly arrived which built a concrete driveway on top of the old one. The new one likes to pretend, with the benefit of concrete, that the old one does not exist. Weird.
Thanks, Paul.
Love this - and am enjoying the series, which finally lured me onto Substack. You reminded me here of a conversation with a young Russian woman who I met through old friends in the Orthodox community here in Cornwall. Hearing that she lived in a local village that sits below a much-loved wooded valley where the trees now grow up through and around the ruins of an old gunpowder mill (Kennal Vale), I asked her if she liked walking up there. 'No,' she said, 'that place is full of sadness. Why would you want to go there?'. It hadn't occurred to me how very English (?) of me it might be to love the haunted feel of the place. It's been good to reconnect with your work of late, ten years on from discussions around In the Black Chamber. Happy Christmas Paul.