A time when Christianity was a primitive religion

Charterhouse Chronicle
Quentin de la Bedoyere
Ahappy First Holy Communion for one of our grandchildren on Sunday. St John Fisher Church here in Wimbledon held a model Eucharist with plenty of buzz, rustle and juvenile participation, and with a clear emphasis on the sacrificial meaning of the Mass. The Pope would have been pleased. My only sadness was that Sebastian's "other" family, who are devout Christians, were unable to receive Communion with us.
On the way home, my wife, who is an adult convert, wondered what an eightyear-old could make of the idea of consuming the Body and Blood of Christ. Dredging my memory I do not recall having a particular difficulty with the idea; certainly no concept of cannibalism entered my mind. I was however disappointed at not receiving any flood of ecstatic devotion on that occasion. Somehow 1 had come to expect this in view of the wonder of the sacrament as it had been presented to me. It was my first lesson that emotion is only an incidental, and dangerously treacherous, foundation for religious commitment. In fact the strongest emotion I can remember from that day in 1942 was being kissed by my form mistress. It was one of writhing embarrassment. I have changed my views on kissing since then.
We have returned from an Islamic pilgrimage. Not to Mecca but to Southern Spain, where, between the 8th and 13th centuries there was a flowering of Muslim culture. The final Muslim presence lasted until 1492. We can easily forget that the Muslim conquests introduced a civilisation of order, culture and intellectual ferment to a primitive and cruel Christian country. We think of the Renaissance as a European phenomenon, as indeed it was in its later flowering. But it owed far more to its Islamic progenitors than we would often care to admit.
Although the Muslims were always in charge in their Iberian settlements it was a tolerant culture for most of the time. Christianity and Judaism were freely permitted, and the interplay of great minds undoubtedly beneficial. They shared a common problem: the relationship between human reason (newly encountered through the texts of Greek philosophy) and Revelation — whether Judao-Christian or Islamic. Moses Maimonides, the great Jewish philosopher, who was raised in Cordoba and strongly influenced by Islamic thought, once wrote: "Man's reason is nothing but a participation in divine reason, which surpasses us infinitely, and which can only be attained if we accept and assume biblical prophecy." He was to have an important influence on Christian Scholastics such as Aquinas and Duns Scotus. Aventes, his Islamic contemporary, similarly concerned with the synthesis of reason and Revelation, was referred to by Aquinas as "the Commentator". And the views of Ihn 'Arabi on ecumenism leap centuries of Christian intolerance to foreshadow the noble Council's Declaration on Religious Liberty: "All men are called by God. Do not despise those who, in their search, believe they have found him in someone who is not him. Learn to discover in every human being the Divine seed within, even if their beliefs may be unclear and even idolatrous."
Many of these scholars were medical men. Al-Zahrawi (10th century) produced a compendious surgical and medical encyclopaedia which continued in use for many centuries. Reproductions of his array of surgical instruments are shown in a museum in Cordoba. We might reflect that since almost certainly someone in our ancestral line was restored to health through his teaching we may very well owe our personal existence to him.
The physical relics of that time remain everywhere: the Jewish quarters, the palaces, the incomparable gardens, and even the Muslim influence on modern urban architecture. But the greatest treat for us was the great mosque at Cordoba, with its beautifully proportioned columns and ornamental arches. Truly a house for prayer. But of the Jews and Muslims themselves — nothing to be seen. That was our legacy.
Iread in the paper that the changing lifestyle of women is likely to reduce their life expectancy to equalise that of us mere males. My wife and I are of an age, and one of our favourite topics of mealtime conversation is to fantasise on what we will do when each of us has outlived the other. Doing so is of course the final triumph. My wife's ambition is to travel the world and the grandest places, escorted by a wealthy Italian prince with no sexual inclinations. I intend to move to a bachelor flat of great modern convenience, where I can be as messy as I like and only wash up once a week. My wife is convinced that I will he assailed by the blue-rinse brigade intent on marrying me for my modest fortune. But there's no danger: my daughters will undoubtedly guard the door, equipped with flaming swords like the angel at the gates of Eden.
Of course the fantasies could only come about for one of us, and the
survivor would, one must hope, be too decrepit for any such malarkey. These funereal thoughts are the opposite of wishful thinking; they are the equivalent of touching wood — absit omen! It was much the same when we succumbed to the temptation of photographing each other lying on our pre-booked grave plot. In any event I have to pre-decease my wife because I would be quite unable to cope with the magnificent Requiem Service she insists upon. And she won't die until she has decided between Faure and Poulenc.