October 9, 2024

Maksim Sokolov: The School of Athens By Raphael / Wikimedia Commons

Throughout all my life, I have been drawn to theological pursuits. When I was an adolescent, and a Baptist, that meant reading Scripture, trying to understand what I read, and then taking that understanding and establishing my own systematic presentation of the faith. It was, to be sure, a rather limited and simplistic theological endeavor, and yet at the heart of it was a yearning for the truth. It is that yearning which has led me to pursue a wide range of philosophical, scientific, and theological texts, as I desire to apprehend more and more of the truth for myself, using what I apprehend to refine and develop my own theological understanding. Thus, even as a Baptist, I expanded my horizons by reading various classics of the Christian tradition, be it Protestant (C.S. Lewis, the Wesleys, and Martin Luther) or Catholic (St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, and Pascal). I quickly found myself interested in patristics, reading the Apostolic Fathers, and then, after them,  other writers from the first few centuries of church history. I took what I read seriously, and wrestled with it; by doing so I found my faith was developing, becoming more sophisticated, and, with some outside influences, it eventually helped me become a Byzantine Catholic.

To this day, I have an interest in over-arching systems of faith and knowledge, but there are significant differences between the system which I construct for myself now and the type of system which I used to construct. When I was younger, I wanted to create an exhaustive, and therefore, closed system, where everything could be derived from various first principles (those given to us by revelation, science, and logic). Now, I understand I cannot create such an exhaustive system; whatever system I establish needs to be open-ended, capable of incorporating more elements of truth within it, with each apprehension of the truth leading to the overall system changing, sometimes in surprising ways. Moreover, the kind of system I wanted to establish was an entirely rationalistic one; I thought I could and would produce new theological insights the same way mathematicians developed new mathematical equations. There is, to be sure, some truth in that. We can try to discern various implications which can be derived from what we already know our believe, using reason or logic as the means by which we do so.

Faith and reason do go together, but it is important to accept the limitations of human reason, realizing that there are elements of the faith which will transcend reason, which means, they cannot be proved or established, or properly engaged, by reason alone. Similarly, I learned that there will always be an apophatic caveat behind any positive theological statement, one which recognizes the limitations inherent in any and all human conventions. The absolute truth will transcend all attempts of comprehension, which includes all attempts to describe it in theological terms. I have fully embraced what apophatic theology teaches, recognizing, however,  apophatic theology does not deny us the possibility to engage theology and make positive statements about the truth; rather, it warns us not to assume too much out of such theological declarations. What is said in and through words will always be less than the absolute truth. The more we try to create a system based upon the words which we use to present theological truths, that is, the more we try to take what is stated and derive more truths from it, and ways in which those truths interconnect to establish a system, the more we will be engaging the truth on the level of conventions, with each derivative truth compounding the  problems associated with the attempt to translate the truth into words. That is, the deficiencies behind any theological assertion will increase the more we try to derive more truths from the conventions themselves.  This is why theology, and the systems theologians create, must not be read and studied and engaged the same way we engage mathematics. System building is always going to be a human construct, even if it is helped or inspired by the work of the Holy Spirit in the lives of those who make the systems. It can be and should be seen as an invaluable representation of the truth, but what is presented must always be understood as just that, a representation of the truth. When we study any system, any dogmatic declaration, any exploration of doctrine, we must discern the intended meaning behind such representations rather than being concerned about the words used to establish that meaning. That is, as Paul said, we should follow the spirit, not the letter, because when we look only at the letter, and become focused on the letter, we will lose touch with the truth which is not contained in the letter. And the more we get caught in the letter, and engage the letter in an extreme fashion, creating theological systems based upon a pure rationalistic engagement with the letter instead of the spirit, the systems we create will end up containing all kinds of self-contradictions which show why the system cannot be seen as anything but a pointer to a truth beyond it (this is why, when Scripture is read in this fashion, people will find all kinds of apparent self-contradictions in it).

This is where I am at in my own theological explorations: I continue to be interested in theological systems and building up my own system, one which is now expanding, and changing in and through such expansions. I build it recognizing what I am doing, that is building a conventional construct, a construct which can provide some insight to myself and to others, but also a construct which I recognize is limited and at best can point to but not comprehend the transcendent truth. There will be times, because of my development, that I will contradict myself. There will be other times where it might appear that I contradict myself, in reality, I do not, because what I say in one situation and context might appear to contradict what I say in another situation or context. Those who look to the letter, and not the spirit, of what I said, will find far more apparent contradictions in what I write than those who know they should look beyond the letter and truly discern the meaning of what I write. Those who follow the spirit of what I write will discern that my texts are intended to serve as pointers to the truth beyond them; when they do so, they will realize, instead of trying to put them together in some sort of compound synthesis, but instead use them as reference points for triangulating (as it were) the truth which is beyond what I can say or explain. To do this, context is very important, as perhaps can be seen in discussions I have concerning “self-love”: in some of them, I follow various spiritual writers who explain how “self-love” can be sinful, but in others, I point out that we must love ourselves and that it is when we hate ourselves we sin. Someone could say I contradict myself, however, if they looked at what I was saying was sinful about “self-love” they would see that is not the case; the “self-love” which is sinful is the kind which is used to have us consider ourselves better than others, so we should love ourselves more than others — that is, this kind of self-love associated with narcissism, pride, and or vainglory. This is far different from the kind of self-love which is healthy, indeed, the kind which we should have, the kind which sees everyone should be loved and shown dignity and respect, including ourselves.

There will be times when I will appear to contradict myself because dogmatic theology is riddled with paradoxes and antinomies. This, again, is because the absolute truth lies beyond our comprehension, , beyond the words we produce, and the systems which we establish based upon those words. To speak of the absolute truth will require us to engage it in a variety of ways, some which will appear to contradict other ways it is presented. Perhaps this is why dogmatic discussions of the Trinity can often have people fight each other when they are intending the same thing, such as found in many debates over the filioque. People understand their own system, their own word choice, but find it difficult to do so with other systems and the word choices used to create such other systems, especially if those other systems appear to use the same words but in ways which differ from the way they normally engage those words. If we accept this, if we accept all the qualifications which lie behind all positive theological declarations as designated by apophatic theology, we will better equipped to deal with such apparent contradictions and discern when they are real and when they are not.

Thus, when I look back at what I write and reflect on my theological journey, I can see elements which have remained with me ever since my youth; I can find elements I have gained from my studies which have led me to change my own theological system, sometimes to the point of  changing my mind concerning things I once believed. Nonetheless, I find I continue following the same basic principles, the same basic methodology, in all that I do, giving me a core which connects all I have believed and written about throughout all life. I continue to be interested in developing my own theological system, and even developing my own over-arching presentation of that system, but I find to do that, it is better to engage it in parts, to explore it in parts, for it is far easier to refine my thinking in this way than to revise the system as a whole. I have already developed one over-arching representation of that system, one based upon Sophiology, and it something I hope to one day finish editing and see if anyone is interested in publishing it. But, if I do, it must, at best, be seen as an outline of the overarching system which is in my thoughts, one which is trying to point to intuitions I have which exists in a form beyond the words I use to  describe it. Moreover, it is an outline written many years ago, and so at a point in time in which many things I have developed since then will not be found in it. Indeed, there are elements in it which I have already changed my mind about, but instead of removing them, I find it best to keep the work as it was intended, so that it can show us that we do not have to remain stuck in one formulation of the faith but that we can and will develop even after we write one down. I figure it is best to allow people into my own theological development instead of trying to hide it, so that others can and will be encouraged to do so as well, that is, to accept their own theological development and not be embarrassed by the changes it has taken throughout the years.

 

 

*Personal Reflections And Speculations

 

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N.B.:  While I read comments to moderate them, I rarely respond to them. If I don’t respond to your comment directly, don’t assume I am unthankful for it. I appreciate it. But I want readers to feel free to ask questions, and hopefully, dialogue with each other. I have shared what I wanted to say, though some responses will get a brief reply by me, or, if I find it interesting and something I can engage fully, as the foundation for another post. I have had many posts inspired or improved upon thanks to my readers.

August 2, 2024

Lawrence OP: Painting by Vittorio Carpaccio, conceived as a meditation on suffering, death, and resurrection. It hangs in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC / flickr

By nature, if we are to use such a term for God, God is perfect. In accordance to that perfection, God is incapable of suffering. If God suffered, then, with such suffering,  there would be something less than perfect about God.  This is why there is nothing we can do to make God suffer. Indeed, God is eternal and in that eternity, unchangeable, and since God is by nature perfect and without suffering, there can be no change which would produce such suffering in God. Similarly, God is the source and foundation of all that is good, and in this way, as goodness is an eternal activity or uncreated energy of God, God can be said to be the Good. As suffering is evil, and God is the Good, there is no way God can suffer, for what God is, is good, and so suffering, if it were a part of God, would be good.

These, and other arguments, are used to explain why God  is said not to suffer; in relation to the divine nature, these arguments point us towards to the truth.  And yet, paradoxically, God is love, and in that love, God is not an absolute monad, but tri-personal. Each divine person represents that love to each other but also work together to establish a creation which they can and do love personally and collectively. Through their mutual and collective love for creation, each divine person, in their own way, looks to creation with compassion, sees what is happening in it, observes the suffering which has been brought to it because of sin, and seeks to restore the world back to its original integrity, one which is free from suffering. “You have heard of the steadfastness of Job, and you have seen the purpose of the Lord, how the Lord is compassionate and merciful” as James said (Jas. 5:11b RSV). But, as the word compassion means “to suffer together,” to talk about God’s compassion suggests there is a way which God “suffers with” those who are suffering, and in that regard, experiences suffering in and through them. This leads us to conclude there is a sense in which God can be said to suffer:

God is generous in His loving activities. He wishes to communicate Himself to mankind, to each of us, by his self-emptying love – a self-gift that moves to communion with His human creatures. But precisely because He is so immediately present and immanently inside each person, each creature, God can also “suffer.” He must also run the awesome risk of giving love and being rejected, at least by angels and human beings.[1]

We have come to a paradox where we conclude both God does not suffer, and yet, God can and will suffer with (and in) us. How is this possible? Recognizing this is a mystery which transcends our comprehension, we can leave it at that, however, we do not have to. We can seek to have a better understanding even as we accept that we will never be able to comprehend God. In doing so, we will find ourselves coming to apprehend more and more of the truth, and thorough such apprehensions, come to realize these antinomies deal with two different aspects of God. God is incapable of suffering because the divine nature is perfect and unchanging, but God is not just the divine nature, God is tri-personal, with each person interacting with each other and creation. It is in and through the divine persons God’s love is revealed, and so, in and through them we find God’s compassion being expressed. While, by nature, God can also be said to be love, the realization of that love is personal, and so, it is possible to consider God’s experience of suffering is personal, and not according to nature. If we look at it this way, we find the perfection and impassibility of the divine nature remains intact.

Through love, through the personal interactions with each other, and creation, we can perceive a pathos in God, a pathos which allows God to be compassionate and “pained” when creation suffers, especially when innocents are made to unjustly suffer at the hands of those who have power and authority in the world. This pathos is what motivated many of the prophets as they spoke out against social injustice, but it is also what is revealed to us in the incarnation.The God-man, Jesus, showed us this compassion, this love, this pathos in the way he showed love to those who were being mistreated, but also in the way he reacted to the death of his friend, Lazarus. Such suffering was personal, coming in and through the Logos’s human nature, but because the human nature is not other than the human nature of the divine Logos, God is shown to suffer in and through the suffering of the incarnate God-man (similar to the way God is born through the Virgin Mary).

In the incarnation, we find confirmation of what was indicated by the prophets: God has a pathos, a divine energy which comes from God’s divine nature and yet is distinct from it, so God in and through that pathos has compassion with creation, a compassion which allows God to suffer in and through creation. And in Jesus, the God-man, that pathos is united with creation itself. And, as James Cone explained, Jesus’s resurrection shows that God’s compassion, God’s pathos, is especially geared towards all who suffer injustice, seeking to help them, to lift them up, while also having those who have created such unjust suffering make restitution for what they have done:

The resurrection is God’s conquest of oppression and injustice, disclosing that the divine freedom revealed in Israel’s history is now available to all. The cross represents the particularity of divine suffering in Israel’s place. The resurrection is the universality of divine freedom for all who “labor and are heavy laden.” It is the actualization in history of Jesus’ eschatological vision that the last shall be first and  the first last. The resurrection means that God’s identity with the poor in Jesus is not limited to the particularity of his Jewishness but is applicable to all who fight on behalf of the liberation of humanity in this world. And the Risen Lord’s identification with the suffering poor today is just as real as was his presence with the outcasts in first-century Palestine. His presence with the poor today is not docetic; but like yesterday, today also he takes the pain of the poor upon himself and bears it for them.[2]

Suffering is an evil, but through compassion, those who willingly share in the suffering of others to help relieve them of such suffering, shows us that sometimes suffering can be transformed into a good, not because suffering is good, but because nothing is entirely evil, and the good contained in some evil act can be used to establish some greater good:

It is one of the mysteries of pain that it is, for the sufferer, an opportunity for good, a path of ascent however hard. But it remains an ‘evil’, and it must dismay any conscience to have caused it carelessly, or in excess, let alone wilfully.[3]

While suffering can be transformed and used for the good, we should always realize suffering is an evil which should never be desired. Suffering does not exist in the divine nature, in the absolute Good of God, because it is an evil. However, because the persons of God love us, each of them can, in their own way, embrace us in our suffering, and we can apprehend this in the way each of  them relate to us in and through the incarnation and the God-man’s suffering on the cross:

And in the incarnation we find the co-participation of all three hypostases, each in its own manner: The Father sends the Son, and this sending is an act of fatherly sacrificial love, the kenosis of the Father, who condemns to the cross the beloved Son, who takes on himself this feat on the cross. The feast of the Son is also the self-denying love of the Father who, in “sending” the Son, condemns his very Self to co-suffering and co-crucifixion, though in a manner different than the Son. Because there is the God-man’s passion on the cross, there is also the fatherly passion on the cross, the passion of co-suffering love, of fatherly self-crucifixion. We must understand the “sending” of the Son by the Father not as an act of authority, as a command, but rather as an act of agreement, initiative, origination, all of which are hypostatically proper to the Father. [4]

Each person of the Trinity share with us our  suffering, each in their own unique way. In their compassion, they take on our suffering and transform it, so that through it, some greater good can be established as the evil of suffering is brought to an end. Understanding this should help us take on the paradox of suffering and its relationship with God, to see there is a way for God to be free from suffering while still taking it on and experiencing suffering through compassionate love. Such compassion does not undermine the divine nature and its impassibility, but rather, shows us its transcendent perfection. When we understand the truth of this, we will also be able to better understand the distinction between the divine nature and God’s uncreated energies, as well as the difference between the persons of the Trinity. For it is only as an absolute monad without even relative distinctions that we find it impossible to perceive of a way to move beyond the paradox and accept both that God cannot suffer and yet, God, in God’s omnipotent love, can and does suffer with us.


[1] George Maloney, SJ, God’s Exploding Love (New York: Alba House. 1987), 118.

[2] James H. Cone, God Of The Oppressed (New York: Seabury Press 1975), 135.

[3] J.R.R. Tolkien, The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Revised and Expanded Edition. Ed. Humphrey Carpenter and Christopher Tolkien (Broadway, NY: William Morrow, 2023), 180 [Letter 113 to C.S. Lewis].

[4] Sergius Bulgakov, “The Sophiology of Death ” in The Sophiology of Death. Essays on Eschatology: Personal, Political, Universal. Trans. Roberto J. De La Noval (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2021), 125.

 

 

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July 4, 2024

Microbiz Mag: Man Writing / Wikimedia Commons

I’m an avid reader. I love to read (but, like most things, how great that love is waxes and wanes, as sometimes I read something which completely enchants me and I can’t wait to read more, and at other times, I find what I am reading not so exciting, making it difficult to reading, that is, when I think there is a good reason to do so).

I try to read at least an hour every day. I consider doing so to be similar to physical exercise, but instead of focusing on my body, I am engaging my mind. Some days I meet my goal, some days I read quite a bit more, and other days, when life gets in the way, I read much less I desire.

While I read a great variety of texts, there are some types which I read more often than others: theology, spirituality, philosophy, history, science fiction, fantasy, and important, influential works of world literature. I try to alternate what I read, especially if and when I find myself reading too much from a single author or genre, just as I alternate the physical exercise I do every day. This helps keep my mind sharp even as it makes sure I do not get stuck in my reading habits, ignoring texts which I would otherwise find invaluable or at least entertaining if I turned to them. Indeed, when I find my reading becomes repetitive, such as when I read too much from a given author or genre, I find my enthusiasm for reading begins to wane. That is when I need something radically different to read, something which, in its newness, helps revitalize my love for reading. After engaging such a novelty, I find it easier to engage the kinds of texts I normally read.

Writing my blog helps me integrate what I have read and learned to what I had previously come to know and understand; that is, I often use the texts I have most recently read as an inspiration for my writing, engaging what I read so that I can better understand and appreciate its significance for myself.  This is not to say everything I write about is based upon what I have most recently read: usually, one blog post a week reflects my current reading (if it is relevant), another post reflects the liturgical week and the readings used for the Sunday Divine Liturgy, another engages and reflects upon the news of the week, and then, the final post either deals with concerns I have seen being raised by Catholics during the week, or I try reflect upon the spirituality of the desert fathers and mothers, trying to find a way to make their wisdom and thought relevant today. In doing this, I write for my own benefit, but also, for the benefit of others, hoping that what comes about through my studies and reflections will help others just as much as it does myself.

I do not want my blog to only serve myself and my own particular idiosyncrasies. I try to make my blog a place where I can encounter others, and they can encounter me. I do not always respond to comments, but I read them, thinking about what they say and if there is something I should say in response, either in a comment, or in a future blog post. I try to use my blog as a place where I can engage others, and others engage me. For that to be possible, everyone needs to be honest. If I detect someone trying to simply debate, or worse, respond in some deceptive manner (such as trying to gaslight me or one of my readers), I disengage from that conversation. We should always be concerned about each other, showing  each other love and respect, treating each other as we would like to be treated. This includes being willing to open up and expose ourselves in some fashion or another, that is, to be willing to reveal our thoughts and beliefs, so that others can then respond to us in kind, and in doing so, we come to know, not just our thoughts and beliefs, but some of the hopes and dreams and of the people we engage. I want us to have a fruitful encounter with each other where we engage each other as persons and not as mere individuals who have no way to connect or help each other. But, if we are to help each other in this way, we should always make sure we are not being hypocrites, addressing others, telling them what to do without being critical with ourselves, which is why I constantly tell people, much of my writing is as much as for myself as others. It is my hope that my reflections can help us grow together; if this happens, or rather, when it happens, I believe my work has been successful, and when it does not, then I know there is more which needs to be said and done.

To help make this happen, when I read, I write down quotes which I find interesting and important. Some of them confirm what I already believe. Some of them complement and expand my thoughts. Some of them challenge them. Others represent ways authors I am reading, often authors I like or appreciate, go astray or err. The last type of quote is important because it helps me to be critically engaged with what I read, not taking what I read for granted. It reminds me that even those who are intelligent, full of knowledge and wisdom, are people with biases and prejudices which get in the way of their thinking.  Many of my favorite authors have made some great, indeed, grave mistakes, and yet, they are among my favorites because where they went right, they said and did something extraordinary, something which amazes me, and so something which influences me and my thoughts. And then, when I think about them and how they went astray, I know the same can and should be said about myself, that is, if the best among us can embrace some grave errs, it is likely I am doing so myself, in ways which I might not ever recognize.

To be sure, what I have written here might seem to suggest that my reading is done purely for study, or some utilitarian use. While that is often involved, it is not the whole of it. Much of my reading is done for the pleasure of it, that is, because I am entertained by what I read. I do not take notes on everything I read, especially if and when I find such notes would become repetitive, or worse, interfere with my enjoyment of the text in question. This is one of many reasons why I like to read fiction, especially genre fiction. It helps me read more for the sake of pleasure than for anything else. This is not to say such reading only serves meaningless entertainment, as, of course, the works not only entertain us, but they also makes us look at and examine the world in new ways. This is why I like to read the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Philip K. Dick, Frank Herbert, Ursula K. Le Guin, Shirley Jackson, and H.P. Lovecraft (and others like them): they knew how to write to entertain their audience, and yet, in and with that entertainment, there are many issues which are raised, issues which can and should be addressed by everyone, issues which often become addressed either directly or indirectly when I come to write for my blog. For, even when I am being entertained, my mind still asks questions, questions which ultimately will be reflected upon in what I write.

 

 

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N.B.:  While I read comments to moderate them, I rarely respond to them. If I don’t respond to your comment directly, don’t assume I am unthankful for it. I appreciate it. But I want readers to feel free to ask questions, and hopefully, dialogue with each other. I have shared what I wanted to say, though some responses will get a brief reply by me, or, if I find it interesting and something I can engage fully, as the foundation for another post. I have had many posts inspired or improved upon thanks to my readers.

 

November 16, 2021

Araniart: The Elves Leave Middle-Earth / Wikimedia Commons

Tolkien, like his friend C.S. Lewis, contemplated the notion of “unfallen” beings living in a fallen universe. He thought that if they existed, even though they were not tainted by sin, they would still be affected by the fall. It was with this understanding that wrote concerning the Quendi, the Elves, in his writings:

The Quendi never “fell” in the sense that Men did.  Being “tainted” with the Shadow (as perhaps even the Valar in some degree were, with all things in “Arda Marred”) they could do wrong. But they never rejected Eru, or worshiped Melkor (or Sauron) either individually, or in groups, or as a whole people. Their lives, therefore, came under no general curse or diminishment, and their “life-span”, co-extensive with the remainder of the life of Arda, was unaltered – except only insofar as, with the very ageing of Arda itself, their primitive vigour of body steadily waned. [1]

Since the corruption of sin affected the world at large, all who are a part of the world would find themselves touched by it. Even unfallen beings could do wrong (and so fall into particular, but not universal, sin). More importantly, their connection with a world in which the fall took place would have an effect on their lives. The Quendi felt this in the way they were associated with their bodies; in youth, their bodies are strong and vigorous but as they aged, their spirit grew in strength and out of harmony with their body and all material being. Their bodies would grow weak and their spirit would grow strong. They would become more and more spirit like until, at last, they would seem to vanish from the world itself. They would have to exert themselves in order to engage their physical nature. They would always possess a material nature and a tie to the world at large, no matter how spiritualized they had become. Their fate was tied with the fate of the world. They would continue to live until the end of time, even if their presence would not be so readily perceived by others.  In this way, the sins of others tainted the world, and through their connection with the world, created a disharmony in their very being. It was not their own sin, but the sins of others which did this. They were established to be in and of the world. Their ultimate fate, however, was not known by them, because the fate of the world in the eschaton was not  known by them:

Another thing which distinguishes the living from the unliving is that the living employ Time in their realization. In other words it is part of their nature to ‘grow”, using such material as is needed or is available to them for their embodiment. So that a living pattern does not fully exist at any one moment of time (as do unliving patterns); but is complete only with the completion of its life. It cannot therefore rightly be seen instantly, and is only imperfectly envisages even with the help of memory. Only those who conceived its pattern and whose sight is not limited to the succession of time can, for instance, see the true shape of a tree. [2]

The completion of their life, unless it was unnaturally brought to an end (such as through violence) would be with the end of the world itself.  This is why their destiny could not and would not be known until the end of time. For they existed with the world, and their destiny was intricately tied to the destiny of the world, but the destiny of the world was full of unexpected surprises which only Eru (God) knew. Only those outside of time, only those who have already seen what happens in the end, would know their fate. This they and others often asked if they would perish when time came to an end, or if Eru, God, had some other destiny for them. This was a question which concerned them and though they had speculations and guesses, they could not provide any final, authoritative answer to the question.  Tolkien was interested in offering a way to explain the presence of the Elves in the past while acknowledging their general disappearance in the present.

In a slightly reformulated exploration from what was quoted above, Tolkien made it clear, sin was an issue; sin had corrupted the world and so those connected to the world, whether or not they were fallen beings, would feel the effects of such sin in their own lives

The Quendi never “fell” as a race – not in the sense in which they and Men find themselves believed that the Second Children had “fallen.” Being “tainted” with the Marring (which affected all the “flesh of Arda” from which their hröar was derived and were nourished), and having also come under the Shadow of Melkor before their Finding and rescue, they could individually do wrong. But they never (not even the wrong-doers) rejected Eru, not worshiped either Melkor or Sauron as a god – neither individually or as a whole people. [3]

What is interesting is the way Tolkien viewed the possibility of unfallen beings as being affected by sin. He believed individuals within an unfallen group could do wrong, they could sin, but whatever they did would not affect the group as a whole in the way original sins did with humanity. Thus, he thought that someone living in the world without sin could still feel the wounds of sin upon their lives, but if they did, it must not be asserted that they did so because they themselves were fallen creatures. This is an important observation and distinction which, if employed theologically, could offer insight into the various traditions surrounding Mary, the Theotokos.

Mary, through special grace, knew no sin in her life. This did not mean she would be free from the effects of sin in her life. Following Tolkien, we could say, because she lived in the world, a world touched by sin, she could and would suffer because sin continued to influence the world and what happened in it. Indeed, she shared with the rest of humanity the conditions put upon its historical existence as a result of the fall. This is why she could and would eventually die; her death was not due to any sin she committed, for she was without sin, but due to her ties with the rest of humanity; indeed, it would seem, from the way various theologians and saints have presented her death, in solidarity with the rest of humanity, she accepted death for herself even though she knew no sin. [4]

This is also why Jesus could also die without knowing sin. He took on human nature, which itself is good and pure, but he took it with the way history had formed and shaped it. He took on a role in human history, a history influenced by and shaped by the effects of sin upon the world. He came to be in solidarity with us all, to experience the effects of sin upon himself. He bore sin upon himself without knowing sin. “ He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed” (1 Ptr. 2:24 RSV). And thus, he who knew sin could “become sin” in the sense he took upon himself a human life and death and assumed for himself in his humanity the effects of sin upon himself. “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21 RSV). It was in this fashion that he could and would experience the full effects of sin – all the way unto death and into the realm of the dead, engaging all that was touched by sin in and through his own being;  then, having done so, he could and would reconfigure the world.

Even if we do not believe Elves, even if we understand all that Tolkien wrote was fiction, he tried to provide ways it could, in theory, be true and relate to the world which we lived in, indeed, to the Christian faith. This allowed him to pursue categories of being which we rarely consider. What exactly would be the experience of an unfallen being in the world. Could they suffer, could they die, could they, also, somehow deny their own goodness and sin? Lewis, of course, explored this theme in the Space Trilogy, but Tolkien did not think we needed to leave the Earth to raise these questions and consider the possibility of such a life existing here with us on the Earth. In doing so, he suggested that such unfallen creatures could and still would be affected by the taint of the “Shadow,” the taint of sin. Once humanity had fallen into sin, once the world was marred by the effects of sin, even sinless people (Mary and Jesus) could and would feel the effects of sin upon them even if they knew no sin themselves. They could and would die, despite their sinlessness. If Jesus, the God-man, could not do so, then there would have been no way for him to overcome death by death itself. Then sin and death would have had the final say. Thus, Tolkien was correct in making the observation that those without sin could and would still feel the effects of sin in their lives so long as they lived in a world marred by sin. Though death can be said to be one of the effects of the fall upon creation, this does not mean all who die are sinners, which is why Mary, though she died, did not die because of any sin on her part but rather because of her unity with the rest of humanity (and the world at large).


[1] J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Awakening of the Quendi,” in The Nature of Middle Earth. Ed. Carl F. Hostetter (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2021), 36.

[2] J.R.R. Tolkien, “Elvish Reincarnation,” in The Nature of Middle Earth. Ed. Carl F. Hostetter (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2021), 254.

[3] J.R.R. Tolkien, “Concerning the Quendi,” in The Nature of Middle Earth. Ed. Carl F. Hostetter (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2021), 88.

[4] While she knew no sin since birth, she still had to be open to grace, so that she could receive grace upon grace, to grow in grace. This is why it is said that at the annunciation, after her acceptance of what the angel had told her, the Hoy Spirit embraced her and gave her more, indeed, greater grace than she had before, making her ready to fulfill her role as the Theotokos. Thus, we are shown, the grace needed to be pure is less than the grace which is offered to all of us, for we are called to grow in grace, to become greater through grace than we are by nature, and when we do, we will find the Spirit overshadowing us as it did Mary and helping us give a spiritual birth to Christ in our lives.

 

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August 19, 2020

Tibor Végh: Boxing Children / Wikimedia Commons

In the shot story, “Manhood,” the former student and friend of C.S. Lewis, John Wain, writes of a youth whose father wants him to grow up to be a strong man, a youth who is being pushed by his father into all kinds of exercises and sports in order to attain his father’s ideal of manhood. The father, Mr Willison, felt he had to do this so that his son, Rob, could be better than he,  that is, to have all the advantages he did not have while he was growing up:

“Now look,” said Mr Willison again. “When I was a boy, it was study, study, study all the time, with the fear of unemployment and insecurity in everybody’s mind. I was never even given a bicycle. I never boxed, I never rowed, I never did anything to develop my physique. It was just work, work, work, pass this exam, get that certificate. Well, I did it and now I’m qualified and in a secure job. But you know as well as I do that they let me down. Nobody encouraged me to build myself up.”[1]

Rob does not want to let his father down, and yet, he is being pushed beyond his capabilities. His father is constantly having him trained, from extreme bike riding to boxing. When Rob was not able to make it into any of his school’s sports teams, he lies to his father, telling him he has taken up boxing, making his father proud. The school had no boxing team. Rob, however, knew one day he would have to pretend to have a fight- but when the time comes, he makes up another lie, saying he is not well, claiming appendicitis:

Mr Willison ran up the stairs. “What is it?” he panted. “D’you want something?”

“I think I’ve got appendicitis,” said Rob. He lay squinting among the  pillows, his face suddenly narrow and crafty. [2]

Because his son was going to miss the fight, Mr Willison calls Mr Granger, whom Rob had indicated was his trainer. It was then he learned the truth. There was no boxing team. The school frowned on boxing. His son had been lying to appease him.

One of the lessons one can get out of “Manhood” is the way people create an ideal version of manhood, of masculinity, which they try to impart on the next generation. It isn’t real, but to appease their parents, many children will try to conform to that ideal, and when they cannot, they will still try to appear to do so by lying. The reality is that the ideal itself is the lie. It takes a lie to continue a lie. There is no one universal “masculinity” which is to be enforced upon all men; to try to make one leads to toxic masculinity, to a destructive vision of manhood which relies upon lies and violence in order to reproduce itself in the world. And in the modern world, this toxic masculinity is seen in the way masculinity is reduced to a few qualities, such as strength (and muscles), revealing itself in someone who “takes charge” over others, or at least, by someone who is capable of taking all that can be unleashed at them without complaint. Those who are not so strong, those who are not so aggressive and “take charge” are treated as less than manly. This leads to would-be men fighting against each other, trying to show themselves to be stronger than each other, and indeed, to have men fighting anyone who comes in their path who would undermine their “authority.”

“There is a way which seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death” (Prov. 14:12 RSV). There is a way which seems to be right about manhood by so many people, but its end is also death, because it does not allow men to be themselves. It forces men to conform to false expectations. When those expectations are not met, suffering will follow: either with the man who does not conform, who feels as if they are a failure, or those around such a man, who try to meet those expectations by taking it out on those around them to prove their supposed strength, or likely, both. To try to conform to what seems “right” about manhood, to create a false vision of masculinity which envisions man as strong (“body builder”), incapable of showing emotions (“men do not cry”), as being in control (especially of their spouse), indeed, to be all concerned about making money (for the man alone must provide for the family), might seem right to some, because it is an ideology which has been perpetuated through various social constructs, but because so many men do not meet its criteria, it is clear it fails to represent the truth.

Scripture, of course, undermines the ideology which has led to modern toxic masculinity. It promotes wisdom over strength, compassion over dominance, self-giving love over avarice. “A wise man is mightier than a strong man, and a man of knowledge than he who has strength;  for by wise guidance you can wage your war, and in abundance of counselors there is victory” (Prov. 24:5-6 RSV). Men are to show kindness to their families, instead of being domineering. “Husbands, love your wives, and do not be harsh with them” (Col. 3:19 RSV). “Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged” (Col. 3:21 RSV).

Masculinity, when reduced to a few, questionable qualities, undermines all those men who do not possess them. They are forced either to try to pretend to have them, and lie to themselves and the world (like Rob in the story, “Manhood”), or suffer various indignities by those who follow such an ideological vision of the masculine. Toxic masculinity has become an increasing problem because the ideology behind it has been exposed, but instead of accepting it, ideologues double down and try to reify their ideology. They become caricatures of the manhood they describe.

Manhood, masculinity, doesn’t have to be reduced to a few qualities. Such reductionistic representations of masculinity (and likewise, femininity) will always cause pain and confusion. If we want to get rid of toxic masculinity, and the problems associated with it, we must realize that masculinity itself is empty, that is, it has no specific qualities but rather, is capable of being expressed in a full range of possibilities. Each man should be free to express themselves as this wish (so long as they do so respecting other potentialities, other ways of manifesting the masculine, and, of course, so long as their expression is filled with compassion and is not one which harms others). For the Christian, that means they should be able to express themselves in and with the fruit of the Spirit: “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such there is no law” (Gal. 5:22-23 RSV). This is far from the image of masculinity which has been reinforced by patriarchal systems, and so far from the image which creates the toxicity which destroys lives, both of the man and of those around him.

The story of “Manhood” shows us, in its own fashion, the pains and sorrows which come out of the lies which are used to promote a vision of manhood which has never been, and can never be, true. The ideological vision of manhood which has come down to us, though not true, tries to make reality meet its claims by force, by training the next generation to meet its criteria. Rob’s mother was not happy with Rob being involved with boxing, but his father promoted it as a way to make Rob a true man:

“That’s where you’re wrong, Grace,” said Mr Willison sternly. “There is a law. The unalterable law of nature that says that the young males of the species indulge in manly trials of strength. Think of all the other lads who are going into the ring tonight. D’you think their mothers are sitting about crying and kicking up a fuss? No – they’re proud to have strong, masculine sons who can stand up in the ring and take a few punches.” [3]

When we think being a man is about giving and receiving punches, we should not be surprised with the violence and destruction which comes in its wake. True masculinity is strong, but its strength lies in the spirit, not physical strength and feats of endurance. Of course, some men will have such qualities, but it is not what makes them men, nor should it be expected of all men. Likewise, those who have such qualities should not be encouraged to think they exist for the sake of proving their superiority over others. For once again, if that is what they believe, they will act on it, causing pain and sorrow to themselves (as those qualities are impermanent) and on others around them (as they try to prove their superiority through the violence indicated by their ideology).

True masculinity lies in and with every man; not all of them are physically strong, not all of them are brave, not all of them have iron constitutions. To get to the heart of masculinity we must move beyond all such expectations. We must stop lying to ourselves by trying to create an ideological image of the masculine. Only then can we begin to solve the problem so many men and boys face today. For then they will not feel bad for failing to meet some false ideal.  Only when we can stop lying to ourselves and lying to the next generation, can we begin to accept men who do not fit such ideological expectations, freeing them from abusive qualities, and truly allowing them to come together in harmony with everyone else. Only then can they also learn to accept women likewise cannot be reduced to ideological qualities about femininity, allowing them to appreciate and accept women as women instead of things which must be objectified in order to fit in their ideological perspective.


 

[1] John Wain, “Manhood” in Death of the Hind Legs and Other Stories (Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1970), 61

[2] John Wain, “Manhood,” 66.

[3] John Wain, “Manhood,” 66.

 

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July 9, 2020

No photographer listed: Angry Man Pointing / PickPic

Catholics have long experienced the charge of being pagans because of the similarity between some Catholic practice or teaching with a pagan practice or teaching. Moreover, because Catholics have a history of looking at, examining, and actually adapting pagan thought, transforming it as is necessary to be compatible with Christianity, critics believe they have sufficient grounds for making their charge stick. But then, those critics turn on each other, and start accusing each other of being contaminated by pagan thought as well.

The fact that there is similarity with, or actual borrowing from, pagan sources does not make a thing pagan. Nor does the fact that something can be shown to be pagan in origin make it bad. Far from it. Everyone, including those who attack paganism, are heirs of the pagan tradition. Pagans invented writing. Does that make all writing pagan? Does that make writing bad? Pagans prayed to their gods. Does that make all prayer pagan? Does that make prayer bad? Pagans contemplated moral questions. Should we disregard morality?

When people from various pagan backgrounds became Christian, they took much of their heritage with them.  This wasn’t wrong for them to do. Far from it. It really highlighted the good which they had received from their pre-Christian faith. There is no way human civilization, indeed, Christian thought, could continue on if that were the case, because so much of the Christian tradition developed out of its pre-Christian roots. This is why it was proclaimed at Vatican II:

The Catholic Church rejects nothing that is true and holy in these religions. She regards with sincere reverence those ways of conduct and of life, those precepts and teachings which, though differing in many aspects from the ones she holds and sets forth, nonetheless often reflect a ray of that Truth which enlightens all men. Indeed, she proclaims, and ever must proclaim Christ “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6), in whom men may find the fullness of religious life, in whom God has reconciled all things to Himself.

The Church, therefore, exhorts her sons, that through dialogue and collaboration with the followers of other religions, carried out with prudence and love and in witness to the Christian faith and life, they recognize, preserve and promote the good things, spiritual and moral, as well as the socio-cultural values found among these men.[1]

Indeed, as C.S. Lewis once noted that pagans have a great number of spiritual truths which have otherwise been lost to modern humanity, and it would be great if humanity returned to them.[2] Christianity has nothing to fear when it learns from pagans – indeed, they should be grateful for what has been handed over and realize that, whatever differences pagans and Christians have from each other, pagans have contributed much which is good and true to the history of humanity.

Just because the source of an idea, the source of a tradition, is pagan, does not make the idea or tradition is bad: it has to be examined in its own right. Likewise, just because a Christian comes up with some idea or tradition, that does not mean the idea or tradition is good: Christianity is filled with evil Christians promoting evil ideologies (which is true to this day, as can be seen in the way many Christians embrace racist ideologies).

Recently, however, there is a new version of “that’s pagan” being used by many so-called Christians, but also by secular people on the right. Instead of saying “that’s pagan” (often because few people are concerned about paganism), they say “that’s Marxist.” Just like those who used ‘that’s pagan” to simply suggest something is necessarily wrong, because of its source, so “that’s Marxist” is being used to simply suggest some attempt at social justice is bad because of its source. The genetic fallacy, which was used to decry the adaptation of pagan thought, now is being put to use for political ideologies.

But just like Christians can and should embrace ideas and traditions coming from pagans, that is, they can recognize, preserve and promote the good things, spiritual and moral, as well as the socio-cultural values found among these men, so Christians (and anyone else) should be able to do the same with Marxism. Pope Benedict XVI, a critic of Marx, thus was able to recognize Marx, in his analysis, did make significant contributions to human thought:

With great precision, albeit with a certain onesided bias, Marx described the situation of his time, and with great analytical skill he spelled out the paths leading to revolution—and not only theoretically: by means of the Communist Party that came into being from the Communist Manifesto of 1848, he set it in motion. His promise, owing to the acuteness of his analysis and his clear indication of the means for radical change, was and still remains an endless source of fascination. [3]

Thus, Pope Benedict XVI could point out how “Democratic Socialism,” which learned from Marxist analysis, was not only close to Catholic teaching, but helped promote social justice in Europe:

But in Europe, in the nineteenth century, the two models were joined by a third, socialism, which quickly split into two different branches, one totalitarian and the other democratic. Democratic socialism managed to fit within the two existing models as a welcome counterweight to the radical liberal positions, which it developed and corrected. It also managed to appeal to various denominations. In England it became the political party of the Catholics, who had never felt at home among either the Protestant conservatives or the liberals. In Wilhelmine Germany, too, Catholic groups felt closer to democratic socialism than to the rigidly Prussian and Protestant conservative forces. In many respects, democratic socialism was and is close to Catholic social doctrine and has in any case made a remarkable contribution to the formation of a social consciousness.[4]

Democratic Socialism, which Pope Benedict XVI rightfully stated, is close to Catholic social teaching (though, of course, it will not be one and the same, because Democratic Socialism is fundamentally secular and does not embrace Christian revelation, though some who follow it do incorporate their Christian faith with their embrace of it), While Benedict would not approve of uncritical adaptation of Marx, the fact that someone employed Marx and Marxist theory, by itself, does not tell us anything about the validity of their analysis. What is proposed must be examined, and, in all likelihood, good and bad will be found tied together; whatever is  good and true can, and should, be employed, just as whatever is good and true found in pagan faiths could be and should be accepted by Christians.

“That’s Marxist” is just a cheap, unintellectual way to disengage from issues of justice. Indeed, it is often used by those who want to defend unjust policies, such as racists, by suggesting critics of such policies must be Marxist and so must be fought against just because there might be some Marxist critique involved in their analysis of the situation at hand. Calling something “Cultural Marxist” is a favorite way of doing this, though when analyzed, those employing such terminology are claiming things to be Marxist which have nothing to do with Marxism at all. What we must be concerned with is whether or not the analysis is correct, not the source of the tools by which the analysis has been made; if they are correct, and they show a problem, we must find a solution; if they are not, then it doesn’t matter where the analysis came from, we can show the error and leave it at that. What we can’t do, however, is just believe the statement, “that’s Marxist” proves something is wrong, just as we cannot believe “that’s pagan” means something is wrong either.


[1] Nostra Aetate. Vatican translation. ¶2

[2] See C.S. Lewis and Don Giovanni Calabria, The Latin Letters of C.S. Lewis. Trans. Martin Moynihan (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 1998), 85 [Letter 23].

[3] Pope Benedict XVI, Spe salvi. Vatican translation. ¶20.

[4] Pope Benedict XVI and Marcello Pera, Without Roots: The West, Relativism, Christianity, Islam. Trans. Michael F. Moore (New York: Basic Books, 2006), 69-70.

 

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February 21, 2020

Anonymous: Reading Outside/ Pixnio

We all need to take care of ourselves. Leisure and rest are necessary parts of our life. We must not overburden ourselves with work, for that will only lead us to suffering a break down. Spiritual masters from Siddhartha the Buddha to St. Anthony the Great have not only come to this conclusion, they taught it to their disciples. [1] Thus, in Ecclesiastes, we are told there is a time and place for everything, including rest:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;  a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace (Eccl.. 3:1-8 RSV).

This is also true in regards to our reading habits. While it is important for us to keep abreast with the news of the day so that we do not ignore the injustices which lie before us, we must understand there is also a time to put it all aside. Sometimes, we need a break from such serious reading, lest it overcomes us with despair. We need to be nurtured even as we need to nurture others. We need rest to make sure we have the strength needed in order to confront injustices such injustices. If we don’t know when to rest, we will find out that eventually, we will be so overwhelmed we won’t know what to do with ourselves.

If we only focus on what is wrong with the world, looking for something new to confront on a daily basis, we will end up feeling bogged down and useless. We need rest. We need time for ourselves, time to reflect upon the good things in life, to laugh, to enjoy what we have, indeed, to find joy in our lives. We need, therefore, not follow the news, we need to engage whatever books, movies, music which will lift us up in our spirit, transposing us beyond the tragedies of life.   We need to be reminded that life is more than a series of tragedies which we overcome. We need, as J.R.R. Tolkien understood, a way to escape it all and feel the jubilation which life can bring. The arts can bring this to us.

How much focus on the news, especially bad news, is too much? It depends upon us and our particular needs. Some, like C.S. Lewis, probably should avoid the news altogether. Others, like Dorothy Day, should moderate their intake of the news, balancing it out with something positive to help give us hope. Thus, during a time of war  Dorothy Day suggested that we put away the daily paper and read and study what is going on once a week while taking the time to explore a diverse amount of reading material in order to make sure we do not get caught up in the present without being nourished by the wisdom and joys of the past:

BOOKS [TO READ] IN WARTIME: Labyrinthine Ways. To The End of the World. Kristin Lavransdatter. Master of Hestviken. Jeremiah. 1 Kings.

People live, eat, sleep, love, worship, marry, have children, and somehow live in the midst of war, in the midst of anguish. The sun continues to shine, the leaves flaunt their vivid color, there is a serene warmth in the day and an invigorating cold at night.

Turn off your radio. Put away your daily paper.

Read one review of events a week and spend some time reading such books as the above. They tell too of days of striving and of strife. They are of other centuries and also our own. They make us realize that all times are perilous, that men live in a dangerous world. In peril constantly losing or maiming soul and body.[2]

We need to have a greater perspective than what can be found in the daily news.  Without such a broad perspective, it is easy to get entangled by the rapid changes happening around us. We would have no basis by which to judge those changes, making it that much harder to know what to do. It would indeed be easy to hear what is being said by those in authority without questioning what they tell us. We need to realize that there will be no golden age, that all times are perilous, but we also need to realize that many of the difficulties which lie before us today are difficulties which others faced and they can provide us with wisdom and advice concerning how to deal with it. Being stuck with the daily news, no matter the source (paper, internet, radio, or television) without a greater context only makes sure we are easy targets for propaganda, either by those who try to invoke a golden past which they want us to restore (even though it never existed and can never exist), or by those trying to invoke a golden future, a utopia, which no one has been able to produce (and would likewise result in many tragedies in the attempt to make such a utopia).

But we need to do more than that. We need to find hope in the present moment, even when there is so much wrong going on around us. We cannot neglect the needs of others, selfishly looking only for ourselves, but on the other hand, we need comfort and rest. We need to enjoy life. In the midst of so much evil like war, life goes on, and with it, the joys of life go on. We should not be ashamed if we rest and find things which we enjoy and use to lift up our spirits. The world is good. Life is good. We don’t need to read only serious works of history, philosophy, or literature; we can and should also take and read other things, from comic strips which make us laugh, to flights of fantasy which help us, even for a moment, make us feel free from the problems of life.  We are meant to enjoy life; it is a gift given to us by God and if we neglect that gift, if we ignore the good which is before us, we will fail to understand what it is we are fighting for when we fight against injustice.

As we fight for others, we must not neglect our own needs. We must balance them out. We must make the most of our time, as Paul said: “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of the time, because the days are evil” (Eph. 3:15-16 RSV).  The world is filled with wonderful gifts from God for us to enjoy; the world is also filled with all kinds of great treasures, great works of art but also not-so great works of art, all kinds of leisurely games and novelties made by others which we should also enjoy.

We must make time for ourselves, for it is only then we can truly be who we are meant to be, capable of moving on and doing the work which only we can do to help make the world a better place.

 


[1] See The Sayings of the Desert Fathers. trans. Benedicta Ward (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1984), 3-4 and my reflection on that saying in A Time To Rest.

[2] Dorothy Day, The Reckless Way of Love. Notes on Following Jesus. Ed.  Carolyn Kurtz (Walden, NY: Plough Publishing House, 2017), 93.

 

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December 17, 2019

Interdimensional Guardians: GroupET8 Aliens /Flickr

It is often asked, can Christians believe in the existence of intelligent life on other words, that is, in vernacular terms, can they believe in the existence of alien life? If so, what does the incarnation mean for them? If they have no contact with humanity, is it possible for them to be saved by Christ? If not, can they be saved? Do they need to be saved?

While many people assume the question of alien life is a recent one, in reality, the question is old, very old. Historically, we can find discussions concerning the plurality of worlds, and with it, life on those worlds, preceding the Christian era (with Lucretius famously writing on the vast size of the universe and the likelihood of there being many other planets with life). Nonetheless, as there was no one answer to the question before Christianity, after Christianity, Christians would likewise make various, differing answers, some suggesting alien life should be believed to exist, and others denying it. And then there were some who, instead of speculating on the matter, decided to remain agnostic, thinking that unless such life was ever encountered, the question itself held little to no import.

Perhaps one of the most important debates on the plurality of worlds could be found in the medieval era, with Étienne Tempier condemning those who denied the possibility that a plurality of worlds existed. Nonetheless, we must be careful when reading this condemnation, for the debate on the plurality of worlds in the medieval era tended to be less about a plurality of worlds within our own universe and more about the possibility of a plurality of universes. This is because what the medieval mind considered to be the “world” was the cosmic system in which they believed the Earth was at the center, with all the life which existed in the universe being found on the Earth. Anything which existed in the heavens were seen to be spiritual entities. Despite this difference, the reason why Tempier condemned those who denied the possibility of a plurality of worlds existing remains pertinent in regards the possibility of a plurality of worlds within our own universe: it was to preserve the omnipotence of God.

The medieval argument still has relevance to the discussion at hand, because it certainly acknowledges God’s ability to create as he wills instead of how humanity thinks he wills. But now, because we have a different understanding of the universe, its size, and contents, so we do not spiritualize what lies beyond the scope of the Earth’s atmosphere, the question of a plurality of worlds once again emerges within our own universe. Once Christians realized this, we find them talking about the possibility of alien life within our own universe, and some, like Nicholas of Cusa, promoted it.

In other words, far from what many might expect, Christianity has long discussed the concept of alien life, and it has room for it within its own cosmological understanding. The theological argument in favor or alien life is two-fold: one, dealing with their possibility, the second, as to why we should expect them to exist.

In regards the possibility, the medieval response is used: if we deny their possibility, then we deny God’s omnipotence. Since Christian theology promotes God’s omnipotence, God must be said to be capable of producing other worlds (whether or not we consider them to be worlds within our own universe, or other universes). To say they are impossible, then, is seen as contradicting a basic tenet concerning God, which is why Tempier condemned those who said such other worlds were impossible.

The argument which says we should expect other such worlds existing comes, also, from qualities which we associate with God: God is all-good. Since it is good for God to create, and it is good for God to give life to his creation, the greatness of his goodness should lead us to expect God to create a great variety of life throughout creation. When we see how large the universe is, it seems rather odd for God, who demonstrates his goodness by the proliferation of life, would create a relatively dead universe, where life is found in one small, insignificant portion of creation. If God is a God of life, we should then expect an abundance of life in the universe.

Modern science gives us more reasons to expect other intelligent life to exist in the universe. Although science cannot fully explain the origin of life, it gives many different theories for that origin. It recognizes various possible material causes for the emergence of life. And, because of the size of the universe as it is, it is unlikely that the material causes for life are found solely on the Earth. And once life begins, the process of evolution will develop that life, producing creatures of all kinds, including intelligent ones who are our equals (if not our superiors) in matters of the intellect.

Some Christians might say that because science is uncertain of the origins of life, as well as the way in which evolution does not have a teleology which automatically leads to intelligent life, they do not think science gives enough cause to belief in existence of life other than life on Earth. But if one combines what we know about God, and his omnipotence and benevolence, with what we know with science, Christians have a good reason to believe in a universe inhabited by a multitude of intelligent creatures. This is not to say we will necessarily ever encounter them. It is quite possible there are vast distances between various civilizations which exist as a way to protect them from each other. Nonetheless, some might suggest, if we take this line of thought to its proper conclusion, shouldn’t the universe be so full of life, that every planet we visit, even within our own Solar System, we should be able to find them? Historically, before our own scientific ability allowed us to properly explore space, many Christians thought this was likely; but now that we know this is not the case, and this is because a part of the reasoning behind this attitude was faulty: it was trying to establish God’s actions according to human reasoning, which, of course. God’s actions will not always follow. Nonetheless, even if they took a good principle and exaggerated it to assume too much about God, their general disposition still has value: we can easily believe God will create other life, other forms of intelligent life, within the universe, because he is good.

Belief in aliens does not mean belief that humanity will encounter such aliens. With what little scientific knowledge we have of the size and nature of the universe, and the way travel can be had within the universe, it is quite possible no such interaction will ever be possible. Belief in aliens does not mean belief that aliens have already visited us and that stories of alien encounters and abductions are true. On the other hand, Christians do not have to believe that such encounters are false, either. What is important for us is the fact that Christians can believe in the existence of aliens, and that belief can be based upon the nature Christians attribute to God.

Why, then, does Scripture not talk about aliens? Should that not be reason enough for Christians to dispute their existence? Not at all. That is merely an argument from silence. There are many things Christians have learned through the centuries which are not found in Scripture, such as the power which is had with nuclear physics. Scripture does not talk about nuclear physics, but no one today will deny its reality. The point of Scripture is not to offer a science lesson, nor does Scripture pretend to delineate all that exists within creation. We must understand Scripture was written for humanity, so that humanity can have a way to understand their own relationship with God and the way God has worked with them to save them. Nonetheless, even then, from time to time, it points out God still has relationships with others beyond humanity, such as is found with the covenant he made with all creation after the flood of Noah. Thus, we should not expect Scripture to reflect upon issues which are not centrally related to the economy of salvation for humanity, though of course, this is not to say we cannot find elements within Scripture which can be used to extrapolate answers beyond what is found in Scripture itself.

Now, if such alien life exists, and humans do not have any contact with them (or even if they do), what can Christians consider the implications of the incarnation have for them? Does the fact that God became a human man, Jesus, have any value to them?  Do they even need a savior?

To answer these questions, the first thing we need to consider is whether or not such life would need a savior. Some think that only humanity is fallen, and so only humanity needs a savior. However, that seems to go against the norm of Scripture, which suggests not only humanity, but the cosmos as a whole is fallen; Scripture tells us that the whole cosmos was awaiting the incarnation and the revelation of the children of God to be freed from the contamination of sin. In this sense, Scripture offers a cosmic understanding of the incarnation, that though God became human, through the incarnation, God has a way to reconcile all things so that all things, once tainted by sin, could become saved. The universe, it is said, will become a new creation (a “new heavens and a new Earth”).  Thus, it can be believed that the incarnation by itself, in ways unknown to humanity, God has found a way to work with and transform all life in creation, wherever it is at, even if it does not find itself in immediate contact with humanity: the incarnation, after all, is of the transcendent God who is everywhere present and fills all things according to his divine nature.

But it can be asked, is the whole of creation fallen, or only the creation which is immediately in contact with humanity?  If we consider things carefully, it would seem that the fall happened before the creation of humanity, because many aspects of the fall (such as death) existed before the advent of humanity. Likewise, since humanity did not fall entirely by itself, but by enticement from an other (traditionally named Satan), we find fallen entities existing before humanity, apart from humanity, so that some sort of fall (at least in a temporal sense) happened before the fall of humanity. (It could be suggested that the fall of humanity, while it took place at one particular place in time and space, had a metaphysical priority so that it affected all of time and space, including that which happened before the advent of humanity, but to do so would create several paradoxes, which though are not insurmountable, are not necessary to be believed to explain the fall in creation). In this fashion, we have evidence of the effects of the fall happening before humanity, outside of direct human influence, influencing and affecting creation, so that all which comes to be in the wake of such a fall is at least tried by it. Aliens, then, can certainly can receive salvation in the classical sense, but on the other hand, it is possible to think that the limits of the fall are particular in place and time, and each intelligent species, each particular creature, could be tempted and tried on its own, with some successfully overcoming such a temptation and others falling for it (as C.S. Lewis suggested in his Space Trilogy).  Nonetheless, what is important is to recognize that it is possible to believe all life itself is affected by a cosmic fall, and is in need of a savior, and the work of Jesus Christ, though accomplished in a particular time and place in the cosmos, influences the whole of creation and is capable of transforming and saving it, for we are to believe all things are reconciled in and through him. Likewise, even if other life is not itself fallen, the work of Christ is not just salvific but deifying, and so through the incarnation, God’s deifying grace is shared to the whole of creation.

Nonetheless, there is the option for Christians to believe that God the Logos, who has created all things in and through himself, as logoi within the Logos, has the potential to assume the natures of all the logoi which have been created by the Logos. That is, as the Logos creates the logoi or natures of all things, they all reflect the Logos in their own nature and so have room for the Logos to become one of them. In this way, it can be suggested, God has found a way to interact with all possible life forms, in their own particular nature and in their own particular way. Multiple incarnations, to be sure, seems to be quite troubling to the Christian mind, and is in general, rejected, but never absolutely so; it has always been considered a possibility that God could do so if God wanted to do so, and some significant Christian thinkers, at the height of such speculation, suggest it in one form or another, such as the way some have said that the Logos took on the nature of an “angel’ and so was the “angel of the Lord” before the incarnation. Even if we accept this possibility, it is important to realize that it is not necessary; one incarnation is enough to bridge the difference between Creator and creation. On the other hand, because God shows himself caring for his creation, giving various ways in which we can get to know him and interact with him, the notion of a plurality of incarnation is not against what we know of him and his nature, even if any particular incarnation, such as the incarnation we know for sure about with the assumption of humanity unto himself, is fully willed from his extraordinary benevolence.  Thus, even if alien life does not encounter humanity, this does not mean God could not and would not have is way to engage such life by incarnating himself as one of them; nor does it mean, if he did, that the end result would have to be the same as it is with humanity (to assume such a conclusion is to once again embrace necessity in discussions about God, a necessity which we should avoid).

Now, even if assume that the incarnation only took place once, and humanity never makes any historical relationship with alien life, this does not mean God would leave them ignorant of the incarnation. As there are two revealing arms of God – the Logos and the Holy Spirit, it is quite possible for the Holy Spirit, going where it wills, reveals to others what it needs to know concerning the incarnation for their own religious needs. Indeed, as we witness the Holy Spirit consistently illuminates us and helps in the promotion of evangelization, it would make sense that the Holy Spirit, the Lord and giver of life, fills the universe with illumination so that even if humanity has no knowledge of what happens beyond the Earth, what lives beyond the Earth could have knowledge of what happens on the Earth. We do not have to be a silent planet, even if we ourselves are kept in the dark about what happens beyond the Earth.

In this way, then, Christians already have a concept of a cosmic incarnation, that by one incarnation, God could and does affects the whole creation. Alien life, therefore, would have no problem finding its own salvation (and deification) promoted by the work of Christ in the cross. But, if they exist, God can have other ways in which he is found interacting with them, both through the Holy Spirit, as well as with the possibility of other incarnations of the Logos. Only if and when Christians actually encounter such life will they be able to explore this question in a way beyond speculation, but what is important for Christians to realize is that their theological principles do allow for ways in which such alien life can be seen to be included in the work of Christ.

Thus, to answer our questions, until alien life is truly encountered, Christians can believe or disbelieve in its existence, but if it is ever encountered and found, Christians have enough resources to deal with their existence that it would not pose an absolute challenge to the Christian faith (though it will likely give them new knowledge and information about God and his ways in the universe; thus, encountering alien life, Christians would probably revise many of their ideas of the universe as well as various speculative views about God in order to meet the new reality).

 

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November 19, 2019

Viv Lynch: Mother Earth: The Legend of Aataentsic / flickr

When not dealing with dogmatic issues, the Christian faith allows for a great diversity of thought. This is why there are a variety of theological schools of thought, each which promote the basics of the faith, but otherwise differ radically from each other in various different ways.[1]

Christians can differ with each other on many of the characteristics which they predicate to creation as a whole, as well as to each particular object within creation. What might seem to be absolutely absurd to one Christian can seem to be perfectly true to another. Thus, for example, Christians can believe in the existence of alien life, but they are also free to deny it[2]. Each person will have their reasons for their beliefs, and each can be a perfectly orthodox Christian thinker despite the differences of their beliefs. Indeed, they can be wrong about such secondary things and still be perfectly sound in their Christian faith.

We find some medieval Christians believed that God has given intellectual life not only to humanity, but to the planets and stars in the heavens. Likewise, no one less than St. Augustine himself considered it possible that the Earth itself was alive, that is, that it had a soul of its own, allowing it to be treated as another sentient being of God.  To be sure, Augustine was not certain, and left the question open, as to whether or not the Earth should be seen as having such life, but in his early works, there are indications that he accepted the notion of the world-soul, granting the Earth life.  Thus, in his Immortality of the Soul, he said “Hence, the body subsists through the soul and exists by the very fact that it is animated, whether universally, as is the world, or individually, as is each and everything that has life within the world.”[3] When he reflected upon the matter further, he did not deny the possibility, but only came out agnostic about it:

But if this same beauty be understood as applying to all bodies, this opinion compels one to believe that this world itself is an animate being so that what in it imitates constancy is also transmitted to it through the soul by the supreme God. But that this world is an animate being, as Plato and numerous other philosophers thought, I have not been able to investigate by solid reasoning, nor have I found that I accept this idea on the authority of the Sacred Scriptures. Hence, something said by me, too, in the book, On the Immortality of the Soul, which can be interpreted in this way, I have noted was said rashly – not because I maintain that this is false, but because I do not understand that it is true that the world is an animate being. For, assuredly, I do not doubt that it must be firmly maintained that this world is not God for us, whether it has any soul or no soul, because if it has a soul, He who created it is ‘Our God’; if it is not animated, it cannot be the God of anyone – much less ours. [4]

What Augustine makes clear is that if someone were to believe the world is alive, that it has a soul, and so designed by a title like Mother Earth, this did not mean the Christian saw in it a replacement for God. They understood it to be a creature of God, though one worthy of respect because of the greatness God gave to it in its creation. Indeed, like Origen, they said we could consider the Earth itself to be an animal with some level of self-government:

Although the whole world is arranged into offices of different kinds, its condition, nevertheless, is not to be supposed as one of internal discrepancies and discordances; but as our one body is provided with many members, and is held together by one soul, so I am of opinion that the whole world also ought to be regarded as some huge and immense animal, which is kept together by the power and reason of God as by one soul.[5]

Later generations would take up similar ideas with the notion of a personified form of Nature, “Natura,” which could be (but does not have to be) seen as something separate from “Mother Earth.”  Indeed, it is often through the notion of some world-soul, or Natura, that many Christians used to explain away any and all sense of rational activity from animals, for it would be said that such rational behavior came from the world-soul directing the actions of animals in the world.[6]

Looking beyond the Earth, St. Thomas Aquinas, looking upon the stars, suggested some intelligence existed behind the stars and their movement in the sky

Nor does it make any difference, as far as our present purpose is concerned, whether a heavenly body is moved by a conjoined intellectual substance which is its soul, or by a separate substance; nor whether each celestial body is moved immediately by God, or whether none is so moved, because all are moved through intermediary, created, intellectual substances; nor whether the first body alone is immediately moved by God, and the others through the mediation of created substances—provided it is granted that celestial motion comes from intellectual substance. [7]

We might think it strange to consider the stars (and planets) to be living things, with wills and intellects of their own, but to the medieval mind, as well as to the ancient Christian mind, as well as to many of the philosophers, it seemed to be the most natural explanation for their movement. They were more connected with their natural good, being in the heavens, so their actions were more stable, more predictable. They loved God, and circled around in the heavens just as a holy soul will circle around God in eternity. Christians, then, could accept a cosmology which allowed for a great diversity of beings, indeed, of a great variety of intellectual beings, in the universe, some of which were far more stable in their relationship with God than humanity. But, as C.S. Lewis pointed out, this did not turn such creatures into gods to be worshiped in place of God. Indeed, they rarely were looked upon and invoked by the ordinary Christian, while the saints were:

We might expect that a universe so filled with shining superhuman creatures would be a danger to monotheism. Yet the danger to monotheism in the Middle Ages clearly came not from a cult of angels but from the cult of the Saints. Men when they prayed were not usually thinking of the Hierarchies and Intelligences. There was, not (I think) an opposition, but a dissociation between their religious life and all that. [8]

As the cult of the saints, itself, is not idolatrous, even when through it the saints are invoked by pleas for help, so the belief in greater super-beings in the universe, such as intelligences existing behind the stars, or perhaps Mother Earth (in one form or another), would not be a challenge to the Christian faith but rather would be seen as a part of what Christians consider in regards to those things which exist in the universe. Knowing what exists, delineating them, recognizing great super-human creatures as being a part of God’s creation, would only demonstrate the greatness of God’s creation. There is nothing idolatrous in and of itself in such a belief.

Now, it might seem strange to some Christians today to hear that many Christians believed in the existence of a spiritual substance lying behind the stars, or the Earth itself. This is because of the change of perspective which happened as a result of the Enlightenment. Many principles and beliefs which came after the Enlightenment have been so normative that many Christians today assume not only that they are true, but they are normative for the Christian faith. For with the Enlightenment has come the notion that animals do not have souls, a notion which many think is a Christian teaching, despite the fact it has been normative in the Christian tradition to teach they do. If animals do not have souls, then it is not hard to understand how and why the rest of the universe became dead, treated as if it were not alive. Anyone says contrary to this are treated as insane, if they come from the developed world, are as people holding non-Christian pagan beliefs, if they do not.

Nonetheless, as tradition shows, it is not Christianity which says we must reject the notion of Mother Earth. And though the Enlightenment might have at one time led to the ridicule of that notion, scientists are now considering the possibility that the interdependent relationship of all that exists on the Earth itself demonstrates some sort of “life” which can be attributed to it (via the Gaia hypothesis). Obviously what the scientists consider is not exactly the same thing as Christian metaphysicians, as science in general knows nothing of the notion of soul, and so what a scientist looks for to determine whether or not something is alive will differ from the metaphysical standard. But if science can determine something is alive, then, by that fact, it should be said to have a soul, for the most elementary notion of the soul (metaphysically) is that it is the life-force which makes something alive. So, what once was believed, then became ridiculed, now can be believed again, with greater reason than before. The radical metaphysical notion which was normalized by the Enlightenment has been brought into question, and so Christians, taking seriously the new insights of science can take seriously once again the question of Mother Earth and accept that there is some truth to the notion. In doing so, then, they can find themselves bridging the gap between themselves and indigenous societies which never lost sight of Mother Earth. Inculturation allows for Christianity thought to grow beyond the dead-ends of the past because it allows Christians to come in contact with those who did not follow those dead-ends, and so who were not corrupted by the implications they gave. Non-Western societies which did not fall for the worst parts of the Enlightenment, far from being “primitive” and worthy of ridicule, actually can help give back to Christianity a spirituality it lost due to modernity.

The Western tradition has dishonored, indeed, defiled the Earth. Those who have continued to hold the Earth in honor are spiritually more astute than those who have dishonored it. Now, it is time to recognize that we are called to honor the Earth, perhaps even to recognize Mother Earth (either as a symbol, or if we want, as a reality) and do so in a way which does not dishonor the creator, but instead, as a way to honor him as well. Those who would dismiss such a response to the Earth and call it idolatrous are only trying to justify their own sins against creation, and through creation, against God. Would they call it idolatrous if people honored them, showed them respect instead of abused them? Obviously not. Therefore, they know full well honoring something in creation, respecting it, does not go against God. It is clear that their argument is pure sophistry, the kind used to justify the unjustifiable.

The Christian faith allows for diverse opinions. We might not come to it with the same world view. We do not have to. Even if what someone else believes is odd and silly, so long as it does not contradict the faith itself, it is permissible. And if history has shown us anything, what some at one time think is silly and indefensible, ends up being the truth. “Common sense” more often than not is a cultural construct which often impedes the discernment of the truth. We do not have to agree with others, if we think they are wrong, but likewise, we must be careful and not condemn them for their beliefs if there is nothing in them which runs contrary to Christian teaching on faith or morals.  For we must try to ascertain the view of others in the best light possible.


[1] Obvious examples include, but are not limited to, Augustinians, Thomists, Bonaventurians, and Scotists.

[2] So long as such life has not been encountered, obviously. Once it has, then it will be silly to deny its existence, just as it is now silly to accept a flat Earth.

[3] St. Augustine, “The Immortality of the Soul” in Writings of St. Augustine. Volume 2. Trans. Ludwig Schopp (New York: CIMA Publishing Company, 1947), 43-44.

[4] Saint Augustine, The Retractions. Trans, Mary Inez Bogan, RSM (Washington, DC: CUA Press, 1968), 47-48.

[5] Origen, De Principii in ANF(4):269.

[6] Nonetheless, belief in Mother Earth, or Natura, or the world-soul does not require this interpretation, that is, it does not necessitate we deny reason to animals, just as we do not deny it for ourselves.

[7] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles. Book Three: Providence. Part I. trans. Vernon J. Bourke (Garden City, NY: Hanover House, 1956), 93 [chapter 23].

[8] C.S. Lewis, The Discarded Image (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964; repr. 1988), 120.

 

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October 25, 2019

In art, either as creators or participants, we are helped to remember some of the glorious things we have forgotten, and some of the terrible things we are asked to endure, we who are children of God by adoption and grace. — Madeleine L’Engle [1]

The proper story of man is everything. The proper study of man as artist is everything which gives a foothold to the imagination and the passions. —C.S. Lewis[2]

No author listed: Fear Halloween Ghostly Horror Scary/ MaxPixel

The Gospel is the story of the Logos, the Word made flesh. As the Word is the Word from which all other words flow, so the Story is the story from which all other stories flow. In it and through it are many side-stories which can be told, stories which connect to the one universal Story which have their own particular sub-meaning and content. These secondary stories are worthy of our own consideration because they are infused with and come from the Story; they present in various forms aspects of that Story which are needed at particular times and places. The Story reveals itself in these sub-stories, reaching down and meeting people in the complete variety of human activity and experience.

Some of these stories are comedies. Jesus himself, in his parables, demonstrates a sense of humor. Nothing defiles us than what comes out of us, indeed! The double-meaning is there, for those who have an ear and are willing to listen to it can laugh. Through such laughter much of the horror of rigorism is exposed and overcome.

Some of these stories are tragedies. In the New Testament, we can read of the mass slaughter of children. We can encounter stories of poor men and women suffering through their lives, dying without anyone showing them human love and compassion.

Some of the stories can be classified as horror, such as the stories of possession found throughout the Gospels. We need to be presented with the horror because it exists in the world. We need to realize that horror is often tragic, but even if it is not, it is difficult to overcome. There is no greater horror story than the death of Jesus and his descent into hell; there is no greater representation of the victory possible over such horror than Jesus’ resurrection. Horror is a part of the Gospel. Dark forces have their voice, even if they don’t have the last say. It is, after all, a necessary part of the story, because of sin and what sin has done to the world. We suffer from the effects of evil actions; we have to be shown what they can do but also that we can endure them and even overcome.

Dorothy Sayers, talking about artists of all kinds (including literary ones), pointed out that we need to recognize evil and have it within our stories if we want to be authentic to life: “The human maker, living and walking within a universe where Evil (whatever it is) is a part of the nature of things, is obliged to take both Good and Evil as part of his Idea. They are the medium with which he works.” [3] Horror grasps after that evil and seeks to present it. It shows us it is real, that it is powerful, and yet, that it is not omnipotent. It is in this light that horror is a legitimate genre for storytelling; it comes from and takes a part of the grand Story. As the Gospel story about the pigs which ran to their death show, not all horror stories have a positive ending. Not everyone will get out alive or unharmed. But, for the most part, the horror genre recognizes there is a limit to the horror, to the evil itself.  Most horror stories have some sort of victory against the monsters presented within them. Some get out alive. Some overcome and entirely put an end to the monster. The horror, the monster, however powerful it is, is shown to be not all-powerful; it has its limit. This is something which we all need to hear and understand, and in this way, though the way to get there is dark, horror stories often generate hope, more than many other sub-stories coming from the Story.

Even if they do not suit the tastes of everyone, we should recognize that horror stories are an invaluable representation of the great Story because they incorporate the Story into themselves. The better the horror, the better the tale, the more they are capable of bringing us into the Story, enrapturing and transporting us with grace. The monster might be something seemingly mundane, such as a serial killer, or it might be something fantastic, but because the Story itself is fantastic, transcending what the human imagination could produce on its own, it can be said the more fantastic the horror, the greater the story is in achieving its purpose and end. It is, indeed, important for stories to engage the fantastic dimensions of the Story, because in doing so, as C.S. Lewis understood, we are able to have our own lives improved by them:

The Fantastic or Mythical is a Mode available at all ages for some readers; for others, at none. At all ages, if it is well used by the author and meets the right reader, it has the same power to generalise while remaining concrete, to present in palpable form not concepts or even experiences but whole classes of experience, and to throw off irrelevancies. But at its best it can do more; it can give us experiences we have never had and thus, instead of ‘commenting on life’, can add to it. [4]

There is, therefore, something valid with the relationship between the secular celebration of Halloween, taking with it many horrifying pre-Christian images and ideas and cultural norms, putting them together with the Western Christian celebration of All Saints. The two go together. It is another way of presenting the Story in a form of the various sub-stories of history. The darkness is revealed in the light; the darkness assaults the light, it can cause great damage and harm, just as the saints themselves often died at the hands of cruel oppressors, but in the end, the power of the darkness comes to an end and the light wins. Those who suffered at the hands of the darkness find themselves glorified in Christ. The horror which happens before the glorification of the saints is important to remember and represent; without it, the greatness of the saints will not be properly understood. Christ is victorious over hell, but if hell is not horrifying, the victory is pyrrhic. Gene Wolfe understood this: horror, he said, is Christian:

Here’s what Tom ‘ Tor  — Tom Broken Collar – told me: Fantasy is a pagan empire; Horror’s a Christian kingdom, embracing Hell. There’s wisdom in that, but exceptions by the score. What of the host bearing the banner of Narnia, I ask you? Christian to the core, with the lion-likeness of Aslan nailed to the cross. What of Tolkien-Lifegiver? Fantasy languished till he brought The Hobbit, dwarves and elves, all three Speaking Peoples linked with humans in The Fellowship of the Ring. [5]

Horror is revealed in the descent of Christ into hell; yes, even before Christ, humanity knew horror, and there were plenty of ghosts and monsters believed to exist around the world, but in Christ, the horror is intensified and shown to relate elements of the truth to us. Horror stories, especially the most fantastic seeming horror stories, have been rendered real through Christ and his descent and conquest of hell; now it is a Christian kingdom, a Christian story taken in by Christ himself. Fear not what can destroy your body: such horrors are all over the world and come in many forms; rather, know the horror has an end, and you can survive and thrive and transcend it all. The serial killer can be captured.  Ghosts and goblins can be tricked by the great trickery, receiving their treats only to find their power over humanity is overcome by their apparent victory. The dead can rise again, but then they can be given back their souls, their humanity. The great desire to escape from the clutches of death (as Tolkien put it)[6] is demonstrated through the hallowing of hell.  But in the ascent from hell, we have to remember, the many layers of evil, the many possibilities of horror are also revealed and overcome by Christ.  And so, each layer, each aspect of hell, each demonic reality and possibility, presents to us another possibility, another sub-story for us to tell. Christ has overcome it all, yes, but if we want to truly appreciate that, then we will appreciate horror which he went through and accept it as an important mode for storytelling. We do not have to fear it, rather, we can embrace it as a way to participate in and imitate Christ himself.


[1] Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art (New York: North Point Press, 1995), 19.

[2] C.S. Lewis, “On Science Fiction” on On Stories and Other Essays on Literature. Ed. Walter Hooper (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Publishers, 1982), 61.

[3] Dorothy Sayers, The Mind of the Maker (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco,1987), 97.

[4] C.S. Lewis, “Sometimes Fairy Stories May Say Best What’s To Be Said” on On Stories and Other Essays on Literature. Ed. Walter Hooper (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Publishers, 1982), 48.

[5] Gene Wolfe, “The Ethos of Elfland” in Castle of Days (New York: Tom Doherty Associations, Inc. 1992), 396.

[6] And lastly there is the oldest and deepest desire, the Great Escape: the Escape from Death. Fairy-stories provide many examples and modes of this—which might be called the genuine escapist, or (I would say) fugitive spirit. But so do other stories (notably those of scientific inspiration), and so do other studies. Fairy-stories are made by men not by fairies. The Human-stories of the elves are doubtless full of the Escape from Deathlessness. But our stories cannot be expected always to rise above our common level. They often do. Few lessons are taught more clearly in them than the burden of that kind of immortality, or rather endless serial living, to which the “fugitive” would fly. For the fairy-story is specially apt to teach such things, of old and still today. —  J.R.R. Tolkien, “On Fairy Stories” in The Monster & The Critics and Other Essays. Ed. Christopher Tolkien (London: HarperCollins, 1997),  153.

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