2025-02-14T03:17:40-05:00

The William Blake Archive: Mercy And Truth Are Met Together / Wikimedia Commons

Mercy and justice go together. Mercy makes no sense without justice, because it is through justice and its expectations we understand why various actions need to be rejected and punished, while such punishment tells us where the potential for mercy will be needed. Without mercy, without an ability to help those who have done wrong to change and be forgiven, and even helped they seek to make restitution,  justice becomes legalistic and brutal, allowing no transformation, that is, it allow no possibility for someone to change for the better. Justice should be about the promotion not only of the good, but the greatest good, and the greatest good is found in the transformation of those who have done bad into those do good so that they can then add to the good found in the world. This is why pardons can make sense: if those who are being pardoned prove they have changed for the better, society would be better off welcoming them back so they can then contribute to the common good. Similarly, pardons are necessary when the  punishment is excessive, that is, they help rectify the harm done by an unjust judgment. Mercy, therefore, has a role in the justice process; justice is not executed merely at the time of judgment, but all that happens afterward. William of Auvergne used the way mercy works in relation to secular justice to help us better understand God’s mercy:

Now if someone were to say that for someone who confessed to one or more crimes there is no longer any room to say something in justification of his case; rather, he should only await the sentence of condemnation, I reply that even in secular courts for those who have confessed their guilt there is room for clemency, by which the punishments are lessened, or even for forgiveness or mercy, by which someone is at times completely pardoned. For it is not possible that it is true mercy which completely does away with justice or that it is true justice which totally excludes mercy.[1]

For, as William said in one of his many prayers to God, God’s judgments and punishments are given, not to be cruel, but to help those being judged:

“Moreover, such punishments can do nothing else in those whom they are except torment and torture them, but this by itself never pleases your goodness, Lord of mercy. For you do not take delight in the perdition of the living; it is, in fact, a mark of diabolic malice, namely, to love the punishments and torments of human beings.”[2]

God is love, but we can also say God is justice and God is mercy. All that God does, God is. However, when examining God’s activity some actions are far more fundamental than others. We can see that behind everything God does, God’s love is found, which is why it is far more appropriate to understand God under the mantle of love than any other action. When we represent God in the world, therefore, we should take love as the foundation of our actions, doing so in a way similar to God, working, therefore, for a just mercy applied to everyone.

Love, and the mercy which comes from it, serves hope, because it shows us that God’s response to us is able to change as a result of our own personal change. We can transcend all the evil we have done, and therefore, what we have done, thanks to grace. When we transcend the evil we have done, we will be able to look back and reflect upon those evils and look at them not as something we should despair, thinking they make it impossible for us to be saved, but rather, as proof that we can become better, leaving us hope that we can continue to transcend ourselves and become all that God wants us to be. This is why Fr. George Maloney says: “Were it not for our hope that God’s eternal mercy and love will help us to transform them, it would not be a healthy thing for us to dwell on our past sins.” [3] For, if  we were not offered mercy, if  there were no way for us to transcend what we have currently made ourselves out to be, what we have done will only lead us to despair.  We should, likewise, following the way God works with us, offer such mercy and grace to others. If we don’t do so, our own lack of mercy can adversely impact the transformation of those who need to become better,  which is what Tolkien mentioned in a letter to C.S. Lewis:

What happens when the culprit is genuinely repentant, but the sufferer is deeply resentful and withholds all ‘forgiveness’? It is a terrible thought, to deter anyone from running the risk of needlessly causing such an ‘evil’. Of course, the power of mercy is only delegated and is always exercised with or without cooperation by Higher Authority. But the joys and healing of cooperation must be lost?[4]

There is a sense of this in the interplay between Samwise and Gollum in the Lord of the Rings; Sam was right to question Gollum and Gollum’s loyalty but he did so in such a way that was, for most of his time with Gollum, quite unmerciful. Sam’s lack of mercy undermined Frodo’s work with Gollum, for Frodo, with his mercy, was having a positive influence on Gollum.  Nonetheless, Frodo’s mercy to Gollum helped Frodo when he needed a similar mercy, for the fact that he had failed in his mission and had begun to become like Gollum could have made it so that he would suffer the same fate of Gollum. But because of his embrace of mercy, he was able to understand mercy can be given to him, to accept it when it was offered, and not let despair destroy him (even if he would have to deal with his own failure throughout the  rest of his life).

Without mercy, reformation is impossible, and so, without mercy, we often make self-fulfilling prophecies concerning those we deny mercy. But if we look to ourselves, and the way we need mercy, we should see how it is mercy which, more than anything else, which gives us not only the hope, but the ability to become better. When we offer it to others, we are offering them   the chance to become better. Yes, we must exercise caution and not expect or accept instant transformation. What is important is that we should seek the kind of justice which is rehabilative and not punitive, for by doing so, we seek the greatest good, the kind which justice is meant to establish in the world. This is exactly how God acts with us, and it is how God acts, then it is how we should act, for by doing so, we live out the nature God gave us, one which is meant to reflect God’s ways in the world.


[1] William of Auvergne, Rhetorica divinia, seu ars oratoria eloquentiae divinae. Trans. Roland J Teske SJ (Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2013), 63.

[2] William of Auvergne, Rhetorica divinia, seu ars oratoria eloquentiae divinae, 89 [From an example of a prayer to God in the text].

[3] George A. Maloney, SJ, Your Sins Are Forgiven: Rediscovering the Sacrament of Reconciliation (New York: Alba House, 1994), 22.

[4] 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), 182 [Letter 113 to C.S. Lewis].

 

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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.

2025-02-12T03:13:06-05:00

Rowland Scherman – Restored By Adam Cuerden : Civil Rights March On Washington, D.C. / Wikimedia Commons

The relationship and experience of African American Christians with Christianity is complex, and when examined closely, often includes several great paradoxes  and challenges which make it that much more difficult to navigate and understand. Perhaps one of the greatest of those challenges was the fact that many white masters forbade their slaves to become Christian, making it appear that Christianity was a white religion (the fall-out of this sentiment continues to this day, with many African Americans rejecting Christianity for that very reason). And yet, many African American slaves, upon hearing of Christ and the Christian faith, wanted to follow Christ, to be Christians. They believed Christ was with them and not the whites, that what he suffered put him in solidarity with them and not the masters who tried to forbid them from being Christian.

Those who became Christian found their faith gave them the strength and hope they needed, not only to endure the unimaginable suffering they experienced, but to transcend it. The message of the Gospel was a message of liberation. The Old Testament, likewise, reinforced that message. They believed Christ would help them overcome their oppressors, so then they can seek out the “promised land” where justice will prevail. However, they also struggled to understand the situation they found themselves in. They struggled to understand why God allowed them to suffer such grave injustices, making it, sometimes, out of faith, they would even challenge or wrestle with God with the intention of making God act. James Cone expressed all of this quite well in the way he said their faith often centered on one great paradox, the kind which affected their relationship with God and the  rest of the world:

Black faith emerged out of black people’s wrestling with suffering, the struggle to make sense out of their senseless situation, as they related their own predicaments to similar stories in the Bible. On the one hand, faith spoke to their suffering, making it bearable, while, on the other hand, suffering contradicted their faith, making it unbearable.[1]

Their faith, therefore, was not one extremely concerned about dogmatic theology (though, of course, this is not to say it was denied); what they were more concerned about was the practical application of the faith and what it meant about their place in the world, their place with God, and what they should expect God would do to deal with the injustices of the world. Those who fought systemic evil in the world represented far more what  Christ meant to them than those who answered questions concerning the Trinity and the incarnation. Theirs was (and continues to be) a faith which is lived amid struggle, struggle against systemic evil, and they realize that what we do for the sake of the oppressed, what we do confronting systemic structures of sin and the rulers which benefit from them, demonstrates better our relationship with Christ than those who merely discuss and promote the theology surrounding the term homoousios.  Indeed, while in other ages, when “Christians” held power, they could and would use that power to persecute people who professed beliefs contrary to their own, and it is possible, this will happen again, in general, what Laura Swan said in general concerning persecution is what they experienced with their faith:

The People of God are not persecuted or martyred for defending dogma or institutional privileges, but for incarnating Christian virtues, particularly for standing with the poor and persecuted.[2]

In this way, one can say the African American Christianity experience brought back the early Christian understanding of persecution and injustice. African Americans pointed out a truth which was found in various patristic writings but which was otherwise lost to many, that those who join in with the oppressors, those who support the systems of oppression, will be judged accordingly:

There are two kinds of injustice: one, whereby we inflict injuries; the other, whereby we neglect to avert those inflicted on others when we can. For in a certain sense we ourselves are oppressors when we scorn the downtrodden though we are able to defend them from oppression. Nor does it avail me anything that I do not circumvent or deceive a man if I permit him to be deceived or circumvented. [3]

Historically, those in positions of power create propaganda to justify their oppression; a common way they do this is to suggest  that those they persecute are criminals who deserve the punishment being given to them. They make all kinds of laws which are unjust, laws which then are violated by those seek true justice, making  those who do what is right, criminals. Also, if people question them, they will engage guilt by association, looking for the worst representatives within a particular group of people and use them to represent the whole, thus, justifying the unjustifiable with a fallacious argument.  This is what was done Nazi Germany to the Jews, to the Romani, and others, or in the United States, to African Americans. In Nazi Germany, this led to the call for a “final solution,” while in the United States, it led to lynching:

Whites frequently blamed any or all blacks for what one did, accusing them of harboring “n [… word edited out by editor, HK] criminals,” and they would take out their frustration on the whole black community, as they did in Atlanta in 1906 – burning their homes and beating and lynching whoever was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing was more detested by whites than the idea that blacks were equal to them.[4]

Christianity always grows when its leaders fight injustice, and diminishes when it is seen  as one of the forces behind oppression. Thus, Christians who embrace or defend such evil not only work against Christ, they end up spreading an anti-Gospel  message which must be completely repudiated.  In the end, as Laura Swan explained, such evil cannot last, and if it is not overcome from within, the violence which it engages will end up destroying all that is around it:

The powerful tend to be blind to the advantages of disengaging from unjust social structures. They benefit financially from increased profit margins by paying unjust wages, tolerating unhealthy and unsafe working conditions, and in plundering the environment with an unlimited demand for natural resources. Violence results: toward human life, the environment, and in the social and political realm.[5]

Christians should be working for peace, even as they should be messengers of Christ’s peace. To fulfill that role, they must fight against the injustice in the world. If they do not do so, they end up supporting the system and the violence inherent with it, the violence which is at war against Christ, for Christ suffers  in and with all those who suffer from such violence.  The way of the faith, the way of showing love to Christ, must include looking at Christ as he is found in those who are being violently attacked by the injustices around us:

In all roles the theologian is committed to the form of existence arising from Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. He knows that the death of the man on the tree has radical implications for those who are enslaved, lynched, and ghettoized in the name of God and country. In order to do theology from that standpoint, he must ask the right questions and then go to the right sources for answers. The right questions are always related to the basic question: What has the gospel to do with the oppressed of the land and their struggle for liberation? And theologian who fails to place that question at the center of his work has ignored the essence of the gospel.[6]

We must, like J.R.R. Tolkien, look at the misery found in the world and be appalled by it. We must realize, no matter how tough the situation, no matter how great the pain and sorrow injustices bring, the forces behind such injustice are not all-powerful. They can be overcome. In the end, Christians must hope God will help those struggling against systemic evil, and will help them become victorious:

I sometimes feel appalled at the thought of the sum total of human misery all over the world at the present moment: the millions parted, fretting, wasting in unprofitable days – quite apart from torture, pain, death, bereavement, injustice. If anguish were visible, almost the whole of this benighted planet would be enveloped in a dense dark vapour, shrouded from the amazed vision of the heavens! And the products of it all will be mainly evil – historically considered. But the historical version is, of course, not the only one. All things and deeds have a value in themselves, apart from their ’causes’ and ‘effects’. No man can estimate what is really happening at the present sub specie aeternitaris. All we do know, and that to a large extent by direct experience, is that evil labours with vast power and perpetual success – in vain: preparing always only the soil for unexpected good to sprout in. So it is in general, and so it is in our own lives. …. But there is still some hope that things may be better for us, even on the temporal plane, in the mercy of God. And though we need all our natural human courage and guts (the vast sum of human courage and endurance is stupendous, isn’t it?) and all our religious faith to face the evil that may befall us (as it befalls others, if God wills) still we may pray and hope.[7]

We must not ignore the injustices of the world. We must take on the systemic structures of sin. We must do so, not just by ourselves, but with God. We must “wrestle” with God, having God at our side as we wrestle against the powers of darkness all around us. We must not ignore our responsibility, putting it off: we must take it head on, weeping for the cruelty in the world. In doing so, we can find ourselves embracing hope, finding that in doing so, we can understand and join in with the paradox of faith which Cone described, the paradox which lies behind the African American Christian experience.


[1] James H. Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2011), 124.

[2] Laura Swan, Engaging Benedict: What the Rule Can Teach Us Today (Notre Dame, IN: Christian Classics, 2005), 148.

[3] Julianus Pomerius, The Contemplative Life. Trans. Mary Josephine Suelzer, PhD (Westminster, MD: The Newman Bookshop, 1947), 149-50.

[4] James H. Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree, 127-128.

[5] Laura Swan, Engaging Benedict: What the Rule Can Teach Us Today, 149.

[6] James H. Cone, God Of The Oppressed (New York: Seabury Press 1975), 9.

[7] 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), 110 [Letter 64 to Christopher Tolkien].

 

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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.

2025-02-05T03:14:38-05:00

Robert Adamski: Bay Ridge United Church Imle Roomw Window Praying Hands / Wikimedia Commons

Performative piety, such as the kind done by priests during liturgies making their liturgies way too long, adding prayer after prayer, or speaking too long during their homilies, end up hurting the people they should be helping with their priestly service. They might think they are giving good examples, but they are not; all they are doing is wearing thin the patience of their community, causing many to become distracted, if not bored. When it goes on too long, even those who are spiritually inclined, even the best in the community, might find it difficult to endure all the way to the end. William of Auvergne, the bishop of Paris from 1228 – 1249, known for both his advocacy of the developing university tradition, but also for the need for theologians to preserve sound doctrine, was clearly conscious of his pastoral duty when he wrote a treatises on prayer, telling the reader (that is, clergy) to not be excessive in their public prayers, following the advice of St. Bernard:

For this reason blessed Bernard says that prayer ought to be brief and pure – not that its prolixity and length are displeasing to God, except where such prolixity also creates for others a hindrance for praying, as you know about certain priests, candle-burners, who makes Masses so long that by the boredom of their length they even dry up for the hearts of those present the grace of devotion and turn the spiritual refreshment that they are supposed to receive in Masses into the bitterness of annoyance for them. About these priests the people attending Masses can complain and say: They gave vinegar for my food [Ps 68:22]. The foolishness of such men amount to this: the take away the devotion of the whole people for the handful of devotion that is granted them in Masses, and for three or four – so to speak – tears of compunction or devotion they empty our large vessels, that is, the hearts of those praying devoutly and tearfully. [1]

Similarly, he understood the need to be pragmatic when talking about how people pray, saying that the needs of the people should always be taken into consideration when establishing the  way prayers are said and done:

But as far as I can see, in one’s prayer the position of the body should be adopted and observed by which one feels  that one is helped most. For I know  that kneeling is an impediment to prayer for some, and similarly frequent genuflections are. For they are laborious and, therefore, they steal something for themselves from our thoughts, and for this reason they do not allow the human heart to be totally gathered to God. On this account, of all the positions of the body, a  reclining one seems to me more suitable, by which one leans on some stool, especially on the left side. For such reclining gives more rest to the body and permits the heart to be freer. In fact, it seems to me to help those praying to be in prayer with the body at rest from all difficulty and with the heart free from all distraction or worry, as was written concerning Jehoshaphat, who when terrified by fear gave himself wholly to pray to the Lord.[2]

All of this, to be sure, comes from his embrace of prudence. He did not dismiss the potential value of long prayers, especially when said privately, because he knew that there could always be more to say in a given prayer:

But as Tully says that “one never says too much what is never said enough,” it seems to me that prayer is never extended or prolonged too much, because it does not seem to me that devout and rich prayer can ever be excessive, except in the previously mentioned cases. [3]

William, however, realized that  God could and would be able to take what was left unsaid, what could not be said, and engage it as well, explaining why short prayers, especially said out of faith and devotion, can and will receive God’s attention and response. He believed it was better to help the majority of people pray, even if it meant they would do so with short prayers, than it was to expect everyone to embrace the kind of prayers which are so long, only a few could say them without distraction. He knew that it was important to pray with honest devotion; the longer prayers go on, the more people will find their thoughts, and therefore, their devotion wavering; the more that happens, the more they will find it difficult to pray when they know they will be expected to pray in a manner which hinders their true spiritual development.

It would be nice if many so-called traditionalists who use their pseudo-traditional views to represent what they believe represents true piety would listen to those who have helped form the Christian tradition they claim to follow. If they did, they would learn that the flexibility encouraged by William is the kind  of flexibility which Christianity has always embraced. Paul, in his letters, made it clear that unjust expectations on piety, expectations which did not meet the need of the people, must be rejected; he knew, like Christ, that the Sabbath (and all such worship) was not made for God, but for us. We must not be legalistic. We must be flexible. In doing so, we embrace the kindness, mercy, and grace which is necessary for our prayer to be of value, as St. Peter Chrysologus preached:

But since fasting without mercy is deficient, fasting without kindness goes hungry, prayer without compassion is enfeebled, prayer without generosity grows weary, let us invigorate our fasting with an exhortation to mercy, let us arouse our prayer by hearing about kindness, let us invoke mercy as the patroness of fasting, since it is the hunger of avarice to fast without mercy; it is the punishment of greed to fast without kindness; it is an act of spite, not of devotion; it is not fasting for God but for one’s purse; it is wearing one’s self out of abstinence and being puffed up all swollen with greed, relieving our stomach of food and weighing down the mind with the burden of money. [4]

Let us hear and understand, so that we can truly come to worship God in the right spirit. Let the priests hear and understand, so they do not get in the way of the laity, causing them to go astray.


[1] William of Auvergne, Rhetorica divinia, seu ars oratoria eloquentiae divinae. Trans. Roland J Teske SJ (Walpole, MA: Peeters, 2013),347.

[2] William of Auvergne, Rhetorica divinia, seu ars oratoria eloquentiae divinae, 197.

[3] William of Auvergne, Rhetorica divinia, seu ars oratoria eloquentiae divinae, 349.

[4] St. Peter Chrysologus, Selected Sermons. Volume 2. Trans. William B Palardy (Washington, DC: CUA Press, 2004),168 [Sermon 42].

 

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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.

2025-01-31T03:09:26-05:00

Lawrence OP: The Excellence Of St. Thomas Aquinas (With Aristotle, Serving As An Example Of Medieval Comparative Theology). Fresco From The Vatican Museum / flickr

There was a stage in my spiritual and theological development when I was influenced by fundamentalism, and with it, tended towards a puritan-like extreme; it began in middle school, and, to some degree, continued with me until my Freshman year in college. How it affected me changed over time. For example, I was a major fan of role-playing games, and in the horror genre, and owned many games and novels which I would eventually sell because I came to believe that they were tainted by evil. After I got beyond that stage, I would buy back many of the novels I sold, like the works of H.P. Lovecraft, but I would not do the same with the games I lost (as it would be much more difficult to do so). Despite this, I remained interested in science fiction and fantasy, especially the works of the Inklings. I was also interested in theology, and the history of Christianity. I was trying to understand the history of Protestantism, reading especially the works of Luther and Calvin (preferring Luther to Calvin), even as I found myself reading various philosophical classics (if and when I found a book at the local used bookstore which interested me, leading me to read works from Descartes, Pascal, and St. Thomas Aquinas, among many others). I also began reading patristics, starting with the Apostolic Fathers, and various works of St. Augustine (such as an abridged copy of the City of God). Because of my study, I was already beginning my journey that would lead me away from fundamentalism, although at the time I would have denied it (and shown considerable hostility towards Catholicism

It was my reading of the Inklings, especially C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, which allowed me to complete my move beyond fundamentalism. They introduced to me a more open-ended perspective due to their views on myth and how myth, in whatever culture or religious tradition it is found in, represented or taught truths which connected in various ways to the truth of the Gospel. That is, I learned how to consider the way religious traditions, through their myths, revealed truths which were fulfilled in Christ (or, as C.S. Lewis wrote, in Christ, myth became fact). This led me reconsider my understanding of other religious traditions, allowing me to see that the Holy Spirit has been inspiring humanity throughout the whole of human history. This perspective was reinforced as I continued to read Ante-Nicene apologists like St. Justin Martyr, St. Clement of Alexandria, and even Eusebius, as the pointed out how God prepared the world for the incarnation.  Justin suggested that many pagans who lived before Christ could be seen as serving Christ, and so be said to be pre-Christian Christian, affirming that they have something worthwhile for us to consider. St. Clement of Alexandria, among others, suggested philosophers could be seen as influenced by God, as they served pagans in a way the prophets served the people of Israel. Many others even suggested that the Sibyls could be seen to have been inspired by the Holy Spirit, making them prophets. Once I accepted this notion, I quickly desired to study what I could from many religious traditions, to see the rays of truth found in all religious traditions. This related to my academic study at the time, which was the field of Religious Studies; while I initially entered the program to focus exclusively on Christianity, I became interested in study many other religious traditions (leading me to take coursework in Hinduism and Sufism). I quickly saw how many of these rays of truths had not properly been studied by Christians, and if they did study them and take them on, Christian theology could further develop, similar to the way it did when Christian theology engaged Platonism during the patristic era, or Aristotle (and Jewish and Muslim theology) during the scholastic era.

While this perspective opened me up to study many other religious traditions, including Hinduism, it took me much longer to do so with Buddhism. I was not too familiar with Buddhist thought, however, I had been given the impression that it was a nihilistic tradition, and as such, I believed it denied the positive insight I found in other religious faiths.  It was only years later, when  I was working in Bloomington Indiana, that I would take the plunge into Buddhism and find a system of thought which enchanted me and had so much for me to learn from and engage than I could ever imagine. How did that happen? When I returned from a trip to Egypt, where I had visited Cairo, Alexandria, and Mt. Sinai, I learned that the Dalai Lama was going to be in town; though I was not interested in going to any of his public presentations, I knew that his brother lived in town and owned a restaurant, the Snow Lion. I decided to eat at the restaurant, especially as I heard it had good food. When my friend and I went to dine there, the restaurant  had a few books on Buddhism for sale. Seeing them, I began to think I had not yet given Buddhism the opportunity I had given other religious faiths, and it was time for me to do so.  I decided to pick up and read the Dalai Lama’s introduction to Tibetan Buddhism. When I read it, I discovered most of what I was led to believe about Buddhism was wrong; Buddhism was not nihilistic at all, indeed, nihilism was viewed as one of the grave errors that needed to be rejected. What was viewed as nihilism was its philosophical and religious engagement with the methodology that I had by that time come to study and learn in Christianity found in and with apophaticism (such as seen in the works of Pseudo-Dionysius). Once I realized this, it made me want to study and pursue the great thinkers of the Buddhist tradition, to learn how they engaged apophaticism, and what I could   learn from them, because it was clear, they took the methodology further, using it for all kinds of logical analysis, which Christian thinkers had yet to do. And yet, as I saw how vast Buddhism was as a religion, I knew I could not explore every tradition in depth, which is why I decided to take a few schools of thought and focus on them (while still taking time to read from other traditions, albeit in a more cursory manner). What I decided to engage were the basic discourses of the Buddha from the Pali Canon, the works coming out of the Yogācāra tradition (especially those associated with Asaṅga and Vasubandhu), and Zen.

Today, my understanding of world religions and their relationship with Christianity is much more complex than it was when I found myself initially interested in and open to studying them. I have read more from Christian history and those who promoted some form of engagement  with various philosophical and religious traditions, as, for example, Nicholas of Cusa’s De Pace Fidei. I have read the works of Marsilio Ficino, who especially was interested in “perennial philosophy” and its connection to Christian theology. I have studied Vladimir Solovyov and his attempt to explore the history of religion and connect it with God’s work with humanity.  I have studied many theologies of religion, many forms of comparative religious study, and found myself through them, drawn to the notion of comparative theology, finding that it embraces most what I want to do with my study of other religions. Comparative theology, when done right, expects a lot from its practitioner. It is does more than look at and compare some religious element from two or more religious traditions; it asks what a practitioner from a particular tradition can learn from that comparison, that is, how what they have learned should influence their own theological notions. It requires them, therefore, to start with comparison, making sure they study and understand the issue in question and how it relates first to the religions involved, from the perspective of the religious tradition. That is, there needs to be a proper understanding of the religions under discussion, which usually means, it will take years before one is ready to properly do a comparative analysis and make some sort of theological insight due to that comparison. If they do not do this, it is easy to lead to a false understanding of the religious traditions involved, and come to some sort of distorted conclusion. In relation to my theological work, I found myself especially engaging comparative theology connected Buddhism and Christianity (though, I would also engage Judaism, Islam, and Hinduism to a lesser degree). It was only by studying and understanding what Yogācāra means by the three Natures, or Mādhyamaka means about the middle way and the two truths, was I able to see what those notions entail and discern what about them can be used in my own Christian theological reflections. While some might suggest comparative theology leads to syncretism, and to be sure, that is a danger, comparative theology tries to undermine that by keeping in mind the distinctions, making sure they are not lost or forgotten when theological reflection emerges. Thus, now, in many of my writings, much of what I have learned (and still learn) from my study of other religions, especially Buddhism, is taken into consideration and used, hopefully to the benefit of my own theological thought. And if someone would complain, I would point out Christian theology has, from its inception, been engaging comparative theology, and theology would not have developed as we know if without Christians engaging non-Christian thought.

* This Is Part XXXIX Of My Personal Reflections And Speculations Series

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2024-12-26T04:08:36-05:00

Ryan Somma: Tree Of Life (Taken At The Smithsonian) / flickr

Before I became Catholic, I was extremely literalistic in the way I read and understood Scripture. This should not be surprising, because I was nominally raised in a fundamentalistic tradition, that is, as a Southern Baptist. I did not realize Scripture was written with various genres and styles, and that its creation story (or stories) were better understood as myth than history.  This is not to say such myth had no element of history associated with it, as history often is given over and used to create myths, but to expect the creation story (and much of the pre-history in Genesis) to be literal history is to miss the point of the texts.  For this reason, I rejected evolution. To be sure, it was not simply because I was a Protestant I rejected evolution, because many Protestants understood what I did not about Scripture, it was because of the way I had been led to interpret Scripture which led me to being a “creationist.”

When I became Catholic, I was already changing the way I engaged Scripture. I was reading patristic authors, finding myself especially influenced by those coming from the Alexandrian tradition (St. Clement of Alexandria, Origen, St. Athanasius, and St. Cyril of Alexandria). Through the Alexandrians (and later, many others), I not only began to appreciate and accept Scripture often was best interpreted allegorically, sometimes complementing other forms of interpreting the text, but at other times exclusively (that is, when the “literal” interpretation of Scripture led to a fundamental misunderstanding of God or creation, as Origen indicated in On First Principles).  This new hermeneutic did not immediately lead me to accept evolution; it was only after I read Vladimir Solovyov’s Lectures on Godmanhood did I find myself ready to do so. This is because Solovyov gave me what I needed, that is, a philosophical-theological interpretation of evolutionary history which harmonized with the dogmas of the Christian faith.  Once I accepted the fact of evolution, I found myself to be free to take on and explore more and more of the revelations which have come to us from science, and use them in my own theological explorations.

There is a consistency to my development, even if, at various stages of it, I end up contradicting myself and what I believed at an earlier stage of my development, for, behind that development, there remains many principles which have not changed. I learned, for example, of the importance of the preferential option for the poor, and through it, why theology must always have a practical element to it. However, one of the more significant changes which emerged after I realized the fact of evolution, was the relationship which existed between humanity and animals, indeed, between humanity and the rest of the great tree of life, of which humanity forms only a part. I came to conclude that life on Earth must be seen as a kind of continuum, instead of completely independent beings which have no connection with each other. What did that mean for humanity? To that question, I came to believe that humanity shares much with all other life, but especially with animal life (because they are closer to us on the evolutionary tree), and many qualities which have historically been assumed to be true for humanity alone prove to be shared with other animals (such as creaturely subjectivity, and with it, the possession of an intellect and a will of their own, which is not to say every animal species possess these in the same proportion, for they do not; rather, there is often a difference in degree, with some animals, like it  like chimpanzees, dolphins, cats, dogs, and mice, demonstrating they possess it on a greater level than many others).

Since I have learned to question many qualities which we assume make humanity special, such as the use of reason, I have had to as myself, what exactly differentiates humanity from every other animal. Some of the differences lies in the way humanity often possesses such qualities to a greater degree than others, but, due to the way evolution works, this does not have to always be the case. The real difference I found is the role God gave humanity: we are called to a special role, one of priestly service, where we are to serve as mediators and stewards of creation. When we fail to follow that role, we not only sin, we cause great pain and sorrow in the world (and universe) around us. It is because of this role it was fitting for God to become one of us, to become human, so that as the God-man, Jesus could and would fulfill our role in himself, and in doing so, we will find he elevated us and our role as we are meant to cooperate and share in his eschatological mediation in history. He is our high priest, the priest of a new, elevated form of humanity; those who call him Lord, those who incorporate him into their lives, are to live their lives to make sure they care for and elevate the rest of creation. This is what the priesthood of all believers entails. From that priesthood there emerges another, special priesthood, the ordained priesthood, where some people are called to especially embrace and realize the priestly character of humanity also represents their own special personal charism, while those who are not called to this special priesthood, find other qualities or attributes of the human condition are highlighted by their personal charism.

This vision which I have concerning humanity’s special purpose in the world, and with it, the kind of attitudes humanity should have of the rest of creation,  has also led me to consider how I can best fulfill that task.  As one way to answer that question, for myself, I decided to become vegetarian. This was something which took me many years to do, and it was the fruit of my reading of various philosophical, theological, and spiritual works. From Porphyry’s On The Abstinence of Eating Meat, to the examples of Sts. Francis of Assisi, Anthony of Padua, Seraphim of Sarov, and even my chosen patron saint, Antony the Great, I slowly saw the personal need to take on a vegetarian form of life, knowing it is something which was personal, something which should be used to help me become more charitable in my way of living, and as a result, not something which should be forced upon others, but at best, offered as an option to others for their own personal development.

Since I became Catholic, I have developed a great love for animals. Yes, I recognize that other forms of life, those which are not as close to us on the evolutionary tree of life, also have value and worth, a value which we should not undermine by our actions, but I  have been drawn to and hold a special place for animals in my life. I like to engage them, to watch them, to learn from them, to let them show themselves to me, to let them have room to be themselves and express themselves as they see fit. As a result, I have seen all kinds of things which have surprised me. I have seen animals showing charity to other animals, I have seen animals try to tell me things, even teach me things. I have seen how different animals of the same species act and react differently from each other, demonstrating that they all have their own unique personality. This  confirmed to me the fact that each particular animal is a subject in its own right. We should not see animals as mere objects. This is why our mediation is important. It helps us be aware of the true value of God’s creation. When we ignore our role, when we look to the world as a thing to exploit for our own benefit, we end up denying the grandeur and value of God’s creation, and with it, the grandeur of glory of God.

 

* This Is Part XXXII In My Personal Reflections And Speculations Series

 

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2024-11-01T02:35:57-05:00

Lawrence OP: All Saints (The Friends Of God) / flickr

God doesn’t want us to be mere servants; we should not think God as being some unreasonable master who makes unreasonable demands of us. What God wants is to be friends with us. In that friendship, we should unite ourselves to God and the divine will, for friends have a special bond which often leads them to seem to be so united, it is as if there were one will between them. To make this clear, before his death, Jesus told his apostles, and through them, the rest of his followers, that they should not consider themselves to be his servants, but his friends: “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you” (Jn. 15:15 RSV). To be God’s friends, we must do the will of God, that is, we must fulfill God’s commandments (cf. John. 14:15), not because we are afraid of God and merely do as we are told out of fear, but because we become so united with Jesus (and therefore, God) that we find ourselves willing what God wills. As our friendship with God grows, we will find our unity with God changes us, gives us all kinds of grace, so we become like God, the God who is love. We will become reflections of God’s love, desiring to make friends with everyone the same way Jesus did what he could to become our friends.

J.R.R. Tolkien helps us understand the kind of friendship God wants to have with us, the friendship of a loving parent, by telling us how all parents want to help their children grow and mature so that their children can become their friends: “Every good father deserves the fraternal friendship of his sons when they grow up.”[1]  In the incarnation, God entered into creation in order to lift it up, to help it grow in grace and maturity, so that all the subjects which exist in creation can go from looking up to God merely as a master to appease to seeing God as a loving parent who wants a relationship with them, to become their friends. Everyone is called to be a friend of God, that is, a saint, but again, this is possible because of the incarnation, for in and through it, God has established the way in which created subjects can have a kind of equality with their creator:

Also, because friendship exists between equals, as long as you consider God to have made Himself equal to man in some way, you should not deny the friendship God has with you, nor should you forsake your friendship with God. So let men cease, I repeat, let them cease despairing of their divinity at once! [2]

How can we, when we are not equal to God by nature, become friends with God, treated as equals? We are shown the answer with the incarnation, where we find God does not hold onto the divine nature as a way to keep distant from us, but is willing to engage self-emptying love to make room for us so  we can participate in the divine life ourselves. God the Word assumed a created nature, a human nature, unto itself, so that the divine reality can have a personal unity with creation  (without annihilating the distinctions between the two). Jesus’  human nature has made God the Word our equal, for now Jesus shares with us our nature, becoming consubstantial with us.

We must take the love and grace which has been given to us, embrace it, engage it, allow it to develop in us, so that with it we can grow in spiritual maturity, becoming the persons  God wants us to be, and when we are, we will find ourselves having truly become friends of God. We are all called to be saints, to be lovers of God. But again, to be a friend of God, we must participate in the divine life, sharing in the divine life, and therefore, sharing the divine will and what it wants. We are to love God, but also, we are to love like God, desiring all to be saved, all to be made saints, that is, desiring everyone to share in and participate in the divine life with us.

The kingdom of God, heaven, our eschatological glory will reflect the way we have become friends with others, including, and especially, those who were once our enemies, even as God has become our friends despite the way we could be said to have been God’s enemies when we embraced sin and the unlove which lies behind it:

Heaven will be that inter-mutuality in loving giving and sharing with those who have freely surrendered to Christ. Heaven should begin now as we live the beautiful teaching of the Church on the Communion of Saints. Then death will never separate us from our beautiful brothers and sisters, our relatives and friends, but it will be the occasion to move into the real world and begin to experience the fulfillment of the prayer of Jesus that He is continuously offering to His Heavenly Father on behalf of all God’s children:  […][3].

We shall be called children of God. But, we can and should experience our status us children of God, not just in eternity, but in our temporal existence. We can participate and experience the eschaton in time, for, the eschaton is immanent thanks to the incarnation; we are to experience it in the eschatological “already but not yet,” whereby, the more we embrace God’s love and let it transform us, the more we will find ourselves participating in and experiencing  the eschaton, while the aspect of  it which we have not yet experienced and participated in is found in the way we have yet to fully embrace the way of love and rebel against it with our sinful habits. We must open ourselves to God, let God’s love transform us, let us represent the eschatological kingdom of God more and more, not just in our words, but in our deeds. We must truly unite ourselves to God and God’s will, so that what we say and do serves that will and God’s desire to transform all creation into the kingdom of God: “All the good works which a man has performed will be in vain if he does not possess a genuine charity which he extends to his enemies as well as to his friends.” [4] This love should have us desire to become one with the rest of creation, and in that unity, find ourselves becoming friends with everyone found in it, even as God seeks to be our friends. This is what it means to follow the rule or way of love:

 The rule of love is that one should wish his friend to have all the good things he wants to have himself, and should not wish the evils to befall his friend which he wishes to avoid himself. How shows this benevolence to all men. No evil must be done to any. Love of one’s neighbor workerth no evil (Rom. 13:10). Let us then love even our enemies as we are commanded, if we wish to be truly unconquered. [5]

To act with such love with everyone, including those who can be said to be our enemies, does not mean we must deny justice and just ignore the harm people do to each other. Rather, it should serve as the means by which we engage justice, making sure we recognize the dignity of everyone, even those who have done something which must be stopped. How we deal with their actions must be moderated with love, which means, we will treat them with mercy, but also, considering the people they have harmed, making sure they are also treated with love and mercy and the harm they suffered is healed. Seeking an end to some sort of injustice must not lead us becoming unjust, which is why we must not seek retribution (or revenge), but rather restorative justice, restoring that which sin harm or destroyed, including, and especially, the unity in love everyone in creation should have with each other. In such unity, we will we will be sharing the friendship God has with us with everyone else, realizing that our participation and experience of the divine life is communal:

Yet the filial devotion that comes from this love cannot be perfected without love of neighbor. By the term “neighbor” are to be understood not only those who are joined to us by friendship or kinship, but all people with whom we have a common nature, be they enemies or allies, free or slave. One Creator fashioned us all, one Maker breather life into us all. We all enjoy the same sky and air, the same days and nights. Although some are good and others bad, some just and others unjust, God nevertheless shows generosity to all, kindness toward all – as the apostles Paul and Barnabas said to the Lycaonians concerning the providence of God: “During generations past he gave leave for all nations to embark upon their own ways. Yet he did not allow himself to be left without witness, doing good to them, giving rain and fruitful seasons from heaven, filling our hearts with food and with delight.” [6]

Let us engage God; let us embrace the way of love, and find ourselves becoming the friends of God, following the example of those friends, those saints, who came before us. They still embrace us, share with us their love, the grace which they have been given, which is why we can and do look to them for help. We are called to join them in their heavenly celebration, in the eschatological banquet which knows no end. Those who have grown in grace and have been perfected by it, the saints who have come before us, have become free, free to be like God, to act like God, to share with others that which they have been given, and they do so, not just once, not just temporally, but eternally, just as God is doing so in all eternity. Why should we expect any less?


[1] 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), 61 [Letter 38a. to Michael Tolkien].

[2] Marsilio Ficino, On the Christian Religion. Trans. Dan Attrell, Brett Bartlett, and David Porreca (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2022), 97.

[3] George Maloney, SJ, Death Where Is Your Sting? (New York: Alba House, 1984), 62 [Prayer is Jn 17:21-24].

[4] St. Caesarius of Arles, Sermons Volume I (1-80). Trans. Mary Magdeleine Mueller, OSF (New York: Fathers of the Church, 1956), 196  [Sermon 39].

[5] St. Augustine, “Of True Religion,” in Augustine: Earlier Writings. trans. John H.S. Burleigh (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1953),270.

[6] St Leo the Great, Sermons. Trans. Jane Patricia Freeland CSJB and Agnes Josephine Conway SSJ (Washington, DC: CUA Press, 1996), 51 [Sermon 12].

 

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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.

2024-09-03T02:20:53-05:00

-wuppertaler: Marketing For The Rings Of Power From Germany /  Wikimedia Commons

I’ve been a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien and his works for most of my life. Looking back, I think my initial interest came from Rankin/Bass and their versions of  The Hobbit and  The Return of the King, though I remember seeing Ralph Bakshi’s The Lord of the Rings with my family. We also owned a lp of The Hobbit, which I listened to when I was young. All of these influenced my initial take on Middle Earth, so that when I started reading, I read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.  I remember, in third grade, my teacher took a picture of me reading The Fellowship of the Ring; looking back, she probably was surprised someone so young was reading such a novel, but it was one I carried with me for quite some time as I read through it. What I got out of it then was far less than I would get out of it later, but I was enchanted by Tolkien and his world. Later, I would turn to his other books, fiction and non-fiction alike, as I found them (or they were released), and each time, I was drawn deeper into the themes which Tolkien placed throughout his writings, many of which I would later write upon myself.

When Peter Jackson released his version of The Lord of the Rings and then later, The Hobbit, there were many aspects of them which I liked. My favorite film of his is The Fellowship of the Ring, as I think it did the best presenting Tolkien’s vision, despite the liberties taken in it. Sadly, I found The Two Towers disappointing, as I found it greatly changed the story in ways which not only were not needed, not only made the story worse, but did so in a way which radically changed characters and their motivations (such as the way Faramir abducted Frodo and took him to Osgiliath). What I found to be extremely distasteful was the way Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, and Stephen Sinclair suggested that the changes they made were not done simply because books need to be adapted to be filmed, but because they thought they improved Tolkien’s story. Saying this, they proved they did not understand Tolkien’s work and the themes he put in it, themes which often reflected Tolkien’s own religious  (Catholic) sensibilities. The Return of the King was much better, and rounded off the trilogy well, allowing me to enjoy Jackson’s films despite the ways he departed from Tolkien’s vision.

When The Rings of Power was announced for Amazon, I was not certain how it would work. I was curious enough to watch the first season, especially as I saw that the producers were concerned to make sure the show followed the spirit of Tolkien, even if, like Jackson’s movies, there would be changes to fit the format (as well as having new characters and story elements which the producers hoped would fit into Tolkien’s narrative). I liked what I saw, even if I could and did find elements which I would have done differently, for, despite those differences, I found the show worked and felt truer to Tolkien’s ethos than Jackson’s movies. I certainly rejected all those who mercilessly lambasted the show, thinking many of them, who often tried to say the show departed from Tolkien’s stories, did not know Tolkien’s work and the way Tolkien wrote a variety, sometimes contradictory, stories concerning the Second Age of Middle Earth. I also found they often came from a far-right (alt-right, “anti-woke”) ideology which was far from Tolkien’s own take (indeed, it was one which Tolkien specifically rejected and fought against while he was alive).

Having seen the beginning of the second season of The Rings of Power , I find the show has developed, and that development improved what I already found to be acceptable. While the first season set things up, and in doing so, changed the sequence of events as found in various versions Tolkien produced of the Second Age of Middle Earth, the second season does not have to do all the set-up and so is far more ready to continue with its presentation of the Second Age. In doing so, I find it is highlighting many of Tolkien’s themes, showing how much better the production team understood Tolkien and his thought, and what made it great, than Peter Jackson.  We find, for example, the show pointing out how forgiveness and mercy is necessary, and when it is resisted, it can lead to disastrous results (this theme is especially prevalent in the story of King Durin III and his son, During IV, as both of them are being rather stubborn, and in their stubbornness, they are unable to come together to deal with the problems which are beginning to happen in Khazad-dûm).

What I think is most compelling, and most sympathetic to Tolkien’s own concerns, is the way evil is being shown in the series; evil is not shown as something which is simple and easy to see and discern, but rather, as something which entices people with elements of the good and uses those elements to corrupt them and their actions (which can be seen in the way Sauron is being portrayed, as he is shown to have a great amount of charm, one capable of convincing people to do the things he wants them to do, things which ultimately would give him more power, allowing him to slowly become the Dark Lord over all things). Similarly, we see this in the presentation of the orcs, where they are shown not to be creatures of pure evil, something which Tolkien found difficult to portray and yet which he knew had to be the case; the show gives us a sense of what the orcs want, how Sauron tried to use their desires to gain control over them and use them, and how some rebelled against Sauron because they saw him and his attempt to dominate them would not give them the freedom, including freedom from war, which they wanted (and, despite the way some critics have responded to this, we can find elements of this in The Lord of the Rings, when the orcs are given a chance to speak for themselves, for they show how weary they are being used and how they long for the times when they were not being used to wage war in the world). Tolkien saw the orcs as being corrupted beings; how that corruption took place and the level of corruption they had was something he explored throughout all his life. We do not need to see The Rings of Power as giving definitive answers to those questions, but we can see it giving potential solution to them as it gives us its telling of the Second Age of Middle Earth.

The Rings of Power is becoming my favorite filmed representation of Middle Earth. I hope the care and effort which the producers and writers have shown us continues throughout the full run of the series. I have heard rumors which, if they prove true, would indicate a great departure from Tolkien and his works, in a way which I would find unacceptable (such as the notion that Tom Bombadil would be shown to be some sort of form of Morgoth). Most of those rumors, I think, are false, and have been spread by people who want to hurt the show because of the hate they have developed for it (I remember, before the show was in production, rumors which proved to be false, such as the show would be like Game of Thrones, full of nudity and sexuality, which is one of the reasons why I think the worst ideas will prove to be false).

I still have a fondness for Peter Jackson’s films, especially The Fellowship of the Ring but the writers behind The Rings of Power get the spirit of Tolkien, something which Jackson did not, and that bodes well for the future of the show. Yes, it is a television series, and yes, it is a retelling of Tolkien’s myths, and so it will do things which Tolkien would not have done with the story. However, I feel Tolkien would have approved the show far more than Jackson’s films. I think he would have been happy seeing his myths being taken up and retold by others, because that would have proved that his myths had taken a life of their own, and what he wanted to produce, a living myth, would have been accomplished. When we study myth, we find, even in the same culture, there are many tellings of the same story, tellings which contradict each other and yet, somehow, still connect with each other by the key events and themes contained in them. Tolkien understood this, which is why he would not complain the way some of his supposed fans do about the way The Rings of Power tells his stories differently than he did. Indeed, he would see the show tried to pick up his concerns and show ways to deal with them, such as the way he tried to understand the nature (and history) of the orcs.  Tolkien did not leave us one, unalterable text concerning the events portrayed in The Rings of Power. That is, the Second Age is not like the Third Age as presented in The Lord of the Rings. The Second Age is far more mythic, far more open to many tellings; indeed, because it is open for them, it allows his story to live on and be told and retold in new ways, making sure the story does not become forgotten as history moves on. Now, it truly is mythic, and people can pick up his stories and add to them, making sure they can  live on and be told and retold for many years to come.

 

*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.

 

2024-08-02T02:32:43-05:00

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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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.

2024-07-10T02:31:07-05:00

Microbiz Mag: Man Writing / Wikimedia Commons

In the introduction to the book I am currently reading, Prayer of the Heart, the author, Fr. George Maloney, a writer I greatly respect for his knowledge and wisdom, wrote something which I found to be greatly mistaken:

Only a human person, of all God’s material creatures, has the ability to stand on the mountaintop of his or her consciousness and ask the why and where of human existence. Why have I been created? Where is my life going? Where should it be going? How can I find purpose in my life?

The notion that humanity is the only material creature, the only animal, which can and will ask these, and other similar, questions, is one which many believe. It is an assumption which many Christians accept without question. I  am not one of them. I have grown to question it, even if many of my favorite theological and spiritual writers tend to accept it as a given and through it, produce  extremely anthropocentric theological system. When they do so, I tend to deconstruct those systems and take the good from them while casting aside what I believe to be false. Indeed, while there are exceptions to the rule, they represent what has become the Christian norm, and those who support this norm often try to base it on their reading of Scripture, a reading which does not always follow as they think it does. For, as they point out, Scripture says humanity was made in God’s image and likeness; this certainly is true, and all Christians should hold that belief; nonetheless, the problem is how they turn that statement into something which Scripture does not say, that is, only humanity is made in God’s image and likes. They add “only” to a text which does not say only, similar to the way some have come to read Paul as saying “faith alone” is what saves, even though Paul never said “alone.”

While, it must be acknowledged, many in Christian tradition believe only humanity is made in God’s image and likeness, it is clear they are being influenced by their own cultural background, their own cultural understanding of other forms of animal life,  one which had a limited understanding of the potentiality found in such other forms of animal life. That is, as all of us do, they engaged Scripture based upon factors outside of Scripture, factors which can be and should be reformed. But once they did this, then they took their belief and used it in the way they read or engaged science, creating a never-ending circle based upon a bad hermeneutical foundation, one which led them to believe many qualities associated with humanity, such as its intellect, come from the way they represent God and so is exclusive to humanity.

Scientifically, there seems to be a variety of intellectual potentials found throughout the range of animal life (and possibly, not just animals). Some animals have greater intellectual capabilities than others. Some demonstrate conscious awareness of death and act upon in in ways which prove that humanity is not alone in the way it engages death. We can see this in various species closely related to humanity, like Neanderthals, but also in others, like elephants, who seem to have rituals connected with death, or with other animals which clearly are in mourning when they lose a loved one (as many of those who inherited a pet from a loved one has likely observed).  To be sure, not all animals show the same level awareness, suggesting that, as with the intellect itself, we are likely dealing with a spectrum of potentiality, with some much more aware, much more affected by death than others. Of course, we can appreciate and understand those animals which act in ways similar to us much more easily than those which act in ways quite a bit different from us, and so we might be misreading those who are different: they might have ways we cannot appreciate or understand that for them represent their own engagement with death.  It is also possible that some animals truly have little to no understanding of death beyond the instinct for survival. What we should not do is use those we cannot understand and use them to suggest the conclusion that only humans have the ability to think about and ponder about life and death.

Nonetheless, though science suggests one thing, and much of Christian tradition suggests another, once again, it is clear, many do not want to reform Christian tradition to take in what science has revealed. They think it takes away what makes humanity special, and  indeed, this is a part of the problem: people want to feel they are special – special as individuals, as communities, and as a species, and so they try to find ways to prove they are not only special, but superior to others. That is, pride is at work in the way they look out into the world. And it such pride which has them turn various qualities they possess into exclusive ones, for by doing so, their pride validates itself.  This tendency seems to be a byproduct of the fall, that is, it is the type of egotism which the fall generates, one which seeks to divide up creation so as to make one part of it better than others, and then, having made it better, justify whatever it does to the others, even if it means destroying that which is deemed inferior. That is, sin has us divide up creation so we can join in its destruction of being. Individualism, racism, nationalism, and even religious fundamentalism, all come as a result of this tendency. They are all opposed to the way of Christ because Christ has shown us that the distinctions found in creation are not meant to serve as qualities which divide creation into distinct parts cut off from each other, or fighting each other, but rather as parts which are interdependent with each other and come together as one. This is why it is said in Christ there is to be  neither male nor female, Jew or Gentile, not because those qualities do not take place, but because those qualities and distinctions are not absolutes; while sin divides up creation through them, Christ finds a way to bridge everything together, to make them one, even as God is one.

This is not to say there are no distinctions to be found in the world. It’s not distinctions which are in question, but how they are understood and applied, which is problematic. Distinctions are not meant to be absolutes, separating those which are distinct from each other, but rather, are to serve as the way we establish how different people and things can exist in relation with each other. That relationship is important. It shows they are not independent but rather interdependent. Those persons and things, those objects which serve as the basis for such relationships, will have qualities which make each of them unique, qualities which emerge and come to be as a result of those relationships. For Christians, the Trinity should help them better understand this point, for in it, we have a plurality of persons, each unique in their own way, and yet each connected with and full equal with every other one, showing us  uniqueness does not have to be seen as representing an essential difference, nor as making one or another better than another.  This should help us better understand humanity and our place in creation. We can accept there is something unique about humanity while not using it to produce a cosmological understanding that makes humanity special or greater than all other material beings.

It can be said that one of the distinctions given to humanity, one of the things which made it unique, is that the incarnation took place with it, that is, God took on human nature and through it, become a man, Jesus Christ. Because distinctions come from and through relationships, this distinction should not be used to suggest the incarnation is only for the sake of humanity, but rather, it is the means, the relational center, God uses to bring salvation to all creation. Thus, humanity can be said to be unique because of the incarnation, and not because it has exclusive claims to possessing an intellect, self-consciousness, or awareness of death.

Yes, I know some of my argument could be used against me, that is, because we cannot and do not know what is going on in the consciousness of other animal species, I could be wrong in suggesting that they have some level of self-awareness and even an understanding of death. While, for some animals, this might be true, we have found the means to observe and  learn from others that they have some understanding about death and have rituals associated with it. Perhaps some species have that awareness, and others do not. Perhaps. But to say such an ability is exclusive to us I think can be shown to be wrong. I would also say the instincts most animals have in regards self-preservation (or those who look for and take care of their own youth, with a willingness to sacrifice themselves so that their children can survive) demonstrate that they all have some awareness of death, even if it is not the same kind we have. And if this is true with death, this can also be true with other concepts; animals are going to want to understand, at least in regards their potential, their own origin, why they exist, and indeed, the meaning of it all. This is not to say they will do so in the same degree, but then again, not all humans do so either. But, for me, the way I read the interactions of many saints with animals suggests that they had come to know and recognize some of these qualities with the animals they associated with, even those science has less ability to examine and understand, showing that the Christian tradition, in action, often transcended the notions which were handed down from generation to generation. I see this, for example, when St. Anthony of Padua preached to the fish: he had them celebrate and worship God, indicating he thought they had some sort of concept which they could and would use about God and their creation, and the way they responded to him, suggests he was right. I see similar stories with many other saints, including favorites like St. Antony the Great, St. Jerome, St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Seraphim of Sarov, each which are known to have encounters with animals which highlight such animals had some sort of understanding of God and praised God when asked to do so.

Just as many Christians have begun to understand salvation in a pluralistic, inclusivistic sense, so I think we must begin to explore creation with such a sense as well. We should stop looking at humanity, believing many of the qualities we associate with it are exclusive to it. Indeed, we should truly embrace pluralistic inclusivity as a hermeneutic for our engagement with others, be it other people, or other forms of life, for then, if we do so, we will find our actions will be transformed and made better, as we will better realize our ethical and moral obligations to the other. We will have cut out the way of thinking which leads us to think we can ignore them because we view them as different, and therefore, our inferiors. Then, we will find ourselves truly following the way of Christ, because we will no longer allow sin to lead us on to divide up the world and justify destroying that which we find to be different. Rather, we will see difference does not need to lead to absolute division, but rather, serve as the foundation for a new way of looking at things, where we realize our interdependence with everything, and therefore, the need to work together so that we lift everyone else up due to our relations with them instead of putting them down and excusing their destruction.

 

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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.

2024-07-04T02:31:13-05:00

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.

 

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