Patrick Oden :: Feeds

Byzantine Aesthetics

I’m leading a discussion tomorrow on David Bentley Hart’s The Beauty of the Infinite in my Theology of Beauty class. Here’s the summary I wrote to help with the discussion:

In the tenth century, the story is told, Vladimir of Russia decided to choose a religion to help unite his country under a single faith. It is said he sent emissaries to gather information about three major religions: Islam, Christianity, and Judaism. Those responsible for Christianity traveled to Constantinople, where they observed the spiritual mysticism of devout monks and the magnificent architecture of the Hagia Sophia cathedral. The reports of grandeur, elegance, and beauty these emissaries brought back convinced Vladimir to adopt Orthodox Christianity as his nation’s religion. Such beauty was not, apparently only about honoring God, it was itself an expression to those who did not know Christ, able to bring others into the fold by the shear majesty of aesthetics. Beauty was a form of evangelism, a rhetoric speaking of a beautiful God.

Constantinople was sacked, and renamed Istanbul. The Hagia Sophia became a mosque, then later a museum, where public prayer is against the law. Yet, the appeal for this approach was not left to history. Indeed, recently there has been a movement that seeks a return to such a stance, using words rather than architecture. This movement is Radical Orthodoxy, and it is within this movement we can place David Bentley Hart. For Hart, unlike others pursuing the Radical Orthodoxy goals, we can add another connection to the grandeur of Constantinople. He is an Eastern Orthodox writer. And yet…

I have read a fair amount of Orthodox writers and Hart does not match their style or approach, or sources. Rather, he is an Eastern Orthodox writer almost entirely emphasizing a Western theological approach, so much so it became clear that Hart is not a lifelong member of the Orthodox church, but rather a convert, a fact later confirmed. I did not discover the date or background of his conversion, however, my suspicion is it came rather late–an intellectual and ecclesial pilgrimage to Constantinople. Hart may be Orthodox but his efforts probably should not be considered as reflecting the broader Orthodox approach or emphases.

His core influences are specified in The Beauty of the Infinite, and can be identified not only by perceptible adoption of arguments, but also because such men are the only ones Hart does not add some sort of dismissal or insult when noting their contributions. John Milbank must rank among the highest of these, as he is the scholar who started the Radical Orthodoxy movement and Hart’s mentor at the University of Virginia. Hans Urs von Balthasar is also a primary influence, who not only seems to have influenced Hart’s thoughts but also his style. Added to this we can suggest the featured influence, Gregory of Nyssa, as well as Bonaventure and Anselm. For the latter he offers a rather rousing defense against his fellow Orthodox writer, Vladimir Lossky. Protestants are almost entirely dismissed, except for Johann Hamann, who is characterized by his critical stance towards the burgeoning Enlightenment.

The inclusion and emphasis on Gregory of Nyssa, as well as the occasional reference to Maximus the Confessor, might seem to counter the suggestion of Hart’s primarily Western orientation. However, it should be noted that Hans Urs von Balthasar happened to pen a small set of books on three early writers. The first was Origen, followed by Maximus and then Gregory of Nyssa. The broad, and not always noted, influence of Balthasar should be considered in any assessment of Hart’s thought. Indeed, Hart does make a fairly clear statement of this, saying that his own efforts in The Beauty of the Infinite could be considered, in essence, as “a kind of extended marginalium on some page of Balthasar’s work” (29). This is not to say Hart is merely repeating what had already been so grandly written. Hart is a very learned and creative scholar whose efforts in The Beauty of the Infinite should be considered as using his influences as a springboard to greater heights in an attempted integration of East and West.

Just as, no doubt, those who tried to describe the Hagia Sophia felt at a loss for words, so too does anyone wishing to summarize Hart’s effort in a few pages. Indeed, a few pages could be spent on many of Hart’s single sentences. Indeed, a few of Hart’s sentences might just be three pages. The Beauty of the Infinite is made up of three main sections, with a substantive introduction that can be considered a main section in its own right. Here, Hart lays the groundwork for his ambitious project, listing the names of those he sees as primary intellectual opponents as well as offering extended definitions of how he is using key terms.

Hart suggests there are two narratives that have been offered in an attempt to describe our historical reality. The first is a rhetoric of violence, represented by a significant amount of thinkers throughout history and reaching a particularly destructive point in our era, leading us away from God and God’s fullness in this world. The second is a rhetoric of peace, the way of life and hope that propels us, continually, into an infinite discover of God’s beauty. The first is, by far, the most prevalent and accepted, not only in secular philosophies, but also, Hart claims, has influenced a great deal of Christian theology.

With this, then, Hart’s goal is first to explore and describe the rhetoric of violence, especially as seen in the writings of continental postmodern philosophers, suggesting that, in essence, this rhetoric is not as much a dismissal of metanarratives, but rather are continuations of what he sees as Nietzche’s counter-evangel. Although, he acknowledges their distinctions, Hart reduces their contributions to what he sees as their essence, a narrative of the sublime that expounds an ontology of violence. Everything is different, there are no inherent connections, leading to an unbridgeable existence within this world, undermining all analogy, and creating a ‘radical discontinuity’ with the world and with each other that allows only for opposition and isolation. Distance is the defining characteristic of this totality, a distance that repulses one from another within the confines of existence, not unlike the accelerating, expanding universe, the violence of the distancing leads to an inherent coldness and entropy. Think C.S. Lewis’s description of Hell in The Great Divorce. Beauty is lost, undermined by a supposed underlying sublimity that rhetorically justifies the entropic pursuits even as it opens the door for dominating counter-narratives that, in essence, hide the strife of domination beneath words of distinction. The rhetoric of violence is one of divide and conquer.

This distinction between sublime and beauty is at the heart of Hart’s understanding. The sublime, long the preferred aesthetic term as opposed to the perceived superficiality of the ‘merely’ beautiful, is considered a deeper reality that is inexpressible, impenetrable, unrepresentable, surpassing the power of comprehension, a disruption of imagination, emphasizing an insurmountable distinction between form and the infinite. The sublime has four contributing ‘narratives’ that are brought out by postmodern philosophers.

The first is the “differential sublime” (52). Difference itself is a sublime reality, with distinction, change and perpetual liberation perceived as perpetual states. Exploration of this sublime emphasizes disruption, a tearing apart of perceived connections in order to establish clear perception and supposed objectivity. Derrida is, for Hart, the key figure to be discussed. Rejecting the overarching denial of essential difference by traditional Western metaphysics as being violent and imperious, the entire emphasis upon difference becomes itself violent, allowing for nothing apart from difference.

The second is the “cosmological sublime” (56). Here Deleuze and Foucalt are put forth as representatives of this rhetorical violence. Here ‘inescapable chance’ and ‘uncontrollable results’ are said to dominate our existence, difference is dispersal and change. In other words, repetitious chaos, constant motion but not towards anything other than more disruption and shattering, that contains only temporary form before indecipherable reorganization. In such ambiguity and aimless existence there can only be amoral acceptance. The more accepting of this purposeless state, the more joy in present existence can be possible. The hope is that there is no hope, without the controlling burden of a defining past or eschatological expectation. This opens the door for the violence of domination, where one is either dominated or dominating in the experience of this chaotic state.

The third narrative is the “ontological sublime” (72). The sublime, viewed through a Heideggerian lens, and more specifically developed by Jean-Luc Nancy, is not what is beyond what appears and we experience, not a sense of infinity, but rather the result of difference that forms the world in its totality. The world is open as it arrives, but is without meaning. Sublime is an experience of “unlimitation” where one perceives the void and thus the shape of forms that are defined by this nothingness. The universe expands beyond its borders into nothing, not infinite, becoming more itself as it goes into nothing. I say that acknowledging that while analogy is apparently impossible, it is still helpful to struggling minds.

Hart finishes his list with the “ethical sublime”75). Here we find Emmanuel Levinas as Hart’s particular foil. The sublime, which is always that deep unrepresentable reality, is emphasized in the “Other”, never approachable, always transcendent demanding an response that can find no satiation. This other is outside the totality, commanding us but not, by definition, approachable, with this profound insatisfaction being itself an experience of the sublime. The quest itself is the goal, rather than comfort or accomplishment. We are driven onwards to do what is responsible without any return, and obligation without expectation. Distance is total, with no bridging or traversing, with no relationship whatsoever besides itself, a service to a good never possibly seen. Derrida, Hart suggests, attempts a more moderate versions of this, where the other is a mystical absence that is defining without relating, calling us towards justice by deconstruction, a violent separation, “war upon war”, a struggle for differentiated freedom.

The sublime is a totality closed within itself, the space between other and others, that cannot be bridged and which itself defines the knowable by its unknowability. This is not expanding to a prescribed direction or goal but is rather chaos, constantly in flux, a “pagan exuberance tempered by Gnostic detachment”(91).

It is here, then, that Hart turns to Nietzsche as the most direct proponent of a rhetoric of violence. In purposeful contrast to the supposed peace and spiritual virtues of Jesus, Nietzsche offers not only an alternative, but an opposition, a counter-Gospel. He is, according to Hart, establishing his own ‘critical vantage’ to overturn what he sees as Christian contradiction of Christ’s actual message and, added to this, dismiss the actual message itself as being ultimately weak and ineffective. Instead, he encourages a move back to noble virtues. Rather than meekness and humility there is pride and strength, the will to power. This is an aesthetic preference rather than a clearly reasoned position.
The modern and postmodern (which is “modernity fully realized”) perspectives on a closed totality are directly opposed to the Gospel of Christ, and are, in fact, inherently violent in their rhetoric as domination becomes inherent to their goals.

Theirs is a rhetoric of violence that cannot be simply dismissed or rationally opposed. Because this is a counter-narrative, an aesthetic choice, there must be a return to what is seen as the original response, a rhetoric offered by Jesus, a rhetoric of peace. The true Gospel must be re-asserted. Postmodern philosophy rejects the Christian message as being “totalizing”, a “metaphysical violence against difference” that hides beneath words of peace (150). The Christian vision is one of conquest for an “ephemeral dream”. Instead of following the lead of this perspective, Hart offers a different way, a way that abandons the pursuit of dialectical truth and, at the same time, rejects the totality that postmodernity offers. Persuasion here is not violent, but peaceful. Instead of strife and chaos being the “primordial” truth, there is beauty, a beauty that is infinite in scope as it reveals the “music of a triune God” (151). Christian theology, then, rather than being a dialectic is a rhetoric of peace that coherently expresses this beauty and light.

And so Hart turns to his second section, a minor dogmatics, touching on four key themes of Christian theology and places these within the field of battle that had been opened up in the first section. Although deeply theological this second section is not systematic. It is, rather, more like variations on themes. Each section offers Hart’s theological points at the beginning then what he sees as related musings on the theme, not fully exploring the particular theological point as much as being riffs as they occur to him. Nor does he see a consistent method of response as important (154). In developing his themes Hart makes a key point, then writes about what comes to his mind about that point, in whatever way he feels like doing in the moment. Although more specifically directed towards the positive development of a renewed theology, these sections contain a significant amount of critical study of assorted philosophers and theologians. Hart’s effort seems to be establishing a rhetoric of peace by demolishing those he sees as not fitting into this; the form of his argument coming in part from, we might say, their formlessness and chaos.

This second section is divided into four main considerations: trinity, creation, salvation, and eschatology. At the heart of Hart’s rhetoric of peace is his strong preference for beauty instead of the sublime, and the infinite instead of a totality. “Beauty is prior to sublimity and infinity surpasses totality” (413). God is himself beautiful and Christ is God’s supreme rhetoric of this beauty and peace. The beauty of the infinite is the Christian aesthetics, a holistic vision of being that leads to delight and peace.

Countering the perspective of chaos, and the search for power that chaos leaves us with, Hart offers a counter-narrative, one that rejects chaos as turmoil and anarchy, within which all is a struggle for dominance, power, and asserted identity. Instead, chaos is defined more according to the recent scientific use of the term, where apparent disorder and randomness contains, in fact, an infinite complexity and order. This is not a closed totality, but rather an open infinity.

Instead of the expanding, enervating universe that propels each form farther and more distant from each other, beginning in violence and ending in cold, isolation, the beauty of God places us in his orbit. We are constantly falling towards him, but instead of arriving we circle, in a perichoretic dance. Rather than distance being a form of alienation, distance becomes an expression of intimacy as we are continual drawn to God, who is not in constant retreat from us but rather in constant participation.

The final section of The Beauty of the Infinite offers Hart’s concluding thoughts on the war of persuasions. Here he explores more closely what it means for there to be competing rhetorics, examining more specifically the idea of pursuing a rhetoric of peace amidst violence and strife. This persuasion, as has been noted, is not about escapism away from prevailing philosophical influence and cultural seductions of power, but rather about offering a new perspective within the old, a way of peace that counteracts the violence through expressions of eternal values of beauty and light. This subversive expression of beauty of the infinite provokes the violence even as it disarms it by refusing to play the same game. Christian rhetoric, a rhetoric of profound peace, persuades by inducing rapture, reorienting vision towards infinite beauty, a quest that is always satisfying and never satiated.

Overall, I’m very mixed about the book. I agree with Hart on a great deal of what he says, and yet I’m almost entirely put off by the way in which he says it. He promotes, rhetorically, a rhetoric of peace but in almost every written way possible does not himself follow a rhetoric of peace. He uses alienating arguments, offputting (and rarely necessary) vocabulary, dismissive and insulting interaction, and baroque prose. Which suggests to me that while I, in part, agree with a lot of his efforts, he does not agree with his own conclusions. Had he agreed with himself we would see this in his approach to theology. Instead of a rhetoric of peace, however, we have rhetorical violence that seeks domination and acclamation. Hart is a very smart fellow, and he’s desperate, it seems, to be acknowledged as such, more desperate for such attention than getting his basic message across.

Curiously, when I think of a true rhetoric of peace in action I think of The Shack. Like it or not, agree with it or not, it seems to be significantly closer to Hart’s goal than Hart is.

And this likely dooms Hart to relative obscurity. Unless, of course, Hart really reads his own book and puts it into practice.

A question about style and grammar

I’m asking for some audience participation here. I’m reading a book right now called The Beauty of the Infinite. It’s a pretty rigorous read, to be honest, although the author has some stimulating thoughts buried beneath his turgid prose. I’m going to post my thoughts on the book next week, but for now I’m curious about a certain sentence. This is, in essence, an aesthetic question directed at all those who feel sharp at grammar, writing, or English style. I’m looking at how style can itself be a form of rhetorical violence, and I think this sentence sort of gets at that.

So, what I’m asking is for you to unleash your inner editor. You know, the one that wants to point out every little grammar mistake or style distention, but have learned over the years that people get bent out of shape when corrected on what they see as minor points. But I want to hear it.

In other words, I want the part of you that reveled in Eats, Shoots, and Leaves to be let out on this following sentence. There are a lot of examples I could use, but I particularly liked this one because of the semicolon love that is shown. I tend to dismiss the semicolon altogether so maybe I’m a wee biased.

Here it is. Have at it, on anything that comes to mind. Don’t worry about understanding it, just get at the style and the grammar and all around English language usage (though, communicating in an understandable way is a part of that, so maybe you could add those thoughts too). It might also be that this is perfectly fine and acceptable, and my mind just doesn’t want to deal with the complexity of such a supposed master. Here is the, yes just one, sentence:

For all his solicitude for noble values, Nietzsche may prove, in retrospect, to have been the greatest of bourgeois philosophers: the active and creative force of will he praised may be really a mythic aggrandizement of entrepreneurial ingenuity and initiative; talk of the will to power, however abstracted and universalized, may reflect only a metaphysical inflation of that concept of voluntaristic punctiliarity that defines the “subject” to which the market is hospitable; the notion of a contentless and spontaneous activity that must create values describes, in a somewhat impressionistic vein, the monadic consumer of the free market and the venture capitalist; to speak of the innocence of all becoming, the absence of good and evil from being, and a general preference for the distinction between god and bad as a purely evaluative judgment is perhaps to speak of the guiltless desire of the consumer, the relativity of want, and that perpetual transvaluation that is so elegantly and poignantly expressed on every price tag, every declaration of a commodity’s abstract value; a force that goes always to the limit of what it can do is perhaps at one with modern capitalism’s myth of limitless growth and unbounded trade.

That Holy Night - A Note from Amy

Happy Holidays, friends!!

I’m happy to announce the release of That Holy Night (A Christmas EP)!!!

It’s available for $9.99 and can be purchased now through my new website, with a special offer through midnight on November 30) of free shipping on all domestic orders!

GET YOUR COPY NOW! You can also hear samples of the songs, and read the lyrics & the stories behind them.

If you like what you see and hear, help me out by getting the word out; pass the link on to friends & family that you think might also enjoy it!

Thanks for your continued support! I wish you all a very happy Thanksgiving & a blessed Christmas season to come!

Amy

That Holy Night, a new Christmas CD by Amy Gustafson (soon to be Oden!)

Between Here and There

I think it is the effect of reading early monastics. Or maybe it is why I found the early monastics so engaging. Maybe a mix of both.

I’m talking about my tendency to engage my inner emotions, complications, desires, and all that other ‘mushy’ sort of stuff that a more astute theologian or pastor might leave off to the side. It’s not becoming.

Yet, I see it as essential. I don’t know anyone else’s inner wrestling with God as much as my own. And in my own I have a lifetime of study, past-present-future, giving me a workbook of a life lived with God in this world.

Sometimes the process gets clogged. I lose my center, or I step in an uninformed direction, or I don’t sit enough staring at trees, letting the tangles of this life clutter my being. Or sometimes, more recently, I get caught up in happiness, and distraction, and surprising blessings.

I’ve said on occasion that I’m naturally a very shallow person. It’s true. Only God did not let me remain shallow. Or, rather, shallowness may have been my start but it is not his end. A big part of this deepening has been the divine No, that could be explained away by a longlasting series of unfortunate decisions and circumstances, or seen as a way God has driven me into self-examination and outward discovery of his work in this world.

I can go so fast, without paying attention, that those traffic lights and yield signs begin to blur. All the more when the lights aren’t red and I feel a go, go, go in my soul.

But there is a crumbling in that. And it becomes a different kind of weakening, a positive enervation, that instills worry, and doubt, and on-edge frustration.

My years in the mountain haven’t gone to waste, however, and I recognize this off-center place more readily, and begin the process of response even as the this-time is still always seems bigger than the already addressed issues of being’s past.

The this-time includes the almost perpetual refrain of not enough money (and the concerns of future school funds, rent, and all the other aspects of life) coupled with a newer reality of how to be a PhD student.

The former part, the bit about money, is the refrain that demands faith. I don’t really have faith. I mean I do, for the religious stuff, but when it comes to actual life? I am still wracked by doubt. I can say with some hope that I’ve not let this doubt interfere, thus my occasional ludicrous decisions, but it’s still there, undermining the moment as I press on towards the future. Makes for constant dissonance if I’m not careful.

The latter, the PhD part, is more tricky. Not least because it is couple with that first one. I need a scholarship to stay in school. I feel I need to perform to the level to get the scholarship renewed each year. This worry puts a strain on my openness and creativity. But it’s also more than that. I am more like an engineer than a theoretical physicist when it comes to theology. I want to see how ‘this fact’ relates to ‘that context’. I like to understand by application not theoretical analysis.

So, I’m realizing strong this morning that after most of a quarter as a PhD student I’ve not yet found how to be a PhD student, how I am best a PhD student. And in this refrain I see I’ve fairly responded with restraint. Caught between here and there I became silent both for here and there. There is a way, I feel it, to be both here and there at the same time.

And once again, the constant lesson, I have to let go in order to finally understand. I have to let go expectations and let go the future and let go trying to make sense and let go the weight that I put on myself to be an influential voice. I have to let go the pride–the pride that wants to sound impressive and the pride that makes me want to not sound impressive so I can better impress more people. I have to put aside the jealousy and I have to let go the yearning to be noticed, and applauded. I have to let go the deep tendency to hide and seclude and treasure my horded perceptions like a young dragon upon his gold.

I have to learn to speak and to be silent, to be truly still rather than merely stifled.

I have to learn to put my hope in the God who leads towards his future even as I live in this present.

I have been quiet because I have been worried, bothered by unresolved potentials, hopes shown but not settled.

I have to learn how to be free again, now among people.

I have to dance.

I see that, I feel that, now the question is how to be that not only in rhetoric but in real response.

My mind and soul have become knotted and I’ve justified that with all the excuses of my present dislocation. But it is precisely in the dislocation that we as Spirited people really can learn and trust and become.

I’m reminded of that this morning and pushed to renew the pursuit of God’s wholly Spirit in this life. This is my confession, of sorts, and my hope that if people are still roundabout this raven’s nest they’ll be free as well in what might become attempts at sketches, finding my center once more through tracing and practicing and exploring in ways that might not always be immediately accessible. I don’t know. I need to see what is now there and find that freedom to dance in the midst of the public square. And, honestly, I’m not really that confident that I’m a good or elegant dancer.

But I want to be. I need to stop worrying about making sense or pleasing particular aesthetics. The music is playing. Now is the time to step.

An added thought. In a letter to me, congratulating me on my entrance into advanced theological studies, Jurgen Moltmann ended with, “Have courage.”

That has become more weighty as time has passed, and I see that as being not only a kind word from a theologian at the pinnacle to one at the base, but also a divine call, the call to have courage to be wholly God’s in the place where he has put me, dissuaded neither by the common pursuits nor the expected fears. That is the word for me now, and onwards. Have courage. I do that, explore that, live that, I think I will see God more every day, culminating in that new beginning when I see him face to face.

out of rhythm

Writing to me follows a cadence. Not one of sound or feel. A lived cadence, in which my life begins to find a rhythm of being. As I find the feel for it, my creativity soars, my mind wanders towards varying depths, and there’s a curious interplay of intellectual and emotional liveliness.

I’ve not felt that rhythm for a while now. And I’ve not written for a while now. Neither here on my blog nor anywhere else. My thoughts have dissipated, sometimes outwards in low measure, sometimes reabsorbed within my being.

Unlike past seasons the cause of this disturbed rhythm is almost all good. Good, but presently thrusting me into a prolonged transition, where I don’t feel either here or there or anywhere in particular, a commuter to school, in relationship, in thought, in all kinds of ways.

My class on beauty, which I had hoped to write more about, is done in a few weeks. My musings from this entry into academia have fallen way below my expectations, even as I realize I look back and don’t see missed moments of sharable insight. Just that dissipation that never quite settles into coherent thoughts.

While there are still massive changes ahead, I see these changes as not being yet more prolonged transition but rather new beginning, a profoundly changed settledness in which I can rediscover a new rhythm as I begin life with another, in my own established place.

And, honestly, I miss writing. It’s a boon to my soul, thought and emotions. Leaving it aside is impoverishing for me, in ways that only become apparent when I begin to exhibit the signs of a scurvy of being, a quiet wasting away that increases my sensitivity to the negative and lowers my perseverance towards light and hope.

I don’t see anything changing for a little while, as I try to hold onto what little rhythm I have I put my energy into two major projects.

But, I see it as a goal.

I’ve been away. I’m going to be back. Maybe with a little more theologizing than might be preferred. Probably again with an assortment of pictures of birds and beasts.

Just Because

finding the familiar

One of the core spiritual, emotional, social realities I discovered over the years is finding what I actually like. That sounds simplistic, to be sure, and maybe it is. But, so, so few people actually live according to what they like as opposed to living according to what others like, or value, or say is fun. Cutting loose from the bonds of other people’s supposed preferences (for they might not like what they think they like either) is at the root of a life lived with imagination.

Why do I say this now? Because of this sentence I just read in Theology & Joy by Jurgen Moltmann:

But it may be that our eyes are opened to the truly familiar only as we become alienated from what is alienating.

So many of us are so familiar with what is alienating that we think that is what real life is like.

The Loss and Recovery of Beauty in the Modern Period

Here’s the text of my presentation on the loss and recovery of beauty in the modern period for my Theology of Beauty Class:

The loss and recovery of beauty in the modern period is fundamentally about identity.

Who are we? Who am I? Who are you? Art and society in general broke away from the religious and cultural impositions of identity, striking out for independence and assertion of being. Instead being defined rigidly by outside forces, there was a new expectation of discovery, discovery of new land, new vocation, new wealth, new spirituality. Much of this came from the understanding that the old models of control were bankrupt, unable to offer fulfillment or meaning, even if they offered a settled reality. There was a yearning for progress, and this meant striking out on your own to become your own person instead of who you were told you had to be.

So, it is not surprising that Willis, in his article on discovering creative symbolism outside of formal art, specifically chooses to look at ‘young people’. Erik Erikson, in his stages of psychosocial development, has as his fifth stage “Identity vs. Role confusion”, a stage which typically begins in adolescence. Those in this stage are, as Erikson puts it, “primarily concerned with what they appear to be in the eyes of others as compared with what they feel they are”. One website adds that a person in this stage, “needs to develop a sense of self and personal identity. Success leads to an ability to stay true to yourself, while failure leads to role confusion and a weak sense of self.”

There are two parts to this. One is a rejection of the impositions others demanded. This rejection is not only about not feeling a fitting, but also in a heightened perception of the inadequacy, or worse, of what was insisted on. Beauty was a victim of this early identity assertion.

“Beauty is not always right.” (Danto 112)

“If there is to be art, it should not be beautiful, since the world as it is does not deserve beauty. Artistic truth must accordingly be as harsh and raw as life itself is, and art leached of beauty serves in its own way as a mirror of what human beings have done. Art, subtracted of the stigma of beauty, serves as what the world has coming to it.” (Danto 118)

Beauty was seen as a false assertion of a false reality, not in keeping with the often grotesque realities of society, and one’s own soul.

But, where to go from here? If we reject the cultural impositions of identity what are we left with? Incomplete selves. Where do we find a resolution for our identity that can encompass both aspects of reality—the beautiful and the grotesque.

It is here I think the works of the early monastics are helpful, especially as found in the writings contained in the Philokalia. Defined as ‘love of the beautiful’ these were, in essence extremely advanced texts on progressing in the Christian life, towards what the eastern would call, theosis. A love of the beautiful, according to the monastic texts, is a desire for our own progress and transformation, not just for ourselves, but for our communities, for those who come after us. This cannot be a mere form of limited beauty that treats our hope as an idyllic future. Our hope comes in this present, and we move beyond our depravity towards a restoration of the likeness of God, in which we participate with God, seeing this world and acting within it as his agents.

Cassian writes on the holistic understanding of beauty (Philokalia, v.1, 96ff.) that encompasses what is spiritual, and physical, and dark, and light.

With this came a very strong awareness of reality as it was. The sharpening of the sense of this was considered the most important trait called discretion or discernment. Those who had mastered this were able to see the essence of things, good and bad, with it all able to point towards a sharpening and progression. This is why sins became so parsed and discussed, as in the lists of deadly sins. The more one knew about the darkness the better one was able to move past it, using the evil to propel towards goodness, using temptations to become stronger and more whole.

Brown writes “Our effort is to discern what is required of Christian artistry and taste if it is to have hopes of progressing from minimally spiritual exploration to maturely Christian transformation.”

And according to the monastics this means being willing to see the difficult and ugly as part of our own realities, not to be dwelled upon for its own sake, but to be used as a tool for progression.

“One has to work at seeing a painting as good despite its not being beautiful, when one had been supposing that beauty was the way artistic goodness was understood.” Danto 89

“My thought has been that it is important to recognize that the works might still be perceived as ugly even when we have come to see ‘artistic excellence’. The recognition of excellence need not entail a transformation in aesthetic perception.” Danto 107

But what do we bring to the art? Not in terms of aesthetics, though that is a part. In terms of spiritual maturity. Does the person who knows God the best have the best aesthetics? Should we train people to know art theory or to know God? The monks sought God, but also perceived the world.

Evagrios writes, “Spiritual knowledge has great beauty: it is the helpmate of prayer, awakening the noteic power of the intellect to contemplation of divine knowledge.”

“We have no idea how much extra-aesthetic information comes with the first glimpse.” Danto 107. How do we sharpen and hone this extra-aesthetic information? What we bring to art is often dismissed. Often what is emphasized is what we take away, but that is entirely dependent on not only the art, but what we bring to the art. The work, the scene, the place, the words, the object is like sound, not communicating in a vacuum.

What do we take away from art? This is tied to what we bring and what the artist is seeking to propel us towards. Artists too are those seeking identity, or having found it, are asserting it so as to push others in the direction they found helpful.

“But the artists were not simply concerned that the viewers should know what they were doing. Those viewers were themselves part of the society the artists were concerned to change. The problems were their problems too. The implication is that you are not just to look at what we, the artists have done: you have to help us change the world.” (Danto, 106; see also 133)

“We must endeavor to grasp the thought of the work, based on the way the work is organized.” (Danto, 139) .

We participate with the artist, learning from the embodied meaning of a work that contains a source for our own progression.

“Christian artistry and taste, I proposed, would do well to find new ways of being popular without being cheap; and Christianity would benefit, as well, from cultivating further a capacity for intelligent and imaginative religious exploration that is demanding enough to be unpopular.” (Brown, 230)

With this, like the monastics understood, there is a need for humility. We cannot always perceive what is there without training and guidance.

“Far from being a sign of excessive pride, therefore, submitting to artistic training and discipline can show a degree of humility that is all too often missing from programs of self-expression and from those kinds of artistry that consistently settle for easy or splashy effects.” (Brown, 254)

But is this only true for artistic guidance? Do we bring only our artistic perceptions to art? We bring our whole selves, so we are called to progress as whole selves, with our progression in one way bringing new light to other aspects.

Nor can we teach with an arrogance towards those who would seek to learn. Is transforming art only for the discerning? If theosis is a path, should there not be a path of aesthetics which allows for growth, milk to meat, in perception and depth?

The problem also comes in that we are unevenly ‘divinized’. We do not progress at the same speed, in the same directions, in the same modes. The area our imagination tends to occupy is our own area of strength, and we may tend to dismiss other forms. Thus, we have to allow for other forms of imagination, accepting that we participate as a community—as teachers and learners in turn. Those who are most advanced allow for those who are not. Because they perceive the nature of things and the person. Those who are not, who are striving or trying to prove, become the elitists or snobs. The most advanced monks were immensely accepting.

We have what we bring, and we have what the artist brings, often neither fully formed in identity, each trying to assert identity in expression and reception, while also still searching for the real self.

Where are we to go? To change the world as the artist, or other creative symbols suggest? If we are lost in despair, in the darkness of our sins or the chaos of the grotesque we lose our impetus for progress. Without hope we stay static or retreat.

Hope is found in beauty.

“It is as though beauty works as a catalyst, transforming raw grief into a tranquil sadness, helping the tears to flow, and at the same time, one might say, putting the loss into a certain philosophical perspective. Recourse to beauty seems to emerge spontaneously on occasions where sorrow is felt.” Danto 111

In moments of emotional need we feel drawn to hope and healing, the perichoretic attracts, drawing us back towards wholeness, or at least our comfortable approximation of it that we are used to in prior assumptions of our identity.

“Beauty is a necessary condition for life as we would want to live it.” Danto 160

But, this kind of beauty itself can be restrictive, becoming a mere solace rather than a driving force for our continued advancement.

This beautiful solace in art is often considered ‘kitsch’.

“Much art that aims at sublimity borders on kitsch.” (Brown, 230)

Kitsch is a judgment based on a particular, supposedly advanced, aesthetic. Is it, however, a valid judgment? The art we value is an expression of what we bring to it and what it brings to us. Thus the art we have is the art we deserve. See the art someone loves and we can see where they are at emotionally and spiritually.

Art becomes a tool for discernment, not only in how we view the art, but also in how we view the art viewer. Kitsch, maybe more properly defined not according to our aesthetic place, but rather according to how it works in the life of a particular person. Kitsch is, we might say, that which stifles progress or allows for stagnation. A precious moments figurine, or chapel, might be profoundly spiritual for one, a spiritual wasteland for another. Under the perspective of theosis we judge according to the situation and individual, not according to the object

“If taste is matter of perception, appreciation, and appraisal, and if it is always influenced by context and community, the first step in assessing claims regarding religious aesthetic taste is a move that is no less important for being almost a cliché. It is to try to listen to and through the rhetoric and sometimes curious logic of particular claims regarding music and worship so as to discern the underlying musical and religious perceptions, values, and judgments.”

Adding to this with right perception, maturity in spirit and aesthetic, art, music, the sorts of personal expressions Postrel emphasizes becomes a very precise way of perceiving the observer or aesthetic chooser not only the underlying aspects of the artistic object itself. We can diagnosis souls, knowing where one is and where one needs to go, in both the artist and those who resonate with particular expressions, as long as this resonance is about the real identity and not about assertions of a false identity in order to adopt someone else’s identity, which might be comfortable but is ultimately problematic.

But, moving past the false hopes of solace, we come to real beauty that both inspires, enlightens, and transforms.

“One cannot aspire toward the most developed and discerning taste without recognizing that taste must be discriminating—that not everything is beautiful and not all beauties are equal. Yet there comes a moment or state in which taste at its very highest, and the art associated with it, allows one to relish all that one hears and sees and touches, perceiving it as blessed in the eyes of God, and so to take delight in the whole world as beautiful and entirely enjoyable ‘in God’.” Brown, 264

Postrel and Willis offer us illustrations of a broader expression of the inherent spiritual in art, not in the formal production of art as communication, but rather aesthetics as choice and aesthetics as participation, what we select and what we express, that becomes a vital symbol of who we are.

However, we are left with a question. What we produce is a static representation of our selves. Is there more? People can express a diminished being, so expression itself is not inherently theosis. We can learn about people through their expressions and choices, and sometimes what we learn is that creativity is solely expressing ‘keeping up with the Jones’. Not by being same, but by expressing an artificial independence, a different look within the same overall, broader life philosophy and shallowness. Though, there are cues within to suggest a real glimmer of being. Is that enough? Especially if the materialistic shunts further, and deeper, expression. Is the ability to choose really an embrace of a deeper aesthetic? Are we a more reflective society because we can choose our toilets and faucets?

“We are here to be transformed.” Danto, 131.

This transformation cannot be simply an external beautification, but insists on whole transformation if we are to really find our identity.

But again, what is the direction of our identity? The monastics sought their identity in God, with God, participating with him now and through eternity, leading to a transformation into the likeness of God, something they realized goes beyond assertion of rhetoric or outside trappings, indeed transformed in a way that often is blocked by pure intellectual, rational methods.

“Philosophy is simply hopeless in dealing with the large human issues.” Danto, 137

“Perhaps we should also acknowledge that thought and further experience can, in turn, give rise to the symbol—the aesthetic and artistic symbol that, even as words begin to fail, is lifted up by illumined imagination, however imperfect, or by what has traditionally been called inspiration.” (Brown, 227)

In contemporary considerations we can see the embrace of beauty and disgust in the framework of perichoretic participation in the works of Moltmann whose theology of hope is, in part, coming out of his core question of where was God in Auschwitz. Theology too sought to exalt humanity, running into the wall of humanity’s deprivation, which brought a loss of theology. Classical liberal theology was found bankrupt in the face of human depravity.

Beauty and theology often go together, it seems.

The texts we read for this class session were quite, quite interesting really and I heartily recommend them: The Abuse of Beauty: The Paul Carus Lectures 21 (The Paul Carus Lectures) by Arthur Danto and Good Taste, Bad Taste, and Christian Taste: Aesthetics in Religious Life by Frank Burch Brown. We also read an excerpt from The Substance of Style by Virgina Postrel and Common Culture by Paul Willis

Loss and Recovery of Beauty in October

My postings have fallen off again. Sometimes, I don’t know why that happened. This time I do. I was absolutely swamped by life.

October was one of those months. Not bad. Just pushed me, the whole of me, along in its waves.

Amy was here at the beginning of the month, which was wonderful fun.

We saw The Swell Season in Concert.

I taught a couple of seminary classes in the middle of the month, taking over in stepped-up TA duties as the professor I’m working for was off in Thailand. I get to do the same in the middle of November. Taught on Moltmann’s, Grenz’s, and Bloesch’s Christology the first day (I’m getting better at Christology apparently), and on “the incarnation” the second.

Had a birthday. I’m 34 as of a couple of weeks ago.

Went up to Oregon. Amy’s brother got engaged a month after us, and married two months before us. A delight and joy and wonderful event. A wee stressful for the immediate planning, and a trip more about meeting and schmoozing future family for me than hanging out with Amy. Also, a trip that had a fair bit of our own wedding planning re-assessment.

The day before I left for that I got an email from the professor of a class I’m taking asking if I would switch my 1 1/2 hour presentation from November 5 to October 29. I couldn’t really say no, even with all my being I realized I had utterly no time to work on this presentation that meant discussing theological issues of 2 books and 2 long articles. Airports and airplanes became the center of my theological musings on the topic, which happened to be on the loss and recovery of beauty in the modern period. I had to pull together all this in the midst of the strongest illustration of loss and recovery of beauty in the modern period: weddings and wedding planning.

Walked out to my car at the end of it, and my right rear tire was flat.

I knew exactly how that tire felt.

What I realized was I got, understandably, emotionally and mentally exhausted, on top of not sleeping well for quite a few weeks in quite a few different locations in Lake Arrowhead, Canby, and Pasadena.

My introversion caught up with me, and kept after me until yesterday when I just about climbed into a hole for the day and got absolutely nothing accomplished. And I realize that blogging is an extroverted activity, oddly enough, and suffered a bit of my month o’ real life.

Feeling my way back. Hope to post some pictures soon.

Interestingly enough, while my daily philokalia fell off here on the blog, those writings became central to my presentation, helping me coalesce the topics together in a somewhat curious fashion. Hurray for obscure devotional texts!

On Art

Viewing Modern Art

Oh and…

As a wee personal note.

I’m at Fuller this week in fact. Class tomorrow. TA duties today and Thursday. The professor is off to Thailand speaking at missions gathering. I’m teaching his Systematic Theology 2 class this week.

Odd things are afoot in my life. For those who’ve followed along the last four years of blogging they’ll understand.

Good odd, mind you. Good odd.

It went well today. Helps that the first hour was on the Christology of Moltmann.

Emerging within the Establishment

Although it doesn’t really seem like it with my recent posts I’m still interested in and engaging emerging church stuff. Indeed, it’s still likely an aspect of my PhD dissertation. But for now, I’m re-grounding on the theology side and getting myself restored in the spirituality side, and preparing for the marriage side, so I’ve not entirely been chatty on the subject.

Things are moving along in that world, however, and it’s all quite interesting.

For instance, Fuller Seminary (showing why I decided to study at Fuller) dedicated it’s theology magazine to emerging churches within denominations.

Have a look over at Ryan Bolger’s blog. Reminds me that I need to touch base with him before too long.

Present and future

From Mark the ascetic:

When harmed, insulted, or persecuted by someone, do not think of the present but wait for the future and you will find he has brought you much good, not only in this life but in the life to come.

After the first part, I expected there to be something along the lines of God will judge, or will make right, or will avenge. Something Old Testamenty.

But it doesn’t go that direction. Instead it stays with us. By enduring those things we can gain spiritual wisdom and patience. Something I’ve realized again and again, as I’ve been seemingly perpetually bothered by nearby construction that day after day violates the seeming expected quiet of the forest. Needless construction that has taken far too long.

I’ve gone up and down about it. Realizing all that noise entirely undermines attempts to find quiet prayer or spiritual focus.

Then I realized I was growing in different ways. A training of sorts.

There have been a lot of these things in my life, persistent bothers and greater frustrations. That’s just the one on my mind today that makes me realize exactly how right Mark the Ascetic is, even as I wish it wasn’t true, and that God would send a lightening bolt to end the bother and always step in to solve every frustration.

When you sin, blame your thought, not your action. For had your intellect not run ahead, your body would not have followed.

To add to this, and echo a little other Philokalia, blame the thoughts but also analyze them. Learning my own mental state, path, influences, and whole mental context has been a wonderful way to address my deeper faults. Sinful actions are more often than not more symptom than the direct disease. There’s often some faithlessness, or entitlement, or something underneath it that provokes the sin, often in not always obvious ways.

Blame and Temptation

Do not say: “I do not know what is right, therefore I am not to blame when I fail to do it.” For if you did all the good which you do know, what you should do would then become clear to you, as if you were passing through a house from one room to another. It is not helpful to know what comes later before you have done what comes first. For knowledge without action ‘puffs up’, but ‘love edifies’, because it ‘patiently accepts all things.’ (1 Cor 8:1; 13:7).

I always want to know what comes next so that I have a good basis to do what comes first. Learning how to just go ahead and do that first thing has been quite freeing. When I do it. Truth be told, it’s sometimes exhausting to step without seeing. But, we’re not called to see the giants as wee or weak. We’re called to attack them anyhow, even if they’re huge and strong.

After fulfilling a commandment expect to be tempted; for love of Christ is tested by adversity.

The Stakes

I’ve not been political this time around, unlike in 2004 when I was just getting a blog started. There are a lot of reasons for that. Mostly, it’s because politics is bad for the soul, seeking partisan answers to deeper questions, inflicting disunity among communities for reasons that have, on the surface, logical reasons but are really more to do with aesthetic and social preference, which we then package with all kinds of more objective sounding arguments.

I’ve sat and listened, or read, a lot of my good friends voicing their support for Obama, sat and listened mostly in silence, not because I respect Obama but because I respect my friends and want to hold onto unity. I’ve sat and watched the people who were most appalled by the Christian Right take on a lot of the Christian Right’s arrogance and style, inflicting their opinions on vague issues and calling it the “Christian Way.”

We can and should discuss issues like poverty and war. However, voicing opposition to poverty and war does not end these or solve these. Indeed, sometimes, as in the 1930s, it exacerbates both. The poor are not helped by self-righteous hand-wringing and the victims of violence are not helped by earnest sounding disapproval.

Both the poor and the victims need help.

How this help is best accomplished is the real conversation on politics, and the real disagreement among those of us of faith. I’ve seen hypocrisy and corruption on both sides, with each side ready to eviscerate the other while dismissing their own faults.

I lost a lot of respect for the Christian Right in the past, and this season I’ve lost a whole lot of respect for the Christian Left, and those who hold to its causes. They are the same to me, which is sad to see. But they are so clearly expressing the same pharisaic mentality, always eager to judge the other.

I lean to the right, still. And reject any attempt for any other Christian so-called to judge me for my political positions. Indeed, I reject their faith as valid if they attempt to do so, putting their politics above their religion, and putting their unity with those who mock the faith against those who share it.

I reject any attempt to enlist Jesus as a political compatriot, for Jesus offended Left and Right, having words for all those who sought to assault others, while denying their own blind hypocrisy.

I lean right because I reject the maybes, the hope so, the promises without foundation. If there was really clear, undeniable help for the poor, I would go that direction. But it’s all politics, as the recent financial crisis shows.

So, I stand on the things I can be assured of. Not that these are the whole of the Christian stance, but they reflect at least a guaranteed part, as opposed to rhetorical, bureaucratic dances.

Why am I voting Republican? This latest from Sarah Palin explains some reasons:

“In this same spirit, as defenders of the culture of life, John McCain and I believe in the goodness and potential of every innocent life. I believe the truest measure of any society is how it treats those who are least able to defend and speak for themselves. And who is more vulnerable, or more innocent, than a child?

When I learned that my son Trig would have special needs, I had to prepare my heart for the challenges to come. At first I was scared, and Todd and I had to ask for strength and understanding. But I can tell you a few things I’ve learned already.

Yes, every innocent life matters. Everyone belongs in the circle of protection. Every child has something to contribute to the world, if we give them that chance. There are the world’s standards of perfection … and then there are God’s, and these are the final measure. Every child is beautiful before God, and dear to Him for their own sake.

As for our beautiful baby boy, for Todd and me, he is only more precious because he is vulnerable. In some ways, I think we stand to learn more from him than he does from us. When we hold Trig and care for him, we don’t feel scared anymore. We feel blessed.

It’s hard to think of many issues that could possibly be more important than who is protected in law and who isn’t – who is granted life and who is denied it. So when our opponent, Senator Obama, speaks about questions of life, I listen very carefully.

I listened when he defended his unconditional support for unlimited abortions. He said that a woman shouldn’t have to be – quote – “punished with a baby.” He said that right here in Johnstown –“punished with a baby” – and it’s about time we called him on it. The more I hear from Senator Obama, the more I understand why he is so vague and evasive on the subject. Americans need to see his record for what it is. It’s not negative or mean-spirited to talk to about his record. Whatever party you belong to, there are facts you need to know.

Senator Obama has voted against bills to end partial-birth abortion. In the Illinois Senate, a bipartisan majority passed legislation against that practice. Senator Obama opposed that bill. He voted against it in committee, and voted “present” on the Senate floor. In that legislature, “present” is how you vote when you’re against something, but don’t want to be held to account.

Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan, a Democrat, described partial-birth abortion as “too close to infanticide.” Barack Obama thinks it’s a constitutional right, but he is wrong.

Most troubling, as a state senator, Barack Obama wouldn’t even stand up for the rights of infants born alive during an abortion. These infants – often babies with special needs – are simply left to die.

In 2002, Congress unanimously passed a federal law to require medical care for those babies who survive an abortion. They’re living, breathing babies, but Senator Obama describes them as “pre-viable.” This merciful law was called the Born Alive Infants Protection Act. Illinois had a version of the same law. Obama voted against it.

Asked about this vote, Senator Obama assured a reporter that he’d have voted “yes” on that bill if it had contained language similar to the federal version of the Born Alive Act. There’s just one little problem with that story: the language of both the state and federal bills was identical.

In short, Senator Obama is a politician who has long since left behind even the middle ground on the issue of life. He has sided with those who won’t even protect a child born alive. And this exposes the emptiness of his promises to move beyond the “old politics.”

In both parties, Americans have many concerns to be weighed in the votes they cast on November fourth. In times like these, with wars and a financial crisis, it’s easy to forget even as deep and abiding a concern as the right to life. And it seems our opponent hopes that you will forget. Like so much else in his agenda, he hopes you won’t notice how radical his ideas and record are until it’s too late.

But let there be no misunderstanding about the stakes.

A vote for Barack Obama is a vote for activist courts that will continue to smother the open and democratic debate we need on this issue, at both the state and federal level. A vote for Barack Obama would give the ultimate power over the issue of life to a politician who has never once done anything to protect the unborn. As Senator Obama told Pastor Rick Warren, it’s above his pay grade.

For a candidate who talks so often about “hope,” he offers no hope at all in meeting this great challenge to the conscience of America. There is a growing consensus in our country that we can overcome narrow partisanship on this issue, and bring all the resources of a generous country to the aid of both women in need and the child waiting to be born. We need more of the compassion and idealism that our opponent’s own party, at its best, once stood for. We need the clarity and conviction of leaders like the late Governor Bob Casey.

He represented a humanity that speaks to all of us – no matter what our party, our background, our faith, or our gender. And no matter your position on this sensitive subject, I hope that spirit will guide you on Election Day. I ask you to vote for McCain-Palin on the November fourth, and help us to bring this country together in the rational discussion of compassion and life.”

A selection

Amy was around all weekend, keeping me, for the most part, away from the computer. So, she’s gone away, again, and I’m back to my posting.

This time the reading is from Mark the Ascetic, and since they are short little texts, I’m gathering a few that stuck out to me in my reading today:

First of all, we know that GOd is the beginning, middle, and end of everything good; and it is impossible for us to have faith in anything good or to carry it into effect except in Christ Jesus and the Holy Spirit.

This isn’t particularly a new revelation. But, I feel it worth quoting because it’s not uncommon for people to charge monastics with a form of works righteousness. First, God works. Always, first God works.

When reading the Holy Scriptures, he who is humble and engaged in spiritual work will apply everything to himself and not to someone else.

This has been an important, continual, reminder for me. It’s so easy, especially when mad at church and christian leaders, to read the challenges in Scripture and say, “Yeah! They should have done that.” It builds the ego and adds a bit of righteous justification. Only, no one is helped by that. The Spirit is speaking to me, not to them, in my own personal reading. I have to trust God’s ability to speak to others. Meanwhile, I cannot settle in my own deficiencies just because someone else has other deficiencies. Instead, I should say, “Yeah, I should do that.” Everyone wins.

If a man has some spiritual gift and feels compassion for those who do not have it, he preserves the gift because of his compassion. But a boastful man will lose it through succumbing to the temptation of boastfulness.

Boasting can take a lot of forms. Sometimes the worst are not through words, but through self-promotion and denigrating others. We alienate others who we do not want to shine as we want to shine. The spiritual gifts are, according to 1 Corinthians 14, for the edification of the body of Christ. We are to help others, not highlight ourselves. We are to build others up, not promote our own abilities. We are to participate with others in a shared journey towards maturity, not put on a show so everyone can see how talented or spiritual we are. God is watching, and the gifts he gives he can also take away.

At the times when you remember God, increase your prayers, so that when you forget Him, the Lord may remind you.

Missional in the age of the Internet

Dan Kimball, writer of the book Emerging Churches and a man gracious and discerning enough to blurb my book, leader in emerging/missional church circles (and leading people in advancing directions now in the progression of thought), has been featured on that not-altogether-pro-Christianity, tech/nerd/sci-fi site boing-boing. For changing his brand of hair grease.

Prayer and Beauty

The Holy Spirit, out of compassion for our weakness, comes to us even when we are impure. And if only He finds our intellect truly praying to Him, He enters it and puts to flight the whole array of thoughts and ideas circling within it, and He arouses it to a longing for spiritual prayer.

While all else produces thoughts, ideas and speculations in the intellect through changes in the body, the Lord does the opposite: by entering the intellect, he fills it with whatever knowledge he wishes; and through the intellect he calms the uncontrolled impulses in the body.

Whoever loves true prayer and becomes angry or resentful is his own enemy. He is like a man who wants to see clearly and yet inflicts damage on his own eyes.

If you long to pray, do nothing that is opposed to prayer, so that God may draw near and be with you.

Spiritual knowledge has great beauty: it is the helpmate of prayer, awakening the intellect to contemplation of divine knowledge.

~Evagrios

Embrace prayer. Embrace holiness. Embrace knowledge. These three go hand in hand to lead us to fullness and stillness.

Though, doing this does not necessarily mean we’ll be free from storms and persecution. Maybe even the opposite. We do these things and we become dangerous to those who are opposed to fulness and stillness. And such can be found in all kinds of places, even the places where we might trust the most.

status

If you are a theologian, you will pray truly. And if you pray truly, you are a theologian.

~Evagrios

Tomorrow I begin school again. To become a theologian according to the academy.

However, I cannot forget that it is not my words about God that make me a theologian. It is my words for God, and with God, and from God, that I will be truly a theologian.

I must hold onto prayer. Growing in depth of the Spirit, even as now, I enter into a new phase of growing in depth of knowledge.

cast away

It is essential, then, to imitate people who are in danger at sea and throw things overboard because of the violence of the winds and the threatening waves. But here we must be very careful in case we cast things overboard just to be seen doing so by men. For then we shall get the reward we want; bu we shall suffer another shipwreck, worse than the first, blown off our course by the contrary wind of self-esteem.

That is why our Lord, instructing the intellect, our helmsman, says in the Gospels: “Take heed that you do not give alms in front of others, to be seen by them; for unless you take heed, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.”

Again, he says: “When you pray, you must not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in synagogues and at street-corners, so as to be seen by men. Truly I say to you, they get the reward they want… Moreover when you fast, do not put on a gloomy face, like the hypocrites; for they disfigure their faces, so that they may be seen by men to be fasting. Truly I say to you, they get the reward they want” (Mt. 6:1-18).

Observe how the Physician of souls here corrects our inflammatory power through acts of compassion, purifies the intellect through prayer, and through fasting withers desire. by means of these virtues the new Adam is formed, made again according to the image of his Creator–an Adam in whom, thanks to dispassion, there is ‘neither male nor female’ and, thanks to singleness of faith, there is ‘neither Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free, but Christ is all, and in all” (Gal. 3:28; Col. 3:10-11).

~Evagrios

Throw things overboard when in a storm.

Not long ago I finished reading through the Aubrey/Maturin series of books by Patrick O’Brian. The seas can be a very dangerous place, not only because of storm, but also because of other ships. When caught in a storm, or chased by a heavier gunned frigate, the tactic was to let go of anything that wasn’t entirely necessary, to save the ship from sinking or being sunk.

This makes a lot of sense. However, it’s so interesting what we will hold onto, going down with the ship rather than casting away. Sometimes these reflect our fears and doubts and sinful ways. Other times, as I’ve learned over the years, these might reflect something we enjoy, or find interesting, or good.

Friendships can pull us away from God at times. Work. Pursuit of money. Pursuit of ministry. I ahve seen so many earnest pastors focus all their time on organization and strategy, and little time in prayer or study or their relationship with God. To save ourselves, we cast such things away during storms.

Another big one that I’m seeing so strong now is politics. Political action is our right and maybe even an obligation as citizens. But over the last thirty years or so I would guess there’s no other emphasis that has distracted the people of God from their mission as much as politics. Pornography and drunkenness have nothing on the allure of politics to drive people from stillness, and hope, and love. For a long time this was reflected on the Right, with Falwell and Robertson distorting the focus of our Faith. Now it’s the exact same on the Left, with so many people letting go the call to peace and love and hope for the sake of political grandstanding and scoring points.

This has been a big reason, maybe the biggest, why my blog here is quite different than it was in 2004. I’ve had to let go politics. Because the storms came. and politics was drowning me, because it’s not my calling to worship a candidate and demonize the other. It’s my calling to worship God, and fight the evils that are present and active, and seeking souls.

James 4:1-10

What causes fights and quarrels among you? Don’t they come from your desires that battle within you? You want something but don’t get it. You kill and covet, but you cannot have what you want. You quarrel and fight. You do not have, because you do not ask God. When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.

You adulterous people, don’t you know that friendship with the world is hatred toward God? Anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God. Or do you think Scripture says without reason that the spirit he caused to live in us envies intensely? But he gives us more grace. That is why Scripture says:
“God opposes the proud
but gives grace to the humble.”

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.

This is a reminder for me this morning. Just because I cast something away for a little while, doesn’t mean it stays away, or that I don’t try to get it back. Then once again I wonder why the storms feel particularly strong and I feel cannon shots pummel my stern.

stillness

Do everything possible to attain stillness and freedom from distraction, and struggle to live according to God’s will, battling against invisible enemies. Be like an astute business man: make stillness your criterion for testing the value of everything, and choose always what contributes to it.

~Evagrios

Seemingly simple suggestion. One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned, and am still learning. It’s curious the directions stillness comes, not always in the most spiritual acts, not always separated from action. Stillness of being is the Spirit whispering, “good”, even in the midst of storms.

Jesus modeled this when the storm came up and he rested. The disciples modeled fear and frenzy.

But, it’s not only in the storms we seek stillness. Sometimes in the mundane realities of life, there is a way of stillness. It is this stillness that marks the rhythm of the dance with God. We know we have made the steps when we are still.

Start now. I suspect really learning this takes a lifetime. But it’s so, so worth it.

added: I was trying to think of the times I’ve felt this stillness. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt this in a church setting. Stillness isn’t a church activity.

Well, not at my various churches.

I spent a lot of time in pentecostal churches, and I’m wondering how that would be. If the Spirit’s present truly is stillness, then isn’t stillness the ultimate Pentecostal expression? Peter sang in prison, unconcerned. He was still. We emphasize frenzy, oddly enough, and stamp it with God’s presence. Not to say those actions are wrong in themselves, but I wonder what all those flair would look like if stillness were the criteria.

Guarding the Heart

I entreat you not to leave your heart unguarded, so long as you are in the body. Just as a farmer cannot feel confident about the crop growing in his fields, because he does not know what will happen to it before it is stored away in his granary, so a man should not leave his heart unguarded so long as he still has breath in his nostrils. Up to his last breath he cannot know what passion will attack him; so long as he breathes, therefore, he must not leave his heart unguarded, but should at every moment pray to God for His help and mercy.

~Isaiah the Solitary

The old emphasis on the vices of the barroom have done a disservice here. We think of guarding our hearts and think of ‘family-safe’ activities, noting what we watch, what websites we visit, what foods we eat, what morals we keep.

Today, though, guarding my heart is not difficult because of encroaching temptations to obvious sins.

The news today seeks to undermine my heart.

It is not lust or gluttony that might get to me. It is politics, leading me to frustration and anger and poor treatment of those I should love. It is the financial news that causes worry and fear. It is the things that most people would say are rational concerns that undermine my hope and stillness today.

So, I must guard my heart. Not necessarily by fleeing and hiding. But, by praying to God for help and mercy.

Daily Philokalia

Back in 2004 I was desperate for some kind of deeper spiritual text. Everything in my life had collapsed. I let go, or was forced to let go, most everything that a person holds as defining a successful life.

I had made a decision to stop running from the Void, from the shadows and chaos and darkness that chased me, making me fearful and fretting and angry and depressed. I felt driven by fleeing from that rather than driving towards seeking God. Instead of running I would turn around. I would let them wash over me, standing against them and hoping that God would help me conquer. I made a choice in late 2003 to find some measure of stillness, taking up those few remnants that spoke of that in my soul.

I was cast adrift in a way. Churches don’t know what to do with sorts like I became. I was a seminary graduate, an Evangelical on the edges of the emerging church, who did not seek the excitement of the city or the security of the suburbs. I sought quiet and peace and spiritual depths.

I was burned out and burned up. I needed balm and solace. And found it in the mountains.

Yet, that wasn’t enough. I was learned, to a degree, but not wise. I was spiritual, but not mature. I was pensive, but not contemplative. I wasn’t whole. I wasn’t still. I wasn’t real.

Who was?

To find that answer I knew to go outside my tradition. But where? John Wesley was an initial source, though I found his own frenzy and historical situation somewhat off-putting. However, there was a deep thread of depth in him that spoke to what I was seeking. Who did he read?

I knew some answers, as I had found them in years past. But there was a missing figure, a key source of his own spiritual development: Makarios the Egyptian.

Who?

One desperate day I started doing a search, trying to find where I could read this seemingly wise source of Spirit’s wisdom. Wasn’t in my standard collection of early church writings. I looked around.

Amazon pointed me to a set of books called the Philokalia, which are collected spiritual writings from Orthodox monks, almost entirely from the 1st millenium. I ordered a volume. It blew me away. That was exactly what I sought. These were men who truly sought God, who poured their life into the quest and the discovery of the utter depths of Christian spirituality. They dedicated their lives to this exploration. And they left their wisdom behind.

Being a collection of spiritual texts that touch on how to live, how to pray, how to manage thoughts and passions and hopes and fears, these books did not get into the controversies that lay at the heart of church organization arguments. I have a lot of disagreement with church organization and power structures, that come out of my own experience and education. I also have key theological issues with various churches, that keep me from sharing their communion–or rather that keep them from sharing their communion with me.

These books don’t touch on those. Some may say that the various aspects can’t be separated, but I disagree heartily–though that’s a totally different topic. For me, finding people who wholly and entirely sought God, plumbing the depths in both thought and action pointed me towards a true peace and a true development of wholeness, leading me indeed to where I am now.

God’s call on my life does not, it now seems, include my living a monastic existence devoted solely to isolated intense spirituality. God has called me, pushed me, opened me, outwards now, and there is joy in that. However, for my continued learning, a learning that I will not exhaust no matter how many times I read or years I live, I come back to the Philokalia, advanced texts on living the Christian life.

Next to Scripture itself, these books mark my own spirituality quest more than any other. I bought all four of the released volumes, and since 2004 have read each about three times or so. But, I haven’t done any regular reading for a while.

Now, I’m feeling the push of new worlds and new life. But, I don’t want to set the old behind, but instead bring it with me, infusing this active life with the contemplative, taking the lessons of stillness and wholeness into participation with an unstill and unwhole world.

I am young. I am still so immature. I have an immense amount to learn of God, myself, and our dance together.

So, I am thinking of coming back to the Philokalia on a regular basis, and maybe marking that by noting most every day some of the wise words I find.

These writings were written when the church was still unified, when there was no separation of denomination nor division based on power struggles and demands everyone organize according to one standard model. This was when people who truly sought God shared both communion and hope, embracing each other in the desire for true transformation into the likeness of God and true participation with him for eternity, beginning even this moment. It is in this spirit, in this context, that I’m going to look at these writings again, not for their historical or ecclesial value, but for their value to my soul and to the souls around me.

Who is a “Christian”?

This question was asked on a forum I participate in. Here’s the answer I posted:

The classic way is to agree with the Nicene Creed:

We believe in one God,
the Father, the Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth,
of all that is, seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
the only Son of God,
eternally begotten of the Father,
God from God, light from light,
true God from true God,
begotten, not made,
of one Being with the Father;
through him all things were made.
For us and for our salvation
he came down from heaven,
was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary
and became truly human.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;
he suffered death and was buried.
On the third day he rose again
in accordance with the Scriptures;
he ascended into heaven
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,
and his kingdom will have no end.

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,
who proceeds from the Father,
who with the Father and the Son is worshiped and glorified,
who has spoken through the prophets.
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
We look for the resurrection of the dead,
and the life of the world to come. Amen.

This sums up the core theology and was adopted when the church was still unified, not under a single church leader but rather because of a shared faith.

That would be an official criteria then.

But, that’s not really enough for a lot of churches. I can say that all I want and still not be accepted by many. And, I’m not sure that merely acknowledging statements as accurate is enough. Doesn’t seem like Jesus ever made that a requirement.

What did he require?

Acknowledgement, participation, hope.

We acknowledge Jesus as our Lord. We participate with his Spirit in this world. We hope for the future that God has already accomplished so as to live in a new way in the present.

The first includes salvation from sin. The second includes works that are not for our salvation but because of our salvation. The third includes freedom from fear that is marked by progression in holiness and wisdom and discernment.

I would say if we lack these things we are probably not a Christian. If we are marked by these things then we are a Christian, and it really doesn’t matter what anyone else says on the subject.

Only Jesus gets to determine who and who is not truly a sheep or a goat, and his standards are sometimes not exactly what the various churches would choose.

Fall!

As of 8:44 Pacific Time, right now, the sun is now directly over the equator. Night equals day. Day equals night.

Autumn has arrived!

This might be the only year my whole life where I hope this season, my favorite, gets over very quickly.