"In the white-hot furnace of essential speech."

There came an instant at which both men braced themselves. Ransom gripped the side of his sofa; Merlin grasped his own knees and set his teeth. A rod of coloured light, whose colour no man can name or picture, darted between them; no more to see than that, but seeing was the least part of their experience. Quick agitation seized them: a kind of boiling and bubbling in mind and heart which shook their bodies also. It went to a rhythm of such fierce speed that they feared their sanity must be shaken into a thousand fragments. And then it seemed that this had actually happened.

But it didn't matter: for all the fragments - needle-pointed desires, brisk merriments, lynx-eyed thoughts - went rolling to and fro like glittering drops and reunited themselves. It was well that both men had some knowledge of poetry. The doubling, splitting and recombining of thoughts which now went on in them would have been unendurable for one whom that art had not already instructed in the counterpoint of the mind, the mastery of doubled and trebled vision.

For Ransom, whose study had been for many years in the realm of words, it was heavenly pleasure. He found himself sitting within the very heart of language, in the white-hot furnace of essential speech. All fact was broken, splashed into cataracts, caught, turned inside out, kneaded, slain, and reborn as meaning. For the lord of Meaning himself, the herald, the messenger, the slayer of Argus, was with them: the angel that spins nearest the sun. Viritrilbia, whom men call Mercury and Thoth.

~ C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength, 1954. Chapter XV: "The Descent of the Gods."

Of Gods and Greeks

Have you ever heard this one before?

"Why should I take the Christian God seriously? There are plenty of other gods and religions around, and you don't take them seriously. I don't believe in Yahweh for the same reason you don't believe in Ra or Zeus or Mithras."

This one's a stock argument from the ranks of the so-called "New Atheists." Some might find it convincing. I just find it vexing. It's a common misconception, borne out of a now-unremarkable ignorance of history.

There is no comparison between Jupiter and Jehovah. That's not because the one is true and the other false. It's because there, literally, is no comparison.

Polytheism is not a form of theism at all.

If you're looking for proof, looking at the genealogies of the gods. Zeus, "father of the gods," was the son of Kronos and Rhea. Kronos, "king of the Titans," was the son of Ouranos and Gaia: that is, he was the son of "Father Sky" and "Mother Earth."

The Greek gods exist within nature.  They are, in fact, the naturally-born children of Nature. Nor is this the exception, for this is true of every other mythology with which I am familiar -- Roman, Egyptian, Norse, and to a lesser extent Sumerian and Hindu.

The gods did not transcend Nature, but were part of it. They were not creators, but creatures like us. They were merely more powerful than we were. When the pagans offered them sacrifices, they were not being religious, but political. They sacrificed to the gods for the same reason they sent tribute to powerful neighbors: they didn't want to be crushed to a pulp.

This is the fundamental divide between polytheism and monotheism. Indeed, polytheism is largely silent on what we would consider theological questions. If pressed, pagan mythology is pretty divided on many of these issues. Some of the Greek myths indicate that Gaia (i.e., Nature) was eternally pre-existent, while Hesiod's Theogony states that Gaia and the other protogenoi (i.e., primal gods) were born out of a pre-existent Chaos.

Where the Greek 'theology' might be classified as pantheist or even materialist, Hindu doctrine is henotheistic, or even a kind of monotheistic pluralism. Certain passages of the Hindu Bhagavad Gita speak of Krishna as the avatar (that is, incarnation) of the One God who transcends nature and all creation. It is for this reason that many Hindus worship Krishna as Svayam Bhagavan (the "Lord Himself"). It is for the same reason that Hindu religious practice is typically henotheistic: practitioners focus their worship on a single god as the primary avatar of Svayam Bhagavan. While they may recognize other gods in the pantheon, those other gods are considered as secondary or subsidiary avatars of the One God's true nature.

Let's return to the original point. There is no comparison between Jupiter and Jehovah, nor between monotheism and polytheism generally. The polytheistic gods were not supernatural beings of power; they were natural beings with superpowers. The nearest modern-day relative of the pagan gods would not be the God of Abraham; it would be Clark Kent.

We should speak of the Greek pantheon in the same sense that we speak of the Justice League of America or the Avengers Initiative.

One final note on Hinduism: there may be no comparison between Jupiter and Jehovah, but there does seem to be a direct comparison between Krishna and Christ. At the very least, they both speak of (and claim to speak on behalf of) a single God who exists over and prior to the created order. This was one of the reasons for C.S. Lewis' sweeping claim in Surprised by Joy. Having dispensed with atheism, C.S. Lewis reviewed all of the theistic traditions, and found that he could narrow his choices down to two: Christianity and Hinduism. These two were the only viable faith traditions, for only these traditions were actually theistic.

Contemplations in Theology: #10

Praise to the Giver of good things.

As Christians, we recognize the reality of the Redemption: the sacrifice made by Christ, not merely for the forgiveness of sins but for the restoration of souls. We believe in the promise of our future exaltation. As Paul writes, "Do you not know that we will judge angels?" (1 Cor. 6:3). Or, to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, every human you have ever met will one day be either a sight worthy of nightmares, or a creature you would strongly be tempted to worship. As humans, we are sons of God, of whom Jesus was the firstborn. We will inherit the Kingdom through Him and with Him.

But exaltation in only one face of the Christian coin. The other is its necessary companion: humility.

In Mark 10, the apostles James and John approach Jesus to ask Him for a seat at His left and right hand when he ascends to glory. Jesus asks them if they are willing to share in the cup that He must endure. "'We can,' they answered. Jesus said to them, 'You will drink the cup I drink and be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with, but to sit at my right or left is not for me to grant. These places belong to those for whom they have been prepared" (Mark 10:39-40).

In other words, Christ promised them martyrdom, but did not promise them eternal glory. We know the reality of our future exaltation, but for now we must push that out of our minds as much as possible. There is forgiveness promised to all sinners, but that is not to be borne in mind when approaching the Throne. In the Sermon on the Mount, Christ declared that the meek shall inherit the earth, but is it meekness that demands of God, "Here I am, humble before You; now give me my inheritance!" Heaven exists, glory and exaltation awaits, but we must not allow ourselves to be bribed by these things.

This point, incidentally, is the redemption of Saturn. I'd earlier tried to marginalize this divine personality as a symbol of tragedy that was ultimately defeated by Christ's victory on the Cross. Yet now I realize that was not complete. After all, though Christ conquered death, are we not called to take up our crosses and follow Him?

How can I reflect Christ's kingship? How do I come into my inheritance as a son of God? By recalling my nature as a son of Man, by humbling myself, by emptying myself that God may fill me.

I've been wrestling with these issues recently. I am tired of sacrificing myself; I'm tired of constantly being dependable and patient; I'm fundamentally tired of being humble.

I think one of the problems is that I've approached this virtue without relying on God, for a life of pure humility is impossible without the grace and joy of God that gives us strength to continue. Is this not the lesson of the heavens? God presides over the infinity of space, in the ineffable majesty of His Presence, while we are the inhabitants of a speck in that infinity, for whom a description as "relatively small" would be a exaggeration of the greatest degree. We are quite literally nothing before Him; even when we inherit His glory, we shall still be nothing before Him. Everything we do and can ever accomplish is with His grace; that is, God willing.

"In the same way, the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God" (Romans 8:26-27).

Father, help me. Amen.

Contemplations in Theology: #8

First, let me acknowledge my friends who have helped me through the last few chaotic weeks. To them, and to all who have consoled their friends, I send peace in the name of Christ Jesus our Lord.

Before launching into my argument directly, I must mention the high degree of symbolism in medieval cosmology, particularly in the order of the planets.

Mercury is the nearest planet to Earth, meaning that the characteristics of Mercury are the divine personalities we can most easily grasp, and most easily recognize in Jesus Christ (God become Man). This is why John spoke of "In the beginning was the Word," for that was the characteristic of Mercury.

As we move outward--from Venus to Mars, to Jupiter and Saturn--we move away from the Earth, but closer towards the Divine Empyreum. This was the infinite heaven, beyond the sphere of the stars or even the Primum Mobile (the demarcation line of Nature, through which God directed all things to move). The Divine Empyreum signified the "third heaven" of 2 Cor. 2:12, the immediate Presence of God Himself. Thus, we should expect those more distant planets to be further removed from our reason--they will be more difficult to comprehend--yet at the same time contain greater and deeper mysteries.

The two planets furthest from us--closest to God--are Jupiter and Saturn.

Of the two, we instinctively identify God with Jupiter, the persona of King. We acknowledge Jesus ben-Joseph as Christ, Savior, Messiah; we worship God the Father, Author of Creation. Within the personality of Jupiter are found the Majesty, Omnipotence, Benevolence, and everlasting Glory of God. The redemptive power of God, too, arises from his kingship, for as Tolkien wrote in The Lord of the Rings: "The hands of a king are the hands of a healer." The medievals recognized Jupiter as Fortuna Major--the Greater Fortune--for blessings were the province of Christ the King.

Almost immediately after reading "The Discarded Image" (C.S. Lewis's detailed summary of medieval cosmology, where I first encountered the complete model), I was struck by a paradox, a thorn in my intellectual flesh. For Jupiter is not the closest planet to the Empyreum. It is placed beneath Saturn.

And who is Saturn? Saturn is the Latin name of the Greek god Kronos: Father Time. In art, he is depicted with an hourglass and a scythe--symbolizing the finiteness of life and the necessity of death. Consider the adjective "saturnine": Saturn is the god of melancholy and morbidity, despair and depression, torpidity and tragedy. Is there any wonder why the medievals call Saturn "the Greater Misfortune"--Infortuna Major? Yet this is the planet they placed closest to the Divine Empyreum.

What heresy is this? The medievals based their cosmology on astronomical observation and classical polytheism. But how could they accept a model in which the planet astronomically closest to God was also the god theologically furthest from Him? In this model, the planet most reflective of God's personality is the planet we least wish to associate with Him. Can we really worship a God of tragedy?

This problem gnawed at me for several weeks. There are greater and deeper mysteries here; I can only hint at one.

At only one point in history has God entered the Creation; at only one moment did He chose to limit Himself to space and time. That moment was the Annunciation of Mary, the conception of Jesus Christ. And what was the Christ's experience while here on Earth? A promising youth, a growing ministry, the promise of greater acceptance by His chosen people... followed by utter disappointment. "He was despised and rejected by Men" (Isa. 53:3); He was subjected to humiliation, torture, and an excruciating death by asphyxiation. His life on earth epitomized the essential qualities of tragedy.

But His suffering was far greater, for he bore the full weight of sin upon Himself. Why do we rationalize His cry, "My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me"? The Father had turned His eyes away from the Son, that He might endure the full wrath of judgment. The moment of crucifixion was a moment in which in which God was utterly divorced from Himself.

If we believe in God's foreknowledge, then we must accept that the experiences of the crucifixion were known from the instant of Creation, when God first created the framework of space and time. Likewise, if we recognize the timelessness of God--the doctrine that He experiences all things in a perpetual present (reflected in His Name: "I AM")--then we must accept that if Christ was allowed to feel isolated from the Father while on the cross, God experiences that same feeling perpetually.

The Intelligence moving the planet Saturn is the highest servant of Christ, the greatest "steward of the mysteries of God" (1 Cor. 4:1). It is the personality of God that exists in time, and the same that reflects the suffering of Christ, in the qualities of tragedy. How fitting that the Greek god Kronos--the polytheistic source of Saturn--is known from mythology as the firstborn of Gaia and Uranus (Mother Earth and Father Sky), just as Christ is known from Scripture as the firstborn of Creation.

Saturn is the planet most removed from our intellects and therefore the most difficult to understand. "We preach Christ crucified, to Jews a stumbling block and to Gentiles foolishness" (1 Cor. 1:23). Yet it is also the planet closest to the Presence of God, and the source of the greatest mysteries and Truths.

But let us shed light on another mystery. Christ did not expire with the cry "My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?" No, it was succeeded by the triumphant call: "It is finished!" The spirit of tragedy was defeated by the spirit of divine comedy.

Do we need any more proof of that we may discern God's handwriting even among the Pagans? For the polytheists' account contains a type for Christ, and for the story of the crucifixion. Saturn, the suffering Son and firstborn of Nature, begot Jupiter, the everlasting King; and Jupiter overthrew Saturn.

Contemplations in Theology: #7

This is the second excerpt from my seventh "Contemplation in Theology," posted on Facebook on January 25, 2009. This section summarizes some of the essential aspects of the Intelligence known to medieval philosophers as Mercury. Enjoy!
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Mercury is the first and lowest planet in medieval models, the furthest from the divine Empyreum (the immediate Presence of God, cf. 2 Cor. 12:2) but also the closest to Earth, and therefore the easiest for us to grasp. In classical polytheism, Mercury is the messenger god, fleet-footed and quick-witted. He is associated with a kind of swiftness, which you might identify with playfulness. The character of Mercury is the source of Mirth (the delight we find in doing) and Joy (the delight we find in being).

There is so much more to the character of Mercury, that full explication is impossible. I would sooner write a treatise describing one of my friends, than attempt such a task. But I do hope that the open letters of the Confession provide some glimpse into this personality, for I strongly associate myself with Mercury and those letters describe the foundations of who I am and who I have become.

There is one last thought I wish to close with. Mercury is more than manifested Joy; he is also the personification of articulated knowledge. John was referencing this fundamental component of God's personality when he wrote: "In the beginning was the Word." God is the Logos: the anchor of Truth, and the found of Wisdom. Praise be to Him!

Contemplations in Theology: #6

I started this series of notes to explain in what sense I called myself a medievalist. This is the note I wanted to write from the beginning.

In my last note, I wrote that "behind every common noun, there is a proper noun; behind every ideal, there is an identity; behind every category, a personality." I did not go further, simply because the next step in the argument would have sunk my last note in a sea of words. Here goes.

We know Christianity descended from messianic Judaism. The Hebraic Law emphasized the unity of God and nature, and man as the pinnacle (James 1:18 "first fruits") of Creation. Such monotheism runs parallel (and against) the prevailing attitudes of the Ancient Near East to treat nature as fundamentally chaotic, no more centered around man than it might be centered around a particular species of beetle (though, admittedly, the beetle did find its place in Egyptian polytheism).

A synthesis arose out of classical Greece in the writings of Plato. His teachings quickly rose to become the dominant paradigm of the Hellenized world, foundational to any proper education. Platonism was first transmuted to early Christianity by the apostle Paul, a well-educated Pharisee from Hellenic Judea, and was later systematized by St. Augustine. Early Christians took the Platonic emphasis on order, on unity of purpose over complexity of operation, to reconcile the opposing tendencies of Judaism and Paganism.

Judaism, Paganism, and Platonism are foundational for Christian theology. The first and the last of these are well recognized, at least among theologians. Yet I challenge anyone to find one mainstream theologian who will recognize the effects of Paganism.

Its influence is particularly evident in the medieval world, as Christianity spread through a formerly Pagan continent. The medieval philosophers freely integrated Paganism (particularly pagan astrology) wholesale into their vision of the universe. The medievals believed the planets had souls, called "Intelligences," and were the noblest servants of the One God within the material universe.

Here is one of the most sublime ideas I have ever had the Joy of contemplating.

Medieval astronomers operated within a geocentric cosmology--a universe with the earth at the center--and had developed incredibly intricate geometrical models to explain planetary motion. I won't go into details--it involves regressive motion, eccentrics, equants, epicycles, deferents, and much confusion--but they had calculated that if you were to spin 56 spheres around the same center point, an observer from that centerpoint would see a precise approximation of real planetary motion.

This was their model. 56 crystalline spheres carrying seven planetary bodies, all rotating majestically through a sea of ether, the most perfect element that flowed from the Presence of God Himself. If man could enter this space, if he could traverse the moon and enter the heavens, he would hear the vibrations of these spheres, each sphere at a different frequency, as willed by their governing Intelligences.

This doctrine, called the Music of the Spheres, is inherited straight from classical (Neoplatonic) philosophy, and is foundational to the medieval era. Consider it: the medievals believed that man would hear the heavens literally "declare the glory of God, and the skies proclaim the work of His hands" (Psalms 19)!

There is a harmony to the person of God--a unity of purpose, over an infinity of personalities.

In my first note, I wrote that "the truth of polytheism lies in the uncontainable, unexplainable, unendurable multiplicity and complexity of a unified God." But my argument goes beyond this. Fundamentally, I believe that polytheism recognized the truth that the qualities we associate with the divine are identified with a personality of God. The fundamental error of polytheism was irreverence: they could not fathom that all these personalities could reside in One God, any more than they could be fulfilled in one human. This error was expressed in the sin of idolatry: they invented many gods to fill the apparent void, and elevated these above the One God.

As a Christian, I do not need the security of polytheism. I accept (as mystery) the infinity of God, and can therefore contemplate (by reason) the magnitude of His being. Like the medievals, I utterly reject the idea that the planets were gods. But like them, I have no problem accepting that the gods were planets--that they directly reflect personalities of God.

Here is the crucial point. Infinity, like quantum mechanics, is so far removed from our experiences that we simply cannot understand or realize it by ordinary reason. Might we not find value, then, in paganism? C.S. Lewis once wrote that every myth consists of divine, human, and diabolical elements; if we purge the last two, would the remainder not give us a glimpse of the Divine?

If we purify pagan heresy in the fire of truth, if we treat polytheistic imagery as a prism for God's nature, would this not help us understand God better than abstract contemplation of His essence?

Is it easier to realize God's glory in the abstract, or to work by analogy, envisioning a king on his throne? How much more, then, might we learn when we witness the majesty of Jupiter? Likewise, in my family, we often spoke of "God's sense of humor." The reason why we are so easily able to understand the quality of mirth and playful mischief, is due to our cultural images of Pan and Mercury.

There is strange insight to the pronouncement in 1 John that "God is light", for there are many parallels. God is infinite, God is unvarying, God is the standard by which the universe moves. Like the speed of light, there is a constancy to His nature; like the wavelength, there is an infinite variety. And of the entire spectrum of light, only a portion is visible to the human eye--the wavelengths seen by us as colors.

The myths, the planets, the polytheistic gods: these are the colors of the One True God.

One final note before I close. The medieval philosophers rejected the determinism of the pagan astrologers. However, they could comfortably accept that the planets had 'influences' in earthly affairs. If we view the planets as prisms, we shall not be led astray: the personalities of God directly affect the way in which we live. And those personalities have names.

For the remainder of my notes, I will often use the names of the planets--Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn--to convey certain ideas. This is part of my medieval instincts. I think, I breathe, in these terms. They have given me greater insight into the attributes of God than I could have dreamed possible; these thoughts have revolutionized the life of my mind, and enlivened my faith in God. But my use of these terms is not an ultimatum; you need not think of them by these names to realize the ideas behind them (and please ask me to clarify if I am ever unclear). But I have found them so useful and so immediate that I express my thoughts in these terms.

Certainly there are dangers to this doctrine--that should be evident from even a cursory glance at the history of pagan religions. But if their sin was in idolatry, and we rebuke the sin, will we fall into a new error? If we cleanse the polytheistic gods and consider them not as objects of worship but simply as prisms of God, as perspectives into theological reflection, I believe we shall see God much more clearly, and learn of Him in new ways.

This does not comport easily with modern theology. But if it were original, I should trust it less. I can accept this, because I know that the great Christians of antiquity accepted this model without misgiving.

Go in joy, in love, in perseverance, in peace, and in all humility that is found in the Presence and Person of God. Glory be to Him!

Contemplations in Theology: #5

What better way to celebrate the passage of time, than a celebration of the Timeless One? So, glory to God and a Happy New Year to you all!

First, a story. On the first day of classes, at my first quarter at SPU, I was asked point-blank by my professor: "Are you an Aristotelian or a Platonist?" Not knowing what the heck this meant, I blathered. It took me another quarter, but by the middle of winter quarter I finally understood the difference. Now, I can answer with confidence: "Both."

The foundational discovery of philosophy has to be the formulation of common nouns. The whole contribution of Plato and Aristotle may be circumscribed by this single phrase. Common nouns are not objects; they do not operate on experience or sensation. Common nouns are categories, and operate in the sphere of abstract reason. Common nouns enable us to move from discrete experiences to common descriptions; it moves us from external to internal; it enables language, communication, action. It is between experience and common nouns that our skills of inductive and deductive reasoning operate.

Plato taught that all reality is a corruption from the Ideal, a derivation from the Form. These are common nouns. Have you ever sat in 'a chair'? No, you've sat in a variety of physical objects that resemble the Form of a chair.

Aristotle disagreed. He asserted that the Forms were not the highest level of reality but were intrinsic to reality, built in to the very nature of things. Physical properties of motion were caused by natural sympathies within the objects themselves--the desire for perfection led to circular motion in the heavens, the desire for rest led to downward motion on earth. Every object was defined by four 'causes,' which encompassed all of its being. These causes are material, formal, efficient, and final. It is the final cause--the purpose or end for which an object was made--that concerns us here.

Ancient polytheistic system had gods for nearly everything: each region had a god, each labor had a god, each occasion had a god, and heaven help you if you didn't do the proper sacrifices. In classical polytheism (after Plato), there was a distinct trend towards order and harmony. The gods were not so arbitrary and ubiquitous; they represented ideals, virtues... in a word, final causes.

My first inspiration for this note is admirably obscure: have you ever considered C.S. Lewis's unusual usage of capitalization? I was reading "Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold" at the time when I first discovered this.

I noticed that C.S. Lewis mostly used capital letters as he ought, for beginnings of sentences and for proper nouns. However, he also used them for certain words throughout the book: "Joy," "Beauty," "Truth," etc. C.S. Lewis was a consummate English professor, but his use of capital letters merely for emphasis seemed incorrect.

Then it struck me, what if Lewis's writing were following correct English usage? What if he capitalized these ideals because he thought they were proper nouns, because they were not merely the words for a category, but the name of an identity and personality?

In Aristotle, common nouns encompass every aspect of being; they provide a comprehensive hermeneutic of the universe; they are foundational to how we think and live. But this is the truth grasped by classical polytheism: categories are not enough.

Behind every common noun, there is a proper noun; behind every ideal, there is an identity; behind every category, a personality. And each of these personalities reflect a characteristic of God.

Philosophically, this is a staggering claim. I believe that the final cause of every objects reflects a quality of God. In other words, every object, every person, every thing we know and experience was created for, and is directed towards, the Person of God. This is straight from Psalm 19: "The heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the work of His hands."

This whole series of ideas came to me on a car trip to Port Townsend. Once we arrived, I walked by myself to the pier and looked around--at the water, at the sky, at the cliffs on the other side of Puget Sound. Every time I looked, a word came into my head; every time I considered the common noun, I realized the personality that lay behind it. There is a phrase that C.S. Lewis used in "That Hideous Strength" that is particular apropos: he writes of entering the very furnace of language, where words are created in the fire of His Presence.

That was my experience. I had entered the furnace where words were born. I encountered them in an almost physical way; I met words, just as I would have met another person. The difference was, these personalities were nonphysical, and they were merely prisms of the True Person, the One Who Is, the Great "I Am."

For the first time in my life, I experienced nature not as merely beautiful but as sublime ("Sublime" = "sub-" "-limis" = "beneath the threshold," as close to the house of God as we may come without entering it bodily). This was the experience that led me to my second note, the "Aesthetics of Reason." The rational and the experiential are not distinct. They overlap, they intersect, they are unified in God.

It is for this reason, more than any other, that I call myself a medievalist, for it is in the medieval model of the universe (the medieval cosmology) that Christianity fully integrated the rational and experiential elements, that it incorporated the insights of Greek philosophy and polytheism. But I leave that for my next note.

May the God of lights give you the joy of His Word,
may the God of love reveal the beauty of His sacrifice,
may the God of strength manifest the power of His name,
may the God of glory instill the majesty and peace of His crown,
may the God of humility teach you the victory of His suffering,
that the God of Gods might dwell with His Creation.

Contemplations in Theology: #1

This was my first essay on theology, posted on Facebook back in 2008. I've transferred the rest of my notes and posts to this blog, but here is where it all began. Enjoy!
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Error is persuasive to the extent that it contains elements or grains of truth.

Satan is described as "the father of lies," yet in his attempts to tempt the first humans and the Christ he relied heavily on Truth. He quoted the Bible three times to Christ in the wilderness; he cited a direct command from God (though subtly misquoted) when tempting Eve in the Garden of Eden. His greatest, most potent weapon comes from misconstruing and subtly perverting special revelation.

Augustine asserted that evil has no existence in itself, but is merely a negation of the good. Likewise, error is a negation of truth. But being without substance, error must rely on the remaining vestiges of truth to persuade others. Thus I assert that the more appealing and persuasive errors contain a greater degree of truth.

Can we not see this in philosophy? The revolutionary, dramatic heresies are quickly extinguished, but the subtle errors of philosophy tend to endure with much greater longevity. Moreover, Christian philosophers discovered great truth in the prevalent systems of philosophy that existed before Christ. Was there a more persuasive, more ubiquitous model of pagan philosophy than that produced by Plato and Aristotle in classical Greece? And it was in this model that St. Paul was educated--a Pharisee trained in Jewish law and Hellenistic (Greek) culture. It was the Platonic model that led to St. Augustine confessions, and the Aristotelian model that contributed to St. Thomas Aquinas's systematic theology.

We must look to the most prevalent errors to glean the greatest truths; we must search the deepest coal shafts if we wish to find diamonds. We must first purify these truths by fire, but having done so we need not fear them, for all Truth is God's truth.

I wish to start with the axiomatic, but let's take this argument one step further. Why is it that the single greatest and most prevalent error of the ancient world is uniformly rejected, neglected, and laid aside by modern theology? I am speaking of pagan polytheism. Nearly every primitive culture has some tradition of polytheism; nearly every ancient civilization believed that the world was ruled and controlled by many gods. Where is the truth in that? Yet if my previous argument holds, there must be some truth--for ancient peoples almost instinctively clung to this system.

The truth of polytheism lies in the uncontainable, unexplainable, unendurable multiplicity and complexity of a unified God. It is the same truth recognized by the Christian doctrine of the Trinity--that God is three and God is one--yet amplified to a level nearly unrecognizable to the modern world. Consider this: Genesis states that man was created in the image of God (Latin imago dei). The personality and characteristics of God form the basis for the personality and characteristics of humans--not only taken as a group, but taken individually. All the variety and complexity we find among individual humans is a mere reflection of the variety and complexity of an infinite God.

There is so much more to this argument, but I will save that for later. I will also add a caveat. This line of reasoning has led me to some rather heterodox beliefs, though I understand them supported by Scripture, reason, and past authority. I wished to present the foundation: I believe that the study of Creation and of human error can be a fruitful avenue of inquiry into the nature of God.