I have taken to storing leaves of paper between the pages of my Bible to take notes whenever I study Scriptures. Whenever I finish a book or large section of text, I compile these notes and publish them. This was my first "Commentary on Scripture" was posted as a Facebook note on August 29, 2009. Enjoy!
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1 Thessalonians 1:3 ~~ Note the apposition of virtues, between the deeds of faith, toil of love, and endurance of hope.
1 Thessalonians 1:5 ~~ Gospel arrives in word, in power, in spirit, and with full conviction, just as the apostles arrived when they first visited Thessalonica. Paul and his companions drew an analogy to themselves. Just as the Gospel was the full and complete revelation of God to man, so they were full and complete men (Heb 11:40 - "made perfect"?), born from the very Image of God and reflecting his glory among men.
1 Thessalonians 2:3 ~~ Truth is put in opposition to error, impurity, and deceit. Both impurity and deceit are intentional sins, in action and reason, respectively. But if error is on an accidental failing of reason, then this passage seems to exempt accidental failings of action, implying that it is compatible with the apostle's exhortation. Or does error indicate accidental failing of reason and action?
1 Thessalonians 2:5-6 ~~ Motives of the apostles neither flattery, nor greed, nor glory
1 Thessalonians 2:11 ~~ "We were exhorting and encouraging and imploring [instructing] each one of you as a father would his own children." This list parallels the list of goals of classical rhetoric, as defined by Plato: to teach, to delight, and to move (reverse the order and see).
1 Thessalonians 2:19-20 ~~ Paul identifies his "hope or joy or crown of exultation" in the fact that the church of Thessalonica would stand "in the presence of our Lord Jesus at His coming." Likewise...
1 Thessalonians 3:7-8 ~~ The faith of others provides comfort to the apostles in tribulation.
1 Thessalonians 3:12-13 ~~ "Increase and abound in love for one another... so that He may establish your hearts without blame in holiness." Brotherly love (phileo) appears as an antecedent to perfection (agape?).
1 Thessalonians 4:3 ~~ "For this is the will of God, your sanctification; that is, that you abstain from sexual immorality." This is as direct as it gets. Sanctification equals sexual purity.
1 Thessalonians 4:10b ~~ "But we urge you, Brethren, to excel still more..." The imperative to excel, to go beyond moderation in pursuit of virtue, is clear here.
1 Thessalonians 4:11-12 ~~ Aspire to a quiet life (frugality), attend to one's own business (self-interest), and work with your hands (vocation) SO THAT you will [1] behave properly to outsiders and [2] not be in any need. This passage is an extension of the command to love one another, in practical terms. If one wants to be able to give to others, and not be a burden on their resources, then one should aim to prosper. Thus, 4:10b strikingly associates "to excel" with material prosperity, while 4:11 is a straightforward economic statement of how one can prosper while maintaining virtue.
1 Thessalonians 4:18 ~~ Eschatology is first and foremost meant to be a comfort, a provision of hope for those who suffer.
1 Thessalonians 5:5 ~~ "Sons of light, and sons of day." As much as God is light (1 John 1:5) so too we are sons of light; likewise, as much as God is God, so too we are sons of God. We are created in imago dei; Christ was the firstborn, but we follow in his steps.
1 Thessalonians 5:8 ~~ "The breastplate of faith and love" (protection for the heart/will) and "a helmet, the hope of salvation" (protection for the head/mind).
1 Thessalonians 5:10-11 ~~ The command to "encourage one another, and build up one another" is rooted in our common hope for salvation.
1 Thessalonians 5:14 ~~ "Admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak"... but patience is a universal command that applies to all.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-21 ~~ This passages lists the qualities of Mercury (joy, prayer, thanksgiving) in quick succession with the qualities of the Moon (Spirit, prophesy, discernment). These two Intelligences are rarely associated with each other elsewhere, which makes this passage a bit more challenging and paradoxical.
1 Thessalonians 5:19-21 ~~ We are called to not despise prophetic utterances, yet still examine them carefully. This is an interesting statement on the relation of prophesy and Spirit to conscience and general revelation. We are called to discern truth and value in special revelation by testing its moral coherence with general revelation ("hold fast to what is good," i.e., what is known to be good.) This is a comprehensive hermeneutic for the Christian church and for a personal faith journey, grounded in prior knowledge (one might even say, grounded in tradition).
1 Thessalonians 5:23 ~~ Sanctification (from the "God of peace") required for whole being, for "spirit and soul and body" is preserved in the Parousia (second coming).
1 Thessalonians 5:27 ~~ Paul adjures the elders (literally, he puts them under oath) to read this to the congregation. These words were meant for all believers, but particularly the inexperienced and "young" Christians immature in their faith.
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Reflections: On the Substance of Ideas
When reading an anthology on the philosophy of Jonathan Edwards, I came across a quote that really stuck in my mind. Perhaps you won't find it nearly as profound as I did, but I felt I ought to share it. It's an excerpt from an essay by Norman Fiering, from the anthology Jonathan Edwards and the American Experience.
This passage is a discussion of Edwards' epistemology, and it begins by listing the 5 primary models of epistemology considered by Edwards and his intellectual forbear, Malebranche (father of occasionalism).
This is a rather involved passage, so a quick summary. Malebranche assumes, tellingly, that ideas have real substance. The substance of thought is non-physical (obviously?) but no less real than anything else in the spiritual realm. From this basis, the question is how humans are able to rationally absorb the ideas of physical objects, since our sensory perceptions are distinct from our reason.
Some ancient philosophers and medieval Scholastics thought that everything in nature possessed some limited kind of 'soulishness,' and could therefore emit that non-physical substance (like an aroma) to be absorbed by a mind. Their view is often ridiculed--Cicero mocked it by asking, "does the island of Britain emit an image of it that strikes me in the head every time I think of it?"--but it still strikes me as intriguing.
The second option, however, interests me the most. It asserts that, based on our perception of physical substances, humans are able to convert those into non-physical substances. Malebranche dismisses this as idolatrous anthropocentrism, as ludicrous as the statement that all men were gods.
But perhaps that's precisely the point. Man was created in the image of God, and inherited some of His creative capacity. Perhaps we are reflecting His nature when we think, because we are indeed creating real (if immaterial) substances by the fact of our reason. Perhaps the inspiration and fulfillment we find in constructing a work of art or engineering, is same inspiration we find in constructing an edifice of systematic thought. Perhaps our minds preserve the dignity of secondary causation, just as much as our bodies.
What do you think?
Are ideas real, in any sense? Are they, in fact, substances, and if so, what kind? Are they purely physical (neurological), purely spiritual, neither or both?
If ideas are real, how are they formed? By whom are they formed?
If ideas can be formed by humans, is this a mere dispensation or special grace given by God, or an intrinsic capacity of humans that attests to the imago dei and the dignity of our power of secondary causation and creativity?
This passage is a discussion of Edwards' epistemology, and it begins by listing the 5 primary models of epistemology considered by Edwards and his intellectual forbear, Malebranche (father of occasionalism).
The ideas we have of bodies, our knowledge of the external world, Malebranche argued, can be gained in only one of five ways: [1] the bodies themselves may emit "species" that resemble them, which was the prevailing Scholastic view; [2] the soul of man may have the capacity in some unexplained way to produce ideas of things out of the impressions made upon it by bodies, as though man were himself a God able to create and destroy real beings; [3] our ideas may be created with us from birth, and as needed appear to us with God's aid, which was the Platonic solution; [4] the essence of all things may be perceivable within the mind itself without need of anything outside; [5] or, finally, the soul may be united with God and thus dependent upon God all of its thoughts, which was Malebranche's view.
This is a rather involved passage, so a quick summary. Malebranche assumes, tellingly, that ideas have real substance. The substance of thought is non-physical (obviously?) but no less real than anything else in the spiritual realm. From this basis, the question is how humans are able to rationally absorb the ideas of physical objects, since our sensory perceptions are distinct from our reason.
Some ancient philosophers and medieval Scholastics thought that everything in nature possessed some limited kind of 'soulishness,' and could therefore emit that non-physical substance (like an aroma) to be absorbed by a mind. Their view is often ridiculed--Cicero mocked it by asking, "does the island of Britain emit an image of it that strikes me in the head every time I think of it?"--but it still strikes me as intriguing.
The second option, however, interests me the most. It asserts that, based on our perception of physical substances, humans are able to convert those into non-physical substances. Malebranche dismisses this as idolatrous anthropocentrism, as ludicrous as the statement that all men were gods.
But perhaps that's precisely the point. Man was created in the image of God, and inherited some of His creative capacity. Perhaps we are reflecting His nature when we think, because we are indeed creating real (if immaterial) substances by the fact of our reason. Perhaps the inspiration and fulfillment we find in constructing a work of art or engineering, is same inspiration we find in constructing an edifice of systematic thought. Perhaps our minds preserve the dignity of secondary causation, just as much as our bodies.
What do you think?
Are ideas real, in any sense? Are they, in fact, substances, and if so, what kind? Are they purely physical (neurological), purely spiritual, neither or both?
If ideas are real, how are they formed? By whom are they formed?
If ideas can be formed by humans, is this a mere dispensation or special grace given by God, or an intrinsic capacity of humans that attests to the imago dei and the dignity of our power of secondary causation and creativity?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Contemplations in Theology #9
I think I was self-centered, in my early desire to reflect God. But my early attempts trained me in the habits that continue to show me the path to selflessness, the way of humility. They gave me the instincts to desire to be a helper, a support and comfort to others.
I am a child of Mercury--at my best, I am active, purposive, and joyful. The natural desire of the Mercurial personality is to be the delight of Jupiter, the King. But this desire goes deeper. In a certain sense, children of Mercury desire to become Jupiter, to reflect His glory to such a degree that we find ourselves immersed in it. The desire to manifest God's majesty is what drives me to leadership, and to counsel my friends--not only to do good, but to show others how to do good as well. "The hands of a king are the hands of a healer."
More importantly, however, that desire is what drove me to the arms of Christ; it provided the foundation for my spiritual rejuvenation in recent months, and what continues to propel me forward even through days of difficulty and stress.
But that is for another story. For now, God bless ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. O, such tidings of comfort and joy!
I am a child of Mercury--at my best, I am active, purposive, and joyful. The natural desire of the Mercurial personality is to be the delight of Jupiter, the King. But this desire goes deeper. In a certain sense, children of Mercury desire to become Jupiter, to reflect His glory to such a degree that we find ourselves immersed in it. The desire to manifest God's majesty is what drives me to leadership, and to counsel my friends--not only to do good, but to show others how to do good as well. "The hands of a king are the hands of a healer."
More importantly, however, that desire is what drove me to the arms of Christ; it provided the foundation for my spiritual rejuvenation in recent months, and what continues to propel me forward even through days of difficulty and stress.
But that is for another story. For now, God bless ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. O, such tidings of comfort and joy!
Confessions: #3
An open letter to Ian, a kid from my first-grade class.
I wish I could undo the past, but memory has made me who I am today. I am a better man because I remember and recoil from evil. This is no consolation for those whom I hurt, but the greatest consolation for me. God forgave my evil, and used it to teach me good. Glory to the King of Zion! How deep are the wounds of the Lion of Judah!
An open letter to several of my college friends:
I hardly remember you. I never saw you after first grade, and I had almost forgotten you entirely by the third grade, when I started homeschooling. But a few years later I remembered, and those memories appall me even today.
I remember watching you cry. I remember making you cry. I remember enjoying it.
There were three of us in that first-grade class who were fleet of foot and mind: Alex L, Roger, and myself. You were not only a slow learner, but also overweight, and we teased you mercilessly for it. We taunted you in the playground during recess. If you tried to respond, we could turn your own insults against you; if you tried to catch us, we could outrun you. You were helpless.
Can you fathom how much this bothered me when I remembered this, in my fifth-grade Sunday school class? There was a time in the first grade when I had been a bully.
I never saw you after that year. Perhaps you moved, perhaps you found another school. I hope you recovered from us, but I'll never know. All I remember is that I had hurt you, and never had a chance to ask your forgiveness.
This note will not find you, so this apology is for my friends. Forgive me my sins against you, whether done knowingly or unknowingly. And to Ian, this is my penance for you: whenever I see another hurting, I would help them as though I were helping you. This is all I know to do.
Be strong in Christ,
~Alex
I wish I could undo the past, but memory has made me who I am today. I am a better man because I remember and recoil from evil. This is no consolation for those whom I hurt, but the greatest consolation for me. God forgave my evil, and used it to teach me good. Glory to the King of Zion! How deep are the wounds of the Lion of Judah!
An open letter to several of my college friends:
I don't even know why I write this, but words seemed necessary. I hardly even know why our paths intersected so strongly, but then again, actions seemed necessary there. To reflect Him, in word and deed, may God bless our enterprises.
At the beginning of the quarter, each of you struggled. In your own ways, in your own time, you wandered in your faith, and foundered in your relationships. For some reason--God knows why--I was placed at a crisis point in your lives. I felt compelled to make myself known to you, to speak and pray and offer counsel. I hardly even knew myself in those moments; it felt as though I were not at the helm of my own heart and mind.
Is prophecy possible? For a man whose lips have been branded by coal from the altar, it is still possible to cry out "Here I am, Lord, send me"? For it was in those moments that I truly understood the prophetic voice, and that I made my own that 'voice in the wilderness crying.' I understand the typology of the moon: that the star which in the daylight of reason breeds confusion, sheds at night just enough light to guide our feet to safety. I spoke in a different tongue than I knew before, a dangerous tongue, only suited for times when hope has vanished.
Yet my voice produced fruit. Some of you I know quite well; others, I pray Heaven I knew better. But for those I knew, my counsel helped them find themselves and find God; it had rejuvenated them, in some sense.
You cannot comprehend the blessing I feel to have been a part of your lives. You cannot understand the tremendous relief it is, to be the one upon whom others put their burdens. I need help as much as others--perhaps, as I see now, more than others--but it is characteristic of my personality to desire to be that bulwark and support of others. You gave me a glimpse of what it is to have that desire fulfilled, and I will not soon forget it.
I know not how you will read my words, but I pray they find fertile soil in your spirit. Go with God,
~Alex
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Reflections: On Tragedy and Comedy
This is the first of a series of parallel writings to complement my "Contemplations in Theology." These "Reflections" will concern issues that aren't really theological, or are only tangentially related, or are unsuited to any particular point in the discussion.
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In my eighth "Contemplation in Theology", I referenced a broad argument from literary theory.
In "Stranger Than Fiction" (a great movie, especially for English majors), one of the characters playing an English professor says tritely: "If it's a tragedy, you die; if it's a comedy, you get hitched."More broadly, tragedy signifies an end; comedy signifies a new beginning.
Dante's Divine Comedy begins and ends with the same tableau: a man alone, wandering in the woods. Through three volumes and 100 cantos, Dante relates the story of his odyssey through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise. He recounts the seven spheres of each, the characters and stories which he finds there, the guides helping him and the angels showing him the path. Yet after a final climactic glimpse of the Presence of God, he returns to the same woods that was his departure point.
If we were to stop at any point in the Comedy, even if it were at the highest level of Heaven or in the midst of glimpsing the Beatific Vision, the odyssey would be incomplete, and the Comedy would be, frankly, tragic. It is only after that glimpse, once that sojourner has gone "There and Back Again," that the entire story dons the mantle of Comedy.
God's experience in the Incarnation was ultimately tragic if viewed from the perspective of His growing ministry and His sudden death. His life can be defined as comedy, broadly construed, if we consider the seeds He planted in his disciples, the rapid growth of the early Church, or (more theologically) the fact that He was resurrected and lives on eternally at the right hand of the Father.
Our lives are tragic is solely taken from the idea that we are mortal, that we will die. The story of civilization is as great a tragedy as ever was writ; for, as Nietzsche writes, by evolution we may reach the pinnacle of human potential, yet one day our sun will dim, the planets melt, and all that will remain is the Twilight of the Gods. There can be no more majestically tragic image that that, the fate of mortal humanity. Yet if man has an immortal soul, then tragedy is transient, and comedy is the fate to which man is called.
Tragedy is essentially defined by ending, by finitude. Comedy is defined by the infinite, the story without end.
Nor is infinite a necessarily progressive idea; Oriental cultures, among others, define infinity not as a straight line without end, but as a circle which doubles back on itself, reinforcing and informing its own past. Memory contains as great a portion of infinity as prophecy; history is as great an adventure as politics; infinity elevates the past, just as much as the future.
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In my eighth "Contemplation in Theology", I referenced a broad argument from literary theory.
In "Stranger Than Fiction" (a great movie, especially for English majors), one of the characters playing an English professor says tritely: "If it's a tragedy, you die; if it's a comedy, you get hitched."More broadly, tragedy signifies an end; comedy signifies a new beginning.
Dante's Divine Comedy begins and ends with the same tableau: a man alone, wandering in the woods. Through three volumes and 100 cantos, Dante relates the story of his odyssey through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise. He recounts the seven spheres of each, the characters and stories which he finds there, the guides helping him and the angels showing him the path. Yet after a final climactic glimpse of the Presence of God, he returns to the same woods that was his departure point.
If we were to stop at any point in the Comedy, even if it were at the highest level of Heaven or in the midst of glimpsing the Beatific Vision, the odyssey would be incomplete, and the Comedy would be, frankly, tragic. It is only after that glimpse, once that sojourner has gone "There and Back Again," that the entire story dons the mantle of Comedy.
God's experience in the Incarnation was ultimately tragic if viewed from the perspective of His growing ministry and His sudden death. His life can be defined as comedy, broadly construed, if we consider the seeds He planted in his disciples, the rapid growth of the early Church, or (more theologically) the fact that He was resurrected and lives on eternally at the right hand of the Father.
Our lives are tragic is solely taken from the idea that we are mortal, that we will die. The story of civilization is as great a tragedy as ever was writ; for, as Nietzsche writes, by evolution we may reach the pinnacle of human potential, yet one day our sun will dim, the planets melt, and all that will remain is the Twilight of the Gods. There can be no more majestically tragic image that that, the fate of mortal humanity. Yet if man has an immortal soul, then tragedy is transient, and comedy is the fate to which man is called.
Tragedy is essentially defined by ending, by finitude. Comedy is defined by the infinite, the story without end.
Nor is infinite a necessarily progressive idea; Oriental cultures, among others, define infinity not as a straight line without end, but as a circle which doubles back on itself, reinforcing and informing its own past. Memory contains as great a portion of infinity as prophecy; history is as great an adventure as politics; infinity elevates the past, just as much as the future.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Confessions: #2
Man possesses an infinite soul; he transcends tragedy. Heaven help me, I know better than most the addicting satisfaction of a tragic mindset--the previous school year was immeasurably difficult for me for this very reason. I have always had a keen awareness of my intellectual gifts, and the distance between me and my peers that it caused. Yet I did not give glory to God for giving me this unique mode of worshiping him, but rather resigned myself to his service. I felt like the servant given ten talents during the master's absence; I was duty-bound to increase those talents until my King returned, yet never able to live up to His expectations. I did not "consider all things joy," but rather considered life to be a responsibility.
I cannot begin to describe how aesthetically satisfying this self-perception was, to consider myself a "tragic hero," a victim of the noble sacrifice.
Nor can I begin to describe how numbing and utterly soul-sucking this self-perception proved to be. My soul was weather-beaten, atrophied, consumed from within as though by disease. It produced both pride and self-loathing, excruciating despair and total apathy. I rarely (if ever) showed this side of my life to my friends or mentors--I wish I had not been so convincing an actor in this regard. But even had I wished it, I'm not sure I could have expressed my sickness. It was an ineffable sin, an inarticulable cancer of the spirit.
If there was any single cause for my spiritual rejuvenation, it was the decision to cast off this misconceived vision of my life. I still believe that it is the most deadly heresy into which we may fall. I should sooner curse the God who loves me and the Son who gave up His life, than fall back into that pit of tragic apathy. "I wish you were either cold or hot. But because you are lukewarm... I will spit you out of My mouth" (Rev. 3:15-16).
God, forgive my complacency. I know Your lovingkindness, that You have borne the weight of sin and defeated the power of death. I am witness to Your suffering, in bearing the weight of tragedy and the curse of the Law. From the instant of Creation You have endured the entirety of suffering that we might not be crushed, for You are the only One who could bear such things. Your hands are scarred; let me touch them! My soul is numbed to the potency of Your love. Console me, reignite my passion to live, place in me a pure heart, to delight and to feel.
Oh! God, my heart is searching Yours; grant me my prayer! Teach me to cry out to You!
I cannot begin to describe how aesthetically satisfying this self-perception was, to consider myself a "tragic hero," a victim of the noble sacrifice.
Nor can I begin to describe how numbing and utterly soul-sucking this self-perception proved to be. My soul was weather-beaten, atrophied, consumed from within as though by disease. It produced both pride and self-loathing, excruciating despair and total apathy. I rarely (if ever) showed this side of my life to my friends or mentors--I wish I had not been so convincing an actor in this regard. But even had I wished it, I'm not sure I could have expressed my sickness. It was an ineffable sin, an inarticulable cancer of the spirit.
If there was any single cause for my spiritual rejuvenation, it was the decision to cast off this misconceived vision of my life. I still believe that it is the most deadly heresy into which we may fall. I should sooner curse the God who loves me and the Son who gave up His life, than fall back into that pit of tragic apathy. "I wish you were either cold or hot. But because you are lukewarm... I will spit you out of My mouth" (Rev. 3:15-16).
In the sphere of Venus I learned war;
In the sphere of Saturn, my heart leapt for Joy.
While bathed in light I accepted your mystery;
when wreathed in shadow my heart discerned God.
God, by your Word, grant me peace in your Name.
My heart is a King's, yet my soul is complacent.
Grant me, God willing, respite from this numbness.
Lord, judge me! Savior, forgive this lukewarm spirit!
Give me the freedom to care and to cry.
God, forgive my complacency. I know Your lovingkindness, that You have borne the weight of sin and defeated the power of death. I am witness to Your suffering, in bearing the weight of tragedy and the curse of the Law. From the instant of Creation You have endured the entirety of suffering that we might not be crushed, for You are the only One who could bear such things. Your hands are scarred; let me touch them! My soul is numbed to the potency of Your love. Console me, reignite my passion to live, place in me a pure heart, to delight and to feel.
Oh! God, my heart is searching Yours; grant me my prayer! Teach me to cry out to You!
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.
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.
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