According to an old logic joke, for any predicate, F, there is a least likely thing to have the property, a thing such that , if it should have the property than EVERYTHING has the property. The theorem that this vivid misreading is a simple conversion of Tautology, "if P then P", the most trivial of logical laws. One could build a whole logical system using a term for the the least likely F (and another for the most likely one -- what is an F if anything is-- with the same sort of history) and doing away with quantifiers (and their messy rules). Vut notation needed to compensate would be messy indeed.
"Least likely" makes me think of Jesus, the least likely Messiah. Everything about him is wrong: his parentage is open to question, and even if you accept his apparent parents they are the lowest of the low -- not landowner or even tenant farmers but landless laborers. Nor is he from the big city or a famous town, but from a shanty village thrown up house laborers for the overlords' rebuilding of a rebel city near by. And his triumph was a disaster, him dead and his followers scattered and dispirited. And yet, we can now say that this was the fullness of God on Earth.
We can take this "least likely" and rebuild theology upon it, for Christianity is all about the least likely and the fullness of the presence of God: the last are first, the oppressed are blessed and free, the fish food and bad wines are the Body and the Blood. And the conclusion is that, consequently, ALL are first, all are blessed and free, everything is the Body and the Blood. And whatsoever we do to the least is done to the Greatest.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
An Ancient Blister
The question of Communion without Baptism has reared its head again, thanks to Eastern Oregon proposing a motion for GC2012 to remove the rubric against it (well only specifying that those who have been properly baptized may receive). I am torn on this issue and, on another blog, suggested a middle path between openly allowing it and cracking down those who violate the rubric (recipients or priests? it's not clear): "if a hand is put forward, fill it; ditto for a mouth", noting that this seemed to be a case where DADT was a good policy.
Why? First and foremost, because the strict adherence to the rule is a practical impossibility. We can hardly go back (if TEC was ever there) to reserving a spot at the communion table or carrying our baptismal certificate to be shown at each communion, To do so is not only impractical but rude (inhospitable -- what we are loudly trying not to be), by excluding passers by who come in not knowing the rules. And I personally have trouble imagining an Episcopal priest refusing communion to even a notorious sinner right out in the meeting (too much commotion and murmuring).
The main (and oldest) argument against the Eastern Oregon proposal, and even this ad hoc work-around, is that Baptism is the entry in to Christ's Kingdom and seating at the banquet in that Kingdom is reward open only to citizens. That is, we have to be in before the blessing, comfort and sustaining that the feast brings is available to us. There is sense in this: the Eucharist is a sacramentalizing of a basic fact, reminding us again that Jesus is present in everything. It would seem that only a believer would know this fact to be reminded of it by the sacrament. Aside from the fact that it is possible to be baptized and never learn the omnipresence of God in a meaningful way, it is clearly possible for the opposite state to obtain. Further, there is a significant amount of anecdotal evidence that the very act of taking communion can trigger the realization of the truth therein sacralized.
The other (also ancient) objection is that an unbeliever taking communion does some serious harm. But it is hard to see where the harm lies. It is not to the sacrament itself -- the flaws of even the priest do not harm that, let alone those of the partakers. To be sure, there might be a p.r. problem: if a church had given communion to someone known to be notorious sinner and thus, in effect, admitted him into the community, the whole community might be branded with that notoriety. But such matters are to be borne and fade rather quickly, as a rule. The other possible harm might be to the taker, the unbaptized unbeliever. But he has just had a sip wine and a bit of a cracker or pita or whatever; the blasphemy, if it is such, only happens if he perceives that it is the Body and Blood of Christ which he is taking inappropriately, which, ex hypothesi, he does not. (I skip over the aptness of all this to the problems in the Anglican Communion.)
So, if the arguments against bwc are mainly emotional, what of the arguments for it. And there don't seem to be any, other than the appeal to our vaunted openness and inclusiveness, that no one should be cut off from being part of our community, even for only an hour. This, too, has an emotional impact in the political air of our time. It can be bolstered somewhat by pointing to Jesus' example: he laid no conditions on those who attended the archetype of the Eucharist (unless footwashing counts as Baptism) and freely gave both bread and wine to one he knew to be outside the community. Should we be more restrictive when we don't know or know but situationally ought not act (forbidding the sacrament to a lesbian at her mother's funeral, for example).
Why? First and foremost, because the strict adherence to the rule is a practical impossibility. We can hardly go back (if TEC was ever there) to reserving a spot at the communion table or carrying our baptismal certificate to be shown at each communion, To do so is not only impractical but rude (inhospitable -- what we are loudly trying not to be), by excluding passers by who come in not knowing the rules. And I personally have trouble imagining an Episcopal priest refusing communion to even a notorious sinner right out in the meeting (too much commotion and murmuring).
The main (and oldest) argument against the Eastern Oregon proposal, and even this ad hoc work-around, is that Baptism is the entry in to Christ's Kingdom and seating at the banquet in that Kingdom is reward open only to citizens. That is, we have to be in before the blessing, comfort and sustaining that the feast brings is available to us. There is sense in this: the Eucharist is a sacramentalizing of a basic fact, reminding us again that Jesus is present in everything. It would seem that only a believer would know this fact to be reminded of it by the sacrament. Aside from the fact that it is possible to be baptized and never learn the omnipresence of God in a meaningful way, it is clearly possible for the opposite state to obtain. Further, there is a significant amount of anecdotal evidence that the very act of taking communion can trigger the realization of the truth therein sacralized.
The other (also ancient) objection is that an unbeliever taking communion does some serious harm. But it is hard to see where the harm lies. It is not to the sacrament itself -- the flaws of even the priest do not harm that, let alone those of the partakers. To be sure, there might be a p.r. problem: if a church had given communion to someone known to be notorious sinner and thus, in effect, admitted him into the community, the whole community might be branded with that notoriety. But such matters are to be borne and fade rather quickly, as a rule. The other possible harm might be to the taker, the unbaptized unbeliever. But he has just had a sip wine and a bit of a cracker or pita or whatever; the blasphemy, if it is such, only happens if he perceives that it is the Body and Blood of Christ which he is taking inappropriately, which, ex hypothesi, he does not. (I skip over the aptness of all this to the problems in the Anglican Communion.)
So, if the arguments against bwc are mainly emotional, what of the arguments for it. And there don't seem to be any, other than the appeal to our vaunted openness and inclusiveness, that no one should be cut off from being part of our community, even for only an hour. This, too, has an emotional impact in the political air of our time. It can be bolstered somewhat by pointing to Jesus' example: he laid no conditions on those who attended the archetype of the Eucharist (unless footwashing counts as Baptism) and freely gave both bread and wine to one he knew to be outside the community. Should we be more restrictive when we don't know or know but situationally ought not act (forbidding the sacrament to a lesbian at her mother's funeral, for example).
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Serm 1 Pentecost A
Acts 2: 1 - 21
Ps 104:23-35,37
I Cor 12: 3b-13
John 20:19-23
The Gospel is another case of the standing joke, the ordinary made to appear extraordinary, so that we can see how extraordinary the ordinary is. The Disciples, like all of us, already have the Holy Spirit, as part of the natural world. But we -- and even they -- are not aware of this fact, nor taking advantage of this presence. So Jesus here focuses them on this reality and gives them a clue to what to do with it.
Notice, Jesus doesn't say "I give you the Holy Spirit," either factually nor performatively. but "receive". This sounds fairly polite and mild, like receiving an honored guest. But the Greek, while it can mean that, mainly means "snatch, grasp, hold on to, seize" It is what you do when you conquer a city, or take a captive. So the disciples are being told not just to acknowledge that they have the Holy Spirit but they are wrestle with it to get their advantage from it.
The first lesson is the more familiar, the eponymous, lesson for today. Here again we have a dramatic display to call attention to the indwelling spirit and an immediate application (? it is not clear whether the Pentecostals actually spoke in a dozen different languages -- more or less at once -- or whether they spoke their Aramaic or ghetto Greek and got a simultaneous translation for each listener into his own tongue), And, as promised, the first fruits of this were a new heart of flesh, not stone (the alternate first reading) and true community in all things. But as the single cell became many cells, complications arose, involving, among other things, a notion that some gifts of the spirit were better than others and so Paul has to come and make (yet again, in all likelihood) the point that all are necessary for the whole and that each person is unique and thus receives of the spirit the gifts s/he can uniquely contribute to the whole. Without any of them, the whole is incomplete (and so -- going beyond Paul -- the body is not fully functional until all are in it. And yet, since all are in it in the sense of being connected, perhaps unawares, to the spirit, the body can function in an automatic sort of way)
Clearly, our task is to recognize the spirit within us and to direct ourselves under its guidance to the fulfillment of the community, body. And chief among those tasks is arousing the recognition within others. And the way to do this is love.
[Don't forget ShekinNAH, the crazy gal. who goes against convention and gives us the strength to do so for what she says is right -- not caught by the Hymnal, not dovish, etc. "Every time I feel the Spirit" is better ...]
Ps 104:23-35,37
I Cor 12: 3b-13
John 20:19-23
The Gospel is another case of the standing joke, the ordinary made to appear extraordinary, so that we can see how extraordinary the ordinary is. The Disciples, like all of us, already have the Holy Spirit, as part of the natural world. But we -- and even they -- are not aware of this fact, nor taking advantage of this presence. So Jesus here focuses them on this reality and gives them a clue to what to do with it.
Notice, Jesus doesn't say "I give you the Holy Spirit," either factually nor performatively. but "receive". This sounds fairly polite and mild, like receiving an honored guest. But the Greek, while it can mean that, mainly means "snatch, grasp, hold on to, seize" It is what you do when you conquer a city, or take a captive. So the disciples are being told not just to acknowledge that they have the Holy Spirit but they are wrestle with it to get their advantage from it.
The first lesson is the more familiar, the eponymous, lesson for today. Here again we have a dramatic display to call attention to the indwelling spirit and an immediate application (? it is not clear whether the Pentecostals actually spoke in a dozen different languages -- more or less at once -- or whether they spoke their Aramaic or ghetto Greek and got a simultaneous translation for each listener into his own tongue), And, as promised, the first fruits of this were a new heart of flesh, not stone (the alternate first reading) and true community in all things. But as the single cell became many cells, complications arose, involving, among other things, a notion that some gifts of the spirit were better than others and so Paul has to come and make (yet again, in all likelihood) the point that all are necessary for the whole and that each person is unique and thus receives of the spirit the gifts s/he can uniquely contribute to the whole. Without any of them, the whole is incomplete (and so -- going beyond Paul -- the body is not fully functional until all are in it. And yet, since all are in it in the sense of being connected, perhaps unawares, to the spirit, the body can function in an automatic sort of way)
Clearly, our task is to recognize the spirit within us and to direct ourselves under its guidance to the fulfillment of the community, body. And chief among those tasks is arousing the recognition within others. And the way to do this is love.
[Don't forget ShekinNAH, the crazy gal. who goes against convention and gives us the strength to do so for what she says is right -- not caught by the Hymnal, not dovish, etc. "Every time I feel the Spirit" is better ...]
Monday, March 28, 2011
Exalting the ordinary
When we look for motifs in the Bible and in church from which to make inferences about God's nature, one that does not get much notice is the way that God -- and his people -- make a big deal out of ordinary things.
I noticed this first in the little apocalypse (Mark 13), which Evangelicals are constantly citing to prove that these are The End Times:
7 When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. 8 Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes in various places, and famines. These are the beginning of birth pains. (NIV)
Well, that certainly sounds like today. But, of course, it sounds like every day since the beginning of human history. Jesus has taken the (perhaps little noted) everyday state of the world and raised to a special status -- the beginning of The End. The point is probably that no one knows when The End will come, so live every day as though you were about to stand before The Judgment. But perhaps also that everyday really is the Judgment Day for someone. By bringing it into The Story, Jesus sanctifies or sacramentalizes each day to make them special.
Another, rather extreme case, occurred to me when someone was complaining about all the impossibilities in the Birth Narratives and the Creed, "conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit" as though some spook could provide a complete male DNA strand. But then, in the magick world of Christianity, every conception is by the power of the Holy Spirit -- as is everything else, for that matter. Here again, the quotidian, even universal, is made special in one instance and thus raised in our consciousness to a sacrament. If, as Nietzsche says, the Immaculate Conception maculates all conceptions, Jesus' conception, by emphasizing the role of the Holy Spirit, sanctifies conception again and points to God at the beginning of life as well as at the end and throughout. And yet -- certainly for my skeptical friend -- it was an ordinary event.
Which, by some trick of mind, brings me to The Real Presence. In this case, an ordinary event -- setting out the wine and crackers for a party -- has already been sacramentalized and, indeed, dramatized. Mid clouds of smoke, ringing bells and flowing, glowing robes, someone breaks some bread and pours out some wine, once, at least, perfectly ordinary acts, now given added significance. Or not. The whole show has become the ordinary stuff of Sunday morning. So the church needs to resacramentalize it. And this they do by insisting that this bread and this wine really are The Body and The Blood of Christ, that Christ is really in there somehow. But of course he is. And without priestly hocus pocus, but simply because he is in everything in creation. The ordinary highlighted to seems special, but calling attention -- when properly done -- to the extraordinary nature of everything.
Last week's Gospel (Lent 4A) is yet another case. The man was born blind not because of sin but so that God might be glorified. But God is always and everywhere glorified, whether we notice or not. Jesus now calls our attention to this fact by a very visible act. an overt glorification. And on the Sabbath! A day set aside for glorifying God is seen to be not different from other days, but another time for actually showing God's glory.
And finally we get an explanation for ordained clergy. they too are just ordinary folks, without special powers to do something special. Except that their presence makes what goes on special, it exalts the ordinary acts of feeding and events of God's presence, in the hope that, seeing them so magnified, we will come to notice them in their ordinary guise as feeding and God's presence in everything.
I noticed this first in the little apocalypse (Mark 13), which Evangelicals are constantly citing to prove that these are The End Times:
7 When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. 8 Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes in various places, and famines. These are the beginning of birth pains. (NIV)
Well, that certainly sounds like today. But, of course, it sounds like every day since the beginning of human history. Jesus has taken the (perhaps little noted) everyday state of the world and raised to a special status -- the beginning of The End. The point is probably that no one knows when The End will come, so live every day as though you were about to stand before The Judgment. But perhaps also that everyday really is the Judgment Day for someone. By bringing it into The Story, Jesus sanctifies or sacramentalizes each day to make them special.
Another, rather extreme case, occurred to me when someone was complaining about all the impossibilities in the Birth Narratives and the Creed, "conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit" as though some spook could provide a complete male DNA strand. But then, in the magick world of Christianity, every conception is by the power of the Holy Spirit -- as is everything else, for that matter. Here again, the quotidian, even universal, is made special in one instance and thus raised in our consciousness to a sacrament. If, as Nietzsche says, the Immaculate Conception maculates all conceptions, Jesus' conception, by emphasizing the role of the Holy Spirit, sanctifies conception again and points to God at the beginning of life as well as at the end and throughout. And yet -- certainly for my skeptical friend -- it was an ordinary event.
Which, by some trick of mind, brings me to The Real Presence. In this case, an ordinary event -- setting out the wine and crackers for a party -- has already been sacramentalized and, indeed, dramatized. Mid clouds of smoke, ringing bells and flowing, glowing robes, someone breaks some bread and pours out some wine, once, at least, perfectly ordinary acts, now given added significance. Or not. The whole show has become the ordinary stuff of Sunday morning. So the church needs to resacramentalize it. And this they do by insisting that this bread and this wine really are The Body and The Blood of Christ, that Christ is really in there somehow. But of course he is. And without priestly hocus pocus, but simply because he is in everything in creation. The ordinary highlighted to seems special, but calling attention -- when properly done -- to the extraordinary nature of everything.
Last week's Gospel (Lent 4A) is yet another case. The man was born blind not because of sin but so that God might be glorified. But God is always and everywhere glorified, whether we notice or not. Jesus now calls our attention to this fact by a very visible act. an overt glorification. And on the Sabbath! A day set aside for glorifying God is seen to be not different from other days, but another time for actually showing God's glory.
And finally we get an explanation for ordained clergy. they too are just ordinary folks, without special powers to do something special. Except that their presence makes what goes on special, it exalts the ordinary acts of feeding and events of God's presence, in the hope that, seeing them so magnified, we will come to notice them in their ordinary guise as feeding and God's presence in everything.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Christian Cosmology
To a large extent, the magical cosmology of late Neo-Platonism persists in Christian thinking, though with a different mythology and different practical applications (perhaps). For the physical world, Christians are content to leave the details of its operations to the scientists (of their choice, of course). But they assume that, under the physical world, lies God -- and perhaps a more varied spiritual realm.
God relates to the physical world in a variety of ways. First, God is its creator, whether by vocal fiat from nothing or by upsetting the equilibrium in a force feel or by yet some other means. Secondly, God sustains the universe; it continues to exist and operate because of something God does or is. A part of this sustenance is a complete record of all that has occurred and is occurring. But God is also present. fragmented yet not separated, in each thing in the world, a spark of the divine. And from these facts (tenets), we derive what we believe to know about God.
About creation, which was before our time, we can say little with certainty, though we can tell a variety of stories, But we claim to derive from the nature of the created (as we perceive it) some knowledge of what God is like, insofar as we can make comparisons. The universe is immense (encompassing a billion galaxies, each with a billion stars, spread over several billion light-years of space), so God must be more immense, say infinite. The universe is diverse, stars and galaxies of many sorts, constantly changing, with new forms emerging and old ones passing into something different. So God favors diversity and change (though being of a single nature and unchanging -- thanks to the Neo-Platonists again). There is life and intelligence in the universe, so God must like these features. To be sure, the evidence for this is one planet circling one of E18 stars, but (the reasoning go circularly) there must be others with life and intelligence as well (the problems with this are passed on to later folk, with real evidence to deal with), From these observations, then, it is possible to begin to see the sort of life God expects of his people, though not in crucial detail.
About the sustaining function of God, a bit more can be said, though not much with strong conviction beyond the fact of the sustenance. Some that claim to understand quantum physics a bit would hold God is the constant observer that brings all the mere probabilities to reality (usually without bows to Bishop Berkeley and the God "always about in the Quad"). Other, noting that quantum physics doesn't exactly say that, tend to even more metaphysical explanations: God's essence is existence, so only by God's participation can anything exist, for example. But few can resist the temptation to explain the continuing link among subatomic particle once in contact (any everything was once in contact) to the instantaneous connection within the single, undifferentiated God. But even without this (and chaos and complexity theory -- butterflies in Mexico causing floods in China), Christians are committed to the belief that everything is connected in some way, whether that be causally significant or not (more on this later).
The belief that God records all that occurs, sees and remembers it, turns up in various places. The primary source is the doctrine of resurrection. Christians have a variety of notions -- all Biblically based -- on what happens after death, but one that gets special prominence throughout is that, at the end of time, the dead shall come back to life in their bodies (usually upgraded from their best state) with all their personality (again somewhat cleaned up) and memories, etc. intact. Which means that these memories have to be stored somewhere and God seems the only candidate. That this recording goes beyond humans, their bodies and minds, is a leap, of course, but probably less so than the notion that the recordings started suddenly with the first being that was actually human (though presumably God could make this distinction though we cannot).
The bit about the sparks of the divine is also an extention from the human case, where it is a matter of introspective observation (conscience, say) and theology (the immortal soul, another part of the after-death complex). Here it has at least three stages: the divine spark is what makes the difference between a chemical reaction and life, which might otherwise be reduced to just those reaction. Later in the development of the world, it is the divine spark that makes the difference between brain states (or perhaps even less complex body states) and consciousness and, eventually, self-consciousness. And finally, in humans, it appears as moral consciousness, conscience and moral reasoning, shame and contrition.
Well, almost finally, for Christians believe that once (at least once, for the cautious or more open) there was an (apparent) human in whom and through whom the full fire (or as much as a human body could possibly stand) of God, blazed, not just a mere spark. And it is from this person that we derive the rest of what we believe about God. From Jesus, we learn first of all that, though God is unimaginably immense, God loves us each individually and is ever present with each of us, to share and help bear our experience in life. more specifically, we learn that not only does God favor diversity, but that God considers all varieties to be of equal value and deserving of equal treatment. Accordingly, God favors not just change, but specifically the sort of change that leads to those who have been treated unfairly getting their fair share -- and maybe a bit more in compensation. God favors intelligence, but primarily when it is put to use bringing about those changes.
With this set-up, it is inevitable to consider the magical consequences. And on this Christians are all over the map, from positivist to miraculist. On the far left hand (I suppose) is the view that God does not interfere with the workings of natural laws and those laws are pretty much as science has them now, with only physical forces mattering. On the far right is the view that everyone has direct access to God and the ability to get God to alter the course of real world events. This ability needs something special to use, but all are capable of it. Most fall somewhere between, of course: allowing that some real natural laws (which science hasn't and perhaps can't discover) allow for non-physical force to play a role in what appear to be merely physical events, on the one hand, or insisting that the manipulation of God is a skill limited to a few either by nature or by special intense training, on the other, with still more sliding scales, centering on an agnostic position.
God relates to the physical world in a variety of ways. First, God is its creator, whether by vocal fiat from nothing or by upsetting the equilibrium in a force feel or by yet some other means. Secondly, God sustains the universe; it continues to exist and operate because of something God does or is. A part of this sustenance is a complete record of all that has occurred and is occurring. But God is also present. fragmented yet not separated, in each thing in the world, a spark of the divine. And from these facts (tenets), we derive what we believe to know about God.
About creation, which was before our time, we can say little with certainty, though we can tell a variety of stories, But we claim to derive from the nature of the created (as we perceive it) some knowledge of what God is like, insofar as we can make comparisons. The universe is immense (encompassing a billion galaxies, each with a billion stars, spread over several billion light-years of space), so God must be more immense, say infinite. The universe is diverse, stars and galaxies of many sorts, constantly changing, with new forms emerging and old ones passing into something different. So God favors diversity and change (though being of a single nature and unchanging -- thanks to the Neo-Platonists again). There is life and intelligence in the universe, so God must like these features. To be sure, the evidence for this is one planet circling one of E18 stars, but (the reasoning go circularly) there must be others with life and intelligence as well (the problems with this are passed on to later folk, with real evidence to deal with), From these observations, then, it is possible to begin to see the sort of life God expects of his people, though not in crucial detail.
About the sustaining function of God, a bit more can be said, though not much with strong conviction beyond the fact of the sustenance. Some that claim to understand quantum physics a bit would hold God is the constant observer that brings all the mere probabilities to reality (usually without bows to Bishop Berkeley and the God "always about in the Quad"). Other, noting that quantum physics doesn't exactly say that, tend to even more metaphysical explanations: God's essence is existence, so only by God's participation can anything exist, for example. But few can resist the temptation to explain the continuing link among subatomic particle once in contact (any everything was once in contact) to the instantaneous connection within the single, undifferentiated God. But even without this (and chaos and complexity theory -- butterflies in Mexico causing floods in China), Christians are committed to the belief that everything is connected in some way, whether that be causally significant or not (more on this later).
The belief that God records all that occurs, sees and remembers it, turns up in various places. The primary source is the doctrine of resurrection. Christians have a variety of notions -- all Biblically based -- on what happens after death, but one that gets special prominence throughout is that, at the end of time, the dead shall come back to life in their bodies (usually upgraded from their best state) with all their personality (again somewhat cleaned up) and memories, etc. intact. Which means that these memories have to be stored somewhere and God seems the only candidate. That this recording goes beyond humans, their bodies and minds, is a leap, of course, but probably less so than the notion that the recordings started suddenly with the first being that was actually human (though presumably God could make this distinction though we cannot).
The bit about the sparks of the divine is also an extention from the human case, where it is a matter of introspective observation (conscience, say) and theology (the immortal soul, another part of the after-death complex). Here it has at least three stages: the divine spark is what makes the difference between a chemical reaction and life, which might otherwise be reduced to just those reaction. Later in the development of the world, it is the divine spark that makes the difference between brain states (or perhaps even less complex body states) and consciousness and, eventually, self-consciousness. And finally, in humans, it appears as moral consciousness, conscience and moral reasoning, shame and contrition.
Well, almost finally, for Christians believe that once (at least once, for the cautious or more open) there was an (apparent) human in whom and through whom the full fire (or as much as a human body could possibly stand) of God, blazed, not just a mere spark. And it is from this person that we derive the rest of what we believe about God. From Jesus, we learn first of all that, though God is unimaginably immense, God loves us each individually and is ever present with each of us, to share and help bear our experience in life. more specifically, we learn that not only does God favor diversity, but that God considers all varieties to be of equal value and deserving of equal treatment. Accordingly, God favors not just change, but specifically the sort of change that leads to those who have been treated unfairly getting their fair share -- and maybe a bit more in compensation. God favors intelligence, but primarily when it is put to use bringing about those changes.
With this set-up, it is inevitable to consider the magical consequences. And on this Christians are all over the map, from positivist to miraculist. On the far left hand (I suppose) is the view that God does not interfere with the workings of natural laws and those laws are pretty much as science has them now, with only physical forces mattering. On the far right is the view that everyone has direct access to God and the ability to get God to alter the course of real world events. This ability needs something special to use, but all are capable of it. Most fall somewhere between, of course: allowing that some real natural laws (which science hasn't and perhaps can't discover) allow for non-physical force to play a role in what appear to be merely physical events, on the one hand, or insisting that the manipulation of God is a skill limited to a few either by nature or by special intense training, on the other, with still more sliding scales, centering on an agnostic position.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Love is the Answer
So, how is Christianity not Magick? How is Simon Peter different from Simon Magus? In the orthodox tradition, so far as I understand it, the answer seems to be what you love. Magus seeks power, or wealth, or knowledge, or fame, or pleasure for himself. Contemplative Christian seeks divinization not for his own salvation only but for the good of the community, indeed of the world,
How does that play out? As the contemplative comes more focused on God, he become more transparent to God's light which can then shine into the world and wright changes, improvements, small steps toward the coming of the [need a good word here: 'kingdom' and the like seem all too tyrannical, 'commonwealth' and the like too democratic]. Presumably, Magus, as he proceeds, interposes his selfish purposes, holding the light in and redirecting it along narrow personal lines. Even the contemplative who seeks only his own salvation, without concern for his neighbors, does not strictly fall inside the Christian sphere.
But does the Magus become a god, can the self-saver find salvation? In Buddhist terms, are the arhants failures, which only the bodhisattvas can correct? Is there something built into the process, a part of the ascetic program, that blocks certain steps from the self-absorbed -- or redirects them on another path, which brings a different reward and one that ties back into the world rather than rising to God?
I just don't know and I can't find the discussion on this to guide me. Comments urgently sought.
How does that play out? As the contemplative comes more focused on God, he become more transparent to God's light which can then shine into the world and wright changes, improvements, small steps toward the coming of the [need a good word here: 'kingdom' and the like seem all too tyrannical, 'commonwealth' and the like too democratic]. Presumably, Magus, as he proceeds, interposes his selfish purposes, holding the light in and redirecting it along narrow personal lines. Even the contemplative who seeks only his own salvation, without concern for his neighbors, does not strictly fall inside the Christian sphere.
But does the Magus become a god, can the self-saver find salvation? In Buddhist terms, are the arhants failures, which only the bodhisattvas can correct? Is there something built into the process, a part of the ascetic program, that blocks certain steps from the self-absorbed -- or redirects them on another path, which brings a different reward and one that ties back into the world rather than rising to God?
I just don't know and I can't find the discussion on this to guide me. Comments urgently sought.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Magick Christianity
Behind most Western magick (the real stuff, not prestidigitation) is a single metaphysic/cosmogony/cosmology, with many versions. It antedates Christianity but has developed in close proximity to it, so that certain ideas seem to be common to both (which has allowed some magicians to escape the fires and caused some Christians to be fed to them). One version of this metaphysics underlies much of the mystical quest or the Orthodox pursuit of divinization. Looking at the general pattern of this metaphysic may shed some light on a number of questions that tend to arise. And maybe assuage my worries about contemplative Christianity.
The basic story is this: There is the One, complete in itself. And yet it gives rise to the Second, which is not different from the One, but distinct nonetheless. And these two give rise to the Third, also not different yet distinct. From here the various versions diverge. Most present an array of beings, distinct and different from the top three and one another, and subservient to the top three. At some point, the world is made, whether by one of these subservient beings-- and so evil -- or by the One (or the Second or the Third) -- and so good. This world is a very Ptolemaic one: geocentric, with seven plus spheres around the earth, governed by one (or more) of those subservient beings, and blocking a view of the Three. Now, none of this (or only the last bit) is a temporal succession; it is merely a logical one, explaining a hierarchy.
But the next bit sets time in motion, if the whirling spheres did not already. The Second or the Third is fragmented and a bit enters each thing in the world (I particularly like the story of the Third seeing his -- or whatever -- reflection in world, falling in love with the being it -- or whatever -- thinks it sees there, and diving to reach it, being sliced and diced on the way down by the whirling sphere and the pieces going into everything in the hope of finding the beloved). The other one also permeates the whole world but remains intact, underlying, supporting, and recording all that happens.
However the story goes, the result is the same. There is the One, still self-sufficient, perfect. There is the world, especially Earth, immediately borne by a being that is not different from that One, and in each of us there is a piece of a being not different from the One. And between, a number of other beings who control various aspects of the world under general directions from on high.
Magical conclusions: 1. We can return to the One by getting our bit of the Second or the Third back whence it came, in its unfragmented origin, not different from the One. 2. Since this fragment is not different from the substrate of the universe, we can understand, predict, recall and, to some extent, control what happens. 3.Since this fragment is part of the top layer, it has power over the subservient beings that perform the ordinary events in the world, we can learn to control them and bring about desired events.
However different in theory, in practice these three conclusions intertwined and reenforced one another. One emphasizing the first conclusion (a mystic, say) would probably have to pass through all the spheres, which meant dealing with the subservient beings who controlled them. And that meant knowing their names (Baphomet, say -- not a real name) and the secret rituals which were needed to convince the power that you were worthy to proceed (the pinkie grip handshake, say -- a real one). So they (most of them, anyhow) need to learn the lore that followed from the third conclusion, the original mysteries somewhat updated. Those who focused on the second conclusion (alchemists, say) needed this, too, for often only spirits knew where to find the pure mercury, etc. that the work required. They also knew that to complete the work it might be necessary to purify the worker as well as the material and that process took one a long way toward the Origin. The followers of the third conclusion knew that some names were only to be uttered (if at all) by those well advanced along one of the routes to the origin and knew the basics of protecting themselves when calling on spirits or graving amulets or scrying.
So, can we accept this general view -- greatly expanded, of course, (though you would scarcely believe it if you read most contemporary Christian writing) to embrace a billion galaxies of a billion stars apiece, and Lord only knows (part of the point actually) how many planets and sentient beings and how much and what kinds of stuff in between -- without also accepting the rest of the magick kit? Do we indeed, as Christians (and other "advanced" theologians of whatever sort) want to do without the magick kit? Given an adequately fuzzy sense of quantum mechanics, doesn't science force us to a world like this (or at least cohere with one)? Certainly, action at a distance is nicely accounted for by the underlying substrate that keeps track of everything and is available to all points. And then miracles are just minor tinkerings with the collapsing of probability waves, so as to produce macroscopic effects. And so on: science and religion together at last.
And even without science, this view still does the work for miracles in a rational way. But does it still leave open the possibility of magick: of greedy puddlers making gold in the back room, of angry witches blighting our crops (or our hard drives), of sinners meeting God?
I just don't know. So, when I hear this worldview, however attenuated, I tend to back away in fear. But doing so seems to cut me off from divinization or union or other such mystic goals.
The basic story is this: There is the One, complete in itself. And yet it gives rise to the Second, which is not different from the One, but distinct nonetheless. And these two give rise to the Third, also not different yet distinct. From here the various versions diverge. Most present an array of beings, distinct and different from the top three and one another, and subservient to the top three. At some point, the world is made, whether by one of these subservient beings-- and so evil -- or by the One (or the Second or the Third) -- and so good. This world is a very Ptolemaic one: geocentric, with seven plus spheres around the earth, governed by one (or more) of those subservient beings, and blocking a view of the Three. Now, none of this (or only the last bit) is a temporal succession; it is merely a logical one, explaining a hierarchy.
But the next bit sets time in motion, if the whirling spheres did not already. The Second or the Third is fragmented and a bit enters each thing in the world (I particularly like the story of the Third seeing his -- or whatever -- reflection in world, falling in love with the being it -- or whatever -- thinks it sees there, and diving to reach it, being sliced and diced on the way down by the whirling sphere and the pieces going into everything in the hope of finding the beloved). The other one also permeates the whole world but remains intact, underlying, supporting, and recording all that happens.
However the story goes, the result is the same. There is the One, still self-sufficient, perfect. There is the world, especially Earth, immediately borne by a being that is not different from that One, and in each of us there is a piece of a being not different from the One. And between, a number of other beings who control various aspects of the world under general directions from on high.
Magical conclusions: 1. We can return to the One by getting our bit of the Second or the Third back whence it came, in its unfragmented origin, not different from the One. 2. Since this fragment is not different from the substrate of the universe, we can understand, predict, recall and, to some extent, control what happens. 3.Since this fragment is part of the top layer, it has power over the subservient beings that perform the ordinary events in the world, we can learn to control them and bring about desired events.
However different in theory, in practice these three conclusions intertwined and reenforced one another. One emphasizing the first conclusion (a mystic, say) would probably have to pass through all the spheres, which meant dealing with the subservient beings who controlled them. And that meant knowing their names (Baphomet, say -- not a real name) and the secret rituals which were needed to convince the power that you were worthy to proceed (the pinkie grip handshake, say -- a real one). So they (most of them, anyhow) need to learn the lore that followed from the third conclusion, the original mysteries somewhat updated. Those who focused on the second conclusion (alchemists, say) needed this, too, for often only spirits knew where to find the pure mercury, etc. that the work required. They also knew that to complete the work it might be necessary to purify the worker as well as the material and that process took one a long way toward the Origin. The followers of the third conclusion knew that some names were only to be uttered (if at all) by those well advanced along one of the routes to the origin and knew the basics of protecting themselves when calling on spirits or graving amulets or scrying.
So, can we accept this general view -- greatly expanded, of course, (though you would scarcely believe it if you read most contemporary Christian writing) to embrace a billion galaxies of a billion stars apiece, and Lord only knows (part of the point actually) how many planets and sentient beings and how much and what kinds of stuff in between -- without also accepting the rest of the magick kit? Do we indeed, as Christians (and other "advanced" theologians of whatever sort) want to do without the magick kit? Given an adequately fuzzy sense of quantum mechanics, doesn't science force us to a world like this (or at least cohere with one)? Certainly, action at a distance is nicely accounted for by the underlying substrate that keeps track of everything and is available to all points. And then miracles are just minor tinkerings with the collapsing of probability waves, so as to produce macroscopic effects. And so on: science and religion together at last.
And even without science, this view still does the work for miracles in a rational way. But does it still leave open the possibility of magick: of greedy puddlers making gold in the back room, of angry witches blighting our crops (or our hard drives), of sinners meeting God?
I just don't know. So, when I hear this worldview, however attenuated, I tend to back away in fear. But doing so seems to cut me off from divinization or union or other such mystic goals.
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