House of Wisdom, Queen of Heaven

Dear Friends,

There is a new theology that tells a new story, which is really an old story, which happens to be the story of the Lady who was never really lost.  That the people of Israel once worshipped the Queen of Heaven in the first Temple — the Temple of Solomon — is the radical thesis advanced by this new theology, inaugurated by the ground-breaking scholarly work of Margaret Barker, author so far of fourteen books.

A Methodist preacher, Margaret Barker studied theology at the University of Cambridge. She has devoted her life to research in ancient Christianity, developing an approach to Biblical studies known as Temple Theology, which she views as being the basis for a theology of the environment. She is former president of the Society for Old Testament Study and a long-standing member of the Ecumenical Patriarch’s Symposium on Religion. In July 2008 she was awarded a Doctorate of Divinity by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

“Christians are the anointed ones of the restored temple, and our covenant is the eternal covenant entrusted to the ancient temple priesthood, renewed by our great High Priest [Jesus Christ],” she remarked as guest lecturer at Saint Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary in New York, January 29, 2012. “The liturgy of the Eucharist is…the journey of the Church into the dimension of the Kingdom …’ ‘Dimension’…seems the best way to indicated the manner of our sacramental entrance into the risen life of Christ.”

A female Methodist preacher honored by both the Eastern Orthodox Church and by the Anglican Church and studied even with absorbed interest by many Mormon scholars? For — among other things — offering persuasive evidence of the worship of the Queen of Heaven in the temple of Solomon? Such are the signs of the times . . .

Pax et bonum, 
Randall Scott

 

Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?
(Job 28.12)

 by Margaret Barker

After Jerusalem had been destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE, refugees fled south. The prophet Jeremiah went with them, and told them that the disaster had been due to their sins, and that even in Egypt, the punishment would continue. The refugees in Pathros confronted Jeremiah and would not accept what he said. The disaster had been caused, they said, by neglecting the Queen of Heaven. Jeremiah 44 then offers us a glimpse of the religion of seventh century Judah — burning incense to the Queen of Heaven, pouring out libations to her and making loaves to represent her: ‘For then we had plenty of food and we prospered and saw no evil’ (Jer.44.17).

Set alongside this the brief and stylised history incorporated into the Book of Enoch, known as the Apocalypse of Weeks because each period of the history is designated as a week. It is the history of Enoch, Noah, Abraham, the giving of the Law but without any mention of Moses and the Exodus, the building of the temple in the fifth week, and then, in the sixth week, ‘All who lived in the temple lost their vision, and the hearts of all of them godlessly forsook Wisdom, and the house of the kingdom was burned and the whole chosen people was scattered (1 Enoch 93). This history knows nothing of the Deuteronomists’ story of the Exodus and their hero Moses, but it does emphasise Enoch, and says that Jerusalem was destroyed after the people in the temple had forsaken Wisdom. There is even a poem about the rejected Wisdom:

Wisdom went forth to make her dwelling among the children of men, and found no dwelling place
Wisdom returned to her place, and took her seat among the angels (1 Enoch 42)

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The Lady was never really lost. Throughout the Bible and related texts, there is a whole and Jerusalem, usually described as King Josiah’s reform. The Deuteronomists’ own account of this purge makes it clear that an old copy of a law book had been found in the temple (ed. note – see 2 Kings 22), and this prompted the young king to remove from his kingdom everything which did not comply with the regulations of that law book. 2 Kings 23 describes what happened: anything associated with the worship of Baal and Asherah and the host of heaven was removed from the temple and destroyed. The priests whom earlier kings had appointed to burn incense in other cities were deposed, but they would not come to serve in Jerusalem; they stayed in their own areas. The account emphasised the destruction of the Asherah, which was taken from the temple and burned by the Kidron, and the destruction of the houses of the qdsm, a word usually translated male prostitutes, but which should perhaps be read as ‘holy ones, angels’, in view of the fact that Josiah was removing everything connected with the host of heaven. In these houses, women had woven linen garments for Asherah [1]. He also removed horses dedicated to the sun which had stood at the gate of the temple. What the refugees described as abandoning the Queen of Heaven, and Enoch described as forsaking Wisdom must have been this purge by Josiah. What he had tried to destroy was the older religion of Jerusalem and Judah.

As late as the fourth century CE, people remembered what had happened at that time: the Jerusalem Talmud described how a large number of priests had fought with Nebuchadnezzar against Jerusalem, and had then been settled in Arabia, ‘among the sons of Ishmael.’ (j.Ta‘anit 4.5). These must have been the disaffected priests who would not accept Josiah’s purge. Jeremiah records the fear of King Zedekiah, one of Josiah’s sons: ‘I am afraid of the Jews who have deserted to the Chaldeans, lest I be handed over to them and they harm me.’ (Jer.38.19). The first temple was always remembered as the true temple. In the time of the Messiah, five things would be restored which had been in the first temple but not in the second: the fire, the ark, the menorah, the Spirit and the cherubim [2]. Elsewhere we read that in the time of Josiah the ark, the anointing oil, the jar of manna and Aaron’s rod had been hidden [3]. The account of Josiah’s purge must include within it somewhere the removal of the ark, the menorah, the oil, manna and high priestly staff, and the cherubim, presumably of the throne. Some of them may have been taken away for safe keeping, by those devoted to the temple tradition. Others would have been destroyed.

The first chapter of the Book of Proverbs also describes the rejected Wisdom, and could well have been set in the period between the rejection of Wisdom by Josiah and the destruction of the city by the Babylonians. ‘How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing, and fools hate knowledge? Give heed to my reproof and I will pour out my spirit on you… because I called and you refused to listen… and you have ignored all my counsel… I will laugh at your calamity, I will mock when panic strikes you… when distress and anguish come upon you. Then they will call upon me but I will not answer, they will seek me diligently but they will not find me.’ (Prov.1.22-28) This is a Goddess speaking to the people who have rejected her.

Even a brief survey shows that there had been a Lady in Jerusalem who had been rejected and returned to her place among the angels. She had been worshipped with wine and incense, and bread to represent her. She had protected the city and given prosperity, and she had given vision to the priests. She had been evicted from the temple by Josiah, and her cult probably involved the items removed in the purge or remembered as missing from the second temple: the item named the Asherah, the host of heaven, the horses for the sun, the menorah, the oil, the manna, the high priest’s staff that bore almond blossoms, the ark, the fire and the Spirit. A long list, but these things were not forgotten.

In the Book of Revelation John saw the ark restored to the holy of holies, (Rev.11.19), he saw four horses ride out from the temple (Rev.6.1-8), he saw the Man in the midst of the seven lamps, the menorah (Rev.1.12), he heard the Spirit promising the faithful that they would receive the hidden manna (Rev.2.17). John was describing the restoration of the first temple. He also saw the Queen of Heaven in the temple, even though she is not named as the Queen. ‘A great sign appeared in heaven, a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and on her head a crown of twelve stars’ (Rev.12.1). At her feet was a great red dragon. She gave birth to a son who was destined to fulfil Psalm 2 — to rule the nations with a rod of iron — and presumably the rest of the Psalm as well: ‘You are my son. Today I have begotten you’. The woman’s son was taken up to the throne of God. These few verses in the Book of Revelation show the importance of the Lost Lady and the cult of the first temple for understanding Christian origins.

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Something of the Lost Lady and her world can still be recovered, a world in which profound issues were explored and theology was expressed, not in the abstract philosophies which we have come to associate with theology, but in pictures, symbols and the sound of words. This does not mean that it was an unsophisticated system. Wisdom theology has been overshadowed by a simplistic theology of history, which modern scholars have presented as Old Testament theology. Wisdom, by means of the images used to depict her, addresses such question as the relationship between the human and the divine, the means of apotheosis, the stewardship of knowledge, and the power which knowledge gives to transform or to destroy.

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First, we need to consider the evidence of archaeology.

• Hundreds of small female figurines (854 to date) [4] have been found in Judah and Jerusalem, known as Judaean pillar figurines. They are between 8 and 14 cm tall, with prominent breasts and prominent eyes. Figurines found in Jerusalem and north Judaea sometimes wear a turban, and some hold a disc which has been identified as a shield, a drum or a loaf. The face is often painted red, the ‘dress’ seems to have been white, and there are traces of red and yellow decoration on the neck and shoulders, perhaps representing jewellery. These figurines were often found with horse and rider figurines. Many had been smashed. Archaeologists have concluded that these figurines went out of use at the end of the second temple period, the time of Josiah.

• Graffiti have been found on two large storage jars at Kuntillet Ajrud in the southern desert, which seems to have been a resting place for pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem. ‘I bless you by Yhwh of Samaria and by Asheratah’ says one, and the other ‘I bless you by Yhwh of Teman and by Asheratah.’ There has been endless debate about these inscriptions, and how the name Asheratah relates to the Old Testament name Asherah [5]. Given that Asheratah is a constant form, and Yhwh is defined by his cult centre — Teman, Samaria — it looks as though Asheratah was ‘senior’ figure, perhaps the mother of the LORD?

• There are the tablets found at the site of ancient Ugarit, (on the coast of Syria) which describe their great goddess Athirat, the same name as Asheratah. She was their Great Lady, the Virgin Mother of the seventy sons of the high god El, a god who was often depicted as a bull [6], she was a sun deity, she was the Lamp of the gods, the Bright One, and her symbol was a spindle. She had several names: Athirat, Rahmay and Shapsh, she was the nursing mother of the earthly king, who was known as the Morning Star and the Evening Star (cf. Rev.22.16), and it seems that she was represented by the winged sun disc over the head of the king, showing that she was his heavenly mother [7].

It is bad practice to reconstruct the male God of Israel from the biblical texts and the female from archaeological evidence, as this gives the impression that the Lady cannot be found in the written sources. The correspondence between the Great Lady of Ugarit and the lost Lady of Jerusalem is, however, striking, as we shall see that the Lady of Jerusalem was described as a winged sun deity, the mother of the king named the Morning Star, and the Mother of the sons of El i.e. of the angels. The advantage of having archaeological evidence to support a hypothesis constructed from texts is that archaeological evidence is less likely to have been edited, although the archaeological reports from the first half of the last century show that numbers of these figurines were discarded as rubbish, because they had no possible relevance to biblical archaeology.

Many fragments of Isaiah have been found at Qumran, but the Immanuel prophecy in Isaiah 7 only survives in the great Isaiah scroll, in other words, this is the only pre-Christian evidence for the Hebrew text of that prophecy. The present form of the text, even in English, implies that something is missing. Ahaz says he will not ask for a sign from the LORD, yhwh, and Isaiah says he will have a sign from the Lord adonai, (instead), and there follows the prophecy of the birth of the child. The Isaiah scroll here differs from the Masoretic Hebrew by one letter, and reads: ‘Ask a sign from the Mother of the LORD your God, and, when Ahaz refuses, Isaiah says ‘Then the Lord himself will give you a sign… ‘Behold, the Virgin shall conceive and bear a son and shall call his name Immanuel’ (Isa.7.14). This would make very good sense if Jerusalem had had a Great Lady who had been the heavenly Virgin Mother of the earthly king, a king who was himself the sign of God with his people, Immanuel. The promised child then appears: ‘Unto us a child is born’ (Isa.9.6), the song of the angels in the holy of holies as the new king is born as the divine son. The other account of this birth in Psalm 110 includes, in an otherwise unreadable patch of Hebrew, the name ‘The Morning Star’. Isaiah’s contemporary, the prophet Micah, also spoke of an unnamed woman who was about to give birth to the great Shepherd of Israel. The familiar words of this prophecy are: ‘You, Bethlehem Ephrathah… from you shall come forth for me, one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose origin is from old, from ancient days’, and the word is ‘olam, eternity, the holy of holies. The lines about his mother are rarely noticed, but this is another text describing the mother and her royal son who is born in the holy of holies and will come forth (Micah 5.1-4). There is also the prophecy in Malachi 4.2, which foretells the return of Elijah before the Day of the LORD, and the gospels identified John the Baptist as Elijah heralding the coming of the LORD (Mark 9.11-13). The other part of Malachi’s prophecy is often overlooked, or mistranslated. When Elijah returns: ‘The Sun of Righteousness shall rise with healing in her wings’. The sign in heaven in Revelation 12 is the Queen of Heaven in the holy of holies with the ark. She is clothed with the sun and crowned with the stars, and she gives birth to the Messiah. Later she flies with the wings of a great eagle to escape from the serpent. This vision is set exactly in the centre of the Book of Revelation.

Wisdom describes herself in the holy of holies in Proverbs 8. In the temple, this had been constructed as a perfect cube and lined with gold to represent the light and fire of the divine presence (2 Chron.3.8); here in Proverbs 8 it is the state beyond the visible and temporal creation. Wisdom was herself begotten and brought forth in this state (Proverbs 8.24-25), and she was beside the Creator as he established the heavens and marked out the foundations of the earth. She witnessed the creation. She was also the Amon, a rare Hebrew word which probably means craftsman; in the Greek it became harmozousa, the woman who joins together, or the woman who maintains the harmony (Prov.8.30). This Wisdom poem does not describe the visible creation — trees, birds, animals — but only the structures which were established in the invisible state., the ‘engraved things’. She was there when the Creator engraved the circle on the face of the deep, set the engraved mark for the sea which it could not pass, engraved the foundations of the earth (Prov.8.27-29). She was the Creator’s delight, and she danced and played before him. The male and female Creator is familiar from Genesis 1.26-27: ‘Then God (a plural word in Hebrew) said ‘Let us make the human in our image, after our likeness… So God created the human in his image, male and female he created them.’ The female figure also appears in Genesis 1.2: ‘…the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters’‘Moving’ here is a feminine form: she was hovering, fluttering over the face of the waters. When Genesis was translated into Aramaic, a version used in Palestine [8], and so one the first Christians would have known, gave the first verse of Genesis as ‘In the beginning with Wisdom the LORD created…’ People remembered that Wisdom had been present at the creation, and that she was also known as the Spirit.

The woman in the holy of holies, clothed with the sun and giving birth to the Messiah, must have prompted the early Church to tell the story of Mary as the story of Wisdom. The Infancy Gospel of James is not easy to date, but Justin in the mid-second century knew that the birth had taken place in a cave, Clement of Alexandria, at the end of the second century, knew that Mary was a virgin after giving birth, and Origen knew that Joseph had been a widower with other children [9] — all details unique to account. A papyrus of the Infancy Gospel of James, dated to the end of the third century, is the oldest known complete gospel text [10]. The Infancy Gospel of James tells how Mary was given to the temple when she was three years old, like the infant Samuel (1 Sam.1.24). The priest received her and sat her on the third step of the altar, and she danced at his feet in the temple. She was fed by an angel, and grew up in the temple until, at the age of twelve and the onset of puberty, she had to leave. A husband was found for her, Joseph, who was a widower with sons. When a new veil was needed for the temple, seven young women were chosen to spin the wool and to weave. Mary was one of them, and while she was spinning, the angel told her that she would give birth to the Son of God Most High. Mary spinning the red wool as the angel speaks to her became the ikon of the Annunciation. The little girl in the temple, dancing before the high priest, is exactly how Wisdom was described in Proverbs 8: playing and dancing before the Creator. Like Wisdom, Mary is depicted in ikons as seated in the holy of holies, being fed by an angel. She left the holy place to give birth to her child, like the woman clothed with the sun appearing through the opened veil of the holy of holies. Whilst she was weaving the new veil, the symbol of incarnation, she was pregnant with her child, and in ikons, she is shown holding her spindle, the ancient symbol of the Great Lady. The Queen of Heaven and her Son were Mary and her Son, and just as Jesus was proclaimed the LORD, the God of Israel, so Mary was depicted as the Great Lady, his Mother.

The memory of the Holy Spirit as the Mother of Jesus is preserved in the writings of the Hebrew Christians. Origen often quoted from the Gospel of the Hebrews, which is now lost apart from quotations such as his. In this Gospel, Jesus says: ‘Even now did my mother the Holy Spirit take me by one of my hairs and carry me away to the great Mount Tabor’, possibly a reference to Jesus being driven into the desert by the Holy Spirit after his baptism. [11] Jerome, who is the main source of quotations from this Gospel, shows that the voice at Jesus’ baptism was the voice of the Spirit. ‘According to the Gospel written in the Hebrew speech… “It came to pass, when the LORD was come up out of the water, the whole fount of the Holy Spirit descended and rested upon him and said unto him: My son, in all the prophets I was waiting for thee, that though shouldst come and I might rest in thee. For thou are my rest, thou art my first begotten son that reignest for ever.”[12] The Gospel of Philip preserves another interesting tradition from the Hebrew Christians, for whom Spirit was a feminine noun. They said that the Spirit coming on Mary (Luke 1.35) could not be described as conception; presumably it was creation, as in Genesis 1. ‘Some say Mary conceived by the holy Spirit. They are in error. They do not know what they are saying. When did a woman ever conceive by a woman?’[13] Jesus spoke of the children of Wisdom (Luke 7.35).

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According to the refugees who argued with Jeremiah, the Queen of Heaven had been worshipped with incense, libations of wine and bread which represented her. Exactly the same was prescribed for the table in the temple for the shewbread. It was a table of gold on which were put ‘Plates and dishes for incense, flagons and bowls for libations, and the bread of the Presence (Exod.25.29). One of the few things known about the bread of the Presence is that it had to be baked in a special mould; the shape of this mould was never revealed, although it is depicted having upward curling ends. The process of baking the bread of the Presence was the family secret of the house of Garmu and they kept their secret [14]. The bread of the Presence was the only cereal offering taken into the temple itself, and the Mishnah records how this was done at the end of the second temple period. There were two tables in the porch of the temple and ‘On the table of marble they laid the bread of the Presence when it was brought in and on the table of gold when it was brought out, since what is holy must be raised and not brought down’. [15] Since gold was used for the most holy things, we conclude that the bread had acquired holiness whilst it was in the temple. The Targum described the bread of the Presence as the most sacred of all the offerings [16]. It was described as the most holy portion for the high priests, meaning that it imparted holiness to them (Lev.24.9) [17], and it was eaten by them each Sabbath, when the new loaves were taken into the temple. When the desert tabernacle was prepared for travelling, the furnishings had to be wrapped in two covers, to prevent any but the high priests from seeing them. The ark and the table, however, had have three coverings (Num.4.5-8).

How did the bread acquire this holiness and special status? The bread of the Presence, like other cereal offerings, was described as an azkarah, usually translated ‘a memorial offering’. The text in Leviticus could imply that the incense was the azkarah, but the Targums show that it was the bread itself. We have already met another form of this ambiguous word azkarah: did it mean remember or invoke? Did the Levites remember or invoke the LORD, was Moses told to remember the LORD by the newly revealed Name, or to invoke him? Here, the bread of the Presence is likely to have been not a memorial offering but an invocation offering, as this would explain its extreme holiness. Psalm 38 was to be sung with this type of offering, and includes the lines: ‘My God be not far from me, Make haste to help me’ (Ps.38.21-22). Psalm 70 was also for the azkarah: ‘O LORD make haste to help me… O LORD do not tarry.’ (Ps.70.1,5). These are invocations. The bread of the Presence must have been a means of the LORD’s presence in the temple. If the words of institution at the Last Supper had been spoken in Hebrew or Aramaic, anamnesis would have represented azkarah, invocation offering, and so the bread could have been the bread of the Presence. (Luke 22.19; 1 Cor.11.24)

Presence (panim which literally means faces, hence the prosopa of later Trinitarian language), must have been a reverent circumlocution. There are many places in the Greek Old Testament where panim is understood as adding emphasis, and not as ‘presence’ in any special sense. Thus ‘My Presence will go with you’ — the LORD’s promise to Moses (Exod.33.14), became in Greek ‘I myself (autos) will go with you.’‘The Angel of his Presence saved them’ (Isa.63.9) became in Greek ‘Not an ambassador nor an angel but he himself saved them.’ The Angel of the Presence was the LORD, and so the bread of the Presence must have been the bread of the divine Presence. It would be interesting to know what was said to the priests as they received their piece of bread each Sabbath.

Wisdom invited her devotees to her table. ‘Come eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed. Leave simpleness and live, and walk in the way of discernment. (Prov.9.5-6). Wisdom presided at a table where bread and wine were taken, and by taking her bread and wine her devotees acquired Life and Wisdom. Later writers knew that Wisdom gave herself in her bread: ‘Those who eat me will hunger for more’ (Ben Sira 24.21). The Genesis Rabbah, the traditional Jewish commentary on Genesis, says that the bread which Melchizedek brought to Abraham was the bread of the Presence, and there follows a reference to this passage in Proverbs 9 about Wisdom’s table. [18] Those who participated in the Eucharist described in the Didache gave thanks for knowledge and eternal life, and Bishop Serapion in fourth century Egypt prayed at the Eucharist that his people might become living and wise. And what might have been the background to the Western text of Luke 22, where Jesus takes the bread and says ‘This is my Body.’

On of the problems at the beginning of the second temple period, according to the prophet Malachi, was that the bread set on the table was polluted [19]. ‘With such a gift he will not lift up his Presence upon you’ (Mal.1.9). The LORD could not be present with polluted bread, and what follows came to be regarded by the Church as a prophecy of the Eucharist. ‘From the rising of the sun to its setting, my Name is great among the nations, and in every place incense is offered to my Name and a pure cereal offering’ (Mal.1.11) [20] By implication, the Eucharist restored the bread of the Presence. Enoch too complained about the polluted bread in the second temple (1 Enoch 89.73).

Epiphanius, a bishop writing in the middle of the fourth century, described how women in Arabia (where the disaffected priests in the time of Josiah had settled) offered a small loaf of bread to Mary, and he linked this custom to the worship of the Queen of Heaven described in Jeremiah. Epiphanius dismissed the whole idea as ridiculous, but did describe how they used to decorate a chair or square stool, and covered it with cloth. They put out bread there and offered it in Mary’s name. Then the women ate the bread [21]. This is clearly a garbled account, but very interesting. It seems as though a loaf of bread was enthroned before it was eaten. Bread to represent her, perhaps.

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Ezekiel, who was a priest in the first temple and was deported to Babylon, described how the Lady left the temple. In his two visions of the chariot throne, the one as it left the temple and the other as it appeared to him on the banks of the River Chebar in Babylon, he described a male and female figure. Most English versions of these chapters (Ezek.1 and 10) attempt to cope with the confusing Hebrew by smoothing over the evidence for what Ezekiel was actually describing [22]. There are four (feminine) Living Ones in human form (Ezek.1.5), and they had four faces/presences, wings and hands. In the midst of the Living Ones was fire, and she/they were in the midst of a wheel within a wheel, and the rings were full of points of light/eyes. Wherever the Spirit went, the wheels went, because the Spirit of the Living One, (feminine singular) was in the wheels (Ezek.1.20). Over the heads (plural) of the Living One (fem. singular) there was the likeness of the firmament, like the gleam of terrible ice/crystal, and above this there was a throne on which was a human form, the likeness of the glory of the LORD (Ezek.1.28). Immediately after this vision, Ezekiel was given a scroll and told to eat it (Ezek.3.1-2). Since Ezekiel was describing the heavenly throne, this must have been how he imagined the Holy of holies; the throne, and beneath it the gleaming firmament, and beneath that, a fourfold fiery, female figure with wings and hands. Ezekiel heard a sound ‘like the voice of Shaddai’, which must have been the name of the Living One (Ezek.1.24; 10.5). There is a similar description in chapter 10, where he described the Glory leaving the temple: ‘As for their appearances, they four had one likeness, as if a wheel had been in the midst of a wheel’ (Ezek.10.10 AV); ‘All their body (singular body, plural suffix) was full of points of light’ (Ezek.10.12); ‘She is the Living One that I saw by the River Chebar (Ezek.10.15); ‘She is the Living One I saw beneath the God of Israel by the River Chebar’ (Ezek.10.20). One very obscure verse (Ezek.10.12) seems to say that all flesh, that is, all created things, were the points of light within the wheels. This was the Lady as Ezekiel knew her, leaving the temple. We are accustomed to translating the plural form elohim as God, singular; it is likely that the Living One was also described in singular and plural forms.

What Ezekiel saw was a wheel within a wheel, (or a ring within a ring), and those rings were full of points of light. In the midst of the rings was a fourfold fiery female figure, the Living One, with hands and wings. Overhead was the firmament, gleaming like ice, and above this, the heavenly throne. Ezekiel was then given a scroll. The Living One whom Ezekiel saw leaving the temple must have been the Queen of Heaven, Wisdom. It is remarkable how many details of Ezekiel’s vision appear in the ikon of the Holy Wisdom.

Elsewhere (Ezek.28.12-19), Ezekiel described an anointed guardian cherub, full of Wisdom and perfect in beauty, who was driven out of the Garden of Eden. The cherub was the seal, and must have been the high priest, because the Greek version of the list of twelve gemstones worn by the cherub is an exact description of the high priest’s breastplate (Ezek.28.13; Exod.28.17-20). Fire came forth from the midst of the cherub — who must have been a fiery being — and consumed the holy place. What is remarkable is that the anointed guardian cherub high priest was female. In its present form the oracle concerns the king of Tyre, but Tyre and Zion are very similar words in Hebrew, and the Hebrew text has already been distorted to conceal the gems of the high priest’s breastplate. Only the Greek has the full list. Ben Sira, writing some four centuries after Ezekiel’s vision, described Wisdom as the one who served in the temple of Zion. She was the high priest (Ben Sira 24.10).

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The other great symbol of wisdom was the Tree of Life. ‘She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her, those who hold fast to her are called happy.’ (Proverbs 3.18). ‘Happy’ here is the Hebrew word asher, which may be word play on her name Asheratah. Ben Sira, writing in Jerusalem about 200 BCE has Wisdom compare herself to all manner of trees: ‘I grew tall like a cedar in Lebanon, like a cypress in the height s of Hermon, I grew tall like a palm tree in Engedi, like rose plants in Jericho, like a beautiful plane tree I grew tall’ (Ben Sira 24.13-14). Enoch reveals more about the Great Tree. On his visionary journey in heaven, he saw a great tree by the throne, ‘whose fragrance was beyond all fragrance, and whose leaves and blossoms and wood never wither or rot (1 Enoch 24.4). No mortal could touch the tree until after the great judgement, when its fruit would be given to the chosen ones, and the tree itself transplanted again into the temple. The fruit of the tree was sometimes compared to the clusters on a palm (thus here) or to grapes. The tree is fully described in a text which was part of a small Christian library, hidden in a cave in Egypt in the fourth century and rediscovered in 1945. The text is usually identified as Gnostic, but texts such as these are full of temple imagery and traditions, and labels such as Gnostic (and therefore heretical) should not be applied with too much confidence. ‘The colour of the tree of life is like the sun, and its branches are beautiful. Its leaves are like those of the cypress, its fruit is like a bunch of white grapes.’ Enoch reveals something more about this tree; it is the place where the LORD rests when he is in Paradise. ‘I saw Paradise, and in the midst, the tree of life, at that place where the LORD takes his rest when he goes (up) to Paradise… That tree is indescribable for pleasantness and fragrance, and more beautiful than any created thing. its appearance is gold and crimson and with the form of fire’ (2 Enoch 8.4).

In an account of the life of Adam and Eve written at the end of the second temple period, when God returns to Paradise, the chariot throne rests at the tree of life and all the flowers come into bloom. [23] The synagogue at Dura Europas depicts a king enthroned in a tree. The tree was inseparable from the throne itself. Reigning from the tree became a Christian theme, and the subject of controversy with Jews. Justin claimed that the they had removed words from Psalm 96.10, which were important for Christians. The verse had originally been: ‘Say among the nations “The LORD reigns from the tree”’, but, he claimed, ‘from the tree’ had been removed [24]. The Letter of Barnabas hints at this longer reading by saying that the royal kingdom of Jesus was founded on a tree [25], and the longer version of Psalm 96 was known to several early Christian writers. ‘From the tree’ does not appear in any version presently known, but the tree of life and what it represented was a point of contention between Jews and Christians. In the Book of Revelation, faithful Christians were promised that they would eat the fruit of the tree of life (Rev.2.7; 22.14), which stood by the throne of God-and-the-Lamb, watered by the river of life.

In the time of Jesus, the veneration of the Lady and her tree was not just a distant memory. Juvenal, the Roman satirist writing early in the second century CE, described a poor Jewish woman, possibly a refugee, as a fortune teller ‘an interpreter of the laws of Jerusalem, a high priestess of the tree, a reliable mediator with highest heaven.’[26] In a section of the Mishnah dealing with idolatry, there are prohibitions which must have been directed against the cult of the Lady. ‘If a man finds an object on which there is a figure of the sun, a figure of the moon or a figure of the dragon (cf. Rev.12), he must throw them into the Dead Sea’[27]. ‘If a tree was planted from the first for idolatry, it was forbidden. If it was chopped and trimmed for idolatry, and it sprouted afresh, one need only take away what had sprouted afresh; but if a Gentile set up an idol under the tree and then desecrated it, the tree was permitted’[28]. Even to walk under such a tree made one unclean. Bread baked with wood taken from the Asherah was unclean, any garment woven with a shuttle made from Asherah wood was unclean. Branches from an Asherah or from an apostate city could not be used in Tabernacles processions [29]. This is an interesting list: the sun, the moon, and a dragon is reminiscent of the Lady in Revelation 12: bread and weaving are associated with the Lady, apostate cities show that this was not a matter of pagan practice but a dispute within the Hebrew community; and a shaped tree immediately suggests the menorah, which was a stylised almond tree (Exod.25.31-37).

In the time of the Messiah five things were to be restored to the temple; the fire, the ark, the Spirit, the cherubim and the menorah. Since the asherah was remembered as a stylised tree, the older English translations of the Bible, made before the discoveries at Ugarit revealed the existence of the goddess Athirat, translated asherah as ‘grove’, following the Greek. It was forbidden to plant a grove of trees near any altar of the LORD (Deut.16.21 King James Version); Jezebel had 400 prophets of the groves (1 Kgs 18.19, KJV). The asherah removed by Josiah would have been a stylised tree, and the only stylised tree associated with the temple was the menorah, the tree of fire which was the tree of life, and therefore a symbol of the Lady who was being removed. This menorah was remembered as the true menorah. There as a seven branched lamp in the second temple — it is depicted on the arch of Titus among the loot from the temple which was taken to Rome — yet people still looked for the restoration of the true menorah in the time of the Messiah.

The Lady’s tree of fire appears in another story, where her demise is the preface to the story of Moses and the Exodus. The burning bush was her tree of fire. The story of Moses learning the new name for God at the burning bush is recognised by scholars as the point at which the compilers of the Pentateuch joined together the two traditions. Abraham, Melchizedek and the patriarchs were joined to Moses and the Exodus, and the God of the Patriarchs was renamed. At the burning bush a voice said that the name to be used in future was yhwh (Exod.3.15). Later, we read: ‘God said to Moses: I am the LORD. I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob as El Shaddai, but by my name the LORD I did not make myself known to them’ (Exod.6.3). Ezekiel had described the voice of the Living One as the voice of Shaddai. Now Shaddai has been translated in various ways, most often by Almighty, but the usual meaning of this Hebrew word is breasts, suggesting that El Shaddai had a female aspect. In the stories of the patriarchs, El Shaddai was associated with the gift of fertility: ‘May El Shaddai bless you and make you fruitful and multiply you’ (Gen.28.3); ‘I am El Shaddai; be fruitful and multiply… kings shall spring from you’ (Gen.35.11); ‘El Shaddai… who will bless you with the blessings of the breast and of the womb…’ (Gen.49.25). If the story of the burning bush does represent the transition from the older religion to that of the Deuteronomists, then we should have an explanation for the later Christian custom of representing Mary by the burning bush. This fiery tree had been the ancient symbol of the Mother of the LORD; sometimes Mary is depicted literally within the burning bush, sometimes there is simply a fiery tree named ‘the Mother of God’, and sometimes the burning bush ikon depicts Mother and Son surrounded by the angels of the weathers, that is, the angels of Day One in the Holy of Holies.

The oil which anointed royal high priest and made him the LORD, the child of Wisdom, the Son of God, was perfumed oil from the tree of life. Wisdom was described by Ben Sira as the oil itself: a sweet perfume of myrrh, cinnamon and olive oil (Ben Sira 24.15) as prescribed in the instructions for the tabernacle (Exod.30.23-25). Enoch described the experience of being anointed with this oil as he stood before the throne: ‘The LORD said to Michael: “Go and take Enoch from his earthly clothing (from his mortal body) and put on his the clothes of my glory (his resurrection body). And so Michael did just as the LORD commanded him. He anointed me and he clothed me, and the appearance of that oil is greater than the greatest light, and its ointment is like sweet dew (the symbol of resurrection) and its fragrance is myrrh, and it is like the rays of the glittering sun. And I looked at myself and I had become like one of the glorious ones”’ Enoch then saw the vision of the six days of creation [30]. The myrrh oil as the sacrament of apotheosis was mentioned by Pope Leo the Great in one of his Epiphany sermons: ‘He offers myrrh who believes that God’s only begotten son united to himself man’s true nature.’[31]

The perfumed anointing oil was kept in the holy of holies, and when the royal high priest was anointed, he received the gift of Wisdom herself: resurrection life, vision, knowledge and true wealth. The high priest was anointed on his head and between his eyelids — a curious detail which must have symbolised the opening of his eyes. When the oil was hidden away in the time of Josiah, Enoch said that the priests lost their vision. This is the context of the Messianic prophecy in Isaiah 11: The Spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him, the spirit of Wisdom, understanding, counsel, might, knowledge and the fear of the LORD.’ The text continues, translating literally: ‘His fragrance shall be the fear of the LORD.’

Memories of the gift of Wisdom in the fragrant myrrh oil appear in a variety of texts from the early Christian period. John wrote in his first letter: ‘You have the chrism from the Holy One and you know all things… you have no need for anyone to teach you anything’ (1 John 2.20,27). In the Clementine Recognitions, Clement attributed to Peter this explanation of the word Christ: ‘The Son of God, the Beginning of all things, became Man. He was the first whom God anointed with oil taken from the wood of the tree of life’ Peter said Christ would in turn anoint those who entered the Kingdom. Peter continued, ‘Aaron the first high priest was anointed with a composition of chrism which was made after the pattern of the spiritual ointment’ and if this earthly copy was so powerful, how much greater, he argued, was that chrism extracted from a branch of the tree of life. [32] A collection of early Christian hymns known as The Odes of Solomon includes lines such as: ‘My eyes were enlightened and my face received the dew, and my soul was refreshed with the pleasant fragrance of the LORD’ and ‘He anointed me with his perfection and I became as one of those who are near him.’[33] Paul wrote to the Corinthians about ‘the fragrance of the knowledge of Christ… a fragrance from life to life’ (2 Cor.2.14,16), meaning a fragrance from the tree of life which leads to life. Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land used to bring back little flasks of oil inscribed: ‘Oil from the tree of life’. [34]

The Lady was never really lost. Throughout the Bible and related texts, there is a whole network of symbolism through which the characteristic Wisdom theology was transmitted. Much of this is now more familiar as imagery associated with Mary. It appears, for example, in Akathist Hymn, where Mary is described as the Queen and Mother, the fiery throne, the dwelling place of the light, the lampstand, the fiery chariot of the Word, the food that replaced the manna, the tree of glorious fruit from which believers are nourished, the scent of Christ’s fragrance, and the unburned Bush. The roots of all this imagery lie in the first temple, which had been the house of Wisdom, the Queen of Heaven, the Mother of the LORD. In view of her importance, it is not surprising that the great churches were dedicated to the Holy Wisdom.


[1]

The most likely meaning of the uncertain Hebrew of 2 Kings 23.7.

[2]

Numbers Rabbah XV 10.

[3]

b.Horayoth 12a.

[4]

R.Kletter, ‘Between Archaeology and Theology. The Pillar Figurines from Judah and the Asherah’ in Studies in the Archaeology of the Iron Age in Israel and Jordan, ed. M.Mazar, Sheffield, 2001, pp.179-216.

[5]

A good way into the debate is J.Day, Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan, Sheffield, 2000.

[6]

These texts can all be found in N.Wyatt, Religious Texts from Ugarit. The Words of Ilimilku and his Colleagues, Sheffield, 1998.

[7]

N.Wyatt, ‘The Stela of the seated God from Ugarit’ in Ugarit-Forschungen 15 (1983), pp. 271-77.

[8]

Targum Neofiti; translation by M.McNamara, Edinburgh, 1992.

[9]

Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho 78; translation in Ante Nicene Fathers vol.1. Clement, Miscellanies 7.93; translation in Ante Nicene Fathers vol.2. Origen, Commentary on Matthew 10.17; translation in Ante Nicene Christian Library (additional volume), Edinburgh, 1897 reprinted Grand Rapids 1974.

[10]

Papyrus Bodmer V.

[11]

Origen, Commentary on John 2.12; translation in Fathers of the Church vol 80 Washington 1989. Homily 15.4 On Jeremiah; translation in Fathers of the Church 97, Washington, 1998.

[12]

Jerome, On Isaiah 11.2; translation in M.R.James, The Apocryphal New Testament, Oxford, 1926 reprinted 1980, p.5.

[13]

Gospel of Philip C.G II.3.55; translation in The Nag Hammadi Library in English, ed. J.M.Robinson, Leiden, 1996.

[14]

Mishnah Yoma 3.11; translation in H.Danby, The Mishnah, Oxford, 1933 reprinted 1989. Babylonian Talmud Menahoth 94ab translation by I.Epstein, 35 vols, London 1935 reprinted 1961.

[15]

Mishnah Menahoth 11.7.

[16]

Targum Onkelos Lev.24.9.

[17]

It was later given to all the priests Mishnah Menahoth 11.7.

[18]

Genesis Rabbah XLIII.6.

[19]

Mal.1.7-9 has ‘bread’, not food, in both the Hebrew and the Greek, despite some English translations.

[20]

Quoted by e.g. Justin, Dialogue with Trypho 41; translation in Ante Nicene Fathers vol.1.

[21]

Epiphanius, Panarion 1.79, translation by F.Williams, Leiden, 1987.

[22]

The only English version to give a fair representation of the Hebrew is the King James Version.

[23]

Apocalypse of Moses 22; translation in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, ed. J.H.Charlesworth, vol 2, London, 1985.

[24]

Dialogue with Trypho 71.

[25]

Letter of Barnabas 8.

[26]

Juvenal, Satires 6. 543-5.

[27]

m.‘Aboda Zarah 3.2.

[28]

m.‘Aboda Zarah 3.7.

[29]

m.Sukkah 3.1-3.

[30]

2 Enoch 22; translation in Charlesworth, Old Testament Pseudepigrapha vol.1.

[31]

Sermon 6; translation in Fathers of the Church 93, 1996.

[32]

Clementine Recognitions 1.45-6; translation in Ante Nicene Fathers vol.8.

[33]

Odes of Solomon 11 and 36; translation in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha vol.2, ed. J.H.Charlesworth, London, 1985.

[34]

A.Grabar, Ampoules de Terre Sainte, Paris, 1958.

 

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A Fire Cast to the Earth

Dear Friends,

Spirituality is in, religion is out, yet the widespread habit today in making a distinction between the two has emerged only quite recently. I am very sure that to many minds, the notion that there could be a eucharistic spirituality, i.e., a spirituality centered on the celebration of the Mass, would come as a novel idea. Religion is all about belief, isn’t? Well, no, not quite. Religion can be about belief certainly, but also about authentic spiritual experience. It can be, for example, about the incontrovertible experience of a fire cast onto the earth, about a sanctifying fire cast into the heart of the communing believer at the Sacrifice of the Mass. As Saint Faustina, canonized in the year 2000, once wrote:

“I have come to know that Holy Communion remains in me until the next Holy Communion. A vivid and clearly felt presence of God continues in my soul. The awareness of this plunges me into deep recollection, without the slightest effort on my part. My heart is a living Tabernacle in which the living Host is reserved. I have never sought God in some far-off place, but within myself. It is in the depths of my own being that I commune with my God.”

Here follow three essays on eucharistic spirituality from three different points of view. In reading them we can gain a sense of the real possibilities offered to those looking for a true spiritual experience of the Living God within their own being, an experience leading beyond belief, an experience upholding understanding, an experience that enters into a real knowing.

Pax et bonum,
Randall Scott 

 

The Sanctifying Fire of Frequent Communion

by Roger Buck

It was in the late seventeenth century in France in Paray-le-Monial that St Margaret Mary was to receive not only visions of the Sacred Heart, but from That Heart many commandments, encouragements and promises.

These would form the basis of the public cult of the Sacred Heart, whose elements were once well-known in the Church before Vatican II: the Holy Hour on Thursday night sharing Gethsemane, the First Fridays of Reparation, the annual Feast of the Sacred Heart and still more.

But what Our Lord also asked of St Margaret Mary is that she receive Holy Communion as often as obedience permitted. Now in the monastic life, the ideal would have often been frequently, even daily.

Certainly monks and nuns receive daily today …

The monastic life! The monastic life, which once spread out across Europe before Protestantising forces (e.g. Henry VIII in England) and Secularising forces (e.g. French Revolutionary) literally razed the monasteries to the ground and assimilated their property into the state …

Before the destruction of monastic life, frequent reception of Holy Communion was thus a widespread part of the devout Catholic life (although it was clearly challenged on certain fronts, including in movements like Jansenism).

But in the origins of the Cult of the Sacred Heart born in Paray-le-Monial, Our Lord appears and it seems to me that He appears offering many things as a remedy toward the Protestantising and Secularising forces sweeping across Christendom. And that among these may be an impetus for more frequent communion.

Now I am a layperson with the distinctive sense of a lay vocation that calls to effort towards re-awakening the spirituality of the Sacred Heart, lost to the hurricane “Spirit of Vatican II”. And I take this call to frequent Holy Communion given to St. Margaret Mary as a call to myself in these troubled times.

Now I am also an erstwhile New Ager with a wide variety of influences in my past. Among these is the example of certain so-called “Christian Esotericists” who cannot be considered New Agers, even if the Church cannot consider them as anything other than heretics.

Whatever their position, may it be said that these “Christian esotericists” are not New Agers in that they frequently abhor so very much that the New Age stands for and they venerate the Mystery of Calvary – sometimes with a deeper reverence than many Catholics.

Yet these so-called “Christian Esotericists” are frequently and tragically pitted against the Church in countless ways. Among these ways is their commonly held notion that the Sacrament of Holy Communion though important in the past, is becoming less so now as humanity evolves to greater heights.

And this of course is an idea very redolent of New Age tendencies to this effect: “We do not need; we are self-sufficient; we do not need to pray for Grace; and we especially do not need the Sanctifying Grace of the Sacraments given through an Institution …”

And meanwhile as the Sanctifying Grace of the Church is spurned on countless fronts, we develop a world civilisation which is ever more materialistic and beginning to literally burn.

Yes the idea that we need less, rather than more of the Sacraments seems to me perhaps more dangerous today than ever.

The more I pray and ponder, the more I feel the need for recognising a certain FIRE that it seems to me is enkindled by frequent reception of the Sacraments. That is, it seems to me that frequent reception of the Sacraments among other things can be experienced as vitalising and strengthening for the Good.

Now I am well aware of the course, that the rule of the Catholic Church is Holy Communion simply on Sundays and the Holy Days of obligation. I am aware that in the Orthodox East, the tradition is akin.

Yet in Paray-le-Monial, the Sacred Heart appears and calls St Margaret Mary to many things, which become the basis for many aspects of the Cult, a Cult that as Valentin Tomberg indicates here is perhaps meant to counter the danger of humanity being reduced to soulless “clever beasts” …

“I am come to cast fire on the earth; and what will I, but that it be kindled?” (Luke xii 49 from the Douay-Rheims)

The idea that we need less, rather than more of the Sacraments seems to me perhaps more dangerous today than ever. The more I pray and ponder, the more I feel the need for recognising a certain FIRE that it seems to me is enkindled by frequent reception of the Sacraments.

That is, it seems to me, that frequent reception of the Sacraments among other things, is vitalising and strengthening for the Good.”

Now it might be objected: is there any need to point out the Sanctifying Fire of Frequent Communion?

For it is surely evident on numerous fronts. First and most obviously, it should be apparent that whilst such Sacraments as Confirmation and Holy Orders are given once and for all, it is clear with other Sacraments that the Grace they confer is not the same: it can and does need to be augmented. And how could an intended, frequent augmentation of the Real Presence of Christ be anything other than vitalising and strenghtening?

Nonetheless, I think the need exists on numerous fronts to proclaim this Sacred Fire. For awareness of it is being buried, not only outside the Church, but also within it (as with a liturgy that does little indeed to signal that anything out of the ordinary is happening at the altar).

And I think the Sacred Fire must be advocated on several fronts simultaneously. There is for example, the kind of theological reasoning that I have just employed.

But there are other arguments. For instance, there is the testimony of the Saints. Here then as a single example, is what that greatest of twentieth century Saints, Padre Pio said:

“The surest means of remaining immune to the pestiferous disease that surrounds us is to fortify ourselves with Eucharistic food.”

But yet another line of advocating the Sacred Fire engendered by frequent reception is to share of one’s personal experience.

To share of one’s personal experience! I would like to indicate here my gratitude to all those who, since I became a Catholic ten years ago, have spoken to me in private of their personal experience of this Sacred Fire. Their personal testimony has certainly helped me. I have heard very beautiful and on occasion, amazing things …

Thus meagre as it might be in comparison with theological reasoning and the testimony of Saints, I would like to venture here my own personal testiment, in the hope that it might help someone, somewhere.

I feel enlivened, succoured, helped more than I can ever say by daily reception. There is a subtle, yet palpable feeling often present on receiving the Sacrament. It is so subtle as to evade easy definition. But one word that comes is wholesomeness

It is as though I feel something very, very wholesome has been added into me. Then there is that word peace. In the modern liturgy how banal do these words often sound: “Peace be with you.” Yet in the Peace of Christ, there is nothing banal at all ….

And how I miss this wholesomeness, this peace when I miss Holy Communion. A day suffices to register the loss. But those times where the absence of the Sacrament has been forced for several days – sometimes due to illness – how different do I feel then.

The loss can feel particularly acute. Something is palpably, palpably MISSING in my life.

Speaking personally, I would also like to speak of suffering. There are times in my life, like in all lives, where I have had to bear great fear, desperation, I have felt bereft …

And how helped I have felt then by the daily reception of this Sacrament. I have felt very much strengthened and given courage to proceed.

If you dear Reader, are a Catholic reading these words and you are suffering a great burden and you do not know the comforting and strengthening of daily communion, may I suggest an experiment to you?

May I suggest that you resolve to go to daily Communion for an extended period, perhaps two weeks or three. And then to review your experience, afterwards. If you are like me, this review may reveal something of life-changing import.

But if you are like me, dear Reader, you may also find that the daily experience of many an inane celebration of the new Mass in the vernacular difficult to bear. (I think that those who do not see a problem with the new liturgy are often those who do not endure it daily!)

Because of this global tragedy, I will say that that our Links page has an updated listing of sites where the Tridentine Mass can be found throughout the world.

I will also note that if you are in a city, you may well have a variety of Novus Ordos to choose from. Though it is tragically hard to find good liturgy on a Sunday, you may find in the weekdays especially, a Novus Ordo priest celebrating a simple twenty-five minute Mass with dignity and reverence.

For standing against the tide, deep gratitude is owed to such priests I believe and if you are suffering, dear Unknown Friend, you may find that a daily Novus Ordo costs little of your time, yet will produce the most remarkable effects in your soul …

Thus dear Reader, this is my individual recommendation to you, if you do not know first-hand the power of daily Communion.

But I would like to conclude these words on the global note, with which I began.

We live in a time of deepening materialism. This deepening materialism threatens to destroy us. Where Secularists, New Agers and even so-called “Christian Esotericists” would have us spurn or at very least relativise the Power of the Sacraments, I am asking myself more deeply than ever, if we who are Catholic and who know this sacred fire, need to do all that we can, not only to call people to the Church, but to call them to the precious fire of very frequent communion.

For it seems to me that this kind of very frequent communion could be one of the greatest LEAVENS for our society in a path of descent …

Sr. Faustina Kowalska: A Model for Eucharistic Spirituality

by Sr. Medileine Grace, C.V.I.

Few Roman Catholics remain ignorant of the influence of Helena Kowalska, known by her religious name Sr. Faustina, largely because of the Divine Mercy devotion. Our recent pontiff, John Paul II, visited her shrine daily when he worked as a young man in the Solvay factory1 and later had her autobiography retranslated,2 opening the way for her canonization and bringing much notoriety to the short life of this simple Polish religious. John Paul’s encyclical Dives in Misericordia, having preceded the canonization by twenty years, provided the immediate pathway for reiterating the importance of Divine Mercy within the plan of salvation. However, few Catholics know how Sr. Mary Faustina of the Blessed Sacrament relied on the Eucharist in her spiritual journey.

Within the Kowalska household, only six of ten children survived infancy. Helena’s parents said that she sanctified the womb, as hers was the first uncomplicated birth. She came from a deeply religious home, typified by her father’s practice of beginning each day with the singing of the Little Office of the Immaculate Conception. She herself received the sacraments of penance and the Eucharist at the age of nine. She received the sacrament of penance weekly and would get up early to do her chores so that she could get to Mass each Sunday. She worked as a maid for various families and, after engaging in this role for a short time, she conveyed to her parents her desire to enter a convent. She was refused entrance on the grounds that her father did not have a dowry.3

However, Helena’s call to religious life became steadily stronger. In fact, she envisioned Christ at her side stripped of his clothing and covered with wounds, saying: “How long shall I put up with you and how long will you keep putting me off?”4 After praying for enlightenment, she came to know that she was to go to Warsaw and there enter a convent.5 She left for Warsaw through her uncle’s he with only the clothes on her back, terrified at what the future would bring. After attending Mass there in the city and seeking the counsel of a priest, she was directed to a family where she served as a maid. Following the direction of a woman she was working for, she knocked on several convent doors, only to be refused because they did not accept maids. However, the Mother Superior of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy told her to go to the chapel to ask the Lord if he accepted her. Helena came back with an affirmative answer.6 Yet Helena’s poverty remained a major obstacle. While the Holy See could dispense the requirement for a dowry, she still needed a wardrobe, so the Mother Superior suggested she work to pay that expense. A year later she took a private vow of chastity at Vespers on the feast of Corpus Christi, June 25, 1925. Her favorite hymn at this time reflected her commitment:

Jesus hidden in the Blessed Sacrament
Him I must adore;
Renounce everything for his sake,
Live only by his love.7

Although her sister Genevieve attempted to “rescue” her from the religious life, Helena remained steadfast and entered the convent August 1, 1925. The congregation was little more than a hundred years old then, having been founded in imitation of Christ to extend the Lord’s mercy to those who are in spiritual misery.8 After only three weeks in formation, she experienced a strong temptation to leave, but again she sensed the Lord saying to her, “It is you who will cause me this pain if you leave this convent. It is to this place that I called you and nowhere else; and I have prepared many graces for you.”9 During her postulancy, she suffered from ill health and was sent to a summer home for the sisters, where she prepared meals. There she experienced visions of the souls in purgatory, for whom she offered her sufferings.10 The novitiate followed, and Sr. Faustina managed her difficult physical work through the Lord’s assistance: “From today on you will do this easily: I shall strengthen you . . . I change such hard work of yours into bouquets of most beautiful flowers, and their perfume rises up to my throne.”11 Yet, during the end of her first year of novitiate, she began to experience a “dark night of the soul” that lasted six months. At that time she chose to empty herself before the Lord by an active love.12 As a temporary professed sister, Sr. Faustina’s poor health did not improve. While her superiors were very solicitous toward her, rumors reached her that she was only pretending illness. She was then told by the Lord that other souls would profit from her sufferings.13

The first image of Divine Mercy came to Sr. Faustina on February 22, 1931. After seeing this image, she was told to paint it and include the words “Jesus, I trust in you.” She was further instructed to have the image venerated in the sisters’ chapel and around the world. Christ himself would defend the image. Sr. Faustina’s confessor, however, told her to paint the image in her soul and nothing more. The Lord then conveyed to her that the image was already in her soul and that the Sunday after Easter was to be the feast of Divine Mercy. Sr. Faustina’s sisters began to openly speak to her as if she was hysterical, and her superior asked for some sign. In all of these trials, the Lord was a great spiritual strength to her, especially through the reception of the Eucharist.14 To her great surprise, after her sufferings within the community, she was permitted to make final vows. It was during this preparation period that the Lord called her to be a victim soul for others. She suffered the stigmata within her heart and body, a fact known only by her confessor because no external signs conveyed this suffering. She was urged to pray this prayer for sinners that they might know the grace of conversion: “O blood and water, which gushed forth from the heart of Jesus as a fount of mercy for us, I trust in you.”15 She made her final vows in 1933, stating to the Lord that she was leaving the novitiate but would always be his novice, attentive to his lectures.16

Sr. Faustina was sent to Vilnius in 1933 where she served as chief gardener. There she met the spiritual director, Father Sopocko, whom she had seen in previous visions. Through his intervention, the image of Divine Mercy was placed on canvas. Sr. Faustina continued to suffer all sorts of persecution. She looked upon humiliations as her daily food and feared that if she ever had a day without the Eucharist, she could not continue.17 At one point, on October 26, 1934, when Sr. Faustina was receiving the vision of Divine Mercy, one of the sisters saw rays of light, but not the image of Christ, leading Sr. Faustina to make a statement regarding it.

After ten years of religious life, Sr. Faustina was given the opportunity to visit her family, as it was feared her mother was at the point of death. In fact, her mother became well on seeing her and went to Mass with the family the next day. Sr. Faustina was able to visit with all the family save two sisters who the Lord promised would receive necessary and special graces.18

During the last three years of her life, Sr. Faustina was seized by the belief that the Lord wished her to found a new community. This belief originally came to her on Pentecost of 1935. Six months later, when the local archbishop heard of this request to leave her congregation to establish a new one, he referred to it as a serious interior temptation. One of her confessors later echoed this belief. She, in turn, prayed for each of her confessors. Sr. Faustina herself found that something in her resisted this movement and she entered into a deep interior struggle. When she conveyed this struggle to her Superior, she was told, “Sister, I am locking you in the Tabernacle with the Lord Jesus; wherever you go from there, that will be the will of God.”19 During this interim, the Lord taught Sr. Faustina the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. Through the intercession of her regular confessor, Father Sopocko, this devotion was gradually made known to the local Catholic population. It was a time, however, when she was taunted by the devil and physical suffering. In fact, the first signs of tuberculosis appeared in December 1936. She was likewise given a vision of heaven and called forth to practice mercy, especially in the sanatorium for TB patients. She found herself being taken back and forth from the sanatorium to the convent as 1936 moved toward the new year.20

When Sr. Faustina found that her physical condition was most vulnerable, she prayed that she might have strength enough to receive the sacrament:

My Master, I ask you with all my thirsting heart to give me, if this is according to your holy will, any suffering and weakness that you like — I want to suffer all day and all night — but please, I fervently beg you, strengthen me for the one moment when I am to receive Holy Communion. You see very well, Jesus, that here they do not bring Holy Communion to the sick; so, if you do not strengthen me for that moment so that I can go down to the chapel, how can I receive you in the Mystery of Love? And you know how much my heart longs for you. O my sweet Spouse, what’s the good of all these reasonings? You know how ardently I desire you, and if you so choose you can do this for me.21

Sr. Faustina found herself “perfectly well,” for her faintings and weakness had ceased. However, as soon as she returned from the sanatorium to the convent, these afflictions were waiting for her. Yet Sr. Faustina did not fear illness as she had been nourished by the “Bread of the Strong.”22 She grew in the awareness that a sacrificial love was for the salvation of souls. The fruit of her prayer is seen as she entered into a spiritual marriage with the Lord and gained a greater knowledge of the unity of the three persons of the Trinity.23 On August 22, 1937, she had a vision of St. Barbara, who recommended that she offer Holy Communion for nine days for her country, thus “appeasing God’s anger.”24 On the first Friday of September, Sr. Faustina chose, during the time of reception of the Eucharist, to offer herself in total abandonment to God’s will. She thus composed her own Act of Oblation which is found in its fullness in her Diary:

Jesus-Host, whom I have this very moment received into my heart, in this union with you I offer myself to the Heavenly Father as a sacrificial host, abandoning myself totally and completely to the most merciful holy will of my God. From today onward, your will, Lord, is my food. You have my whole being; dispose of me as you please . . . I no longer fear any of your inspirations, nor do I probe anxiously to see where they will lead me . . . I have placed all my trust in your will which is, for me, love and mercy itself.25

Sr. Faustina was moved from gardener to gatekeeper due to her poor health. Since the times in Poland were so unsettled, she asked the Lord not to send evil persons to the gate. She was told that a Cherub was there to guard it; “Be at peace.” When she returned to her gate, she saw a little white cloud and a cherub in it with folded hands. His countenance was like lightening, reflecting the fire of the love of God.26

Even though Sr. Faustina saw all suffering as redemptive and therefore graciously took this mission on, her consolation and delight were found in her spiritual union with the Lord through the Eucharist. One incident of this mystical union she recorded in her Diary:

I receive Holy Communion in the manner of the angels, so to speak. My soul is filled with God’s light and nourishes itself from him. My feelings are as if dead . . . The Lord gave me knowledge of the graces which he has been constantly lavishing on me. This light pierced me through and through, and I came to understand the inconceivable favors that God has been bestowing on me. I stayed in my cell for a long act of thanksgiving, lying face down on the ground and shedding tears of gratitude. I could not rise from the ground because, whenever I tried to do so, God’s light gave me new knowledge of his grace. It was only at the third attempt that I was able to get up. As his child, I felt that everything the Heavenly Father possessed was equally mine. He himself lifted me up from the ground up to his heart. I felt that everything that existed was exclusively mine, but I had no desire for it all, because God alone is enough for me.27

The Lord revealed to Sr. Faustina in that same year that he is pained at the number of religious souls who receive the Eucharist “merely out of habit as if they did not distinguish this food. I find neither faith nor love in their hearts.” She prayed that her love for Christ be set on fire. “Divinize me that my deeds may be pleasing to you. May this be accomplished by the power of the Holy Communion which I receive daily.”28

Sr. Faustina came to know that holy cards as well as pamphlets were to be printed in honor of Divine Mercy.29 A couple of weeks later she was to know of the hour of great mercy. As the Lord told her:

At three o’clock, implore my mercy, especially for sinners; and, if only for a brief moment, immerse yourself in my passion, particularly in my abandonment at the moment of agony. This is the hour of great mercy for the whole world. I will allow you to enter into my mortal sorrow. In this hour I will refuse nothing to the soul that makes a request of me in virtue of my passion.30

Sr. Faustina recorded in her prayer on September 29, 1937 that she knew of a special grace through the Eucharist, that is the enduring presence of Christ through the sacrament:

I have come to know that Holy Communion remains in me until the next Holy Communion. A vivid and clearly felt presence of God continues in my soul. The awareness of this plunges me into deep recollection, without the slightest effort on my part. My heart is a living Tabernacle in which the living Host is reserved. I have never sought God in some far-off place, but within myself. It is in the depths of my own being that I commune with my God.31

It is quite apparent from the above that Sr. Faustina was living in a passive state of union with the Lord. She further experienced the presence of the Lord, especially through the grace of Eucharist.

Sr. Faustina came to know the following month (October 10) in her prayer that even though she had expressed a total abandonment of self to the Lord, she learned that she had not offered “that which is really yours.” She was told by the Lord to offer to him her misery, as it was her “exclusive property.”32

While mystical union was very much the internal fruit known only to Sr. Faustina and her Spouse, she was keenly aware of the power of Eucharistic graces in her daily interactions. She recorded in her Diary an incident of five unemployed men demanding entrance into the convent. The Mother Superior called on Sr. Faustina. She immediately knew the voice within her speaking: “Go and open the gate and talk to them as sweetly as you talk to me.” Sr. Faustina did just that and the men began to speak in gentle voices and went away peacefully. Sr. Faustina credited the resolution of the incident to Christ, whom she had just received an hour before in Communion, working in the men’s hearts through her. “Oh how good it is to act under God’s inspiration!” she wrote.33

Sr. Faustina likewise writes in her Diary about the importance of faith within the practice of adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. When her weak constitution would not allow her to participate in nocturnal adoration during the first Thursday of the month, she united herself with the sisters who were at adoration. She was awakened between four and five in the morning by a voice telling her to join the sisters in adoration. There was someone praying for her there. She was transported in spirit to the chapel and there saw the Lord Jesus exposed in the monstrance. Yet in place of the monstrance, she saw the glorified face of Jesus saying to her:

What you see in reality, these souls see through faith. Oh, how pleasing to me is their great faith! You see, although there appears to be no trace of life in me, in reality it is present in its fullness in each and every Host. But for me to be able to act in a soul, the soul must have faith. O how pleasing to me is living faith!34

Sr. Faustina’s suffering intensified as 1938 began. She found solace in the Eucharist even when she was not receiving it:

I went in spirit to the Tabernacle and uncovered the ciborium, leaning my head on the rim of the cup, and all my tears flowed silently toward the heart of him who alone understands what pain and suffering is. And I experienced the sweetness of this suffering, and my soul came to desire this sweet agony, which I would not have exchanged for all the world’s treasures. The Lord gave me strength of spirit and love towards those through whom these sufferings came.35

It was only after receiving the Eucharist that the Lord told her how redemptive her suffering was: “My daughter, your suffering of this night obtained the grace of mercy for an immense number of souls.”36

Sr. Faustina wrote in her notebook, “My Preparation for Holy Communion”:

The most solemn moment of my life is the moment when I receive Holy Communion. I long for each Holy Communion, and for every Holy Communion. I give thanks to the Most Holy Trinity. If the angels were capable of envy, they would envy us for two things: one is the receiving of Holy Communion, and the other is Suffering.37

As Sr. Faustina approached her death, the Lord reminded her that the Eucharist is a preparation for the eternal heavenly banquet, as he stated. “But I want to tell you that eternal life must begin already here on earth through Holy Communion,” he told her. “Each Holy Communion makes you more capable of communing with God throughout eternity.”38 If all of us truly believed that message, how much more eager we might be to approach the altar.

During a time when the fruit of redemptive suffering is so little understood, the life of Sr. Faustina provides a readily needed example. While we live in a time when many of the Church faithful readily approach the altar for reception of the Eucharist, we might again observe in the life of this saint her careful preparation for reception of the sacrament. It is so easy to take the gift of Christ himself for granted.

Endnotes

1.       New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2003 edition, “Kowalska, Faustina, St.” by K. I. Rabenstein.

2.      An earlier translation had been censured by the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.

3.      Michalenko, CMGT, Sr. Sophia, Mercy My Mission; Life of Sister Faustina K. Kowalska, SMDM, (Stockbridge, Mass.: Marian Press, 1987), 5-10.

4.      Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska, Diary: Divine Mercy in my Soul (Stockbridge, Mass: Marians of the Immaculate Conception, 2003), 9:7. [paragraph followed by page number]

5.      Diary, 10:7.

6.      Diary, 14:8.

7.      Diary, 16:9 and Michalenko, 14.

8.      Diary, 17:9 and Michalenko, 15-16.

9.      Diary, 19:10

10.    Diary, 20:11 and Michalenko, 18.

11.     Michalenko, 21.

12.     Michalenko, 22-25

13.     Diary, 26.

14.    Diary, 47-105:24-58 and Michalenko, 31-32.

15.     Diary, 187:102.

16.     Diary, 228:114-115.

17.     Michalenko, 51-64.

18.     Diary, 400-404 and Michalenko, 73-76.

19.     Michalenko, 93,101,105-106,108,110.

20.    Michalenko, 84 and 92,115 – 134.

21.     Diary, 876:343.

22.    Diary, 876:343.

23.    Michalenko, 84 and 92, 139,163-64.

24.    These were the days of the rise of Hitler to power and the approaching invasion of Poland prior to World War II. Diary, 1251:452.

25.    Diary, 1264:456.

26.    Diary, 1271:458-459.

27.    Diary, 1278-12799:461-462.

28.    Diary, 1289:464.

29.    Michalenko, 174.

30.    Diary, 1320:474.

31.     Diary, 1302:468.

32.    Diary, 1318:473-474.

33.    Diary, 1377:491-492.

34.    Diary, 1420:504.

35.    Diary, 1454:515.

36.    Diary, 1459:516.

37.    Diary, 1804:638.

38.    Diary, 1811:640.

Sr. Madeleine Grace, a member of the Congregation of the Sisters of the Incarnate Word and Blessed Sacrament, received a doctorate in historical theology from St. Louis University. Her specific area of specialization is early Church history, coupled with a keen interest in spirituality. Sr. Madeleine has recently published in the Josephinum Journal of Theology, The Priest and Emmanuel magazine. She presently teaches theology at the University of St. Thomas in Houston, Texas.

© Ignatius Press

Eucharist, Eschatology, and World in the Ecclesiology of Bulgakov

by Halden Doerge

Bulgakov is unique among Orthodox theologians, Russian and otherwise for all manner of reasons, not the least of which involves his distinctive ecclesiology. Bulgakov’s The Bride of the Lamb provides perhaps the most innovative work in Orthodox ecclesiology in the twentieth century. In what follows, I will attempt to make a provisional exploration into the fabric of Bulgakov’s ecclesiology looking particularly at a constellation of coordinates that are operative in the shape of his thought. I hope to explore the way in which Bulgakov’s ecclesiological thought is a dynamic theological articulation, which circulates between the nodal points of the Eucharist, eschatology, and the world. Bulgakov’s ecclesiology is, through and through, informed by a dynamic conceptual interplay between these three major foci. My aim in this essay is limited simply to the observance of some of these dynamics. I hope that in so doing I will illuminate some of the key contributions of Bulgakov to the ecumenical task of exploring the nature of the church and its place in the shape of redemption.

It should be noted at the outset that I am no expert on Bulgakov and those more knowledgeable about his thought than I will certainly be in a good position to correct any imbalances and misapprehensions in what follows. In the interest of space and focus, I am here taking my cues from two of Bulgakov’s works alone, his shorter dogmatic treatises, The Holy Grail and the Eucharist and his massive treatment of ecclesiology, The Bride of the Lamb. In both of these works Bulgakov binds together an integrated view of the redemption, originating in the Christic self-oblation of the Lamb.

The first thing to be noted in approaching this endeavor is found in Bulgakov’s treatment of “The Holy Grail.” Herein, Bulgakov engages in a form of inquiry that is rightly described by the translator as “mystical lyricism” (The Holy Grail and the Eucharist, p. 9). Here Bulgakov attempts a “dogmatic exegesis” of John 19:34 which recounts Christ’s side being pierced by the spear of Longinus and the blood and water flowing forth from the wound. Bulgakov recounts the standard legends of the Holy Grail, which culminate in the Arthurian poems of the Middle Ages, but then goes on to theologically reimagine the idea of the Holy Grail from a radically different point of view. According to Bulgakov, the Holy Grail is not a chalice, which caught the blood and water from Christ’s side, but rather is the world itself into which Christ’s shed blood and water flowed.

The blood and water that flowed from Christ’s side on the cross of course represent Baptismal water and Eucharistic blood in Bulgakov’s view. However, he makes a radical point of distinction here. There is a crucial difference between Christ’s poured-out blood and water and the elements of the Eucharist and the waters of Baptism shared in in the church. The differentiation is not a substantial one, but a differentiation of mode. For Bulgakov, “the blood and water that came out of His side were not Eucharistic in intent” (The Holy Grail and the Eucharist, p. 33). What is crucial for Bulgakov is that the blood and water which poured from the wound of Christ, though identical to the Baptismal and Eucharistic elements substantially, is different in that it is not offered to the faithful for communion, but rather is poured out into the substance of the world as such (see The Holy Grail and the Eucharist, pp. 34ff). The blood and water that are poured out into the Holy Grail, the world, are not given “for the communion of the faithful but for the sanctification and transfiguration of the world” (The Holy Grail and the Eucharist, p. 34).

Here is Bulgakov’s key point, the Eucharistic and Baptismal elements, Christ’s blood and water are poured out on the cross and remain in the world. Bulgakov insists that this outpouring of Christ’s wound on the cross indelibly alters the fabric of the world, binding it forever to Christ, sanctifying it and preparing it for its final transfiguration at the parousia. For Bulgakov the very metabolism of the world, its cosmological fabric is transmuted by the flowing forth of Christ’s water and blood into it. There is a real sense for Bulgakov that Christ’s own human substance remains diffused into the world through his self-oblation. The world, in Christ’s outpouring is “Christified”, permanently bound to Christ, united with him and impelled on by this union towards its eschatological transfiguration by the Spirit. Indeed, for Bulgakov it is the fact of Christ’s blood and water pouring into the heart of the world that even makes it possible for the earth to sustain, to bear the Pentecostal coming of the Spirit whose eschatological epiphany is recounted in radically apocalyptic terms. The biblical images of the sun turning to darkness and the moon to blood in the day of the Lord (cf. Joel 2:28-32; Acts 2:17-31) are the manifestation of this pneumatological intensity, which the world can only endure on the basis of its Christic reconstitution through being transfigured into the Holy Grail. (see The Bride of the Lamb, pp. 419-421)

In short, for Bulgakov, Christ’s passion and resurrection radically transfigures the reality of the world in a distinctively eschatological and Eucharistic manner. The world is, in a sense Eucharisticized and Baptized by the blood and water of Christ’s body in a manner that inclines it to, and sets it on the path toward its eschatological destiny. Christ imparts his divine humanity to the world itself, allowing his blood and water to remain in the earth. In so doing he binds himself to the world, making it a place upon which his presence can rest in its epiphanic, eschatological fullness. “This blood and water made the world a place of the presence of Christ’s power, prepared the world for its future transfiguration, for the meeting with Christ come in glory” (The Holy Grail and the Eucharist, p. 44). Thus, for Bulgakov, “the reception and the sending down of the Holy Spirit into the world depend upon the Incarnation, upon the profound, radical transformation of the world’s natural being”. Only thereby does “the world become capable of bearing the Pentecost, of receiving the fire of the Holy Spirit without being consumed by it.” (The Bride of the Lamb, p. 419).

What Bulgakov here presents is a vision of redemption that is at once apocalyptic and Eucharistic (see The Holy Grail and the Eucharist, p. 45). In Christ’s passion the world is constituted anew as the place of his presence, on which his Spirit rests, impelling the world towards it eschatological future, the transfiguration of creaturely reality in the union of the earthly and heavenly Jerusalem (see The Bride of the Lamb, p. 522-524). The whole shape of the world, constituted by Christ’s blood and water is Eucharistic. It is this construction of the world in and through Christ’s blood and water that make the coming transfiguration of the world into a cosmic redemption rather than a cosmic holocaust. Christ’s suffusion of the world with his very humanity renders the world a place capable of bearing the weight of the divine glory even as it transfigures the world in a purgative cleansing fire. The world is destined to “undergo a catastrophic trancensus: on the one hand, it will perish in a cosmic fire; on the other hand, it will be transformed inwardly.” (The Bride of the Lamb, p. 417) Thus, the Christic outpouring of Christ’s humanity into the fabric of the world is what renders possible the Pneumatic mission of the Spirit to renew and transfigure. “It is precisely the Holy Spirit who accomplishes the transfiguration of the universe: the energy of the Holy Spirit destroys the sinful, imperfect old world and creates a new world, with the renewal of all creation. This is the power of the Fire that burns, melts, transmutes, illuminates, and transfigures.” (The Bride of the Lamb, p. 421)

For Bulgakov this dynamic vision of the redemption of the world, which is at once Trinitarian, Eucharistic, and apocalyptic is grounded in the ecclesial reality which exists in the world, seen preeminently through the sacramental life. It is the church that is the center of God’s eschatological outpouring of purgative, transfiguring grace, which proclaims and anticipates the eschatological destiny of the redemption, the marriage supper of the Lamb. Bulgakov’s ecclesiological vision is thoroughgoingly cosmic in scope, seeing in the Eucharistic life of the church the future of the world, which was pre-accomplished in Christ’s kenotic outpouring of his humanity into the world, constituting it as the Holy Grail, the chalice of God’s grace, transfigured by the fire of the Spirit and offered up to the Father as a divine sacrifice of praise.

These observations, of course, do not sink very deep into the riches of Bulgakov’s ecclesiology, most notably they fail to explore the connection between Bulgakov’s configuration of eschatology, Eucharist, and world and his Sophiology, which begs exploration and analysis. That is a task I leave to others and to ensuing conversation.

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Materialism and Human Freedom

Dear Friends,

What role has materialism played, more specifically in its guise as Darwinian evolutionary theory, in the development of spiritual freedom in the modern and post-modern human being? Don Cruse explores this question in the article below, it being an indisputable fact that Rudolf Steiner affirms Darwin’s theory of evolution in The Philosophy of Freedom.  Even though in his subsequent books and lectures as spiritual researcher and founder of anthroposophy Steiner clearly rejects Darwin’s theory of evolution, never did he in the subsequent editions of The Philosophy of Freedom published in his lifetime alter his words of affirmation of that theory within the pages of this seminal work. Why not? This conundrum is the central concern of Cruse’s essay, and the thinking here that he brings to bear towards a kind of resolution of the seeming contradiction is well-worth pondering.

There is one statement early on in his essay however that I feel obliged to question. After giving two examples of the negative spiritual results of authoritarianism in religion, he says this:

We should be thankful for the present weakening of this kind of authoritarianism, and to Darwin for the degree that this is his doing (his theory has today all but eliminated the Creator God in much of religion, leaving only the Saviour God). This unquestioned benefit, however, does not make Darwinism true, and if it were true the resulting material determinism would in any case altogether extinguish human freedom.

The emphasis is mine. “God is love,” says John in his first letter, “and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God in him.” Now love — real love, especially divine love — is nothing if not creative. It follows that, if God truly is love, God must be without doubt a creator. Apparently Cruse equates the notion of a creator god with the notion of an omnipotent god. But is he justified in doing this? Does it necessarily follow that the Creator God, traditionally called the Father, is omnipotent even on the creative level of existence at certain stages, never mind the lower levels? Is it not possible to understand Him — in terms of the kabbalah — as indeed omnipotent in the world of emanations (‘olam ha yetzirah) but not all-powerful (i.e., there being other wills active beside His, whether in alignment with His own or counter to it) within any of the worlds of actual existence, namely the world of creation proper (‘olam ha beriah), the world of formation (‘olam yetzirah), or the world of facts (‘olam ha’assiah)? Here, I think, Don Cruse could have done with more subtlety in his thinking. The reader can read the Meditations on the Tarot — A Journey into Christian Hermeticism for a recognition of a non-omnipotent Father God who transcends existence, i.e., the cosmos itself (see especially Letter IV The Emperor).

As the anonymous author of Meditations writes on pages 572 – 573 in Letter XX (The Judgement):

… to truly pronounce the petitions of the Lord’s prayer, one has to have understood that our will is truly free only in union with that of God, and that God acts on the earth only through our free will united with his. Miracles are not proofs of divine omipotence, but rather of the omipotence of the alliance of divine will and human will.

Cruse sees the Creator God (the Father) as having poured Himself into his own creation, right down into the world of facts, wherein he sleeps. (“… [T]he Father God, the archetypal ‘great being,’ has essentially sacrificed itself, has poured itself out into the act of creation” — see The New Christian Gnosis by Don Cruse http://sophiacommunity.net/2011/12/04/the-new-christian-gnosis/). Yet the part of the Godhead that has poured itself into creation can surely be more fruitfully understood as the Mother, refered to in the Middle Ages as Natura, in pre-Christian times as the Great Mother.  We can say that the Holy Trinosophia — Mother, Daughter and Holy Soul — illuminates in our time the traditional Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

We cannot delve further into this question in our introduction, short as it is meant to be, except to say that whereas the Daughter, traditionally called Sophia or Wisdom, of whom Solomon wrote, is that same being who was present at the very beginning of the world as the Divine Plan of creation which, we might even say, includes the right course of evolution –, the Mother, the Being of Nature itself, is as it were asleep (“enchanted”) in matter and is awaiting her redemption through the appearance of the sons and daughters of light (I have had to oversimplify. See Robert Powell’s The Most Holy Trinosophia : The New Revelation of the Divine Feminine for an extensive treatment of this whole question of the Mother and her relation to the Father and of the relation of the divine feminine trinity to the traditional masculine trinity. The two united form what may be called the Luminous Trinity).

That Steiner refered often to the Father but extremely rarely it would seem — if ever — to the Mother, can give us the misleading impression that it is the Father God who is asleep in Nature. And to be sure Steiner himself does at times speak in such a way that without doubt gives that impression. Yet we cannot ignore Steiner’s recognition of a superexistent God, a God that transcends the Cosmos (see for example Christianity as Mystical Fact and his section regarding Dionysius the Areopagite). It seems evident to me that minds (both exoteric and esoteric) in Steiner’s time were simply not yet ready to entertain the notion of a Divine Mother in a Christian context, and that Steiner was quite aware of this. Two or three generations would have to pass before the Divine Mother as a spiritual reality could begin to re-emerge into the waking consciousness of post-modern Western humanity after many centuries of (subconscious) forgetfulness.

All this said, I reiterate that the thinking done by Cruse in this essay is well-worth pondering. It goes far in illuminating Steiner’s own thinking in regard to Darwin’s theory as we find it explicated in The Philosophy of Freedom. Anthroposophy after all would not be anthroposophy if it lacked independent thinking among its practioners — exactly the kind of thinking that Don Cruse himself in his writings represents.

Don Cruse was born in 1933 in London, England, grew up there during the war years, and over the last number of years lived in retirement on a farm in central Alberta. He died in 2011. He had been a student of anthroposophy for well over fifty years and considered The Philosophy of Freedom to be Rudolf Steiner’s most important single work.

Pax et bonum,
Randall Scott

Rudolf Steiner & Ernst Haeckel:
Materialism and Human Freedom

 by Don Cruse

The relationship between materialism and freedom is complex. On the one hand philosophical materialism (positivism) is a deterministic worldview (inexorably subject to physical laws), one that if it were true would permit no human freedom whatsoever, except if that freedom were somehow defined as being the outcome of pure chance. When the physical realm is seen as being created by a spiritual realm, however, as is described at great length in the works of Rudolf Steiner, then matter is seen as a prerequisite for the development of freedom, because it is in our relationship to the material world that freedom first becomes possible.

Philosophical materialism also, transitionally at least, can be seen as a boon to freedom in that it can cause us to deeply question the validity of religious dogma, and so release us from its millennia-long control over our minds. This rejection of religious authority does not imply the rejection of what religion has stood for (i.e., the existence of a spiritual world), but it makes it subject to deeper more critical levels of questioning, and to each individual’s own cognitive experience.

This is especially true of the kind of religious authority that has in the past perpetuated itself mainly by means of fear. I can still recall vividly in my youth reading the memoirs of a lapsed Catholic priest, who stated that at that time three-quarters of Irish Catholicism was based either upon the fear of punishment after death, or on the fear of social isolation. More recently a similar rejection of authority is to be found in The Dance of a Fallen Monk, written by George Fowler, who was a Trappist monk for seventeen years and priest for twelve, before finally leaving the church on the grounds that all he had learnt in that period was “self hatred”. Neither person gave up on the spiritual life, they were simply no longer willing to be part of a religious movement based upon hierarchical authority, which they saw as being out of step with the needs of our present age. This revolt is widespread today, and it is impossible to estimate just how great a part in creating it Darwinian materialism has played, but it has certainly been a significant part and is a good example of materialism almost inadvertently helping to create human freedom.

Christianity, although central to Rudolf Steiner’s worldview, is not seen by him as being dependent upon religious authority, and he was himself by no means an authoritarian, quite the opposite in fact. For Steiner human freedom is itself intimately connected with the life of Christ, because it is the strength that we can derive from the slowly maturing higher-self in us, the archetype of which was historically made manifest in the Christ event, that makes our ongoing struggle against adversity possible — allowing us to develop a creative inner freedom that cannot be ‘given’ to us, even by an omnipotent deity, but must be earned by our confronting the lessons of adversity. Inner freedom, he tells us, can only be developed through knowledge, and from the experiences arising out of life’s constant struggle (we must always distinguish clearly between ‘liberty’ as something given to us from without, and creative ‘freedom’ as something coming entirely from within ourselves).

The development of creative freedom is also a task that requires many more than one lifetime, which accounts for the little known fact that C.S. Lewis, agreeing with his friend Owen Barfield, had declared that “the attainment of “Christian perfection” required that reincarnation be true. (see In Search of Salt by Raymond P. Tripp Jr.) The teaching of reincarnation was once widely accepted in the early Christian church, its total denial by Christian orthodoxy took place only after Constantine, when this Gnostic concept came into conflict with the Roman church’s claimed authority (claimed because of ‘apostolic succession’ that in Steiner’s day was still held to be the grounds for Papal infallibility), preventing it from threatening the faithful with an awful day of final judgement at the end of only one life, if they did not submit to its authority.

We should be thankful for the present weakening of this kind of authoritarianism, and to Darwin for the degree that this is his doing (his theory has today all but eliminated the Creator God in much of religion, leaving only the Saviour God). This unquestioned benefit, however, does not make Darwinism true, and if it were true the resulting material determinism would in any case altogether extinguish human freedom. To find the real roots of human freedom we need to delve much deeper than is usually done, and it was Steiner’s task to help humanity do just that.

The Philosophy of Freedom

In his work The Philosophy of Freedom, Rudolf Steiner describes the conditions that are necessary for true human freedom to develop, and in it the role that materialism plays in this great human adventure is also brought to expression, although in a manner that leaves us with levels of ambiguity which today merit further discussion. For Steiner this was an intensely personal document, one that marked his own struggle upwards to the light of understanding.

When Steiner was writing this work he was still in his thirties, and was at that time befriended by the German biological materialist, artist and Darwinist, Ernst Haeckel (1834-1919) author of The Riddle of the Universe and other works. Indeed Steiner wrote letters in defence of Haeckel when he was being attacked for his Darwinian views on religious grounds.

Haeckel was Steiner’s senior by seventeen years, and he was, one gathers, a rather dominating personality. Emma Darwin said of him, when he visited Darwin in 1870, “very nice and hearty and affectionate, but he bellowed out his bad English in such a voice that he nearly deafened us.” From this alone it is clear that Haeckel was by no means a timid or withdrawn personality, but a man who made his presence felt. It must also be remembered (sadly) that Haeckel was later convicted of fraud by an academic court at the University of Jena, for forgery in his embryonic drawings (an interesting chapter is devoted to this in Icons of Evolution by Jonathon Wells). The forgery was done to make the drawings fit better with his published ideas, so we may think of him as a man who did not like nature to prove him wrong — no doubt a very human failing.

His relationship with Steiner was doubtless one of considerable significance for Steiner’s own development, because it made it necessary for him to confront materialism, as it were, head on. He later characterized Haeckel as having been “philosophically naïve,” but there is little doubt that while in his presence he was a very convincing man. It would be surprising indeed, therefore, if his influence were not to be found in Steiner’s own works of this period, especially given the personal struggle that those works reflect. I suspect that in those parts of The Philosophy of Freedom, in which Steiner touches upon Darwinism, this may well have been the case, although why it is the case is quite another question.

In this context it is interesting also, that in reference to the works of his well-known French contemporary Henri Bergson (1859–1941), born two years before Steiner (in the same year that Darwin’s theory was published), Steiner, while sympathetic, does not have a great deal to say about his non-materialistic evolutionary theory, even though Bergson’s proposed ‘élan vital’ would have closely matched the idea of an etheric realm that came to be so central to Steiner’s later work (see ‘Riddles of Philosophy’ Chapter VII). Bergson’s theory was, nevertheless, convincing enough for it later to be adopted as an alternative to Darwinism by the British/Hungarian scientist Michael Polanyi (1891–1978). Polanyi was also perhaps the first to recognise the falsity of the concept ‘mechanism’ as it was being used in science, although by calling it “dual control” he expressed this concern in language that few might understand:

“In this light the organism is shown to be, like a machine, a system which works according to two different principles: its structure serves as a boundary condition, harnessing the physical-chemical processes by which its organs perform their functions. Thus, this system may be called a system under dual control” (first italics mine).

“Dual control” here, of course, means that something in addition to the currently recognized realm of natural law is at work — design perhaps, but in the non-miraculous sense described in Steiner’s anthroposophy? What is clear, however, is that Bergson provides the missing ‘second’ factor, whereas Darwin does not.

Epistemology

The essence of Steiner’s theory of knowledge, is that in the act of cognition the outer world approaches us from two directions, from the ‘percept’ via the physical senses, and from the ‘concept’ or ‘idea’ which we derive directly from the spiritual ‘inside’ of nature, by means of the self-confirming activity of thought. The act of knowledge then consists in our making the correct connection between concept and percept, whereas error results from our making the wrong connection. This fully rational epistemological argument is to be found in the first seven chapters of The Philosophy of Freedom, and it has been clearly restated in a more modern context by Owen Barfield, in his essay ‘Rudolf Steiner’s Concept of Mind’.

In this argument concepts and ideas are seen to be both individual and universal, but with individualism arising chiefly from the perceptual realm, because of our unique position as individuals in time and space, and our errors of judgement.

In contrast, materialism tells us that there is only one path whereby knowledge reaches the human mind, by sense impressions (empiricism) transmitted, in a manner strictly in accordance with natural law, along the nerve pathways to the brain where they become transformed, in some totally unknown manner, into concepts and ideas that are believed to possess no reality other than as the accidental by-products of sensory stimulation with which they began, and to be subjectively confined to each separate individual’s brain cavity, i.e. possessing no ‘universal’ validity (to better understand the folly that this entails, see the essay entitled ‘Barfield, Darwin & Galileo’ http://www.difficulttruths.com).

The problem here, of course (apart from the overall inadequacy of this description) is that no explanation is given for cognitive error, because natural law does not (cannot) fail, meaning that whatever concepts arise in the mind by this perceptual route alone must, out of law-governed necessity, be absolutely true. This is precisely why materialism is seen as a deterministic worldview. More recent developments in quantum physics have changed this picture somewhat, but mainly by replacing determinism with indeterminism, neither of which can be a vehicle for creative freedom.

This difficulty in explaining cognitive error is illicitly overcome in modern thought by introducing the man-made idea of ‘mechanism,’ as a specious but totally false dictionary-sanctioned synonym for materialism, because this human idea brings with it the concept of mechanical failure or breakdown, which when applied to the natural world, namely to our sensory/cerebral apparatus, allows it to be seen as a machine that does not always function properly — hence cognitive error. This ruse is strengthened by the fact that ‘failure’ or something very similar actually does happen in nature, but it could not happen in mindless nature if there were no second factor (see” dual control”). So there can be absolutely no justification for inserting the humanly creative idea of ‘machinery’ into the workings of a claimed materialistic universe. Mindlessness could not create ‘machinery’ (except in our own minds and only then with the aid of creative metaphor), but once this word is employed as a lexical definition for materialism, it brings in its wake the rampantly deceptive misuse of all manner of volitional and intentional language, all supposedly being used in an effort to ‘prove’ the truth of materialism. The fact that nature does possess the organic equivalent of inorganic (dead) man-made machinery proves nothing at all except that the second factor, ‘etheric forces,’ actually do exist in nature, just as ‘consciousness’ requires ‘astral’ forces to exist. ‘Mechanism,’ therefore, is a materialistic science of origins fictional substitute for the etheric realm that it wants desperately to ignore — because it can only be spiritual in origin. We can, therefore, confidently assume that as long as Darwinism exists etheric forces will never be taken seriously by science.

Without this simple ruse scientific materialism and Darwinism would immediately collapse. This error implies an obvious untruth, namely that we (humanity) made the universe. To merely substitute the divine creativity that science wishes to exclude, with human creativity, constitutes an irrational act of the first order of magnitude. This irrationality may be because it was language itself that created the universe (see ‘Owen Barfield and the Origin of Language’) and so, ultimately, it will not allow itself to be used to rationally ‘prove’ materialism.

Whether language is spiritual in origin or not, the irrational usage that I point to is inescapable. So bad is it, in fact, that in any other context it would simply have been dismissed as an extreme form of ‘anthropomorphism.’ But without it scientific materialism would become an impossible worldview, so that another less honest standard must apply to Darwin’s science of origins than that which is applied to any other realm of science. It becomes subject instead to what Owen Barfield called ‘the great taboo’ wherein the lexical meaning of certain words is changed to accommodate a desired falsity. Today this same verbal sleight-of-hand is carried to much greater lengths in the works of materialistic writers like Daniel Dennett and Richard Dawkins, where the public continues to be deceived on a grand scale, because the entire seeming credibility of Darwin’s theory of origins in a modern setting, depends upon the continued and, increasingly outrageous misuse of intentional and volitional idioms, with terms like ‘blind watchmakers,’ ‘selfish genes’ and ‘Designerless design’.

If one removes from Darwin’s theory this rampant misuse of creative language, and allow it only to use such terms as do not suggest conscious creativity, then the theory must and will cease to exist, because then it cannot even be plausibly stated. Mathematics will not help here, because it is an ‘analytic’ not a ‘synthetic’ discipline, and as such it cannot be used to even ask the epistemological questions that are at stake here, let alone resolve them. The difference between Darwinism and anthroposophy can be simply stated: for the former there are NO ideas in nature, which is why, for it to be even the least bit credible it must substitute human creativity in the form of metaphor to explain nature, whereas for anthroposophy, nature’s inner core consists in law-abiding Ideas.

This means that, insofar as it depends on Darwinism for support, materialism has always been a logically false worldview. This is a painful but undeniable fact that, perhaps for reasons involving conscious evolution, mankind has chosen to overlook for the past hundred or more years. There was undoubtedly some level of historical necessity at work here, but now is surely the time to set this irrationality straight, no matter what the cost.

Steiner and Darwin

It is in Chapters ten, eleven and twelve of the Philosophy of Freedom, where Steiner is concerned with establishing the grounds for free human morality, that he goes out of his way to reject the idea that morality has a divine source. To do this he goes to some length to limit the concept of ‘purpose’ to human use only, and he praises modern science for having abandoned this concept, because morality then becomes a purely human creation, not one dictated by some divine Being. He states this very succinctly: “For monism, with the rejection of an absolute cosmic Being — never experienced but only hypothetically inferred — all ground for assuming purpose in the world and in nature also falls away.” In this context, therefore, one must ask which monism is he talking about, his own or Darwin’s, because they are exact opposites. If it is Darwin’s monism then it automatically excludes God, but if Steiner’s it means that the creative Ideas in nature upon which his epistemology is based have to be explained as being somehow purposeless, not an easy task. And here it should be noted that in many of his later works he uses the word ‘monism’ mainly in a derogative sense, referring specifically to materialism,

What this also means, of course, is that he has also entirely rejected Aristotelian teleology, a favourite recourse of theologians, and that he appears to be using the influence upon science of Darwin’s total rejection of ‘purpose’ in nature in order to accomplish this. He even (in Chapter 12) appears to accept the Darwinian thesis that all organic forms have a single ancestor, an unlikely proposition that is necessary only for scientific materialism, because, if the workings of Ideas (Archetypes) in nature are the real source of biological evolution, then a physical continuum becomes unnecessary. Only an evolving spiritual continuum is called for — the true explanation perhaps for the notion of ‘punctuated equilibria,’ one of many ‘stop-gaps’ used today in neo-Darwinism.

Steiner does reject ‘purpose’ in nature, of that there can be no doubt, but as he makes very clear this does not include, as it does for Darwin, the rejection of ‘Ideas’ in nature. Instead he asserts that the Ideas that are at work in nature are fully law-abiding (no miracles) and that unlike human concepts and ideas, they do not become ‘causes,’ at least not in the sense that human ideas can. In human creativity ‘the concept of the effect’ can become the cause of an action that creates that effect.’ Not so in nature he tells us, because there the Concept or the Idea is already indwelling in the perceived object in a fully law-abiding manner. This is a very difficult distinction to be clear about, because then Ideas in nature are still causes, but in a different and not so easily understood sense. He overcomes this problem completely in the 1918 Addendum to Chapter 11, wherein he states “…something is revealed in that world which is higher than the kind of purpose realized in the human kingdom.”(Italics mine) From the wording of which one can reasonably conclude that there is still a “kind of purpose” at work in the natural world, suggesting that the exclusion of purpose in nature is nowhere near as absolute for Steiner in 1918, as it is out of necessity for Darwin.

Nevertheless, it was under Darwin’s influence, not Aristotle’s, that modern science rejected the concept of purpose, and has since concerned itself only with the ‘how’ of natural events, while excluding the ‘why’ on the grounds that it has all been accidental. This has led to a science that can increasingly control nature, but that still cannot understand her. So we can reasonably ask the question — did Steiner really understand that Darwinism was materialism, or did he while still influenced by Haeckel, try as was his nature to see it in a more idealistic manner? And in approaching this question we must reject, as he would have wanted, any tendency to view him as being ‘infallible’.

We have in The Philosophy of Freedom, two quite opposite reasons for rejecting purpose in nature; one (Darwinian), because there are none; and the other (Steiner), because there is something at work in nature that is ‘higher than purpose’. These differences, however else one might regard them, are the product of totally opposite monist theories: a monism of matter vs. a monism of Mind or spirit, only one of which can be true, because if both were true they would cancel each other out, or at best leave us with a contradictory dualism, a philosophical solution which Steiner would most certainly have abhorred as being contrary to nature.

Which came first?

There have been attempts made, even among anthroposophists, to resolve this difficulty by making both anthroposophy and Darwinian materialism appear true, but this is impossible within the context of a genuinely monist philosophy, a problem that I have dealt with in my short essay ‘The Difficulty Inherent in Monist Logic.’

To briefly restate the problem, it is that if Darwinian materialism is true, in any degree whatsoever no matter how small, then nature herself becomes either materialistic or dualistic. Which means that Steiner’s vitally important monist epistemological argument, that is so clearly stated in The Philosophy of Freedom, is falsified by reality itself, or at best converted into yet another cognitive dualism — thereby eliminating Steiner’s uniqueness in the history of philosophy, because there have already been far too many dualisms in that history, many of them unconscious, Darwinism being among them.

Given the existence of what appear to be complementary opposites, as with mind and matter, there is always the temptation to try to chart some neutral or ‘middle ground’ between them. The suggestion that Steiner’s thought might represent such a ‘third monism,’ one that somehow cognitively combines spirit and matter as equals, i.e. without one being seen as primary and the other secondary, is just such an attempt. This is not what Steiner’s epistemological argument says, however, and to interpret it in this way would entail yet another foray into the fruitless realm of speculative metaphysics, a futile exercise that has pre-occupied many philosophers over the past two-hundred years — and attempted for the sole purpose of appearing to validate Darwin’s defective theory at the epistemological level?

Umberto Eco states the truth of this matter in his book Foucault’s Pendulum:

“If two things don’t fit, but you believe both of them, thinking that somewhere, hidden, there must be a third thing that connects them, that’s credulity.”
I believe that Steiner would want to tell us that there is no place for credulity in anthroposophy, because, and at the epistemological level especially, it is a genuinely critical worldview. And further, that Darwin’s unconcealed but unconscious misuse of creative metaphor (see note below) means that his theory is logically false anyway, i.e., in the long term it must and will become totally unacceptable as science, although it may still take a while for this difficult truth to become widely understood. One just cannot use creative metaphor in a materialistic science of origins, without the former contradicting the latter.

Did Steiner know this? We have no way of being sure on this point, but it is not impossible. It is certain, however, that even had he known it, it would have been far too early for him to say it, because Darwin’s theory had a historically necessary task to perform, one related to the task of materialism as a whole, and one that in Steiner’s day it had barely begun.

Purpose and Meaning

A purposeless world is also a meaningless one, so that the Darwin-engendered concept of purposelessness endorsed by science that Steiner praised either inevitably results in or encourages meaninglessness in life, the very opposite to that which anthroposophy represents. There is something profoundly wrong here. It was surely in a determined effort to repair the damage that Darwinism had done — even though it has lead to the emancipation of science from religion — that caused Owen Barfield (a well-known anthroposophical opponent of Darwinism) to write his now famous essay ‘The Re-discovery of Meaning’, because ‘meaning’ as it applies to human existence requires that the concept of ‘purpose’ (or its ‘higher’ spiritual equivalent) be put back into a world that has been made purposeless by Darwinism (but not by evolution per se — when it is seen as a non-miraculous but spiritually-guided process).

We may, however, discern from Steiner’s praise of the fact that science has dropped the concept of ‘purpose,’ that he viewed the appearance of Darwin’s theory, however finally defective, as a necessary step in the development of human freedom; or to put it differently, a necessary stage in the modern evolution of human consciousness.

This insight alone, although a seemingly contradictory one, can help to justify Steiner’s apparent support of Darwinian materialism, although his friendship with Haeckel may also have played a significant role, and we should not assume that Steiner was completely beyond Haeckel’s materialistic influence; he was human like the rest of us and would not have wanted anyone to think otherwise.

In George and Gisela O’Neil’s Workbook on The Philosophy of Freedom (1963) one finds the following statement:

“A living idea… can come to life in the reader because it is composed in a living way. But it is a matter of the student knowing what he is after: mere additional information or a true ‘intuitive experience’ of an idea. The later comes as a burst of insight and can stir the circulation right down to the toes or affect the breathing. The former takes place between the ears, if at all, and at most stirs the critical faculty and rouses its spirit of contradiction.”

This distinction corresponds to one familiar to most anthroposophists, between what Steiner later refers to as the Intellectual Soul, for which truth takes the form of ‘correctness’, and the Consciousness Soul in which truth bears the property of ‘fruitfulness’. But are these mutually exclusive categories, and can one be purchased at the expense of the other? I have grappled with this problem for many years, and I think not. The latter is what Steiner sometimes refers to as ‘thinking with the heart’ but its foundation must first be found in thinking clearly ‘with the head’, and ultimately one cannot have one without the other.
Steiner’s epistemological argument, as already mentioned, is first and foremost a profoundly rational one, a fact which underlies another observation in the same Workbook:

“And finally the dramatic denouement! The reader is totally unprepared for the ease with which the modern philosophic-scientific house of cards falls apart. The mastery of this portrayal has yet to be [widely] appreciated and enjoyed. And practised it must be if it is to become part of us. And what a magnificent weapon it proves to be in defence against the technological mania engulfing us.”

In his later works Steiner constantly refers to the ‘intentions’ of the spiritual hierarchies in relation to human evolution, for example as having been purposefully focussed upon the development of human freedom itself, as the prerequisite of freedom in the universe as a whole, and there are literally hundreds of references in his anthroposophical works that attribute what appear to be intentional decisions to the spiritual hierarchies themselves, and to the forces of opposition (of evil) also, including decisions of immense importance, like that concerning the timing of the Christ event.

Where The Philosophy of Freedom is concerned, it is as if Steiner’s destiny, through his friendship with Haeckel, had confronted him with the need for a very difficult decision. He had to choose, as it were, between Aristotle and Darwin, and he chose Darwinism in the interests of human freedom, not because it was true, but on the grounds that it was an important vehicle for the emancipation of science and of human thought in general from the then vice-like grip of dogmatic theology? But that now, after another century has passed, the need for a deeper ‘meaning’ to human life has again become dominant, although this time within the context of science, not of religion. So might this not require that yet another materialistic ‘house of cards,’ Darwinism, be allowed to collapse?

Steiner left us with a conundrum here, one perhaps, that he expected us to solve for ourselves when the time was right to do so. In lecture ten of the 1922 Youth Course he refers to The Philosophy of Freedom as “…this book, which with all of its imperfections came into the world.” So must we not, in keeping with this assessment, allow the works non-epistemological chapters to have their logical imperfections?

 * * * * *

Note: My anti-Darwinian thesis can be simply stated:

The theory in its entirety consists in three elements, Metaphor, Matter and Chance.

Metaphor is logically inadmissible, because it has the effect (unconscious for the most part) of replacing the divine creativity that science seeks to deny with human creativity, i.e. extreme anthropomorphism convinces the mind that the universe is without Mind (or Ideas).

Chance is inadmissible because it is not a scientific hypothesis, but the complete lack of one, as was sagely asserted by Owen Barfield his book, Saving the Appearances:

“Chance, in fact, equals no hypothesis and to resort to it in the name of science means that the impressive vocabulary of technological investigation (associated with evolutionary biology) is actually being used to denote its [science’s] breakdown; as though, because it is something that we can do with ourselves in water, drowning should be included as one of the ways of swimming.”

That leaves only Matter (if materialism were true there could be nothing but matter in the universe, nothing organic or conscious could exist).

Claimed experimental or empirical evidence cannot be counted, because it can just as easily be interpreted as resulting from the indwelling of Mind in nature, as from its absence. The later option, however, unavoidably requires the misuse of metaphor (see ‘Karl Popper and Owen Barfield, and the Embattled Ideal of an Open Society’ and other articles).

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Anglican Healer and Stigmatic

Dear Friends,

Except for the outstanding case of the anthroposophist Judith von Halle, until now I had thought that there had never been an authenticated instance outside of the Roman Catholic Church of a saintly human being (as opposed to an unbalanced person suffering some form of hysteria) having received the physical marks of Christ’s passion. Yet there is at least one instance to note, and not only was she without a shadow of a doubt a saint, she was evidently one the greatest healers of our time or even of all time. Like Saint Catherine of Sienna of the 14th century, adviser to popes and princes, she implored God to take away the outward signs of the stigmata, which God did, but not before many credible witnesses were able later to testify to having seen those marks clearly visible upon her body. 

Today, January 26, is the 49th anniversary of her death in 1963. Although the Anglican Church keeps a calendar of saints, Dorothy Kerin is not to be found on that calendar.  Why is she not to be found on the calendar? Indeed, why has she been nearly forgotten altogether? Like Catherine of Sienna, a mystic, a devoted and loyal daughter of the Church and daily communicant of the Body and Blood of Christ at the Holy Eucharist, she did not hestitate to speak out in correction of the Church hierarchy in crucial matters of truth, but that does not seem to account for the contemporary collective amnesia of the third largest Christian community in the world. Whatever the reason, Stevens Heckscher is determined that she shall be once again remembered. He hopes to bring out a theological and scientifically critical biography of Dorothy Kerin by the end of this year in anticipation of the fiftieth anniversary of her death.

An oblate of the Order of Saint Benedict (Anglican), Lay Associate for Spiritual Direction, chorister, and acolyte at the Church of the Good Shepherd, Rosemont, Pennsylvania, Stevens Heckscher Ph.D. studied Mathematics at Harvard, Leiden, and Cambridge (UK), and Christian spirituality at the Shalem Institute, Washington, DC. He taught mathematics for twenty years at Swarthmore College, and although officially retired from scientific work, still actively pursues research in mathematical community ecology as a consultant. He is the author of a number of theological and scientific papers.

Pax et bonum,
Randall Scott

Dorothy Kerin: Sign and Significance

by Stevens Heckscher, Obl OSB, PhD

For Dorothy Arnold: Mater dulcis memoriae.

Dorothy Kerin (1889 – 1963), a woman of great personal sanctity, was a leader in the recovery of the Christian ministry of healing, in England and abroad. In this paper I sketch the main points of her life and then comment on the significance that this almost forgotten pioneer has for this ministry today. I comment on a number of her teachings and give some examples relevant to contemporary practice. I emphasize (among other points) her obedience to God, her Christ-centeredness, her stress on the importance of cooperation between religion and medicine, her attitude towards suffering, and her insistence that true Christian healing is concerned with body, mind, and spirit.

Introduction

Dorothy Kerin was a most extraordinary figure in the Christian world of the twentieth century. In the ancient church, she would have been ranked among the greatest saints. In her own Anglican tradition, during her lifetime she was considered a pioneer in the recovery of the healing ministry, and a gifted, charismatic healer. Through personal contacts, her prayers, her writings, and writings about her, she touched and changed the lives of many thousands in her native England, and beyond its shores. Yet today, forty-four years after her death in 1963, she is nearly forgotten.

She was born in 1889, in Greater London. At the age of twenty-two, following years of illness principally from tuberculosis and its complications, and after two weeks in a state of near, if not total, coma, she was apparently miraculously and instantaneously raised to life. She reported a powerfully numinous perithanatic experience, in which (she said) she met Jesus Christ, who gave her a commission, to return to this world and perform an important work for Him. The events of her subsequent life, and the mission that she so devotedly performed, strongly support the veracity of that account, which she put in writing at least twice [1] [2] and to which she often referred in informal conversation and in public talks given in many locations.

In another place [3] I have discussed the question of the miraculous nature of Dorothy’s being raised to life and of many other extraordinary events in which she was subsequently involved. To summarize that discussion here, I simply restate my claim that this and numerous similar accounts of such events in her life satisfy two important criteria, reliability and objectivity, in the form of: 1) detailed eyewitness reports by a number of trustworthy persons (several of whom I have interviewed or came to know well, after her death), and, 2) the simultaneous presence of accompanying observable effects, with multiple witnesses, such as healings that are difficult or impossible to explain by reference to natural causes. In my opinion, nearly every apparently supernatural episode that I shall describe in this article satisfies those two criteria of authenticity [4].

This paper is part of a long-term project in which I hope to bring out a theological and scientifically critical biography of Dorothy Kerin in anticipation of the fiftieth anniversary of her death in 1963. My purpose in the present shorter article is to examine her life and its significance for Christian healing and spiritual and pastoral care today.

Sign: Her life [5]

Dorothy Kerin was born on 28 November, 1889, in Walworth, Greater London, the fourth of five children. Following the death of her father in 1902, her family moved to Herne Hill, also a suburb of London. At that time, Dorothy’s prolonged illness began. On February 4, 1912, having been bedridden for five years, Dorothy entered a near-comatose state lasting a fortnight, during which she experienced what she subsequently and repeatedly referred to as her “Beautiful Day”. On February 17, after eight minutes during which she was to all appearances clinically dead [6], she was lifted to a sitting position in bed, opened her eyes and said to her mother who was among the friends and family members in the room awaiting the end, “Mother, I am well; I am to get up now.” Dorothy herself reports,

I seemed to be going somewhere with a definite purpose. For me it was a time of indescribable joy and bliss in a place and environment of exquisite harmony, when suddenly I was aware of a lovely form clad in dazzling white. He was coming towards me, and I knew it was Jesus. He said: “Dorothy, will you go back and do something for me,” to which I answered, “Yes, Lord.” Then I was told to get up and walk. [7]

Dorothy was instantaneously restored to health; immediately she walked upstairs and down without difficulty, and within twelve hours her emaciated flesh was filled out and she regained normal body weight. This apparently miraculous event was reported in the press worldwide, and crowds of people, including many reporters, flocked to the house in Herne Hill, where eventually kind people intervened and she was discreetly removed to a place where she could find privacy. In 1914 she published her first book, The Living Touch [8], in which she reported this raising-to-life in detail, along with a number of other events in which, to all appearances, there were miraculous elements. Included among these events were an assault and injury that she suffered that resulted in, or were followed by, two serious illnesses. From these, again, she was healed, apparently miraculously.

Among these “other events” was a vision of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in which she was given what she considered to be her orders. She wrote that the “beautiful woman” told her, “In your prayers and faith many sick shall you heal; comfort the sorrowing and give faith to the faithless.” [9] This “triple commission” became the guiding principle for her life.

In 1915 Dorothy entered spiritual direction under Dr. Richard Ll. Langford-James, one of the few priests in the Church of England of that time who was well-versed in mystical and ascetical theology. She lived in his household, with him, his wife, and two elderly women, for fourteen years, through the London bombings of World War I and after. During this time she had full access, not only to his extensive library but to his astute, scholarly mind and discerning spirit [10]. This was probably the period of her greatest mystical experiences, when according to Arnold, her early biographer, she experienced the phases of spiritual development classically described in the writings of St. John of the Cross [11]. At this time also, she became the first Anglican known to have manifested the stigmata, the marks of the wounds of Christ on hands, feet, and side [12], a fact that was attested to by a number of chosen witnesses but kept confidential by her wish until after her death.

In 1929 Dorothy ended her residence with the Langford-James’, and opened her first residential “home of healing”, St. Raphael’s, the subsequently enlarged complex later referred to as Chapel House, in Ealing, Greater London. Of this home, her biographer Arnold wrote:

[It was to be a place] “to strengthen the weak hands and confirm the feeble knees” of some among the many suffering souls who were constantly appealing to her for counsel and help…. [I]ts aim was to harbour the weary in spirit; to shelter the sheep that had temporarily lost their way from the fold of faith; and to be a place of rest for those convalescing, but who were as yet unable to take up the burden of life…. [In this place, Dorothy’s patients] found… the distinctive imprint of beauty, harmony, peace and above all of LOVE [sic], the love that is instinct with selflessness, compassion and understanding [13].

Over the years leading up to World War II, Dorothy gradually expanded the work at Chapel House, adding to her complex neighboring properties as they came on the market. Under the sponsorship of a number of Church, medical, and civic leaders, the facility was registered as a nursing home. Dorothy almost worked herself to death, literally. Exhausted, and with little regard for her own health, she developed a severe, life-threatening case of pleurisy. Doctor’s orders were for complete immobility in bed. Her recovery took three months, during which time patients left the house (for they could not obtain Dorothy’s ministrations), money became scarce, and necessary maintenance thus could not be done. Her biographer records, She accepted her illness as being permitted by God, and used it, as in the past she had used all her illnesses, with their accompaniment of pain, as something to be shared and thrown into the common pool of suffering and offered as a drop in the filling of the Cup [14].

During these early years many healings through Dorothy’s ministry were witnessed that showed evidence of what can most easily be interpreted as divine intervention. While sudden and spectacular physical healings occasionally happened, more often Dorothy’s intervention led to a gradual general improvement accompanying healing of a broken spirit and its reconciliation with God. She often showed great patience and compassion, even when dealing with alienated, angry, or rebellious persons. Her second book, Fulfilling [15], and Arnold’s biography [16] contain numerous accounts ofmany of these healings. Here I summarize from the latter just one remarkable instance of a ministration by Dorothy that ended, not in complete physical healing, but in a death that can only be characterized as radiantly holy [17]. As this example illustrates, Dorothy emphasized throughout her long ministry that, although physical healings may occur in response to prayer, the most important healings are those of mind and spirit, in  which the subject is reconciled or drawn closer to God. Here then follows the story of Dorothy’s ministrations to “Little Louie”.

“Little Louie” [Baldwin] was not a child; she was a young woman in her late twenties; a small, crippled figure, a hunchback; her right shoulder, forced up above her ear, was immovable, and her back was twisted and misshapen. In response to an appeal, Dorothy and her friend Marina Chavchavadze motored to Wisbech, north of Cambridge, to visit Louie, who lived in deep poverty and was mortally ill. When they arrived and Dorothy’s knock was answered by Louie’s mother, Marina tells us, the following conversation took place:

“Does Miss Louie Baldwin live here? May I see her?” Dorothy asked. The woman stared blankly before she answered. “I’m afraid you can’t. She’s very ill.” As Dorothy did not turn away, she added sharply: “She’s very ill, she’s dying.” “I have come all the way from London to see her. I am Dorothy Kerin.” Had the woman been told it was St. Paul standing on her doorstep or an angel out of heaven, she could not have looked more astounded. “Dorothy Kerin!” she gasped, and held her hands out to her. I thought she was going to collapse. Unable to speak, she drew Dorothy into the darkness of the house, and I watched them vanish, wondering what lay within. It must have been half an hour or more before Mrs. Baldwin reappeared, and beckoned to me. She was radiant and tears were running down her face. “Come in! Come in! This is so wonderful … so wonderful.”

I followed her and found myself in a small dark parlour with a low ceiling where a tiny bed was standing behind a partition or screen. Dorothy was beside Louie, and I looked over her shoulders down at the emaciated little figure in the bed. In the dim light I could distinguish a cadaverous face with the unmistakable stamp of death on the pinched features. Then I saw the eyes glowing out of deep sockets, burning with the fire of indescribable joy, the last flicker of life shining out of the dying clay. There was no movement in the face, she was too weak to smile, but her spindly little hand was clutching Dorothy’s fingers in her last desperate hold on hope. Dorothy was speaking to her in a low and gentle voice, and although Louie made no sign, I felt that not a word escaped her. “You have been refusing all food, Louie, now I want you to do everything your mother tells you, and take a little nourishment every day. When you are stronger, I promise you, you will come to stay with me at Chapel House. I will send a car to fetch you, and I will take care of you until you are well …. Remember, you have promised, and I am coming to fetch you.”

Here we have a glimpse of the deep, strong, Christ-like compassion that was the foundation of all of Dorothy’s healing work. Indeed, when medically it was deemed that Louie was sufficiently strong to make the journey, Arnold says, Dorothy and a nurse … fetched Louie by car, and deposited her at Chapel House, radiantly happy at the realization of her cherished dream of being cared for under Miss Kerin’s own roof. … Dorothy visited her that evening and gave her the laying-on-of-hands; to say that Louie felt herself to be in a paradise of bliss would be an understatement of her feelings. … [After a time, in a letter Dorothy wrote,] “Little Louie was carried into Chapel yesterday. She is getting on very well, but it is very slow.” [And in a later letter, this:] “Little Louie is getting on wonderfully, and is a joy to us.” Arnold continues:

For some little time, there was no striking change in Louie’s condition other than a slow butsteady increase in strength, a marked improvement in appetite, and daily evidence of her abiding happiness and contentment in her surroundings.

Then came the unforgettable day when the great miracle of her wholeness took place, with emphasis more on the spiritual than the physical, although this showed startling improvement. Dorothy wrote the good news [to one of the nurses]: “Now for a lovely bit. I went in to Louie last night, she sent an urgent message for me. I found a radiant little soul, saying, ‘JESUS HAS TOUCHED ME!’ [caps in original]. Her shoulder blade has dropped four inches and she is singing away in her bed, and as happy as a Queen. Praise the Lord!” As Louie continued to improve, Dorothy lavished blessings on her. Dorothy, whose own clothing was plain and sometimes threadbare, gave Louie “lovely clothes”, encouraged her to assist at the healing services, and gave her drives in the country. Arnold tells us,

Her soul blossomed like a beautiful flower; her faith, that of a simple, childlike mind, deepened. Life was indeed full of happiness for Louie. Indeed, Dorothy and her staff began to worry about how Louie, raised in poverty, would make the transition from all this loving care back to her former surroundings; “… the transition would be very difficult for her,” Arnold tells us. But:

God answered these queries in His own unfathomable way. The temptations that could have soiled in Louie the transparent purity of her soul never confronted her. One evening, near the time for her departure, Louie sent Dorothy a message, begging her to come to her, as she had an urgent request to make. “What is troubling you, darling?” she asked the bright-eyed eager little figure, sitting upright in her bed, with her eyes fixed on Dorothy’s face. “Please, please, Miss Kerin, will you take me with you now to the Chapel? I have something I want to say to Jesus that cannot wait.”

Dorothy took her at once to the Chapel, where they kneeled before the altar. There, with her gaze lifted to the Crucifix, the little, erstwhile cripple poured her heart out to Jesus, confessing to Him all the sins she could remember ever to have committed, and ended by imploring His forgiveness. We may be sure that Dorothy convinced Louie that Divine Absolution had been granted … and that the Hand of her Lord and Saviour was fully upon her life – the life He had restored to her. … They returned to Louie’s room, where Dorothy tucked her up for the night with a prayer and a tender blessing, and left her looking radiantly happy and filled with the Peace of God.

That night, Jesus … called this little soul to Himself and [took] her in her sleep to be with Him in those heavenly places where neither sin nor temptation, pain nor sorrow, could ever more assail her. The arresting question here, of course, is, why did God allow Louie to die following so closely on her marvelous restoration to wholeness? But, as Arnold reminds us, God speaking to us says this: “For the heavens are as high above earth as my ways are above your ways, my thoughts above your thoughts.” [18]

God sees every life from the perspective, not of this short span of time each has on earth, but of eternity. Divine Healing is for eternity, and in this account we see one of the thousands of instances in which Dorothy Kerin carried out her commission from the Eternal One to heal the sick, comfort the sorrowful, and give faith to the faithless [19].

In 1939 war came again to Europe and to the world. In visions and revelations, Dorothy saw the coming of grave tragedy, and foresaw its outcome, and knew that God’s hand was over England and the earth at that time. Chapel House was near enough to central London to be caught up in the blitz, bombs and shrapnel fell nearby, but none of Dorothy’s staff, her patients, nor she herself, received even a scratch of injury. They believed themselves and the Home to be under God’s brooding protection [20].

At this time, in spite of shortages of staff imposed by the war, and against advice of many friends, but in response to what she believed was God’s clear guidance, Dorothy legally adopted nine war-orphan infants. These she took into her home and into her heart, and raised through the trials of the war and of childhood and adolescence, to adulthood. Acting as mother to so many fatherless children was costly to Dorothy personally, and to her ministry, but, energized (as many believed) by God, she persevered. After the end of World War II in 1945, her ministry again continued to flourish and to expand.

As both the children and Dorothy’s ministry grew, conflict appeared between the needs of the former and the demands of the latter. The story of how Dorothy followed the counsel of Bishop Philip Loyd, who had become Dorothy’s spiritual guide and intimate confidant, appears as a clear example of the manner in which God gives to those who are trusting and obedient, guidance and the means to follow it, sometimes against seemingly overwhelming obstacles [21].

At this time the Bishop, formerly of Nasik in India and newly of St. Albans, England, was living near Chapel House. Observing the difficulties, praying much about them, and reaching his conclusions, he approached Dorothy and advised her to find a country home for her and her family, from which she could commute regularly to Chapel House to continue her work there. Arnold tells us, “Dorothy looked at him aghast. ‘But,’ she objected, ‘where my children are, there I must be; and, yet, my work is clearly in Chapel House!’ To which the Bishop replied, ‘God will find a way. Let us leave it to Him.’”

God did indeed find a way. Dorothy was led to a home in Kent, and through the generosity and faithful support given her by the house’s owner, found the means to purchase it. In September of 1946 she moved her family there, and thereafter divided her time between Chapel House and the new family home. This was the start of a gradual removal to the country. Eventually Chapel House was sold (amid seemingly interminable difficulties needlessly imposed by the local bureaucracy). Again with contributions from friends and supporters, Dorothy purchased and beautifully restored a derelict former stately home in Kent known as Burrswood. In time, all of Dorothy’s work, and her family as well, were lodged there. And in time, as her work continued to expand and become known internationally, Dorothy added on to Burrswood new facilities including a beautiful chapel.

Healings continued. Here are two examples. Dorothy emphasized that most healings are not dramatic, but exhibit gradual improvement, often accompanying healing of a broken spirit and reconciliation with, or a bringing closer to, God. Following is one such [22]. A woman wrote to Dorothy:

I am writing to thank you for helping to renew my faith in God. I am suffering from leukemia. Since my friend wrote to you on my behalf, I have made slow but sure progress. Previously, since June 26th, 1962, for five months I have made no progress whatsoever. The doctor kept giving me blood transfusions, but within 3-4 weeks the blood was all eaten away, and I was back where I started again. The doctor then tried me on some new tablets, but my blood gave no reaction to them either.

When my friend wrote to you, she gave me your book to read in hospital. On the night I was finishing it I was having a transfusion at the time. I prayed to God with my free hand on my left shoulder blade (where I had a lot of pain) and asked Him to take away the pain. I slept on and off a few hours. When I awoke, I was aware that something wonderful had happened. I suddenly felt secure and also that there wasn’t any need to worry any more. The pain in my shoulder had disappeared completely. I prayed again thanking God. For you see, Miss Kerin, I hadn’t been to church for about three years nor had I prayed properly, so I was most surprised to receive help from God so quickly. … [W]ithin ten days the abnormal blood cells had reduced from 25,000 to 16,000, the [best] result ever.

Well, since all this happened I have found out that your reply to my friend was received the day before, saying that you would pray for me and that my name was now on the altar in your Chapel. So that was no coincidence, was it?

We are not told of the conclusion of this case. But, as so often happens in the Church’s healing ministry, faithful prayer for the sick gives palpable if not dramatic improvement, which may gradually be followed by complete recovery. Many readers of this article who are themselves practitioners will have witnessed such happenings.

The following account is of a more dramatic healing — one might say that it was miraculous. I have abridged it somewhat on account of its length [23]. A nurse who had two major operations for cancer wrote:

Blessing came to me – totally unexpected, when after major surgery I had a pulmonary infarct. I had never been to Burrswood, or met its founder [Dorothy Kerin], but Clare heard about my setback from my parents, and I had a letter-card from her on the 10th day after the incident, telling me that she was going to receive the laying-on of hands for me that day. … I was very moved that a friend would travel miles to do this for me — her faith stood out a mile. I also wondered how I could have quiet to think and pray just as the trays for dinner were being brought round. … [m]y bed was wheeled out [onto the balcony] about 10.30 a.m. and I was forgotten until 2.30 p.m. It was sunny and a strong wind swayed the branches of large trees. … I read the [Gospel] story of the healing of the centurion’s servant. An overwhelming sense of peace was mine, an at-one-ness with material things that I could see and understand a little, and also with powerful forces outside myself which I could not understand, and yet knew in my innermost self to be true.

Here the narrator tells of the severe pain and interference with her breathing that she had experienced up to that time, especially at night. She continues:

The night following the service when Clare received the laying-on of hands for me, from Dorothy Kerin as Christ’s channel of His Healing power, I slept the whole night through for the first time, and woke without pain. I experimented with deep breaths, which no longer caused stabbing pain – only a dull ache was left. The physician and his house-woman came during the morning, and as my chest was listened to, my X-rays examined, and notes read, I suddenly became aware that they were confused: then making sure that the records were mine, and not someone else’s by mistake – there was a long silence, and a voice said, “Would you like to go out for the weekend?” “Would I not,” I said, almost stunned.

They left, but the house-woman returned a few minutes later, popped her head round the door and said, ”I simply had to come back to tell you that Doctor [blank] has never let a patient who has had a pulmonary infarct out of his sight under three weeks.”

I would say that [mine] was a recovery full of moment proving that a power not our own is willing to work with us, in us and through us. I believe that this power is God, through Christ and His dedicated servants and that this great Love is given irrespective of the worthiness or faith of the recipient. “I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”

… As soon as I was given sick leave I went with a friend who had given me great support through my illness, to give thanks at Burrswood. Clare met us there. … We had a wonderful welcome. Before the service, Dorothy Kerin spoke to me. Her eyes were full of understanding and reassurance, as she said, “He knows everything that has happened to you, and why you are here, just rest in Him.”

A number of writers have commented on the beauty of Dorothy’s eyes, and how they seemed to be filled to great depths with love, compassion and wisdom.

During this time after the war, Dorothy’s fame increased, in England, and in the Church of England which she served so faithfully but whose hierarchy did not always appreciate her, understand her, or support her work. Burrswood received increasing numbers of visitors, and the chapel that she had built was not adequate to receive them all. Early of a spring morning in 1959, Dorothy had a vision of a new church.

She saw it filled with Light, “complete in every detail” [24]. She heard the Lord’s voice saying, “Build this church for Me!” [25] In obedience, she proceeded to do just that. She started with no money. Post-war shortages of building materials were still in effect. She simply announced her intention, giving assurance that this was God’s command, designating the building company that she was sure God had chosen for her, and went ahead, breaking ground in Burrswood’s rose garden (where in vision she had seen the church standing), and proceeding within a year to complete construction. Unsolicited gifts of money, many of them thank-offerings for answers to prayer, poured in. In spite of shortages which sometimes seemed to melt away, the church was finished, free of debt, faithful in every detail of its structure to what Dorothy had been shown, and was consecrated with the dedication, The Church of Christ the Healer, on May 14, 1960 [26]. As of this writing, the church stands as Dorothy built it, and is still in constant and regular use for healing services and liturgical worship.

As the nine children, Burrswood, and Dorothy’s ministry all grew and flourished, she began to receive international recognition. She accepted numbers of invitations to minister abroad, in Europe and the United States. These missions she carried out in a spirit of open ecumenism. Arnold writes:

A devoted and loyal daughter of the Anglican Church, deeply influenced by its Catholic tradition, her heart none the less was wide open to those of other denominations, whom she accepted as followers of her beloved Master, members all of the Mystical Body of the Church of Christ in its most comprehensive sense. … In the warmth of her flaming love for souls, all who came in contact with her knew they were welcomed and cherished as fellow Christians …. [27]

Dorothy’s first overseas mission was in 1959 to Sweden. According to her biographer 28, “… the sight of an Anglo-Catholic speaking from the pulpit of a Lutheran stronghold, interpreted by a member of the Salvation Army, was for many an inspiring event.” This mission stirred among the Swedish people an awareness of the need for spiritual renewal [29]. Dorothy returned to Sweden in 1960 and in 1961. Huge congregations filled the churches in which she spoke [30]. Between the second and third visits to Sweden she gave a mission in Switzerland. In 1961 she ministered in Paris. In all these missions she made a profound spiritual impact, and there were reports of a number of miraculous healings [31].

Dorothy Kerin’s last overseas mission was in 1961 to the United States [32]. Over a period of six weeks she held healing services and gave addresses in churches in New York City, Philadelphia, Washington, Richmond, Norfolk, Baltimore, Boston, Providence, Newport, East Islip, Orange, and again in New York. It is reported that she returned home to Burrswood exhausted, but continued driving forward in her work [33].

In 1961 and 1962, Dorothy gave major addresses in two London churches, St. Martin-in-the-Fields and St. Paul’s Cathedral (twice). The service in St. Martin-in-the Fields was especially notable for the large attendance, for the spiritual power that was experienced by some of those present, and for the potential disturbance by an angry young man who evidently had a complete change of heart when, at the altar rail, Dorothy laid her hands on his head and prayed over him. Later she reported that he kissed her hands and covered them with his tears [34]. During her address at St. Martin’s, Dorothy spoke these words [35]:

Unworthy and sinful as I am, today I stand here and dare to say to you, in the presence of God and of all the company of heaven, that I have seen Jesus, I have heard His voice, I have felt His touch, and I know that Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever. Thanks be to God Whose arm is not shortened, Whose power is no less.

Exhausted, and at the age of 73, Dorothy now swiftly approached the end of her life on earth [36]. On Christmas Eve, 1962, she collapsed and, except for two days in early January, never left her room again. She experienced severe cardiac symptoms, and was tenderly ministered to by her colleagues and her two physicians, Dr. Edward Aubert (who succeeded her as the Warden of Burrswood) and Dr. John Elliott. On 25 January she was visited by a heart specialist from London, who made arrangements to take her in two days to the Cardiac Department of Brompton Hospital. But, as Arnold tells us [37],

On Saturday morning, January 26th [1963], while Dr. Aubert was sitting by her bed, discussing with her plans for the future, she suddenly gave a little sigh and fell forward. All efforts to restore life by artificial respiration were of no avail.

Dorothy Arnold, an eyewitness, brings her biography of Dorothy Kerin to a close with these words:

Dorothy looked very beautiful as she lay on her bed in the majesty of death. All traces of suffering had gone from her face: it was translucent and ethereal, shedding a radiance from those heavenly places to which she had gone, and there was around her an exquisite scent of flowers [38].

Significance: Her work

Saints appear in the traditions of all the major world religions. The accounts of ancient saints are often veiled within misty legends, but people labeled as saints appear in recent and modern times also, and many of the accounts of their remarkable lives and works are fresh and so grounded in careful testimony by persons of known integrity, that it is not easy to dismiss them as entirely fanciful.

Within the Christian tradition, the only one for which I am even slightly qualified to speak, stories of the lives of saints stretching from Biblical accounts through the years of the early Church down to the present, exhibit a remarkable similarity, in that the presence of elements that appear to manifest supernatural or divine interventions is nearly as apparent in modern accounts as it is in the ancient ones. Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox traditions pay great attention to their saints, as signposts to their faithful adherents [39].

My own Anglican tradition is less careful with its saints. Among these I would include the American Agnes Sanford [40] and Dorothy Kerin. Both of these early to mid-twentieth century women were pioneers, each in her own country, of their Church’s healing ministry. The mainline Protestant Churches of course have their own saints, whom they are less likely to label as “saints”, more likely as great or noteworthy men and women.

I share the common view that those saints who are representative, that is, whose lives are well-known or whose teachings challenge common views or widespread complacency, have been raised up by God not only as teachers of neglected truths but as examples or signs, for the rest of us, of what we are all called to become, if not fully in the present world, then in the world hereafter.

Dorothy Kerin was a paramount contemporary example of such a saint. Like so many before her, she showed us the Way. Yet today, little more than forty years after her death, she has nearly been forgotten.

The question is sometimes asked: Did Dorothy have any faults? Of course the answer is affirmative; she was, after all, a mere human being. She herself would have answered this question in the same way. She regularly went to Sacramental Confession. She is said to have prayed often, “God heal in me the faults I see in others.” I have heard it said that she could be over-controlling or dominating. As I have noted earlier, she often, and against advice, toiled without regard for the consequences to her physical health. Even the greatest saints are not fully perfected in this world, and without doubt Dorothy was no exception to that rule.

The remainder of this paper will be devoted to an assessment of the significance of Dorothy Kerin to the Christian healing ministry, which is no doubt the principal interest of most of those who will be reading this article. But I cannot pass over that which I believe is the foundation of everything that she did, or said, or signified. That is her holiness of life. That she was among the great mystics of the Christian Church can scarcely be gainsaid [41]. That she was an authentic (as opposed to hysterical or fraudulent) stigmatic is difficult to argue away, against the large number of witnesses who were persons of repute [42]. That many thousands were healed, or had their lives touched forever, through her ministrations, her prayers, and her writings, is an unassailable fact. But it was her oneness with the Divine, her union with and utter devotion to Jesus Christ, her surrender of self to Him, which opened to her the way to vast and empowering freedom, and her total obedience as the cornerstone of that surrender, that is, her holiness of life, which were the foundation for all else [43]. In a recorded talk she said [44],

Throughout the long years of my life, through the Grace of God, I have come to know that obedience is the golden key, which unlocks the door to every true spiritual experience, and I humbly believe it is the most important thing in the life of all Christians. We shall find that when we have learned to obey in small things, the Lord will ask more intimate and costly obedience from us, and we shall delight in the glory of obedience which is better than sacrifice.

Repeatedly she pointed beyond herself to Christ, Who was “obedient unto death”. [45]Dorothy erupted upon the consciousness of the world in 1912, at a time when, as the West drew on towards total war, it was negligent of its poor and suffering, and as the Church increasingly faced the powers of materialism and agnosticism, it was negligent of Christ’s commission to heal the sick. One author has written [46],

… [I]n the early days of the 20th century, the healing of Dorothy Kerin made an incursion of the supernatural into the static life of the established Church. The Church which had, in the eyes of many, shut its doors against the power of the Holy Spirit of God; the Church which in its 39 Articles of Religion makes no mention of the sick and dying; the Christian Church founded upon the resurrection of Jesus and the blood of the early martyrs, who were sure of an after-life.

Most persons who still (if only dimly) remember Dorothy Kerin today will regard her pioneer work in the Church’s ministry of healing as the most significant side of her life. I want to consider this work under several aspects.

1. Her witness to the fact that Christ heals today.

In her first book, The Living Touch [47], Dorothy wrote,

Many have almost ceased to believe that His living touch has still its ancient power, and have settled down in what they call divine resignation to suffer every kind of physical and spiritual ill, believing, as did their fathers before them, that God cannot, or does not will to set them free in this life, but that they must of necessity pass through the grave to meet Him … The old thought that God and His holy Angels dwelt far away up in Heaven is inconceivable, and personally I should have little faith in a God who went up into Glory and left His children to struggle here alone. No, we live ever in the very presence of God, and in the midst of the promised land.

At this relatively early age, Dorothy does not seem to have dealt with the question of why so many are not healed through prayer, or even to have been explicitly aware that there is an issue around that point. We will return to this subject shortly. But throughout her life she maintained her insistence that Christ is alive, and that, according to His promise, He heals today [48] [49]. The fruits of Dorothy’s ministry amply vindicate that claim and validate that divine promise.

2. Her witness to the fact that Christ is the only true healer, that all true healing comes from Him.

In his book Dorothy Kerin: A Portrait [50], James Davidson Ross tells an amusing story of seeing an overeager young man approach Dorothy at a gathering, asking her to autograph for him one of her books. Dorothy asks, “Good gracious, I wonder why you want that?” “Because,” the man answers, “You are a Healer.” Ross continues: “I!” Dorothy looks up sharply. She is still smiling but her gaze is very keen, “I have done nothing – nothing! I can do nothing. Anything which may have been done through me by our Lord is not me but Him.”

We are reminded of St. Paul’s famous proclamation: “I have been crucified with Christ and yet I am alive; yet it is no longer I, but Christ living in me.” [51]

Dorothy’s enchanting humility shows in this vignette. She who worked herself nearly to death repeatedly, who spent herself in prayer, who rose very early every morning to attend to her prayer and her immense correspondence, who suffered grave illnesses and offered her pain as a prayer for others – she can truly say, “I have done nothing”? Such is the power of the Lord to inspire such genuine humility, for genuine it was, not in the least artificial or forced, and then to work such mighty works through her!

This account illustrates her insistence that all true healing, medical, psychological, or spiritual, through whatever agency, comes ultimately from Christ. And that her ministry of healing was centered in the Church was shown by what she said in a 1962 television interview: “… [T]he field of healing that we operate in is the healing of the Church, the healing which is under the obedience and direction of the Church.” [52]

In the introduction to his book [53] on Christian healing, psychotherapist Charles Zeiders says:

Because the sovereign God heals, we can submit our therapeutic interventions to his sovereignty and enjoy a therapy the nature of which is saturated by grace. Cognitive or dynamic interventions can become so imbued with divinity that the clinician’s technique and the patient’s receptivity uncannily unfold toward health. … And these blessings stem from our recognition that the Clinical Christ – the activity of the God of the Christian revelation throughout the realms of our discipline – desires to redeem, relate, heal, love, and empower us.

In this book Zeiders and co-contributors give many examples of Christ’s power to heal when He is invited into the therapeutic process. Here Dorothy’s teaching and example are vindicated, as they are again and again as Christian practitioners willingly and lovingly call on God to be the true healer, surrendering themselves to Him and seeking only His will for those who come to them [54]. I believe that Dorothy’s example of willingness to become an empty channel for God’s grace, is the most profound and powerful gift that she has for today’s practitioners of the healing arts, whether they be physicians, psychotherapists, counselors, pastors, or spiritual directors. Repeatedly she said, in her private utterances and in the prayers she prayed publicly, “I am only a little piece of pipe” for the flow of God’s healing grace. All true healing, we believe, ultimately comes from Christ alone.

3. Her reliance, in partnership, on the best of modern medicine.

Medicine, Dorothy held, is a gift from God, and as such is to be used as a means of ministering healing. She sought only the finest physicians and other medical professionals, to staff her centers or to be available for consultation. Dr. Edward Aubert, who upon her death succeeded her as leader of Burrswood, was one of several first class physicians with whom she was associated. Arnold writes [55],

[Dorothy] first met Dr. Edward Aubert in 1957 [during a mission to Guernsey]. At that time there seemed no likelihood that he could ever leave his practice and bring his family to live in England. … There had been an immediate recognition on the part of Dorothy that Edward Aubert belonged to her work in a very special sense, and at the time she said to a friend, “When I go, he will be my successor.”

Dr. Aubert did indeed leave his practice, under amicable arrangements, and bring family and self to Burrswood to join the staff and to become Dorothy’s personal physician. We have already seen him by her side at her moment of death. Another physician, whose name we have mentioned in the same context, was Dr. John Elliott, who from 1949 through the time of her death ministered to Dorothy’s patients. These two were among the fine medical professionals, including skilled and dedicated nurses, whom Dorothy brought into her work. “Religion and medicine work hand in hand,” was Dorothy’s slogan. Today, psychotherapy has become an important facet of medical prevention and treatment. Dorothy would have welcomed this development; particularly she would have welcomed and encouraged the practice of Christian psychotherapy, especially where it is founded on an orthodox, mainstream Christian base.

In his book, The Vision of Dorothy Kerin [56], Bishop Morris Maddocks gives us an account of the way in which Dorothy’s community, Burrswood, has continued this alliance between religion and medicine after Dorothy’s death.

4. Dorothy comforted the sorrowing and gave faith to the faithless.

We have already noted Dorothy’s “triple commission” to “heal the sick, comfort the sorrowing, and give faith to the faithless”. Maddocks gives us a penetrating discussion of her gift to the sorrowing. He writes [57],

The sorrowing as well as the sick sought her out in their thousands. Many, many tragic cases were brought to her. … She stayed with people in their grief and they stayed with her while the tragedies of their lives were healed or at least lessened. Like us all she had her own experiences of grief. She had deeply felt the death of her mother, with whom she was totally attuned. … She herself had experienced her Saviour’s love in the sadnesses of life. She knew Him to be especially near at such times.

This author tells us of an example of Dorothy’s ministrations to a deeply depressed, bedridden woman who had abrasions of her face from self-mutilation [58]. He quotes a nurse as saying,

Dorothy sat by the bedside of a depressed woman. The sad face was covered with unsightly abrasions. Between them lay a jigsaw puzzle. The patient saw a broken piece of wood. Dorothy saw a broken life. One hand moved wood. One heart moved in prayer. The puzzle was completed. The face was healed. I think that this is the secret of her gift to comfort the sorrowing: “She knew [Jesus] to be especially near at such times.”

Marina Chavchavadze was one of Dorothy’s early patients, who became one of her closest friends, associates, and colleagues. I have frequently cited her insightful little book on Dorothy, which was printed shortly after Marina’s death [59]. Dorothy Arnold and Marina herself tell us that in 1936 Marina had a breakdown. A friend came to help her. Marina says [60],

When she came to fetch me she found me in disarray, still in my nightdress and my clothes scattered round the room. Firmly she made me dress, packed a suitcase and bundled me into her car. … I asked Lorna anxiously where we were going and she replied, “To a place run by a wonderful woman.” That was the last thing I wanted to hear. The vision of a dominant female with flashing eyes rose in my mind and my nervousness turned into panic. I implored Lorna to stop and turn back, but her stern silence showed me that nothing could make her change her mind. I had to face the inevitable and so we drove on in grim silence.

On arrival I was shown to my room and Lorna discreetly disappeared. My immediate reaction was to demonstrate my protest, so I drew my curtains, undressed and got into bed. A tea tray and later a supper tray were returned untouched. Dusk began to darken the room, so I turned on my bedside light and waited. I do not know how long it was before there was a tap on the door and someone came in and perched on the foot of my bed, but I kept my eyes tightly shut. Whoever this might be, I was not going to talk. The silence continued until my visitor asked me how I was?

Then a surprising thing happened: in spite of my determination to be silent I began to talk. First a few words, then a flow, then a torrent which I could not control. All that had been locked up inside me for years, hurts, remorse over things said and done and left undone, despair at being a complete failure, all came pouring out and I remember thinking as I spoke, “Why am I saying all this to a stranger?” The dam of silence had been broken and the flow continued until the last drop had been drained from my soul.

Dorothy had not said a word. She rose, tucked me up and turned out the light. “Go to sleep,” she whispered and was gone. That night, for the first time, I slept long and well and the morning greeted me with a healthy appetite for breakfast. Dorothy’s little book, The Living Touch, was handed to me and I read it from cover to cover. A growing wonder filled me as I read. This Dorothy had spoken to Christ in person, looked into His face and touched Him. So Christ was alive today, not just a historical figure in the Bible. If she could talk with Him, I reasoned, then so can I! This thought came as a blinding flash. I had been looking for Him all my life. After so much drifting, after so many false trails, I had reached my harbour. The release of tears followed as a healing grace and the world was filled with light.

Some years earlier, Marina had written a slightly different version of this story for inclusion in Arnold’s biography [61], in which she added: She had been told in prayer that my soul was laid upon her charge. [Italics mine.] Her later version continues [62]:

Four days later I joined Dorothy in her chapel. As we knelt at the altar rail she prayed, presenting me before the mercy seat of God, asking that I may be made whole, healed in body, mind and spirit. She then prayed for my absolution and protection, and while she spoke the chapel filled with an overwhelming Presence. Time vanished. Everything within me that was broken and dried up was brimming over with life. Nothing in the vast range of human happiness can compare with this transcending joy. My sickness, which would have taken months to be clinically cured, was healed in the stillness of that little chapel. I knew from that moment that I no longer belonged to myself, but had to follow Him.

Through Jesus Christ, Dorothy had comforted, given faith to, and healed this broken, sorrowful, and faithless soul, who later joined Dorothy’s permanent staff. Toward the end of her life I myself had the great privilege of drawing close to her and learning from her deep wisdom.

There is a wonderful story about how Dorothy’s penetrating, I would say, Spirit-guided, insight led to another gift of comfort and healing to a sorrowing person. Marina tells us [63],

When dealing with an emotional patient, Dorothy found it expedient sometimes to take a shortcut. For instance we had a friend who gave me this account against herself, describing her first meeting with Dorothy. She was sophisticated and rich and obviously very spoiled. When Dorothy received her in her study, this woman said she was in deep trouble, and proceeded to deliver a long list of complaints about her many frustrations and especially about her husband. When she was finally silent, Dorothy looked at her thoughtfully and said, “Now, my dear, how about telling me the truth?” All the defenses collapsed and truth came out with floods of tears. That was her healing.

“That was her healing.” All of us in the helping professions need to cultivate not only the skill but the gift of Spirit-led discernment with the sorrowing and those in denial, that could empower us to know when to take a shortcut to the truth such as the one just described.

Dorothy was often quoted as saying, “I do not believe, I know.” It was out of this knowing of the Lord Whom she had met face to face, that she brought faith to the faithless. “That is her secret,” Johanna Ernest quotes, “She brings them Christ.” [64]

5. Dorothy embraced redemptive suffering.

The term redemptive suffering refers to the willing offering of one’s pain as a prayer for some intention, be it peace, reconciliation, healing, a blessing, or some other. As Christ is the true healer, healing by His sacrifice on the Cross and His victorious resurrection, the discerning redemptive sufferer offers his or her own pain in union with the suffering of Christ, “as something to be shared and thrown into the common pool of suffering and offered as a drop in the filling of the Cup” (see section 2, above). The offering is to God, and the intention is to do so in union with the sacrifice of Christ. This is a vast subject, about which innumerable books have been written, and far beyond the scope of this paper. I am confining myself here to a short commentary, hopefully relevant to a fuller understanding of Dorothy Kerin’s life and work. Every one of us experiences pain in the normal course of our lives, and almost all of us experience at least occasional severe pain. Each of us can then offer the suffering as a redemptive prayer, at the same time praying to God for healing while remaining willing to accept His will as to the outcome.

A few rare persons are called by God to a vocation of redemptive suffering, which then becomes integral to their lives. Dorothy Kerin was clearly one of those. From the time of her earliest illness which eventually led to her miraculous restoration to life, she offered her sickness and pain “as something to be shared and thrown into the common pool of suffering and offered as a drop in the filling of the Cup”.

Francis MacNutt [65] gives us a historical discussion of the practice of redemptive suffering, noting possibly exaggerated understandings in the past, principally (he says) within the Roman Catholic tradition, and suggesting a way forward that is more balanced.

6. Dorothy understood and accepted the fact that many are not physically healed.

Marina Chavchavadze writes [66]:

Many have believed in trust and been shattered when their prayer of faith was not answered. I asked Dorothy about this and she replied that [God] does not always give it in the way we want it. The ultimate answer is His will, for only He knows our greatest need since it is our spiritual condition which is at stake. She pointed to Jesus in Gethsemane, who begged the Father to remove this cup of suffering, but the destiny of the whole world depended on this sacrifice. From a very different approach to this question was the answer given by Padre Pio, the great stigmatist, to a mother who begged him persistently for the healing of her dying son. He prayed about this and finally received the answer: it would be worse for her son if he lived.

Francis MacNutt [67] lists twelve reasons why persons are not healed through prayer. Some of those we have already met above. MacNutt does not claim that his list is complete, and I would like to add to it one more reason that I have encountered in my work as a spiritual director: Failure to pray aright. By this I do not mean failure to observe ritual requirements or failure to find or use the right words. In my experience many persons pray willfully rather than willingly. Egotistical, stubborn, or narcissistic desires may block the entrance of Jesus, who in his infinite, patient tenderness stands at the door and knocks [68], but very rarely breaks the door down. He respects our freedom, even our freedom to be willful and stubborn.

7. Dorothy held that the highest and most important healing is that of our broken relationships with God, the bringing of wounded men and women to union with God.

There are many instances in the writings about Dorothy in which persons coming to her were not healed physically, or were only partially healed physically, but who were led into a close relationship with God and into a beautiful spiritual life. Often deep confession of wrongdoing, accompanied in many instances with tears, was an essential part of that process 69. We have seen how “Little Louie” was only partially healed physically, but who after such a confession died a peaceful death that can only be described as holy.

Another beautiful example is given us in the story of Alan, written by Dorothy herself and reproduced in Arnold’s biography of her [70]. Alan was a young candidate for the Anglican priesthood who turned gravely ill. On the advice of his priest he came to Chapel House, Ealing, wanting healing but willing God’s will. Dorothy writes, with her characteristic exquisite sensitivity,

The coming of this lovely soul to Chapel House is one of the blessed privileges for which I shall ever thank God. He quickly won all our hearts, where his dear memory is enshrined for ever. … He was, obviously, grievously sick. Everything that could be done for him medically had been done; it remained now to await in faith for the Will of God to be made known to us. … [W]e had all united in prayer. … “He said [to me] one day, ‘Will you ask God to tell you what He wants for me? I know He can heal me if He wants to, but if He does not, then pray that I may be given the grace to accept whatever He wills.’ I shall never forget the beauty that shone in his face at this time, and the utter peace which surrounded him. … He was suffering greatly these days, and there was little that any of us could do to relieve him.”

Dorothy then had one of her discerning visions:

I had gone to Chapel at Alan’s request to pray that God’s will might be made known to us for him. As I knelt before the Altar, I saw in a vision Alan clothed as a priest, holding a chalice. He was shining; radiant with an unearthly beauty on his face – utter and complete joy, divine content.

In this vision Dorothy was given to know that Alan was not to live to receive a sacramental ordination in the present life, but that he was divinely ordained, to depart this world and to minister as a priest “on the Other Side”. She continues,

I told him of the vision which he accepted with complete resignation, indeed, satisfaction would be a better word. Then he said, “I am thankful. It is almost too wonderful….” His passing … was literally a falling asleep in Jesus. That glorious spirit had, by the grace of God, found complete and utter union with the Beloved, and hastened with joy to be with His Lord.

It is a maxim of the spiritual life that true love is ultimately a matter of the will. Feelings come and go, affections desert us, disturbances burst in on us, but the loving will holds steadfastly to the object of its love. Here we see a man who, with Dorothy’s prayers and ministrations to help, had in deepest love surrendered his own will to that of God, and through that giving of himself had found peace, joy, and fulfillment even though physical healing was not to be his. In his death he found his authentic healing.

Dorothy’s teaching on willing God’s will in prayer is beautifully summed up in one of her writings, “A Little Way of Prayer,” that was frequently read at Burrswood healing services [71]:

Let us by an act of the will place ourselves in the presence of our Divine Lord, and with an act of faith ask that He will empty us of self and of all desire save that His Most Blessed Will may be done, and that it may illumine our hearts and minds. We can then gather together ourselves and all those for whom our prayers have been asked, and hold all silently up to Him, making no special request — neither asking nor beseeching – but just resting, with them, in Him, desiring nothing but that Our Lord may be glorified in all. In this most simple way of approach He does make known His Most Blessed Will for us. “For so He giveth Himself to His beloved in quietness.”

I commend this contemplative method of prayer with its profound and loving simplicity to all of us in the healing ministry.

8. Dorothy filled her homes with beauty, believing in the healing power of beautiful surroundings.

Her chapels, her homes, her patients’ rooms, were filled with flowers. When patients’ meals were brought to them their trays carried a small vase with a rose or other bloom. The Church services in her centers were carried out with attention to liturgical and artistic good taste. She loved music and literature. Indeed, as Maddocks says [72],

Part of the therapy … was to surround her patients with beauty in order to encourage the divine spark in them to ignite. … [S]he lived in the belief that nothing but the best was good enough for God. She saw that the gardens of her homes were sheer beauty and a privilege to behold. Similarly, the furnishings of the rooms had to be tasteful, of good material and matching colours, warm in tone. If one of God’s children was to come to stay in one of her rooms, it had to be prepared to perfection. … [S]he adored flowers and saw that they were fresh and colourful in every room.

In this era, when physicians’ offices, convalescent homes, and consulting and hospital rooms are so often sterile, brilliantly lighted, plain, and functional, we in the Church might well pay more attention to the healing power of Christ, the “King of Heavenly Beauty” [73], that is mediated through beautiful surroundings.

9. Dorothy called on the Church to claim its power and to return to the execution of Christ’s commission to heal.

While in all her writings and public utterances she prophetically reminded us of Christ’s commission to heal the sick and witnessed to the power God gives the Church to do so, there was one episode that especially demonstrated her determination in this effort and the Church’s inertia and resistance to the breadth and depth of her message. This was her contribution, and her public response, to the Report of the Archbishops’ Commission on Divine Healing, which was issued in 1958. Marina tells the story [74]:

By 1953 the Archbishops of Canterbury and York felt the need to appoint a Commission to define the nature of healing and draw up a report on the Churches’ Ministry of Healing. They had to interview every known healer in the United Kingdom. … Dorothy was the last to be interviewed.

… [At the end of her testimony she expressed her feeling] that the whole study by the Commission was based on an intellectual approach which had lost its spiritual content. The Report was finally published in 1958 and, although it was a useful document as a comprehensive survey, it lacked the spirit that could inspire the churches to follow the Master and practice their God-given authority to heal.

Dorothy wrote to the Church Times expressing her indignation at the lack of faith [on the part of] the Church leaders:

As one of the persons asked to give evidence … I feel impelled to make a statement on the Report which has just been published. This Report must come as a terrible disappointment to all those who can see the growing interest in this subject, and especially to those members of the Church who have set great hopes that this Report would be the starting point for a real and great revival of the Church’s ministry of healing.

To me, as a loyal and convinced daughter of the Church, it represents a denial of Christ. Just as surely as Peter denied Him in a moment of stress and testing, though he knew in his heart what was wanted of him, so now the Church, though it knows in its heart what it should do, denies its Lord. In a sick world longing and seeking for healing through the restoration of its spiritual values, the Church, it seems to me, rejects a challenge and a glorious opportunity.

Christ commanded His disciples to preach the gospel and to heal the sick. These were the two pillars on which His Church was founded. My own life and work are living witnesses of what can be done to heal all manner of sickness and all manner of disease. Through Christ’s power and in fulfillment of His promises, my own experience shows that, when we really believe in the power of the Spirit, are prepared and ready to offer ourselves and can learn to do so in love, obedience, discipline, courage and patience, then our Lord works His miracles of love and healing just as surely to-day as He did two thousand years ago.

If our Church is to live, it must restore its ministry of healing with all the faith, courage and resources at its command. It fails to do so at its peril. It seems fearful of medical and scientific opinion and opposition, but it must have the courage to face this and it will find, as I have in thirty years of work in the ministry of healing, that religion and medicine work harmoniously hand in hand. I have never experienced any conflict and have found the medical profession always most eager to accept spiritual co-operation.

In the wake of the tremendous advances of medical science we are beset by all manner of sickness and all manner of disease, with a terrifying increase in nervous disorders and mental sickness and always the desperate core of so-called incurable diseases. So much of this just cannot be dealt with by physical means only, yet in my own experience all this sickness can find healing through the power of the Spirit in fulfillment of Christ’s promises.

Conclusion

These words by Dorothy were published in the Church Times on June 27, 1958. I have copied them from Marina’s book almost without abridgement, as a fitting conclusion to this paper. Today the mainline First World Churches are wracked with desperate conflict, acrimony, and disbelief. Fundamental tenets of Christian faith are denied by Church leaders, on grounds no stronger, I believe, than the transient intellectual temper of the times. Nevertheless, faithful and believing ministers of Christian healing are to be found, and these practitioners are seeing evidence of the power of the Spirit to which Dorothy referred. Her words bear repeating:

When we really believe in the power of the Spirit, are prepared and ready to offer ourselves and can learn to do so in love, obedience, discipline, courage and patience, then our Lord works His miracles of love and healing just as surely to-day as He did two thousand years ago.

That is a fact of experience, not only Dorothy’s but of ourselves and of many of the authors whom I have cited in this paper. Her words to the Archbishops, with very little change, could have been written today. They challenge us in the healing ministry not only to greater faith but to proclaim what results from that faith: The blind (spiritually and physically) see, the lame walk, diseases are cured, the deaf (spiritually and physically) hear, the dead (spiritually and physically) are raised to life, and the good news is proclaimed to the (spiritually and physically) poor [75]. I believe that the witness of ministers of Christian healing to these wonders may help to build up the Church, which in so many places is struggling over its faith [76].

I believe that Dorothy Kerin was one of the principal channels for the flow of grace that has been breathing life into the renewal of the Churches’ healing ministry in the past half-century. There is an ancient Christian tradition that it is primarily the Church’s contemplative saints along with the martyrs, who through their prayers and sacrificial lives release God’s grace into a broken world, to help bring the changes that, in His Providence, He wills. While I do not wish to draw credit away from the many leaders of the healing ministry, who through their own sacrificial lives have been a part of this renewal in recent years, for the building up of our own faith I do want to emphasize Dorothy’s important contribution, which came not only from her works and teaching, but through her self-sacrificing life of prayer.

Dorothy Kerin was both a sign to the Christian Church and to the world of God’s imminence and immanence, and a pioneer of great significance to the Church’s healing ministry.

Reference Notes

1. Kerin, Dorothy, 1914. The Living Touch. First published 1914. 1987 printing by K&SC (Printers) Ltd., High Brooms, Tunbridge Wells, Kent, U.K., viii + 88 pp.

2. Kerin, Dorothy, 1960. Fulfilling: A Sequel to The Living Touch. First published 1952. Third edition 1960 by K&SC (Printers) Ltd., High Brooms, Tunbridge Wells, Kent, U.K., 166 pp.

3. Heckscher, S., 2005. Chapter 68 in Spiritual Information: 100 Perspectives on Science and Religion, Essays in Honor of Sir John Templeton’s 90th Birthday. Ed. Charles Harper Jr., Templeton Foundation Press, Philadelphia and London., xvii + 602 pp.

4. Heckscher, ibid. There is of course a huge literature, a lot of it nonsensical or fraudulent, on allegedly supernatural or miraculous events. Much of what has been written from a western Christian perspective is the product of Roman Catholic investigators. For an authoritative contemporary guide to discernment of the authenticity and reliability of such events, see Benedict J. Groeschel, C.F.R., 1993. A Still Small Voice: A Practical Guide on Reported Revelations. Ignatius Press, San Francisco. 175 pp. Perhaps Groeschel’s most important source is a spiritual classic, Graces d’Oraison, by Augustin Poulain, S.J. (1836 – 1919), first edition 1901, and many subsequent editions. An English-language translation of portions of Graces d’Oraison is Revelations and Visions, Leonora L. Yorke Smith, translator; edited and with an introduction by Frank Sadowski, S.S.P., 1998. Alba House, New York., xv + 134 pp.

Groeschel (op.cit.) poses a collection of rigorous questions designed to aid in discernment, as to the validity of purported private revelations (to which category, technically, all Dorothy Kerin’s revelations belong), and as to their interpretation. In my earlier work just cited, I did not address Groeschel’s principal issue, which is, are Dorothy’s revelations acceptable to orthodox Christians as authentic. Writing for a very mixed audience of scientists, philosophers, and theologians, I merely attempted to establish that Dorothy’s works, as a phenomenon taken as a whole, along with countless other modern and well-authenticated seemingly supernatural events, pose a serious challenge to scientific materialism. Do Dorothy’s revelations and apparent miracles stand up well against the many questions and criteria posed by Groeschel? That question is beyond the scope of the present short paper. After detailed examination I believe that the answer is affirmative, and on that basis I am concerned in this article only with assessment of the significance of her life, works, and teaching for the Christian healing ministry today. I hope to produce a detailed examination of her life and works, using Groeschel’s many criteria, in my projected critical biography (see Introduction).

5. The main biographical source for Dorothy Kerin’s life, from which I have taken much of what follows, is: Arnold, Dorothy Musgrave, 1972. Dorothy Kerin: Called by Christ to Heal. First published 1965. Fourth impression 1972 by K&SC (Printers) Ltd., 19/27 Grove Hill Road, Tunbridge Wells, Kent, U.K., xiii + 235 pp. Other sources that I have drawn upon include Dorothy’s two books, cited above, and these two: Ernest, Joanna, 1983. The Life of Dorothy Kerin. The Dorothy Kerin Trust, Burrswood, Groombridge, Kent, U.K. 143 pp. Chavchavadze, Marina, 1995. Dorothy Kerin as I Knew Her. Published by the Executors of the Estate of Marina Chavchavadze., xii + 83 pp. Additional sources are cited below.

6. Ernest, Johanna, op. cit., p. 36.

7. Ernest, op. cit., p. 37.

8. Op. cit.

9. The Living Touch, pp. 17-18. Because there is much current interest in alleged appearances of the Blessed Virgin Mary, as at Medjugorie, I am reproducing here a fuller account, also by Dorothy herself, of this apparition. This one is from Ernest, Johanna, 1987. Dorothy Kerin 1889-1963: Her Ministry of Healing. Available online at http://www.nyarrow.demon.co.uk/Johanna_folder/D_Kerin.html#_Toc58193890 Evidently Ernest is recalling a spoken account by Dorothy: I suddenly heard a voice say “Dorothy.” Then I woke up and sat up in bed and that beautiful light came all over the bed again, from the foot, until it came up all around me — and then in the middle it opened — and there was a beautiful woman’s face — with a beautiful halo on the head. The shoulders and arms followed the head out of the light. In her right hand she had a beautiful Annunciation lily — a big one — and she was holding her hands up like that (extending her arms and raising them until the hands were just above the level of the head). Then she said, “Dorothy you are quite well now”, and she put a special stress on the word quite. Then she said, “The Lord has brought you back to use you for a great and privileged work. Many sick will you heal in your prayers and faith.” She did not say by, or through, your prayers, but in. “Comfort the sorrowing; give faith to the faithless.” Then she said, “Many rebuffs will you have, but remember, you are thrice blessed. His grace is sufficient for thee, and He will never leave thee.” Then she made the sign of the Cross on me with her beautiful lily — and it came right on my face — so that I could smell the scent of it. Then she put my head on the pillow, and said, “Now sleep, child.” I did not see her go away, but after she was gone the room was full of the scent of the lily.

10. Arnold, op. cit., chs. 3 – 7.

11. St. John of the Cross, The Dark Night of the Soul, Spiritual Canticle, Ascent of Mt. Carmel. Many editions of these sixteenth-century Spanish spiritual classics exist, in many languages. In them, the Saint gives his principal teachings on the development of the spiritual life. He wrote much additional prose and poetry, around the same themes.

12. Arnold, op. cit., ch. 4. I know of only two other Anglican stigmatics. One was partial, in a very young girl who died an apparently holy death, of leukemia. The marks were seen immediately after her death; see Pare, Peta, n.d. Chosen Vessel. Printed privately by the Dorothy Kerin Trust, Burrswood, Kent, U.K., 52 pp. See pp. 42-43. The second is Heather Woods of Lincoln, U.K. See: http://www.assap.org/newsite/articles/Stigmata.html The question of the authenticity of this phenomenon, which, as is well-known, may be the result of hysteria or other natural phenomena, is a difficult one, beyond the scope of this paper. With Dorothy Kerin’s stigmata, the consensus of the many witnesses is for an authentic spiritual cause, principally because of Dorothy’s humility, sobriety, and manifest sanctity that accompanied the appearance of these marks. Arnold, loc. cit., gives more depth of discussion than I can undertake here.

13. Arnold, op. cit., pp. 71 – 73.

14. Arnold, op. cit., p. 85. See also Fulfilling, op. cit., pp. 51, 52.

15. Op. cit., esp. Ch. VII.

16. Op. cit., Ch. 11.

17. This summary is of the account in Arnold, op. cit., pp. 98-104, and the passages quoted are from the same source; the narrative given there follows an account contributed by Marina Chavchavadze.

18. Isaiah 55: 9 (New Jerusalem Bible).

19. Cf. supra.

20. Scattered throughout the literature cited above, are an impressive number of accounts of apparently supernatural protection, guidance, revelation, and intervention in Dorothy Kerin’s community throughout the war years. Although any one of these, taken singly, might be dismissed as something like autosuggestion, self-deception, coincidence, or imagination, or even fraud, it is very difficult to dismiss all of them, collectively, as anything less than intervention from the supernatural, or Divine. Stories such as these are almost universal among the lives of Saints, and indeed permeate the New Testament. It is fashionable in our culture steeped in naturalism to ignore accounts such as these, but I have argued elsewhere (Heckscher, op. cit.) that such episodes, and there are surprisingly many that are well-attested, pose a serious challenge to philosophical or scientific materialism. See footnote 4.

21. Arnold, op. cit., pp. 127ff., from which this account is taken; see also Ch. 10.

22. Arnold, op. cit., pp.181, 182.

23. Pare, Peta, op. cit., pp. 39-40.

24. Arnold, op. cit., p. 164.

25. Ibid.

26. Arnold, op. cit., p. 169.

27. Op. cit., p. 203.

28. Op. cit., p. 205.

29. Op. cit., p. 206.

30. Op. cit., pp. 208-209.

31. Op. cit., pp. 204-213.

32. Op. cit., pp. 213-219. At the time of Dorothy’s death, plans were being made for a return visit to the United States.

33. Op. cit., pp. 220ff; Ernest, J., op. cit., p. 106.

34. Chavchavadze, op. cit., p. 77.

35. Ernest, op. cit., p. 125.

36. Details are found in Arnold, op. cit., pp. 227-231, and are here abstracted from that source.

37. Loc. cit., pp. 229.

38. Loc. cit., pp. 230. There are many, many reports in the lives of saints of many religious traditions, attesting to the luminous appearance of their bodies immediately after death, and also some reports resembling this one of an unexplained, exquisite scent of flowers in the vicinity of the bodies of the newly deceased.

39. From the immense literature from each of these traditions I pick one favorite of mine. Both these books are relatively accessible, and both are widely regarded as authoritative. From the Orthodox literature my choice is: Moore, Archimandrite Lazarus, 1994. St. Seraphim of Sarov: A Spiritual Biography, New Sarov Press, Blanco, TX. 501 pp. From the Western, Roman Catholic tradition my choice is: Ruffin, C. Bernard, 1991. Padre Pio: The True Story, Our Sunday Visitor Publishing Division, Our Sunday Visitor, Inc., Huntington, IN., 448 pp.

40. Sanford wrote many books. Her autobiography is Sealed Orders, Bridge Publishing, Inc., South Plainfield, NJ, 1972, 313 pp.

41. The classic work on Christian mysticism is Underhill, Evelyn, Mysticsm: A Study in the Nature and Development of Spiritual Consciousness. First published in 1911. My copy is of a Dover edition, first published in 2002, an unabridged, unaltered, republication of the twelfth edition (1930) published by E.P. Dutton and Co., Dover Publications, Inc., Mineola, NY., xviii + 515 pp.

42. See footnote 12.

43. The writings of St. John of the Cross, op. cit., are the classic western Christian works on the journey to the unitive life, the life of absorption in, and yet of total freedom in, God, that according to the Christian Tradition is the goal of life. The foundations of this understanding are Biblical, and stretch from Biblical times down through all the history of the Christian Church, through numerous classic writings. Underhill, op. cit., passim, is a recent treatise that has proved to be a good introduction for many students of the subject.

44. Ernest, J., Ernest, Johanna, 1987. Dorothy Kerin 1889-1963, op. cit.

45. Phil. 2:8.

46. Ernest, J., op. cit., p.39. See also pp. 21-38.

47. Op. cit., p. 20.

48. Cf. Mark 16: 17-18; John 14: 12.

49. See Zeiders, Charles L. and many other contributors, 2004. The Clinical Christ: Scientific and Spiritual Reflections on the Transformative Psychology Called Christian Holism, Julian’s House, ix + 151 pp. The central theme of that work, which will be known to many readers of the present paper, is the power of Christ through medicine and psychotherapy to heal illnesses of the body and mind; the book contains many references to the enormous literature on this subject. Spiritual direction can fruitfully be viewed as healing of the human spirit. The literature on spiritual direction in the Christian Tradition is far too vast to be catalogued here.

50. Ross, James Davidson, 1958. Dorothy Kerin: A Portrait, Hodder & Stoughton, London., 159 pp. This story is on p. 123.

51. Gal. 2: 19-20 (New Jerusalem Bible).

52. Chavchavade, op. cit., p. 76.

53. Op. cit., p. v.

54. A fundamental, general book on the subject of Christian healing is MacNutt, Francis, 1999. Healing, rev. & expanded edition, Ave Maria Press, Notre Dame, IN., 268 pp. This book contains many well authenticated examples of such healings.

55. Op. cit., p. 222.

56. Chapter 21 of Maddocks, Morris, The Vision of Dorothy Kerin, first published in 1991 by Hodder and Stoughton; my copy was published in 1999 by Eagle, an imprint of Inter Publishing Service (IPS) Ltd., Guildford, Surrey., xiv + 316 pp.

57. Op. cit., pp. 217, 219.

58. Op. cit., pp. 219.

59. See footnote 5.

60. Chavchavadze, op. cit., p. ix.

61. Arnold, op. cit., p. 199.

62. Chavchavadze, op. cit., p. x

63. Chavchavadze, op. cit., p. 63.

64. Ernest, J., Ernest, Johanna, 1987. Dorothy Kerin 1889-1963, op. cit.

65. Op. cit., Ch. 5 and pp. 194-5; see esp. p. 69.

66. Chavchavadze, op. cit., p. 65.

67. Op. cit., Ch. 17.

68. Rev. 3: 20.

69. See Zeiders et al., op. cit., one of the main themes of which is the centrality of forgiveness to the process of healing. Not only must we forgive others, but we must receive and take to heart God’s forgiveness of ourselves, and that can of course only happen after repentance.

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On the Shadow

Dear Friends,

“We are the key to the mystery of evil,” writes Joel Wendt, “for real evil (along with the good) only enters the world through us.” 

Here are the opening words of the Good News of our time that will save and empower anyone who has ears to hear. Why play the victim and blame God when we can grow up and take responsibility for who we are? For who we are has very much to do with being that very battleground where cosmic powers of good and evil meet, winner take all. To ignore or to deny this spiritual reality is, particularly in our time, unconscionable. Or do we really think that evil is native to the likes of Hitler and Stalin and Mao and evening news sociopaths only? Must we forever go on looking for evil, as the mass media enjoins us to do, outfitted in jack boots and turbans, while remaining ignorant of all that lurks subconsciously in our soul as countless demons of distrust? Surely there is no Judas more damnable — and more redeemable — than the Judas within.

In the essay following we are led on a path of thinking through the dark wood of the soul. As Joel shows, it is actually through thinking that we can tame and subdue the demons assailing us and thereby come to “a true, a self-created, knowledge of the good, or moral freedom”.  

To read other essays related to this essay, you can go to his website Shapes in the Fire http://ipwebdev.com/hermit/.

Pax et bonum,
Randall Scott 

The Mystery of Macro and Micro Evil and the Relationship of the Shadow (the Double-Complex) to the American Soul

 [under construction]

 by Joel Wendt

I recently had a discussion with a leading anthroposophical doctor, who was also many years a leader in the Society as well, and who on the question of the Shadow said to me that it was his view that I could not speak of such things, without first discovering and mastering everything Rudolf Steiner said about the double and about (I believe) Lucifer and Ahriman.

I found this to be a most incredible statement, for it seemed to assume that if one were to take up any subject Rudolf Steiner spoke about, the first path to knowledge of the matter had to go through him. Since Steiner himself had urged us again and again to not make him into any kind of authority, I wondered just what was being said to me by this doctor who has been seen for many years to be a deep anthroposophist. I found this all the more peculiar in an anthroposophical doctor for, when at the end of the lecture cycle “Spiritual Science and Medicine” Steiner was asked by a doctor/student what should one do with Paracelsus, whom Steiner had recommended be studied, Steiner replied that one should think out things for oneself first, and then go to Paracelsus for confirmation. My view has been that this is a good approach to Steiner as well.

This doctor’s attitude was also not something new to my experience, for I had run into similar views many times during my 25 plus years as an anthroposophist. Basically this view was that all that we could think, had to be tested against what Steiner had said.

This is, of course, logically impossible. If taken to the extreme of what it implies, it would suggest that no one can have a thought about anything since Steiner incarnated. Further, it represents a view that imagines thinking to be incapable of having its own direct spiritual connection, independent of Rudolf Steiner, while at the same time assuming that Steiner never made an error, never could make an error and ought not ever to be questioned. (At a recent branch meeting, a Christian Community priest said: we are never to doubt Rudolf Steiner.)

Given the logical absurdity of the doctor’s statement to me, what was in fact living in this point of view? I would say that it was in fact the Shadow itself speaking to me, trying mightily to rise out of the doctor’s soul on streams of anxiety and doubt and thus to keep its nature hidden. The Shadow cannot not bear the light of reasoned examination, or the true heart-warmth of genuine humor, and will trick us at every turn whenever we let ourselves sleep inwardly. But this is getting ahead of ourselves.

Where did the doctor’s unconscious anxiety come from? It came from the fact that he did not know me, and even though he had read some of my writings, had no basis in his experience to have confidence in me. But he was asleep as to this lack of confidence, otherwise that is what he would have said. He would have said, that if I were to write of the Shadow, I needed to explain how it was that I felt qualified to speak, for people (such as himself) would need to be able to have some trust right from the beginning, otherwise they will believe that all that is said is theory and Steiner-said – everything but something actually grounded in direct experience.

This then is where I will begin – with my experience.

I have practiced introspection for over 35 years now, ever since at age 31 when I underwent a remarkable, unexpected and spontaneous change of personality. From one evening on going to sleep to the next morning on awakening, a light – a new small flame of self-awareness – awoke in my soul that had not been there before, such that I began to see inwardly (into my own inwardness) where previously all had been enfolded in the normal darkness of ordinary consciousness. Lest one think this was a godsend, let me set the record straight, for it separated me from my fellows and has since lead to all kinds of troubles and challenges. To be awake where others are asleep is not always a good thing.

Fortunately, the personality that I was before the change was grounded in a kind of simple faith, and so in the beginning I turned to the Gospels in order to understand the meaning of what I began to observe in my inner life as a consequence of this spontaneous inner and brighter self awareness.

Seven years later, I met Rudolf Steiner’s writings, and became attracted almost at once to his works on the science of objective introspection (A Theory of Knowledge Implicit in Goethe’s World Conception, and The Philosophy of Spiritual Activity). Already naturally introspective (inwardly awake to the processes of my soul), I now found the way to make this very alone journey with the aid of scientific thinking. The main trouble that followed (these things never take a straightforward course), was that among other anthroposophists, I found almost no one that was as inwardly awake and as carefully studying their soul life out of the impulse of an introspection following the methods of natural science.

Oh, people did read the books on epistemology, but mostly they absorbed the concepts from the books, such that they thought about the content of their souls through the lens of the indications of Steiner, and did not in fact actually look to their own souls as a book itself that can be studied. Slowly over time I found myself again at odds with what I had assumed were my fellow students in anthroposophy, because we were not actually studying the same material. I was studying my soul and they were reading books.

About ten years ago, I ran into a wall in these studies. I knew a great deal in practice and had written about it in my essay “Pragmatic Moral Psychology” (see my website), but I had not yet met the double (in any kind of obvious way such that I felt any confidence in describing it as experience that had become knowledge in my soul). I had read much about the double, and had all kinds of concepts, but no adequate experience. I even stopped completely writing a book I was writing at that time because I did not know what clearly was the next thing to know. I wasn’t even sure that introspection, for all that I had learned there, could provide this experience, which seemed to require actual clairvoyant perception.

In this I was wrong. The fact is that my experience was full of evidence of the double, but this had eluded me because I had made certain assumptions about what I was to experience as an aspect of introspection, such that a matter that was the most intimate aspect of my inner life – the introspective experience of the Shadow, I had assumed to have one quality, when it in fact possessed another entirely.

This quality was hidden in the process we call our inner voice, or sub-vocalization, or which others call discursive thinking (the spirit speaks, the soul hears). The plain fact was that unless I was consciously directing this inner speaking (the throat chakra), the unconscious (in part the double-complex) was using it. To experiment here, simply count inwardly to yourself up to 23, and then stop and go on to some other activity, possibly involving movement. While you are doing this other activity, this inner speaking (the mental chatter we mostly conceive of as thinking) will continue on its own. There is a kind of endless commentary about everything that is going on, and unless we are consciously directing this inner speaking, it is speaking out of itself, or more precisely out of the presently hidden sub-conscious and super-conscious elements of soul life.

For someone to whom this is a new idea, and has little experience with introspection, let me add this concept. We all know how it is that we can place iron filings on a piece of paper, underneath which is a magnet. The filings will form patterns on the paper to line up with the influence of the magnet’s magnetic field. In a like way the double-complex and other aspects of the soul, both sub-conscious and super-conscious, make patterns in soul phenomena – patterns that can be observed. When we think about these patterns, after a time it is thinking itself which sees (recognizes) the meaning of the various phenomena as described in this essay.

Now this unconscious soul life is not just the double-complex (the sub-conscious), for the conscience (the super-conscious) speaks here as well. In addition, what the John Gospel calls the wind (the Holy Spirit) also speaks into our thinking (see my essay “In Joyous Celebration of the Soul Art and Music of Discipleship”). The whole thing is in fact a kind of inner mystery, and requires that we pay attention to it (be scientific about our introspective experiences), otherwise we will miss a great deal that can be observed in the soul. As another example, just notice the next time someone seems to have made you angry. Up in intensity goes this inner chatter, which then tends to take the character of all kinds of thoughts which are unkind and destructive. If we act out of these thoughts, we will usually make a mess of things.

If we think it through, we will now recognize why Steiner so frequently spoke to us about learning control of thoughts. Our will needs to awake in this realm, so that the unconscious influences become more conscious, the access to our I by the Shadow is reduced, and our ability to consciously co-participate with the Holy Spirit (the wind) is able to emerge out of the general background noise in the soul, because thought is no longer allowed to be driven out of the hidden depths (instead becoming a conscious act of the own I). This then is a basic and essential task in achieving the living thinking or what is sometimes called heart thinking: control of thoughts.

Some will have good instincts about holding back this endless mental chatter (which the Tibetans call the oscillation of the citta). We will also here come to a sense of the difference between the lower ego and the higher ego. That which appears to introspection in ordinary consciousness as the seemingly endless flow of mental chatter is a phenomena of the soul. I am not, by the way, in the immediate above trying to solve all of the relevant problems. Instead I am simply pointing directly at soul phenomena that if studied objectively will lead to experiences of the double-complex in the soul.

All that said, let us now step away, and come at this more abstractly for a while, instead of so intimately, for this outer view, with its generalized mental pictures, is needed in order for us to have a context in which to place the meaning of why we need to have such an intimate inner companion, the shadow or double-complex, who is able to use our own inner voice as a vehicle for temptation and prosecution and other problems, while at the same time the conscience and the wind have a similar access to our deepest inner soul realities. In this sense the soul is an inner mystery temple, which while it has many general characteristics, is also quite distinctively individual and unique.

Also, keep in mind that once we obtain to a certain degree of control of thoughts (the will-in-thinking) it then becomes possible (again see my essay “In Joyous…”) for us to begin to learn how to perceive inwardly the voice of temptation (the luciferic double), the voice of inner prosecution (the ahrimanic double) and the influence of the self-created egregorial beings (or better said: the self-generated wounds) in the soul. Further, the lower ego (the I surrounded by the threefold double-complex) becomes able, via the will-in-thinking (control of thoughts), to begin to consciously co-participate with the conscience (the higher ego – which is itself never really separated from the Mystery).

Here is a diagram from my book The Way of the Fool:

Christ Jesus

Guardian Angel

i-Am

[sense world < soul (A/d) < i-AM > (L/d) soul > spiritual world]

human double

(asuras)

the Divine Mother

Here is another diagram, isolating part of the first one for special attention:

i-AM

(A/d) < i-Am > (L/d)

human double

We need to keep in mind that the symbols (the map) is not the territory.

The first diagram represents our general experiential relationship to the worlds, both inner and outer. The second diagram represents the structural nature of the lower and higher egos as they sit within this world of experience.

From within our biographies we experience the world, mediated on the sense-world side by the ahrimanic double and the sensory parts of the soul, and mediated on the spiritual-world side of experience by the luciferic double and the higher inner perceptual parts of the soul. We are far more awake to the former (in the sense-world) in this stage of the evolution of consciousness than we are to the latter (the spiritual-world).

This is an important point, and one of the reasons the study of Steiner’s The Philosophy of Spiritual Activity is far more important for the future of anthroposophy than the study of Knowledge of Higher Worlds. Only via actual introspection following the map that is Philosophy do we begin directly with an encounter in the spiritual worlds. In Knowledge of Higher Worlds our approach is indirect, through the sense world (a world more informed by Ahriman, who is, in a way, a stronger opponent than is Lucifer).

Further, not one of the spiritual powers, whether it is Christ, the Divine Mother, Ahriman or Lucifer have direct access to the social world of the tenth hierarchy. Their only access is through us. “…the very purpose of our Fifth Post-Atlantean epoch is that man should become increasingly conscious of what takes effect through him in earthly existence.” R. S. Lucifer and Ahriman [emphasis added]. This both insures our freedom and our capacity in the end to master the influence of the Shadow forces, as these pour out of ourselves onto the shared social world of humanity. As pointed out above in my article  “Ahriman’s Incarnation”, his power in Nature no longer quite influences us as directly as before, for the social world has emancipated itself from the natural world. [It could come to pass that this situation will change as Western Civilization passes through its death and then toward a rebirth — such that humanity could find itself once again deeply integrated with the natural world, albeit one badly damaged by our excesses.]

The main thing that goes on in the social world is the biographies of six billion plus human beings. These are artistically arranged by Christ as Lord of Karma, so that each of us lives our biographies in the company of those with whom we have special and very much needed shared striving. Once we incarnate into the social world of humanity, we are set free of direct spiritual-world influence, except for the fact of partial excarnation every night during sleep. This is where needed adjustments can be made to keep us on track with regard to the goals we have agreed to experience in our biographies. Here is a great mystery, and everyone should really only make a judgment about what this means for them individually, and not concerning any other person.

The double-complex plays a special role here, for much that the double does is needed in order for us to experience our karma, fate, and then eventually (perhaps) to form our free destiny. We need the Shadow in earthly life in the same way we need a physical body. Granted aspects of the double-complex are similar in kind and nature to immense spiritual powers, yet Steiner also describes this as a hierarchical structure of gloves within gloves within gloves – a stepping down of the original Power into something much smaller and more in tune with the real I. While the double is like Ahriman and Lucifer, it is ordained to be in a balanced relationship to the ego, for the freedom of the I is the essential matter.

In the last Lecture to the John Gospel cycle, Steiner also speaks of the result of properly passing through the trials of The Philosophy of Spiritual Activity (becoming able to reproduce the meaning content of the book out of our own thinking, feeling and willing) as producing a condition of katharsis (or purification) in the astral body. This purification is what makes the soul (the astral body aspect) more permeable to the Light and to the Life, and this forms the necessary basis out of which the Rite of Initiation can later be enacted.

Every incarnate human being is thus accompanied in the biography by a relevant Shadow (double-complex), which is rich and just in its being and nature. We can begin to observe the field of play of this being by studying (with scientific objectivity) our own inwardness, especially the phenomena of thought. Because of the laws of karma and reincarnation, the astral body also contains (in addition to the ahrimanic and luciferic doubles) the human double, we will explore this in more detail next.

In my writing I used to speak of the human double as various kinds of egregorial beings. This is a middle-ages term, and refers to a kind of self-generated psychic parasite in the astral body (the heroin addict calls it: the monkey on my back – a quite suitable imagery). Such artificial beings are created by our giving into a prompting of either or both of the ahrimanic and luciferic doubles, except that the egregore requires an almost rite like-repetition for its creation. The ritual by which the heroin user “shoots up” is such a rite.

The result of the rite is a kind of forbidden pleasure (the payoff to the rite), and a kind of separation occurs in the astral body such that the egregorial being becomes more and more independent of the will of the I as the rite is repeated. Steiner hinted at such beings in the last lecture of the cycle Man as Symphony of the Creative Word, where he called them cancers or tumors of the soul.

I have taken to dropping the term egregore, and replacing it with self-generated wound. I believe this is more accurate if we want our conceptions about such matters not only to be true, but also good and beautiful. Steiner also referred to such beings somewhat indirectly when he described the processes of excarnation and incarnation in a way that suggested that as the astral body expands (excarnates) into the cosmos, it leaves behind pieces of itself, which later during the incarnation process are picked up again.

Now such beings are of varying degrees of harm. Many of us will have had the experience of driving on a freeway, and because there was little traffic we let our minds go into a kind of reverie, such that 20 miles down the road our ego consciousness (our attention) returns from the day-dreaming with a kind of shock that we did not at all notice what we did as a driver for the lost time. Who drove the car while our conscious ego was participating in the experience of reverie? A modern thinker, using computer terminology, might speak of a sub-routine, which is not entirely inaccurate since a sub-conscious habit was driving the car.

We have many such sub-conscious habits (physiologists also speak of muscle memory, as if the physical body itself could self-direct its complicated activities). What else is the training for certain dancers, gymnasts and others, but the creation of a whole community of sub-conscious habits? Experience in fact teaches us that many such activities require of the ego that it not over-think the activity, otherwise we become awkward and clumsy. Also, if we come to understand that the ego is much more than where our I directs our attention at any given moment, we can see that in the sub-conscious of the will are rather remarkable capacities.

It is really only in thinking that the activity of the will can become the most conscious.

Now as we know, the more dangerous and problematic self-generated wounds (addiction, alcoholism, etc.) have in the 20th century become more treatable. A great aid came into existence at the beginning of the most intense period of the Second Coming of Christ in the Ethereal in 1933, when Bill W. was visited, while detoxing in the hospital for the umpteenth time, by Christ in the form of an angel, and the impetus was given for the later community development of the 12 Steps. There is no present day spiritual discipline better suited for healing self-generated wounds than the Twelve Steps.

I’ll not lay out the Steps here in detail, but I will do a kind of overview, and point out their threefold nature. The beginning gesture of the Steps is one of surrender. We recognize our powerlessness before the self-generated wound (the monkey on my back, my disease, demon rum etc.), and we turn to the Divine Mystery (as we individually understand this – our spiritual freedom remains fully intact) for help. Here is Novalis who touches this process quite directly:

The heart is the key to the world and of life.
We live in our helpless condition in order to love,
and be obliged to others.

Through imperfection we become ripe for the influence of others,
and this outside influence is the aim.
In illness we must be helped by others and only others can help us.
From this point of view, Christ surely is the key of the world.

What actually happens in a spiritual technical sense is that by our act of surrender the forces of the Divine Feminine (which oversee, from the other side of the eight inner spheres of the Earth, the hierarchies of the left) are able to enter for a time into the soul and stand in between the I and the self-generated wound, as well as in between the I and the ahrimanic and luciferic doubles as these through inner prosecution and temptation encourage the flaw in our character that has led to the self-generated wound. We surrender to our helpless condition, and in so humbling ourselves make it possible for the soul to have enough embryonic purity (humility) that the Mystery can come to our aid.

In the middle elements of this process we enter into community. We confess to another. We admit our flaws to the Divine, and we get ready to make amends to those we have harmed. We start to shoulder, on our own, acts of purification rooted in the slowly unfolding true humility.

In the final elements of this process we then act in the social community world so as to transform our character flaws, and build out of this a conscious spiritual practice that keeps us awake in the moment to our next potential fall from grace. As we do this it becomes less necessary for the Divine Feminine to provide direct inner support, as long as we can remain on the path of humility and service to others. The ego is strengthened in the very best way (beginning with – and remaining in – washing the feet). This process, which I call the elevation of the spirit for the mastery of the soul is as follows: surrender, entrance (naive membership) in the community of like-wounded and then becoming a self-transforming example and actor in this same community.

Let’s now look a little more deeply at the ahrimanic double and inner prosecution (we hear in our inner voice the repeating tape of You are such a loser!). This is not all the ahrimanic double does, for it is a kind of cold and calculating intelligence. In fact, precisely because it is so cold and calculating it has (in a way) a higher order intellect. Heart-warmed thoughts are wise and generally far less clever in making life decisions. Further, heart-warmed thoughts often selflessly involve us with others, such that they often lead to troubles and difficulties (see the film Pay it Forward), whereas clever thoughts are quite selfish and enable us to avoid more easily messy life situations.

Now in extremis, inner prosecution is often accompanied by what we tend to call depression, using conventional psychological terms. We have lost ourselves in self-negative feelings and, out of this inability to control our life of feelings, the inner prosecutor (the ahrimanic double) is given a kind of free reign to provide us with negative thoughts (remember from above the need to learn to control thoughts). Here the problem involves the mastery of feelings. The Shadow during much depression is in charge of the feeling life (yes, there are physiological problems that can lead to depression, but we need to learn to work within our own soul first, before we turn to a pill. The pill can weaken the I, because it fails to wake up within and then face the Shadow in the soul out of the I’s own forces.

By the way, do not go around giving advice to any of your depressed friends, unless you have clearly mastered the following practices yourself, and they (your friends) already have a general spiritual understanding of their own life of soul and spirit. What is being said here requires that it remain within its necessary context, and if abstracted out of that context will lead to harm.

In effect, in much depression we are in the grip of the ahrimanic double. Our life of feeling is not mastered, nor are our thoughts within our control. Also remember that this being is very clever, so one must begin by recognizing, as in the Twelve Steps, our fundamental helplessness. The best advice I have ever practiced in this regard, apparently came from Dennis Klocek (indirectly attributed to him through another), and involves taking hold of our inner voice, and asking inwardly: Who are you? This should be repeated two or three times, with the accompanying thought (remember that context) that we are waking up in the realm of soul and spirit and speaking to a being in the still-somewhat inner darkness of ordinary consciousness.

This being cannot give us its name, and is compelled upon being asked to do so to withdraw from its activity as a contributor to the state of depression. Part of what is going on is that during depression we are experience a related paralysis of the will. When we activate the inner will by asking the question, we take from this being a power it has tricked us into allowing it to have, which power really belongs to us.

Don’t expect immediate relief. Feelings linger, and the depression (especially if quite strong) will not fly away, unless a higher being intervenes, an experience I have also had, but which requires petition – prayer – followed by grace from above. Sometimes we just need to lie down, ask the question a few times, and then rest. The being must withdraw and the depression will lessen. At this point, however, we are not yet done.

Just as in the Twelve Steps, when during surrender there arises a gap in between the I and the self-generated wound, so the question “Who are you?” creates a gap between the I and the ahrimanic double (the inner prosecutor). Into this gap we now must assert further inner activity. The best activity I have found is then to consciously create a mental picture of this being and its cohorts. I make a picture of three such beings – really seeking thereby to effect the whole threefold double-complex, for these tend to cooperate –, imagining them being somewhat like the character Gollum in Lord of the Rings, but which instead of being rounded in shape are actually quite angular with very sharp features.

We imagine these beings kind of gleefully dancing, holding hands, and moving in a circle. Then to this picture we add something humorous. Perhaps we picture cold maple syrup pouring over these beings, making them slippery and causing them to pratfall. We, of course, don’t want to imagine harm coming to them, but we do need to make an inner picture in which their activity is seen as quite silly and ineffectual. Maybe we picture that they get depressed and then start to eat all kinds of ice cream until they get sore of stomach because of the excess.

By this activity we have first dismissed the being by asking the question and then second made a counter picture to those negative self-images the Shadow has been urging on us. The final (or third step) is to become physically active. We rise from the sofa or bed where we have lain down, and take up some activity (cleaning is good, if we otherwise because of weather can’t go for a walk). Nature is certainly a good experience here, or if we are housebound for some reason, then music, made by ourselves (singing, playing a recorder, or listening to a CD). Something like the Gregorian chant music that was popular some years ago is also helpful. Whatever choices we make, it is movement that is essential.

The depression has paralyzed the will, and now after we have first asserted the will inwardly by asking the question and then developed it further by creating the humorous counter-picture, we must then press this will-gesture all the way into the physical body and into movement. With the state of depression lifted, the thoughts we need will come to us, and we can return to life.

Next let’s look at temptation, a principle arena of the activity of the luciferic double. Again, this temptation comes to us via our own inner voice, which we have, mostly by habit and lack of development, allowed a kind of independence from the I. Our attention is on listening to the tempting inner voice, and not on control of thoughts or mastery of feelings. At the same time we need to keep in mind that the luciferic double is also a voice of a kind of wisdom. We sometimes need this wisdom in life, even though it will tend to be a bit ungrounded. Luciferic wisdom takes us off the Earth, while ahrimanic cleverness drives too deep into a mood of gravitas. Keep in mind also, that Steiner has said that often the cure for Ahriman is Lucifer, and the cure for Lucifer is Ahriman.

Essentially the same problems as above apply, except that we are not generally depressed (although often in states of depression we are more easily tempted). The root of the temptation is generally a mood of soul. So let’s come at this from the problem of mastery of feelings (something a bit different from control of thoughts). Obviously the six supplementary exercises are a support here as well.

There is some imagery from the Middle East, Persian or perhaps Sufi, which I have found useful in understanding this problem. The soul and spirit can be described as consisting of a charioteer, a chariot and a horse. The charioteer is the I. The chariot is the self constructed mental world – our collection of ideas and concepts which we use to travel through life. And, the horse is our feelings or emotions (e-motions).

The charioteer is most in balance when he has consciously created and maintained his chariot, and is able to tame and direct the energies of the horse (the mastery of feelings). As regards the chariot, we have the need to control thoughts, and to not be in bondage in the experience of an idea. As regards the horse, we have to be able to step aside from unredeemed (sub-conscious) feelings of antipathy and sympathy, and develop the ability to be able to replace these with cultivated feelings (such as reverence, equanimity etc.).

A temptation is generally a desire (which Steiner speaks about from many directions in The Philosophy of Spiritual Activity). It is a want, perhaps experienced as a need: sex, hunger, revenge, etc. Let’s just work with hunger and sex, to keep things simple.

Hunger is often a need of the body, as is sex. The I experiences the need, and in fact often identifies with it, having already identified itself with the body. We feel/think I need food or I need sex when it is really the body that needs food or sex. In the Philosophy Steiner has put the question this way: Can I want what I want? Can a desire be an act of will, or am I powerless before it?

His answer is that we can will what we want, if we put before the want a self- chosen moral intuition. We put in front of the want, a self-determined because. Not after the want, in front of the want. Just as with depression, the first step is actually to create the gap in between the want (the temptation) and the action. And the same rules can apply. We experience the want, the temptation, which will often appear in discursive thought as if our own inner voice was saying: Oh boy, I was so good today with what I didn’t eat at lunch, I can take my dinner hunger and satisfy it with ice cream (a friend of mine humorously calls this an ice crime).

If we notice the temptation, and then we can ask, “Who are you?” There is also an old folk remedy from Europe, where we cross ourselves three times and spit over our left shoulder.

Of course there are all kinds of temptations and desires. This is just an example. Let’s look at sex as well, since there is a lot in common with other inner soul-gestures that can make these questions of soul management (control of thoughts and mastery of feelings) stand out.

Generally, with sex and hunger, we also deal with inner pictures. These images are not insignificant. Further, our culture through advertising is constantly stimulating desire. This (sex) is a bit of a different problem for men than for women. The temptation for men is to see a woman just as  a woman and not as an individual. A man wants to get laid, and is often in-discriminate about who is the object of his desire. The temptation for women is more of one toward immodesty in dress and action.

The man is stimulated by the culture to make women into sex objects, and the women is stimulated by the culture to dress provocatively, forgetting that, or asleep to the fact that, men are intoxicated by such stimulation, intoxication being a kind of surrender of the I to the aroused passion. No one in these circumstances is free, because they are in fact in bondage to the idea (the related mental pictures), and mastered by the feelings instead of being their master.

So the first problem as noted above is to awake to the temptation. The second problem is to create a gap in between the desire and the action, so that before it sparks across that gap, a freely chosen moral choice can be inserted in the front of the desire. Thinking can do this.

Again, since the chariot is relevant, we can create an alternative mental picture to the one prompting the desire. We can shift from a picture of an “ice crime”, to one of another food choice, which our thinking helps us recognize as more healthy. We can also try to self-observe the feeling life that has prompted the desire. We can then ask, where did this mood of soul come from, and how can I substitute another mood, i.e., take the reigns of the horse?

The most significant matter is to have in our world-view of our inner life a quite concrete and accurate understanding of the relationship of the Shadow (the threefold double-complex) to the I. With this understanding we now shift the battle with evil into that realm were we are most able to meet it. We understand that evil (and the good) enter into the world through us, and since this is the case, we are then able to meet it, and render it impotent out of the own developing I.

As a corresponding element of this understanding, we also need to recognize (as pointed out in my essays on the mote and the beam) that what we observe in the outer world (the Stage Setting) is more beam than mote. Yes, we can in the outer world oppose evil, but first we must master the beam (You hypocrite, first you must get the beam out of your own eye, before you can help your bother with his splinter).

Let us now return to the consideration of Macro Evil, for one of the characteristics of the Stage Setting (the cultural-historical background to individual human biographies) is that because the relationship between the opponents (Ahriman, Lucifer, etc.) takes the shape of gloves within gloves within gloves, giving thus a general specific nature and character to the threefold double-complex, a whole culture (even a whole civilization) can be turned in a certain direction because each individual double expresses to a small degree the same time-related impulses originating in its hierarch (or ruler, such as Ahriman).

For example, scientific materialism, an aspect of the ahrimanic deception, arises in Western humanity in large part because the individual doubles are able to be coordinated, and consists in part of inner temptations and prosecutions designed to cause natural scientists (natural philosophers at the beginning of the scientific age) to make the same (common) error of judgment. The whole of western civilization pivots in the direction of a spiritless (all matter no spirit) world-view because the threefold double-complex is moved in sync with this basic impulse originating in the realm of the hierarchies of the left.

William Blake called the effect of this generalized confusion: “single vision and Newton’s sleep”. The natural scientist lost confidence in his senses (which Goethe said never lie, only the judgment – discursive thinking moved out of the sub-conscious – lies), and so the natural scientist believed he could find the truth of the world only through instruments and mathematics. Thus arose a spiritless world-view, which, while itself seems a terrible thing, was actually turned toward the good by beings more powerful and wise than Ahriman and his minions.

In the stream of earthly world events, a central theme is the evolution of consciousness. Humanity evolves by being offered precise tasks in each cultural epoch. While not every biography achieves what is offered it, at the time it is offered, the possibility is always there. In terms of the evolution of consciousness, the ahrimanic deception enabled humanity to become (more or less) free of the Gods. The human being was to feel spiritually alone, until bearing a hunger for a return to the spirit, it awoke enough to being to strive once more for reintegration. Even faith was to become arid and dead (thus the appearance of spiritual materialism everywhere as a kind of rigid – ahrimanized – dogmatic fundamentalism).

The processes in the social (i.e., the development of individualism and the loss of the cohesive nature of the family and community) that gave rise to the potential for moral freedom, were accompanied by the effects of natural science and the industrial revolution. The social effects of Ahriman’s character, as stamped on present-day civilization, served the good, the evolution of consciousness, by causing the I to have to stand on its own (leave its childhood behind), and begin to draw from the deeper inner wells of its nature a true, a self-created, knowledge of the good, or moral freedom.

Christ even told us to expect this effect, when He said in the Gospels, Matthew 10:34-40:

Don’t think I came to cause peace across the land. I didn’t come to cause peace, I came to wield a sword, because I came to divide a man against his father and a daughter against her mother and a bride against her mother-in-law, and to make a man’s servants his enemies. Whoever prefers father or mother over me is not worthy of me; and whoever prefers son or daughter over me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me. Whoever found his life will lose it, and the one who lost his life because of me will find it. Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me, receives my Sender.

Rudolf Steiner called this effect of the Christ Impulse the loss of the blood ties that at one time bound us into various forms of group soul.

This then is how we need to see (from this point of view) the mystery of evil. Macro-evil, the Stage Setting, is one aspect of the living and evolving social organism of the whole world. It is context, not essence. Essence is micro-evil, which occurs in individual human biographies in the nature of the relationship of the I to the threefold double-complex – the Shadow. The counter to the Shadow is the own I. We are the key to the mystery of evil, for real evil (along with the good) only enters the world through us. By unfolding within ourselves the Christ Impulse (free moral grace via the Second Eucharist), we tame evil and subdue it at the only point it has through which to enter the social world.

Again and to conclude:  “…the very purpose of our Fifth Post-Atlantean epoch is that man should become increasingly conscious of what takes effect through him in earthly existence” [emphasis added], from Lucifer and Ahriman, Rudolf Steiner. As well: “You hypocrite, first you must get the beam out of your own eye, before you can help your bother with his splinter.”

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Bourgeoisity

Dear Friends,

As a stream of philosophy, personalism of its own nature opposes ‘bourgeoisity’.

Words of prophecy from Nicolai Berdyaev (died 1948), twentieth century personalist and Christian existentialist thinker, from his book The Bourgeois Mind:

“Civilization is by its nature ‘bourgeois’ in the deepest spiritual sense of the word. ‘Bourgeois’ is synonymous precisely with the civilized kingdom of this world and the civilized will to organized power and enjoyment of life. The spirit of civilization is that of the middle classes, it is attached and clings to corrupt and transitory things, and it fears eternity. To be a bourgeois is therefore to be a slave of matter and an enemy of eternity. The perfected European and American civilizations gave rise to the industrial-capitalist system, which represents not only a mighty economic development but the spiritual phenomenon of the annihilation of spirituality. The industrial Capitalism of civilization proved to be the destroyer of the eternal spirit and the sacred traditions. Modern capitalist civilization is essentially atheistic and hostile to the idea of God. The crime of killing God must be laid at its door rather than at that of revolutionary Socialism, which merely adapted itself to the civilized ‘bourgeois’ spirit and accepted its negative heritage.

“Industrial-capitalist civilization, it is true, did not altogether repudiate religion: it was prepared to admit its pragmatical utility and necessity. Thus religion, which had found a symbolic expression in culture, became pragmatical in civilization. It could, indeed, prove useful and practical in the organization and fostering of life. Civilization is by its nature pragmatical. The popularity of pragmatism in America, the classical land of civilization, need cause no surprise. Socialism, on the other hand, repudiated pragmatical religion; but it pragmatically defends atheism as being more useful for the development of life forces and the worldly satisfaction of the larger masses of mankind. But the pragmatical and utilitarian approach of Capitalism had been the real source of atheism and spiritual bankruptcy. The useful and practically effective god of Capitalism cannot be the true God. He can be easily unmasked. Socialism is negatively right. The God of religious revelations and symbolic culture had long vanished from capitalist civilization, just as it had receded from Him.

“The capitalist system is sowing the seeds of its own destruction by sapping the spiritual foundation of man’s economic life. Labour loses all spiritual purpose and justification and, as a result, brings an indictment against the whole system.

“Civilization is powerless to realize its dream of everlasting aggrandizement. The tower of Babylon will remain unfinished.”

Reading this, how can we not think of those burning twin towers of September 11, 2001 — even if as being due to an “inside job” (together with all the “war-on-terror-and-police-state” aftermath) — how can we not think of those towers ultimately coming down as divine judgement on our Christ-denying civilization? Ahriman, otherwise known as Satan, is the great tester after all, his anti-christ the mirror of our civilization’s own denial of the Son of Man, his annihilation of spirituality being, truth to tell, his wildly popular stock-in-trade, his raison d’etre by divine permission.

Seriously, what else did we expect?

The question is, what now?

Words of admonition from Dorothy Day, also a personalist, from her journal entry made on Saint Valentine’s Day, 1944:

“The bourgeois, the material, fights for abstractions like freedom, democracy, because he has the material things of this life (which he is most fearful of being deprived of). The poor fight for bread, for the increase of wages, for time to rest, for warmth, for privacy.

“Have you ever been in the two-room shacks of poor Negroes in the South, or of miners in Pennsylvania, Kentucky and West Virginia, of steel workers, have you seen the slums of Washington, D.C. or Harrisburg, Pa. and see people living ten in a room?

“No one talking about the spiritual here in hovels. Keep that locked in our own breasts. Here we cannot show our love for them by talking retreats, the spiritual life. “A certain amount of goods is necessary to lead a good life” – St. Thomas. Privacy above all. A certain freedom from nagging hunger and anxiety and pain.

“We cannot make a Christian social order without Christians. It is impossible save by heroic charity to live in the present social order and be Christians.”

(The Duty of Delight: The Diaries of Dorothy Day, Marquette University Press, 2008)

Heroic charity? Could that really be the answer?

The essay below is by Christopher Dawson (died 1970), independent scholar and well-known personalist historian. It is reprinted from The Dynamics of World History, ed. John J. Mulloy. It previously appeared in the print edition of Crisis Magazine, with permission of its publisher Sheed and Ward, and was placed online by CatholicCulture.org. Christopher H. Dawson has been called by Araceli Duque “the greatest English-speaking Catholic historian of the twentieth century”.

Pax et bonum,
Randall Scott

Catholicism and the Bourgeois Mind

Christopher Dawson

The question of the bourgeois involves a real issue which Christians cannot afford to shirk. For it is difficult to deny that there is a fundamental disharmony between bourgeois and Christian civilization and between the mind of the bourgeois and the mind of Christ.

But first let us admit that it is no use hunting for the bourgeois. For we are all more or less bourgeois and our civilization is bourgeois from top to bottom. Hence there can be no question of treating the bourgeois in the orthodox communist fashion as a gang of antisocial reptiles who can be exterminated summarily by the revolutionary proletariat; for in order to “liquidate” the bourgeoisie modern society would have to “liquidate” itself.

This is where Marx went wrong. His theory of increasing misery led him to suppose that the line of class division would become sharper and more strongly defined, until the rising tide of popular misery broke the dykes and swept away the closed world of privileged bourgeois society. Instead of this we have seen the bourgeois culture, the bourgeois mind, even the bourgeois standards of life advancing and expanding until they became diffused throughout the whole social organism and dominated the whole spirit of modern civilization.

And so in order to understand the essential character of the bourgeois, it is necessary to disregard for the moment this universalized bourgeois culture which is part of the very air we breathe and turn back to the time when the bourgeois was still a distinct social type which could be isolated from the other elements in society and studied as an independent phenomenon.

Now the bourgeois was in origin the member of a small and highly specialized class which had grown up within the wall of the mediaeval city commune. Far from being the average European man, he was an exceptional type standing somewhat outside the regular hierarchy of the medieval state, which was primarily an agrarian society consisting of the nobility, the clergy, and the peasantry. His very existence was guaranteed by a charter of privileges which constituted the city-commune as a regime d’exception. Thus there was a sharp division of material interests and social culture between the bourgeois and the countryman, a division which was deepened in Eastern Europe, including Eastern Germany, by the fact that the towns were often islands of German speech and civilization amidst a population that was predominantly Slav. And so while the peasant laboured and the noble fought, the bourgeois was free to lead his own life, to mind his own business and to grow rich within the narrow limits of the mediaeval urban economy.

All this seems infinitely remote from the modern world. But we must remember that it was not so remote from the society to which the founders of modern socialism — Lassalle and Marx and Engels — belonged. The German bourgeoisie had only just emerged from a regime of corporate rights and privileges which bound the bourgeois to his corporation, the craftsman to his guild, the peasant to his land, and the Jew to his ghetto. The generation before that of Marx had seen this structure collapse like a house of cards, so that the world was suddenly thrown open to any man who possessed money and enterprise — that is to say to every good bourgeois.

Thus the process which had taken centuries to develop in Western Europe was completed in Central and Eastern Europe within a single lifetime. Whereas in England and the United States, the bourgeois spirit had already become a fluid element that interpenetrated the whole social organism; in Germany, or Austria, or Russia, it was still a new factor in social life and so it was easy for Marx to separate it from the rest of society and regard it as the distinctive mark of a definite limited class.

And this explains why class hatred comes more easily to the Eastern than to the Western European. Croce has an amusing story of how an Italian delegate to a German socialist congress was obliged to apologize for the lack of class hatred in the Italian socialist movement. “We do not hate,” he admitted, “but we are quite willing to.” And in English socialism even the will to hatred has been lacking in spite of the fact that the proletariat in England suffered far more than the proletariat in Germany from the coming of industrialism. For the leaders of English socialism have been idealists, whether bourgeois idealists like Robert Owen and William Morris or Christian socialists like Keir Hardie and George Lansbury.

But while we may well congratulate ourselves that English social life has not been poisoned by class hatred and class war, it does not follow that the complete penetration of English culture by bourgeois standards and ideals is a good or admirable thing. It is even possible that the victory of the bourgeois has meant the destruction of elements that are not merely valuable but essential to English life, since the English tradition is something much wider and deeper than the machine-made urban and suburban culture by which it has been temporarily submerged.

Actually we have only to open our eyes to see that this criticism is justified. The devastated areas of industrial England and the cancerous growth of the suburbs are not merely offensive to the aesthetic sense, they are symptoms of social disease and spiritual failure. The victory of bourgeois civilization has made England rich and powerful, but at the same time it has destroyed almost everything that made life worth living. It has undermined the natural foundations of our national life, so that the whole social structure is in danger of ruin.

Looked at from this point of view the distinctive feature of the bourgeois culture is its urbanism. It involves the divorce of man from nature and from the life of the earth. It turns the peasant into a minder of machines and the yeoman into a shopkeeper, until ultimately rural life becomes impossible and the very face of nature is changed by the destruction of the countryside and the pollution of the earth and the air and the waters.

This is characteristic of modern bourgeois civilization in general, but nowhere is it more striking than in England. And since English culture has been historically a peculiarly rural one, the victory of bourgeois civilization involves a more serious breach with the national tradition and a more vital revolution in ways of life and thought than in any other country of Western Europe.

But if the bourgeois is the enemy of the peasant, he is no less the enemy of the artist and the craftsman. As Sombart has shown in his elaborate study of the historic evolution of the bourgeois type, the craftsman like the artist has an organic relation to the object of his work. “They see in their work a part of themselves and identify themselves with it so that they would be happy if they could never be separated from it.” For in the precapitalist order “the production of goods is the act of living men who, so to speak, incarnate themselves in their works: and so it follows the same laws that rule their physical life, in the same way as the growth of a tree or the act of reproduction of an animal, obeys in its direction and measure and end the internal necessities of the living organism.”[1] The attitude of the bourgeois on the other hand is that of the merchant whose relation to his merchandise is external and impersonal. He sees in them only objects of exchange, the value of which is to be measured exclusively in terms of money. It makes no difference whether he is dealing in works of art or cheap ready-made suits: all that matters is the volume of the transactions and the amount of profit to be derived from them. In other words, his attitude is not qualitative, but quantitative.

It is easy enough to see why this should be. For the bourgeois was originally the middleman who stood between the producer and the consumer, as merchant or salesman or broker or banker. And thus there is not merely an analogy, but an organic connection between the role of the bourgeois in society and the economic function of money. One is the middleman and the other is the medium of exchange. The bourgeois lives for money, not merely as the peasant or the soldier or even the artist often does, but in a deeper sense, since money is to him what arms are to the soldier and land is to the peasant, the tools of his trade and the medium through which he expresses himself, so that he often takes an almost disinterested pleasure in his wealth because of the virtuosity he has displayed in his financial operations. In short the bourgeois is essentially a moneymaker, at once its servant and its master, and the development of his social ascendancy shows the degree to which civilization, and human life are dominated by the money power.

This is why St. Thomas and his masters, both Greeks and Christians, look with so little favour on the bourgeois. For they regarded money simply as an instrument, and therefore held that the man who lives for money perverts the true order of life.

“Business,” says St. Thomas, “considered in itself, has a certain baseness (turpitudo) inasmuch as it does not of itself involve any honorable or necessary end.”

We find this criticism repeated at the time of the Renaissance by humanists like Erasmus: indeed, it is the basis of that aristocratic prejudice against the bourgeois which has never entirely disappeared and which reappears in all sorts of forms from sheer idealism to pure snobbery in the most unlikely times and places.

Thus the classical Marxian opposition of bourgeois and proletarian is but one of a whole series of oppositions and class conflicts which the rise of the bourgeoisie has aroused. There is the aristocratic opposition of which I have just spoken. There is the opposition of the artist which did so much to bring the name of the “bourgeois” into disrepute in the nineteenth century. There is the opposition to the bourgeois in so far as he is the representation and incarnation of the money power — an opposition which has found a new expression in the Social Credit movement. And finally there is the opposition between bourgeois and peasant, which is more fundamental and deep-rooted than any of them.

But while all these oppositions are real and each implies a genuine criticism of bourgeois culture, none of them is absolute or exhaustive. There is a more essential opposition still, which has been pointed out by Sombart and which goes beyond economics and sociology to the bedrock of human nature. According to Sombart, the bourgeois type corresponds to certain definite psychological predispositions. In other words there is such a thing as a bourgeois soul and it is in this rather than in economic circumstance that the whole development of the bourgeois culture finds its ultimate root. In the same way the opposite pole to the bourgeois is not to be found in a particular economic function of interest, as for instance the proletarian or the peasant, but rather in the antibourgeois temperament, the type of character which naturally prefers to spend rather than to accumulate, to give rather than to gain. These two types correspond to Bergson’s classification of the “open” and “closed” temperaments and they represent the opposite poles of human character and human experience. They are in eternal opposition to one another and the whole character of a period or a civilization depends on which of the two predominates.

Thus we are led back from the external and material class conflict of the Marxians to a conception not far removed from that of St. Augustine, “Two loves built two cities”; the essential question is not the question of economics, but the question of love. “Looking at the matter closely,” writes Sombart, “we get the impression that the opposition between these two fundamental types rests in the final analysis on an opposition of erotic life, for it is clear that this dominates the whole of human conduct as a superior and invisible power. The bourgeois and the erotic temperaments constitute, so to speak, the two opposite poles of the world.” Sombart’s use of the word “erotic” is of course wider than the current English term. Unsatisfactory as the word “erotic” is, it is the best we have, for “charitable” is even more miserably inadequate. Our bourgeois culture has reduced the heavenly flame of St. Paul’s inspired speech to a dim bulb that is hardly strong enough to light a mother’s meeting. But Sombart expressly distinguishes it from sensuality, which may be found in either of the two types of temperament. Indeed, the erotic type par excellence in Sombart’s view is the religious mystic, the “man of desire,” like St. Augustine or St. Francis.

Seen from this point of view, it is obvious that the Christian ethos is essentially antibourgeois, since it is an ethos of love. This is particularly obvious in the case of St. Francis and the mediaeval mystics, who appropriated to their use the phraseology of mediaeval erotic poetry and used the antibourgeois concepts of the chivalrous class-consciousness, such as “adel,” “noble,” and “gentile,” in order to define the spiritual character of the true mystic.

But it is no less clear in the case of the Gospel itself. The spirit of the Gospel is eminently that of the “open” type which gives, asking nothing in return, and spends itself for others. It is essentially hostile to the spirit of calculation, the spirit of worldly prudence and above all to the spirit of religious self-seeking and self-satisfaction. For what is the Pharisee but a spiritual bourgeois, a typically “closed” nature, a man who applies the principle of calculation and gain not to economics but to religion itself, a hoarder of merits, who reckons his accounts with heaven as though God was his banker? It is against this “closed,” self-sufficient moralist ethic that the fiercest denunciations of the Gospels are directed. Even the sinner who possesses a seed of generosity, a faculty of self-surrender, and an openess of spirit is nearer to the kingdom of heaven than the “righteous” Pharisee; for the soul that is closed to love is closed to grace.

In the same way the ethos of the Gospels is sharply opposed to the economic view of life and the economic virtues. It teaches men to live from day to day without taking thought for their material needs. “For a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of things which he possesses.” It even condemns the prudent forethought of the rich man who plans for the future: “Thou fool, this night do they require thy soul of thee, and whose shall those things be which thou hast provided?”

Thus so long as the Christian ideal was supreme, it was difficult for the bourgeois spirit to assert itself. It is true, as Sombart insists, that the bourgeois class and the bourgeois view of life had already made its appearance in mediaeval Europe, but powerful as they were, especially in the Italian cities, they always remained limited to a part of life and failed to dominate the whole society or inspire civilization with their spirit. It was not until the Reformation had destroyed the control of the Church over social life in Northern Europe that we find a genuine bourgeois culture emerging. And whatever we may think of Max Weber’s thesis regarding the influence of the Reformation on the origins of capitalism, we cannot deny the fact that the bourgeois culture actually developed on Protestant soil, and especially in a Calvinist environment, while the Catholic environment seemed decidedly unfavourable to its evolution.

It is indeed impossible to find a more complete example in history of the opposition of Sombart’s two types than in the contrast of the culture of the Counter Reformation lands with that of seventeenth-century Holland and eighteenth-century England and Scotland and North America. The Baroque culture of Spain and Italy and Austria is the complete social embodiment of Sombart’s “erotic” type. It is not that it was a society of nobles and peasants and monks and clerics which centred in palaces and monasteries (or even palace-monasteries like the Escorial), and left a comparatively small place to the bourgeois and the merchant. It is not merely that it was an uneconomic culture which spent its capital lavishly, recklessly and splendidly whether to the glory of God or for the adornment of human life. It was rather that the whole spirit of the culture was passionate and ecstatic, and finds its supreme expressions in the art of music and in religious mysticism. We have only to compare Bernini with the brothers Adam or St. Teresa with Hannah More to feel the difference in the spirit and rhythm of the two cultures. The bourgeois culture has the mechanical rhythm of a clock, the Baroque the musical rhythm of a fugue or a sonata.

The ideal of the bourgeois culture is to maintain a respectable average standard. Its maxims are: “Honesty is the best policy,” “Do as you would be done by,” “The greatest happiness of the greatest number.” But the baroque spirit lives in and for the triumphant moment of creative ecstasy. It will have all or nothing. Its maxims are: “All for love and the world well lost,” “Nada, nada, nada, ” “What dost thou seek for, O my soul? All is thine, all is for thee, do not take less, nor rest with the crumbs that fall from the table of thy Father. Go forth, and exult in thy glory, hide thyself in it and rejoice, and thou shalt obtain all the desires of thy heart. ”

The conflict between these two ideals of life and forms of culture runs through the whole history of Europe from the Reformation to the Revolution and finds its political counterpart in the struggle between Spain and the Protestant Powers. It is hardly too much to say that if Philip II had been victorious over the Dutch and the English and the Huguenots, modern bourgeois civilization would never have developed and capitalism in so far as it existed would have acquired an entirely different complexion. The same spirit would have ruled at Amsterdam as at Antwerp, at Berlin as at Munich, in North America as in South, and thus the moment when Alexander Farnese turned back a dying man from his march on Paris may be regarded as one of the greatest turning points in world history. Even so it is quite conceivable that Europe might have fallen apart into two closed worlds, as alien and opposed to one another as Christendom and Islam, had it not been that neither culture was strong enough to assimilate France. For a time during the first half of the seventeenth century, the Counter Reformation and its culture carried everything before them, but the bourgeois spirit in France was already too strong to be eliminated and it allied itself with the monarchy and the Gallican church against ultramontane Catholicism and Baroque culture.

Although the classicist and Gallican culture of the age of Louis XIV was far from being genuinely bourgeois, it contained a considerable bourgeois element and owed a great deal to men of bourgeois class and bourgeois spirit, such as Boileau, Nicole and even perhaps Bossuet himself. The resultant change in the spirit of French religion and culture is to be seen in that “retreat of the mystics” of which Bremond speaks, and in the victory of a rather hard and brilliant Nationalism which prepared the way for the rationalism of the Enlightenment. Thus French eighteenth-century culture became an open door through which the bourgeois spirit penetrated the closed world of Baroque Catholicism, first as a leaven of criticism and new ideas, and finally as a destructive flood of revolutionary change which destroyed the moral and social foundations of the Baroque culture. The uneconomic character of that culture left it powerless to withstand the highly organized financial power of the new commercialist bourgeois society. It went in the same way that the Hellenistic world succumbed to the superior organization of Roman imperialism. Nevertheless it did not succumb without a struggle, for wherever the common people possessed the power of organization and the means of defence, and wherever the religious tradition of the Counter Reformation had struck deep roots in the soil, they fought with desperate resolution and heroism in defense of the old Catholic order,[2] as in La Vendee in 1793, in Tirol in 1809, and in the Basque provinces till late in the nineteenth century.

With the passing of the Baroque culture a vital element went out of Western civilization. Where its traditions survived into the nineteenth century, as in Austria and Spain and parts of Italy and South Germany, one still feels that life has a richer savour and a more vital rhythm than in the lands where the bourgeois spirit is triumphant. Unfortunately the breach with the past seems too great for Europe to recover this lost tradition even when the bourgeois civilization is decadent and exhausted. Men look for an alternative not to the humane culture of the immediate Catholic past but to the inhuman mass civilization of Russia or the barbaric traditions of German paganism, while in our own country we are abandoning the competitive selfishness of the older capitalism only to adopt a bourgeois version of socialism which is inspired by a humanitarian policy of social reform, derived from the liberal-democratic tradition. It aims not at the proletarian revolutionary ideal of the communists, but rather at the diffusion of bourgeois standards of life and culture among the whole population — the universalizing of the bourgeois rentier type.

Whatever may be the future of these movements there can be little doubt that they mark an important change in the history of the bourgeois civilization and that the age of the free and triumphant progress of Western capitalism is ended. Capitalism may well survive, but it will be a controlled and socialized capitalism which aims rather at maintaining the general standard of life than at the reckless multiplication of wealth by individuals. Yet the mere slowing down of the tempo of economic life, the transformation of capitalism from a dynamic to a static form will not in itself change the spirit of our civilization. Even if it involves the passing of the bourgeois type in its classical nineteenth-century form, it may only substitute a post-bourgeois type which is no less dominated by economic motives, though it is more mechanized and less dominated by the competitive spirit. It may not be, as so many Continental critics of English society suggest, the bourgeois capitalist order in a senile and decadent form. As we have already pointed out, the character of a culture is determined not so much by its form of economic organization as by the spirit which dominates it. Socialization and the demand for a common standard of economic welfare, however justified it may be, do not involve a vital change in the spirit of a culture. Even a proletarian culture of the communist type, in spite of its avowed hatred of the bourgeois and all his works, is post-bourgeois rather than antibourgeois. Its spiritual element is a negative one, the spirit of revolution, and when the work of destruction is accomplished, it will inevitably tend to fall back into the traditions of the bourgeois culture, as appears to be happening in Russia at present. Thus, while Western communism is still highly idealistic and represents a spiritual protest against the bourgeois spirit and a reaction against the victorious industrial capitalism of the immediate past, Russian communism is actually doing for Russia what the Industrial Revolution did for Western Europe, and is attempting to transform a peasant people into a modern urban industrial society.

No economic change will suffice to change the spirit of a culture. So long as the proletarian is governed by purely economic motives, he remains a bourgeois at heart. It is only in religion that we shall find a spiritual force that can accomplish a spiritual revolution. The true opposite to the bourgeois is not to be found in the communist, but in the religious man — the man of desire. The bourgeois must be replaced not so much by another class as by another type of humanity. It is true that the passing of the bourgeois does involve the coming of the worker, and there can be no question of a return to the old regime of privileged castes. Where Marx was wrong was not in his dialectic of social change, but in the narrow materialism of his interpretation which ruled out the religious factor.

The fact is that Marx was himself a disgruntled bourgeois, and his doctrine of historic materialism is a hangover from a debauch of bourgeois economics and bourgeois philosophy. He was no great lover, no “man of desire,” but a man of narrow, jealous, unforgiving temperament, who hated and calumniated his own friends and allies. And consequently he sought the motive power for the transformation of society not in love but in hatred and failed to recognize that the social order cannot be renewed save by a new principle of spiritual order. In this respect Marxian socialism is infinitely inferior to the old Utopian socialism, for St. Simon and his followers with all their extravagances had at least grasped this essential truth. They failed not because they were too religious but because they were not religious enough and mistook the shadows of idealism for the realities of genuine religion. Yet we must admit that the Church of their day with its reactionary Gallicanism and its official alliance with the secular power gave them some excuse for their end.

Today Christians are faced with a no less heavy responsibility. There is always a temptation for religion to ally itself with the existing order, and if we today ally ourselves with the bourgeois because the enemies of the bourgeois are often also the enemies of the Church, we shall be repeating the mistake that the Gallican prelates made in the time of Louis XVIII. The Christian Church is the organ of the spirit, the predestined channel through which the salvific energy of divine love flows out and transforms humanity. But it depends on the Christians of a particular generation, both individually and corporately, whether this source of spiritual energy is brought into contact with the life of humanity and the needs of contemporary society. We can hoard our treasure, we can bury our talent in the ground like the man in the parable who thought that his master was an austere man and who feared to take risks. Or, on the other hand, we can choose the difficult and hazardous way of creative spiritual activity, which is the way of the saints. If the age of the martyrs has not yet come, the age of a limited, self-protective, bourgeois religion is over. For the kingdom of heaven suffers violence and the violent take it by force.

Endnotes

1 Sombart, Le Bourgeois (French trans.), pp. 25-27.

2 These popular risings may be compared with the peasant risings against the Reformation in sixteenth-century England. In each case it was the common people and not the privileged classes who were the mainstay of the resistance.

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Overcoming Chaos: Praying the Daily Office

Dear Friends,

To the modern mind, praying from a breviary three or four up to seven times a day (called the Daily Office or the Divine Office or the simply the “Hours”) may seem to constitute a spiritual practice best suited for monks and nuns golloped whole into the entertainment-deprived Middle Ages. Yet, even to this day, Roman Catholic priests are obliged to say the Offices, with Pope Benedict recently enjoining layfolk to consider taking them up as well, modified according to life circumstance as may best fit the individual case.  

Within the Anglican Church there is a burgeoning movement to take up the Offices again, the observance of which was indeed originally invisioned by the 16th century creators of the Book of Common Prayer in the form of morning and evening prayer, but long since abandoned by most priests in most parishes. But now Common Worship Daily Prayer, the Daily Office SSF, and Celebrating Common Prayer (a simplified travelers’s version of the Daily Office) are available for use as breviaries in addition to the BCP, the last two the handiwork of the Society of Saint Francis, a religious order within the worldwide Anglican communion. The most recent edition of the Daily Office SSF (2010) was published under the editorship of Brother Colin Wilfred SSF and Sister Joyce CSF. This is the breviary I happen to use, having found it easy to move through as I say Morning, Mid-day, Evening and Night Prayer within each of the seven liturgical seasons, with all propers kept in good order with the six colored ribbons put duly in place each day. I think anyone wanting to try out this breviary will find it easy enough to use, provided he or she is willing to invest an hour or so in becoming familiar with its layout and provided the same uses it faithfully for a couple of weeks so that praying it begins to become second nature. There is, by the way, much Franciscan matter in it as well as Marian.

In the Sophia movement many possibilities are available through the work of Robert Powell for the practice of daily prayer, as you can find out by going to www.sophiafoundation.org.  There may be some however who, like me, would wish to add to these practices also the practice of the Daily Office, to complement attendence at Sunday Mass, thereby maintaining a direct and living connection with the ongoing devotional pracitice of the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church throughout the week, on through the liturgical year.

The two articles below, both by Anglicans, argue the importance of the Daily Office to other Anglicans as basic Christian practice. Their arguments can be of interest even to those who are not Anglican, as certainly use of the Daily Office SSF need by no means be limited to Anglicans. The point here in any case has nothing to do with any supposed glories of Anglicanism and everything to do with what might be gained in heart and soul for the spirit of human community through individuals, as a group or alone, praying faithfully the Daily Offices, however much some may otherwise regularly pray and meditate. “Pray unceasingly,” writes Saint Paul, there being many ways to accomplish this, as he himself surely knew, the Daily Offices of the Church contributing considerably to that end. 

The first article, originally published in the September 2010 edition of the Franciscan, is by the joint editor of the Daily Office SSF and Guardian of the Canterbury Friary, Brother Colin Wilfrid. He passed over in August of 2011. The second article, an adaptation from a talk given to the Guild of St. Benedict at St. John’s Cathedral, Albuquerque, New Mexico, is by Gary Kriss, the former dean of All Saints Cathedral in Albany, New York, and the former dean also of Natosha House Seminary. He is at present rector of All Saints Church in Portland Oregon.

If you wish to gain greater familiarity with Holy Scripture, including of course and especially the psalms, not to mention greater familiarity with God, you can do no better than to take up praying the Daily Offices.  Whether one or two times a day, or whether morning, noon, evening and night, praying the Daily Offices is never time wasted.

Pax et bonum,
Randall Scott

“Until Christ Is Formed  in You” (Galatians 4.19)
St Francis and the Daily Office

Colin Wilfred SSF

For me, one of the most moving relics of Saint Francis still to be seen in Assisi is his breviary. This small, battered manuscript volume with which he prayed several times a day was kept after his death by his companion Brother Leo and he passed it on to Saint Clare and it is at her basilica that it is kept to this day.

There are many stories of how seriously Francis took the Office. For example, he forbade the brothers not to stand and instructed them not to lean against a wall when praying it together and there is a moving story how, on a journey, Francis stood in the open air and in the pouring rain to pray it. For those brothers who couldn’t read, he ordered them to recite the Lord’s Prayer at the time of each office and he himself composed a parallel supplementary form of daily prayer in the Office of the Passion.

One day I was standing in the chapel at Hilfield friary and a newer brother said to me “Why is the worship in chapel so ….. awful at present?” to which I replied, “I suppose it’s because our community life is ….. awful at present and perhaps we have to thank God that each reflects the other and we’re not putting on some beautiful liturgical show which doesn’t connect with our daily life”. As another brother has said, “I can tell how things are in the friary by the way in which we say the psalms: are we being attentive to others; are we holding back; are we prepared to take risks for the sake of everyone?”

The other thing I notice is that when brothers and sisters come together to pray in a new situation or place, they will often do certain things physically: form themselves into a circle or semi-circle, perhaps focussed on a visual sign; they will divide up the responsibilities for different parts of the worship to different people. In these ways the commitment to pray together daily is part of the formation of community and hopefully a tiny sign of that transformation of the world and the church to be a place where God is praised, all have apart to play and the meaning of God’s grace and love is constantly renewed.

When Christians pray each day they never do so in isolation. The mere fact of being ‘in Christ’ means that we pray with the whole communion of saints, living, departed and glorified. We may be fortunate enough to pray, at least some of the time, as part of a group or we may represent the larger group, for example, a local church in the Canterbury area where the ‘opener’ for the 9 am Eucharist prays Morning Prayer and the ‘closer’ Evening Prayer at 5 pm.

If we normally pray the office alone we can reinforce our sense of being united with others by having a particular place to do it, with one or more signs of the presence of God to focus on. We may use other physical positions for example standing or bowing; no one else except God and the angels is going to see you!

Jesus and his disciples were, of course, familiar with the daily prayer of their own Jewish tradition and at various points in the New Testament we get hints of this being continued in Christian communities and families. Later came two parallel developments: one in the great city churches of the Roman Empire, the other in the monastic communities of the desert. Paul Bradshaw describes these two forms of praying, equally valid and potentially transforming, as the ‘breathing in’ of the desert form and the ‘breathing out’ of the city form.

The former is centred on listening and absorbing God’s Word through sequential Bible readings and psalms by the group of individuals praying at the same time and place. The second form is strongly corporate, world-oriented and about being a priestly community for others and for the transformation of the world into the kingdom of God. As individuals we may be drawn more in one direction than the other but both as individuals and as communities we need both kinds of spirituality to grow fully into Christ.

Common Worship Daily Prayer and The Daily Office SSF have at the heart of each office the Word of God preceded by a Preparation section and followed by the Prayers. The Word of God is expressed primarily by the use of psalms and scripture readings. Individuals and groups need to decide how much of this is desirable to enable us to hear the Word of God. As Christians we live between memory and hope (which is also one of the functions of the celebration of the Church’s year) and as Walter Wink says, ‘Hope which imagines the future, and then acts as if that future is now’.

But what about the ‘difficult’ (if not downright nasty) bits of scripture? First, we have to acknowledge the nastiness of a great deal of human life and activity. In the psalms alone we are constantly caught up in lament and praise, violence and peace, vengeance and virtue both individual and corporate. ‘The whole of human life is here’ as an old masthead of the News of the World had it. Biblical Hebrew has no word for ‘history’ but uses ‘remember’ or ‘memory’ instead. The daily office is the constant renewal of that memory, living out the pattern of God’s involvement with the world, humanity and ourselves.

The daily prayer of the church takes place in time and space but is not limited to them. When we, either as individuals or communities, pray in this way we articulate the on-going praise of all creation for its Creator. In the celebration of each day we enter into the creative and redeeming pattern of God’s love.

Beginning with Evening Prayer (a pattern from the Jewish tradition – see Genesis Chapter 1 – which has been taken up by many in the Christian tradition) we celebrate through the image of light the creation and its recreation by the incarnation of Jesus, the light of the world, promised in the Magnificat. As we enter the darkness of night, symbol of pain, suffering and the passion of Christ, we see how often Night Prayer refers to death but also to God’s unceasing care and protection. But “joy comes in the morning” for “you have raised up for us a mighty Saviour” (Benedictus), each new day brings the promise of the new life of resurrection both for ourselves and for “this fragile earth, our island home”. At Midday Prayer we pause to remember the gift of life in the Spirit that has been given to each one of us.

In all these ways we are being constantly formed and transformed by God’s grace, so that we may play our part in the transformation of the world in order that we may share St Francis’ prayer:

Let us bless the Lord God living and true! Let us always give him praise, glory and honour, blessing and every good. Amen. Amen.

The Daily Office: Sharing God’s Work of Creation

Gary W. Kriss, D.D.

Ours is an age in which “spirituality” is very popular. This is a term that has various meanings, depending on the context, but what many people seem to mean is something that is somewhat mystical and essentially quite individual–I would venture to say, subjective. In many ways, what a lot of people mean by spirituality is a kind of New Age derivative of Protestant Christianity, a “me and my god” attitude toward religion and religious experience. Even among people who self-identify as Christians, both Catholic and Protestant, the subjective, essentially private, element of religion and religious practice is very strong. Whether explicit or implicit, what this attitude is generally about is personal salvation, though that may not be the term they use to describe it. While every individual can and should have a personal relationship with God, what that means, exactly, can vary quite a bit. And I would go so far as to suggest that some of the things that it might mean to some people are problematic, to say the least.

A number of years ago, while I was on a sabbatical, I spent a week at St Alban’s Cathedral in England. At St Alban’s, the staff of the cathedral, as well as other people, gathered every morning in the cathedral to read Morning Prayer together. However, while Matins and Evensong are prayed daily at most English cathedrals, I am not aware of any others–though there may be somewhere the whole staff is actually expected to be present. This may have changed under a new regime but the then Dean of St Alban’s made it clear to staff that they were indeed expected to be present and he liked to say that we prayed the Office for ourselves and for those who did not. When he spoke of those who did not pray the Office, he was not referring to people who were simply unable for some reason to pray it. I am quite sure that he was referring to everyone who was not praying Morning Prayer, whoever and wherever they were.

From his perspective–and I think that this is the correct understanding of the intention behind the Book of Common Prayer–reading the Daily Offices of Morning and Evening Prayer is everyone’s responsibility. What the Prayer Book envisions is the whole company of Christian people praying the Offices morning and evening, every day, either with others in church, or wherever they might gather, or even by oneself.

Whether one does this with other people or alone, he or she is in fact praying the Office communally, because we are praying the same Office that everyone else is praying, even though we may be separated in place and even time. The Office is part of “common prayer”–common prayer is not ordinary prayer, it is communal prayer, the prayer of everyone, the prayer, in fact, that everyone says together. So even when we are alone, we are praying it with all of the other people who pray it. And we do so not merely because we have promised to do so, not merely because it is a good thing to do. Rather, we do it precisely because it is something that the whole Church is called to do. In fact, when we pray the Office, the purpose is not our personal spiritual growth and fulfillment. It may be, indeed it should be, spiritually enriching in a personal way to keep this rule of prayer, but that is a peripheral benefit, and not at all the basic purpose.

If one were to think about it for a moment, what is going on with Morning and Evening Prayer should actually be quite obvious. The purpose of the Offices is to order the day. That is to say, they put the day into order. And this is not just a practical matter, like following a schedule. When we pray the hours, we are ordering the day in a very specific way. In fact, we are sharing in God’s work of creating the world and the Church.

Order–more specifically, bringing order out of chaos: this is precisely what creation is about. Genesis begins with an account of how God created the world, but this is not an account of creation ex nihilo. While we do indeed believe in creation ex nihilo, the creation of the world “out of nothing,” that is not what the Bible sees as the most important aspect of creation. What is important is order, overcoming chaos. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth, and the earth was without form and void”–it was chaos–“and darkness covered the face of the deep.” The world was already there, but it had no order and was shrouded in darkness–no light at all. And day by day, God brings light and order into this void, until at last it can support life. And at the center of it all he places Paradise, the Garden of Eden, a place of perfection where God himself can be known. But beyond the walls of Paradise, chaos still threatens and periodically challenges God’s order.

The whole story of the Bible from beginning to end is about God bringing order out of chaos–at the beginning of creation, at the flood, at the redemption of the people of Israel from slavery, at the establishment of the kingdom of David, and so on right down not only to Jesus looking chaos in the face on the cross and overcoming death, which is a form of chaos, at the resurrection, but to John’s great vision of the final achievement of a new creation–a new heaven and a new earth–at the end of time. The great Apocalypse is about the final challenge of chaos and the ultimate victory of God’s order.

Morning and Evening Prayer are part of this same movement, the daily action of God, in and through his Church, to establish order in the world and in the lives of human beings. “There was evening and there was morning”: the repeated refrain of the first chapter of Genesis, is lived and prayed by the Church as we pray Evening and Morning Prayer day by day.

I live quite near an Orthodox monastery. It is actually somewhat unique because one of the things that the community there has done is to examine the liturgy carefully and to restore some things that have either been obscured by accretions over the centuries or even lost. So, when one goes to Vespers there, the service does not begin in the same way it begins in many Orthodox churches. One of the most dramatic things they have done is to restore what we would call the service of the light to the very beginning of the evening Office. All the lights are off, and the priest comes out from the Altar with a lighted candle and sings, “Wisdom, stand aright. Behold, Christ the light of the universe.” Immediately, the congregation begins the hymn, O radiant light, and the candles in the church are lit and the lights are turned on.

In fact, the American 1979 Prayer Book has introduced the singing or recitation of the hymn, O gracious light–same hymn, different translation–at the beginning of Evening Prayer, together with the option of a similar service of the light. In both cases, the meaning is the same. Remember that the very first thing God does in the story of creation is to create light–darkness is one of the most dramatic aspects of chaos and to dispel it is to start along the way of establishing order.

The basic tradition of the Daily Office in Anglicanism is part of our Benedictine heritage, which is a heritage of order and light. Benedict was the founder of western monasticism. He lived at a time when the world of the old Roman empire in the west was quite literally coming apart at the seams. Benedict withdrew from the world but the movement he founded ultimately was a principal source of stability, faith, and order in the so-called Dark Ages and through the whole medieval period.

The Daily Office was at the heart of Benedictine life, ordering the day in a pattern of prayer and work that truly created a new world. The countryside of medieval England was dotted with monasteries, mostly Benedictine, and many of the clergy who served the parishes of the realm were monks who said their Offices no matter where they were. In fact, one of the reasons that Morning and Evening Prayer in the early English Prayer Books caught on so easily was that they were simply a version of what people had always been used to in their local churches, whether they were monasteries, cathedrals, or even ordinary parish churches.

One of the most interesting and dramatic examples of this is found in what might at first seem an unlikely place, the legends of King Arthur. First of all, remember what Arthur himself represents. Arthur arose at a time of confusion and division in Britain and established, for one brief shining moment, as the song says, a kingdom of order, justice, and peace. The Round Table is a symbol of this order and its members were dedicated to the cause of establishing and maintaining order.

Again and again, in the stories of Arthur and his knights, they go out to address some evil that threatens to dissolve the kingdom and plunge the land into chaos. Dragons, wicked knights, and magicians are among the agents of chaos they must face and defeat in order to restore order. And here is the really interesting thing: before a knight would set off on an adventure to subdue the chaos, he invariably went to church, to Matins as well as Mass. And at the end of the day, either in the middle or the end of the adventure, he would often find himself near a church, just in time for Vespers, underlining his role in maintaining the sacred order of the world. It is significant that the storytellers who passed on these legends took it for granted, not only that the knights attended the Offices, but that the Offices were celebrated everywhere and people could attend them.

This notion of participating in the ordering of creation is, I think, fundamental to what prayer is about and it is also fundamental to what the Church is about. Benedict did not invent it. He merely established a vehicle, the monasteries, which were a kind of leaven in the life of the whole Church as it lived out its witness in the world. The Offices are rooted in very ancient forms of prayer, going back to the Jewish synagogue and carried forward in the early Church. Under the influence of the monasteries, this pattern and its meaning continued in the medieval Church. And when monastic life was suppressed by the greedy Henry VIII, the pattern found new expression in the so-called reformed catholic religion that was practiced according to the forms of the Book of Common Prayer which were themselves deeply rooted in the timeless Offices of a living tradition.

The significance of this can be seen in the way the Anglican approach to moral theology developed. After the Roman Church’s Council of Trent, which was called to combat the Reformation movement, the tendency in Roman Catholicism was to separate moral and ascetical theology–ascetical theology being the theology of what today we call the spiritual life. What happened was that two distinct “sciences” of preparing souls for heaven emerged. One, the science of moral theology, was occupied with question of the legality or illegality of human acts. Ascetical theology, on the other hand, was concerned with spiritual progress and holiness.

Anglicanism, following its Benedictine roots, generally avoided this separation. In the classical Anglican understanding of moral theology, moral progress is in fact progress in holiness and it is achieved, not by learning the rules and following them, but by saying one’s prayers and living into the order to which God is calling all of creation, including each of us. For Anglicans, the rules of morality do not exist for themselves, rather the rules are more like benchmarks against which one measures spiritual progress. The bottom line is that if your life is not very moral, you probably are not very healthy spiritually. Whereas, if you are growing spiritually, you are moving towards a holiness that is also morally exemplary. And the morally exemplary life of the individual is a factor in the order of the community in which he or she lives–both the secular community and the Church.

The genius of Anglicanism in this is seen in the unique character of the Prayer Book Offices. One of the ways the Offices order life is by immersing us in Scripture. The Offices do not function merely as a schedule to begin and end the day and thus to bookend it with prayer. The substantial inclusion of Scripture in the Offices is quite specifically intended to go beyond scheduling, to go beyond praise and petition, to center our lives within the context of the ongoing life of the Church and, indeed, of the created order. As we hear the Word of God regularly and in an orderly repetition, it becomes part of us and we become not merely spectators of what God is doing, but participants in it, first by hearing and receiving it, then by meditating on it, and finally by realizing that we are part of the story and thus part of the ongoing work of God.

The Oxford Movement began a significant revival in mid-19th century Anglicanism. Many people think that the big thing the Oxford Movement did was to restore the Eucharist to the center of Anglican Church life and spirituality. It did lay the foundation for that–but the foundation that it laid was the Daily Office. The public recitation of the Daily Office had fallen into disuse, except in cathedrals and certain other isolated institutions. And personal use of the Daily Office had become limited to the clergy who mostly read it in private. The Oxford fathers started reading the Office publicly in their churches, as the old custom had been, and a major movement to renew the Church of England ensued.

We have reverted again to a time when the Office is rarely read in public and it would appear that those who read it in private are also very much in the minority. There does seem to be a revival of the practice in a number of places, but the results of the more general decline seem obvious, at least to this observer. We see the church fragmenting and thus failing to have any meaningful impact on a world that is also fragmenting. Individuals seek personal salvation, but church and society are in a morass. The solution is to return to our roots, to rediscover and revive our most ancient and reliable form of prayer, the Daily Office, and thus to share again in God’s work of creating and ordering the world.

 

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The Virgin as Life Force for Humanity

Dear Friends,

The present climate change that we are experiencing, i.e., “global warming”, is thought to be due to an excess of carbon emissions, the reduction of which is immediately necessary if the natural environment as we know it is to continue — this according to a great number of scientists, and never mind the impending doom of the greater portion — if not all — of humanity. Governments all over the world officially agree to this scientific assessment of our situation, as reflected in their various public statements and in their official efforts toward common action in forestalling the looming catastrophe.

In the global rush however for a technical solution to what is perceived as a pressing global problem, something essential has been overlooked, says Roger Buck. Can we expect mere activism alone ever set things right? The essay below can be found on his weblog Cor Jesu Sacratissimum at http://corjesusacratissimum.org/ as four separate entries posted from October 28, 2009 to January 7, 2011. Here the entries are combined as one article, with a few minor deletions for better reading. Nothing essential is missing from the text.

Pax et bonum,
Randall Scott

Unfinished Personal/Global Musings

by Roger Buck

Authority … one has authority or competence to speak about something the more consciously and fully one has experienced it.

In writing of things New Age for example, I feel a certain degree of confidence, given that I have had long, intimate involvement with this phenomena. I completely identified with the New Age movement for many years, in a way that I imagine few traditional Catholics have.

Now that I am a Catholic, it seems to me then, that I have something to offer in this regard. I can speak to Christians about the sincere aspirations and serious dangers of New Age spirituality with “inside knowledge” as it were …

But Global Warming? And the kind of Spiritual, Social and Political Order it seems to me is needed to avert the threat – on an unimaginably enormous scale – of loss, loss of lives, species, civilisation?

What can I do but shudder?

What competence or authority do I have to utter?

Nonetheless the subject is very pressing and must be uttered and discussed in many contexts, including certainly that of traditional Catholicism.

And it is naturally being raised in my life in many ways. As I recently reported here, an old friend of mine, who is a scientist and who blogs under the name of the Trimorph, sent me a e-mail about Global Warming, whose noble and searching nature could do nothing but evoke my respect – even if I have very serious disagreements with my friend about numerous things, including Christianity.

In a previous entry, I presented my friend´s searching and scientifically informed mail and in the responses a discussion ensued – which I would like to extend in a series you will see I am calling Unfinished Personal/Global Musings.

I choose this heading carefully. For as I say, I feel hardly competent in this regard. These will be my musings. Musing out-loud things I have been musing inwardly for years or musing with intimate friends. But under the heading of a “work-in-progress”, I plan to allow myself to utter many unfinished things …

In this series, I want to muse in response to what the Trimorph has said and what Edwin Shendelman has said at that entry, and perhaps in response to what others may care to contribute. To fully appreciate all of this, you may wish to see that original weblog entry here and its responses.

If my musings appear random and lacking the coherency of more finished thinking, I take comfort in this webformat. The beauty of blogging, it seems to me, is that it lends itself to such incomplete and personal exchanges in a way that print does not. Here I go now…

My response to the Trimorph was apparently taken as criticism of certain activist initiatives to combat Global Warming. And perhaps my words were poor.

My intention was not so much to criticise, but to suggest my own view that far, far more was needed to address Global Warming than simply slogans or raising consciousness of the scientific data describing the problem – i.e. a need to reduce the CO2 concentration in the atmosphere, below 350 parts per million.

However crying that need may be, I personally have little faith that activism – by itself – directed towards such goals can be very effective.

The reason for this is that the problem is as I said before systemic, far greater than Global Warming itself. Global Warming forms but the perilous projection of an enormous iceberg.

For Global Warming it seems to me, is but a symptom of a vast disease afflicting humanity for centuries.

Or at least, I think this must be the conclusion of any traditionally-minded Catholic who has bothered to seriously reflect on the history of the post-medieval epoch. For such reflection inevitably points to a trajectory of increasing materialism, of which Global Warming is but the latest consequence.

Materialism … by this term I mean to suggest not only the commercial and concrete materialism with which we are all familar, but also a centuries long process of philosophical materialism, whereby reality was interpreted increasingly in reference to matter, matter alone …

A traditional Catholic who has studied the problem will see that for a very long time Catholic teaching has pointed to the serious danger of a society falling ever more deeply into materialism. One could point to numerous Popes, for instance, who it seems to me spoke to this effect with great prescience and serious moral concern.

But even beyond the teaching of the Magisterium, for any Catholic with faith in the supernatural gifts transmitted via the Church, is it not difficult to see it otherwise?

For any Catholic who feels acutely the importance of Sacramental Communion with Jesus Christ, is it not natural that one should be gravely concerned about the outcome of a civilisational trajectory increasingly deprived of the Sacraments and the Faith …?

And as a Catholic who feels the joy and strength coming from the Sacraments and the Faith – initiated by Christ for the Redemption of the World – is it any surprise to see that a society stripped of these things will turn to fill its emptiness with a voracious consumerist materialism?

And as a Catholic who cannot help but feel the Sacraments of the Holy Church impart moral seriousness, can I feel any differently as I look out on a culture of moral superficiality …?

I am well aware that many a modern mind will accuse me of a simplistic one-sidedness. I am also very aware that many a modern mind has not bothered to trouble itself much with Catholicism, nor felt the interior power of her Sacraments, nor paused even an instant to consider what the long term effects of a de-sacramentalised society over centuries might be …

Whatever the case, these are my musings. I cannot help but see Global Warming in the context of a de-sacramentalised society tending to ever greater materialism over centuries.

The non-catholic sociologist Max Weber noted that the societies of his time with more Protestants were also those with a more developed capitalist economy. And lacking faith in the Catholic Mystery, he concluded in his famous work The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism that certain ideas found in Protestantism had favoured the emergence of Capitalism.

And certainly many have noted that Catholicism has often promoted a more communitarian, less individualistic ethic. Commonly it is assumed that this is all to do conditioning ideas.

Protestantism has been seen as conditioning people to a more worldly, less renunciatory and individualist attitude. Catholicism has been accused of conditioning people “to put up with suffering” and so forth.

But for us who believe in and feel the power of the Sacraments, why should we suppose that all of this is entirely to do with ideology? Could it not be that the loss of the Sacraments has been a contributory factor, at least? May I be forgiven for musing out loud notions so outrageous and scandalous to the modern mind?

Now I will be ruminating on these things not only as a Catholic who seeks to immerse himself ever more deeply in the Sacraments. But also as a Catholic immersed in many different currents of the Church. These include not only Papal teaching which seems to me relevant to these issues, including the most recent and magnificent encyclical of the Holy Father Caritas in Veritate, but also the little known legal and political Catholic works of Valentin Tomberg which I began exploring in this weblog here and which in a manner not unlike the recent encyclical, cry out for a different World Order.

For as I make my own attempt to solemnly confront the issues around Global Warming, these are some of the things that seem most important to me at this time and which I bring to the table of these unfinished things …

Many writings feed into my study, Papal, clerical, lay and secular … but I would be less than frank with you, dear Reader if I did not say that the writings of Valentin Tomberg have assumed a particular place, as I struggle to understand the solemn, tragic situation we find ourselves in at the dawn of the third millennium.

As I have indicated in this weblog before, I have been profoundly struck by Valentin Tomberg’s little known Catholic doctoral theses in Jurisprudence. Valentin Tomberg who once had sharply criticised the Church, but who converted amidst the horror of World War II. In these Jurisprudence theses, written shortly after his conversion, Tomberg considers what he regards as (as I have put it before at this weblog here)

“a degenerating modern society – whose degeneration stems – he says – from its tendency in recent centuries to SEVER.

That is, to SEVER not only jurisprudence from morality, philosophy and theology – the ground from which it sprang, but also to sever nature and supernature, humanity and God … His Catholic writings as a whole, testify to a crippling process, whereby so very much in the West becomes dry, withered, mechanical, soul – less, because it is being stripped of that which gives life.

Dry, withered, mechanical, de-composing, degenerating … his terms may vary, but always he implicates this same loss of life-force …”

And as I continue this series of Unfinished Musings, I thought I would draw this more fully out, first by quoting from Foundations of International Law as Humanity’s Law:

“International law concerns all humanity and must therefore be linked to the whole of humanity’s culture. It is an organic component of the socio-cultural values of all humanity, like religion and morality. For theoretical purposes it may very well be treated separately from intellectual culture as a whole, but in practical reality it can never exist by itself …

“Roman and canonical law matured for almost 2000 years, then international law began to separate from private law. The successive separation of law from metaphysics, i.e. philosophy, the divorce of philosophy from morality, the parting of morality from religion are not steps in the direction of progress, but steps in the direction of an increasing poverty of ideas and the narrowing of one’s horizon in regard to posed problems.

“A ‘de-Romanised’ international law, a philosophy of law ‘cleansed of metaphysics’, a ‘science liberated from morals’ and a ‘detheologised philosophy’ seem to characterise the time from the ‘Enlightenment’ to the present and thus are manifestations of progress in the sense of advancing time, but not in the sense of increased profundity, expansion and exaltation of these concepts, ideas and ideals.

“Just the opposite is true: the dominating tendency, especially since Kant, of a ‘clean separation of fields’ did result in a separation of almost all fields from one another – a separation carried so far that professors of different faculties have so little to say to one another that they depend on the fodder delivered by the daily news.

“This process occurred at the expense of general spiritual and intellectual culture …

“When carried through to its ultimate conclusion, this tendency of separation will simply become a process of disintegration – i.e – death of true intellectual culture.

“For if one does not stop at this point – and why should one? – having separated philosophy from religion, ethics from philosophy, science from philosophy and ethics, then the next step would be to separate science from logic, that is from judgment and conclusions; and subsequently from all abstract concepts, perceivable by the senses, just like toddlers!

“The absurdity of following this tendency beyond the limits reached today is obvious – and still there is a desire and efforts expended in the direction of extinguishing that which is higher in favour of that which is lower.”

(Because the internet is a different medium than print, I have added paragraph breaks and italics for more easy assimilation of profound and challenging material from a monitor. Tomberg´s original emphasis is in bold.)

Yes here are indications of what is my mind and heart as I contemplate Global Warming. Valentin Tomberg returns again and again to the theme of degeneration through disintegration leading to loss of life. Often he is speaking of degeneration of culture and philosophy, but here in these books he is also speaking of law and order.

I spoke of Global Warming as a systemic tragedy, far beyond partial solutions such as activism. And so I see it – something that will demand everything of us – in terms of cultural life, philosophy and religion – and law and order.

Now as part of his response to the crippling decay of culture, Valentin Tomberg turned to both the Catholic religion and the study of Law.

And his writings and his life testify to the conviction that these domains could not be justifiably DIS-INTEGRATED.

Thus he speaks of law being originally based “on those sources to which human culture owes its awareness of what is truth and what is good, i.e. it based on a religious conception of the world. The latter was common to all “Christianity” at one time, and the aftereffect of this commonality is the present international community of mankind.”

Here he is indicating a view to the effect that present international law is something of a reduced shadow of Western Christian heritage and ethics, or at least owes a very great deal to it.

And yet he goes on to comment that there was a certain element within the West that did not succumb to a degenerated, disintegrated world-conception:

“Only one part of divided humanity (divided into states, races, nations and classes) remained loyal to this common conception of the world, however and continues to maintain it across the globe: It is the Catholic Church, as the sole carrier and caretaker of “Christianity’s” tradition in the present and as the most universal representative of humanity’s Christian ideals today.”

In the milieu from which Tomberg came, such a statement was indeed radical! As it will be for many today …

But for us, we who feel the joy, strength and life-force of the Catholic Tradition and the Sacraments, what are we to say if we feel we look out on a world in a terminally ill condition…?!

Must we defer for fear of offending secular sensibilities of political correctness (read: tyranny) and remain silent about what seems to us “the stone that the builder rejected”?! (cf. Luke xx 17)

That is to say the main corner-stone which has now been eliminated in countless contexts …

What kind of civilisation is it, that could result in the most unimaginable scale of loss as that suggested by Global Warming?

Is it arguably not a civilisation which has placed certain goods – or gods – above all else? For example, the exterior good of scientific progress over and above the interior good of prayer, veneration, devotion to that which lies beyond the merely materialistic and humanistic?

Is it not arguably a civilisation that has placed economic goods over moral goods? And that now increasingly educates its young ever more toward technological proficiency and capitalist prowess, rather than religion and values?

Whatever the case, scientific goods, economic goods are not evil in themselves, but they become so when severed from other goods, including interior, spiritual and moral goods our civilisation once held high.

Now yesterday I spoke of Valentin Tomberg’s legal thinking in this regard, as he illustrates far more eloquently than I could ever hope to, a trajectory over centuries towards this severance.

There Valentin Tomberg is arguing that it was a failure of International Law and Order which had led to the World Wars and that this failure was due to the disintegration of law in previous centuries.

Disintegrated law – law deprived of its deeper moral content led to situations where any law could be passed simply to facilitate the power of the State. Without being rooted in moral and religious orientation, law degrades into simple justification of power. These are among his arguments and thus he calls for regenerated jurisprudence.

The numerous things he advances in support of this, cannot be adequately brought forth here. In these very personal musings, I may be able to offer little more than saying that as I contemplate Global Warming, I cannot help but feel deeply aided by this legal and moral thinking. As well as moved to my core by the sense of continued relevance to conclusions such as the following:

“The problem of International Law which has been so seriously put before us by the catastrophic events of the two world wars, is not a mere juristic, political and economic question, but also a moral and religious question.

It is a total question of human culture – and one has to give a total answer, i.e. an answer which considers the totality of the question and points out a legal system for humanity suitable to save and preserve humanity´s culture and to enable its future development, for it is in mortal peril.”

And where are we today more than sixty years later? We do not seem to be immediately threatened by world war, but by capitalism run amok.

Yet human culture is very much in mortal peril and I confess I see little hope beyond both legal and cultural renewal – of such a TOTAL nature.

Totality… thus it was, that in addition to his legal writings, Tomberg addressed many fields. Writing anonymously two decades later, he wrote in a fashion which attempted such totality – aspiring at once to an integration of theological, philosophical, psychological, political, scientific reflection and more.

And here in a more religious and symbolic language is how he approached many of the same ideas in the 1960’s:

“The sickness of the West today is that it is more and more lacking creative elan. The Reformation, rationalism, the French Revolution, materialistic faith of the nineteenth century and the Bolshevik revolution show that everywhere mankind is turning away from the Virgin.

“The consequence of this is that the sources of creative spiritual elan are drying up one after the other, and that an increasing aridity is showing up in all the domains of the West. It is said that the West is growing old. But why? Because it lacks creative elan, because it has turned away from the source of creative elan, because it has turned away from the Virgin …

“The Virgin is not only the source of creative elan, but also of spiritual longevity. That is why the West – in turning away from the Virgin is growing old, i.e. it is distancing itself from the rejuvenating source of longevity.

“Each Revolution that has taken place in the West – that of the Reformation, the French Revolution, the scientific revolution, the delirium of nationalism, the Communist Revolution – has advanced the process of aging in the West, because each has signified a further distancing from the principle of the Virgin.

“In other words Our Lady is Our Lady and is not to be replaced with impunity either by the ‘goddess reason’ or by the ‘goddess biological evolution’ or by the ‘goddess economy’.”

In listing these goddesses, the author is clearly testifying to the same processes of disintegration addressed in his legal writings. Thus the “Goddess Reason” symbolically expresses the track towards autonomous reason of the Eighteenth century – reason separated from and exalted above faith and other kinds of non-empirical perception …

And is not adoration of the Goddess Economy responsible for so much sterility and lifelessness today? Sterile architecture for example, bankrupt of any inspiration beyond the worship of the “bottom line”? Sterile entertainment concocted only in adoration of the Goddess Economy? (The pornography industry certainly serves the market, for example.) And literally sterile, lifeless soil bombarded by chemicals offered up to the Goddess Economy …?

Cultural renewal is desperately needed. And this was at the heart of all Valentin Tomberg’s thinking.

But as I muse more and more about this, it also seems to me that cultural renewal cannot be enough. I am forced to consider what Valentin Tomberg was also saying about law, order.

And my friend the Trimorph – so different in orientation to myself – also indicated as much when he said in the original letter about Global Warming which started me on this course:

“We will have to decide collectively how to apportion energy sources between growing food, keeping warm (or cool), building/making stuff and travelling around.

“If we simply let the market decide there will be mass famine and chaos on a scale far beyond anything the world has ever seen.”

Yes indeed, my friend. My italics are intended to echo you completely

Our society has become ordered to the Goddess Economy. And I agree with the Trimorph that we will witness unparallelled catastrophe and tragedy, if we do not find a Higher Order than that.

A Higher Order than the Market is needed. That Higher Order needs Law. That Law must be based on something more profound and moral than materialism and positivism, Valentin Tomberg would say. For positivist, materialistic law that has allowed us to come to the current impasse …

And so would I myself also say, albeit in my faltering and unfinished way …

These are but preludes to things I hope to explore as this series continues – writing as a Catholic trying to be morally awake to global materialism and its consequences. And as a Catholic struggling to think in the light of minds far more profound than my own.

Among these, I recognise not only Valentin Tomberg, but the moral genius of the Holy Father, who it seems to me, is thinking in similar terms to the legal-political thinking of Valentin Tomberg. For the Holy Father too has recently powerfully called for a higher World Authority beyond that of the Goddess Economy …

However I need time for this musing. And it may be that before this series resumes, other material will be appearing – fairly regularly I think – elsewhere at this site, Kim´s weblog, reviews, and perhaps responses and a longer article.

I no longer recall my exact words of course.

But the essence of the conversation remains engraved on my mind.

It was a warm, sunny Spring day in France. People in shirt sleeves were frolicking in the shine. But it was too warm, too pleasant. It was too early in the Spring.

My beloved turned to me and said: “We aren’t going to make it, are we?” She meant that people were all too attached to simply frolic …

Immediately – without fully thinking – I said: “Under the present capitalist system – no.”

And if I had thought more, I might have said: “No – not under the present capitalist system with its roots in a secular, materialistic worldview stripped of higher values, stripped of Mystery, stripped of Christ, stripped of the Virgin …”

Whatever our exact words in that warm, pleasant shine, the moment was a minor epiphany for me. I had said my words – again – without fully thinking what I was saying. But I realised at that very instant, that I had little faith for the future of the world, under the continuance of the Western trajectories of the last centuries.

But it might be asked why just the trajectories of the last centuries?

It could be argued, could it not, that the seeds of our destruction go right back to the Fall? Since the Fall, human nature is constituted with such significant egocentricity, greed, attachment to the pleasure principle – whatever language one uses, the idea remains – that given the right levels of technology, given the right means to spread a massive and ever expanding consumerist culture, global warming and environmental ruin was inevitable …

Is then the current crisis merely the logical, inexorable outcome of the Fall?

These unfinished webmusings have been following the thought of a certain Catholic convert,Valentin Tomberg to suggest otherwise. That is to say, they have pursued a line of thought as to suggest that that the contemporary global crisis is rooted in a particular degeneration over the last centuries, whereby Western society disintegrated, severed.

It severed the supernatural from the natural, it severed jurisprudence from its earlier sacral foundations and it severed Christianity

And no doubt controversially, we quoted in this context, Valentin Tomberg referring to the prior, non-disintegrated world conception:

“Only one part of divided humanity (divided into states, races, nations and classes) remained loyal to this common conception of the world, however and continues to maintain it across the globe: It is the Catholic Church, as the sole carrier and caretaker of “Christianity’s” tradition in the present and as the most universal representative of humanity’s Christian ideals today.”

Now this kind of thinking it seems to me, is most evident in Valentin Tomberg´s legal writings in the wake of the Second World War. But the theme certainly recurs in his later anonymous writing. Thus in the 1960’s, he writes:

“The Middle Ages erected the cross above the nations, societies, aspirations and thoughts of Europe. This was the epoch of obedience and faith – accompanied by every imaginable abuse.

“This was followed by an epoch where the dawn of hope made itself felt. Humanism with its flourishing of Renaissance art, philosophy and science was born under the sign of hope …”

Now in both his 1940’s law writings and in his anonymous symbolic and hermetic writings, there is the idea that this early humanism becomes degenerate. (One may wish to look here for more in this regard).

Now more recently, Charles Taylor writing in A Secular Age, speaks of a process whereby what he calls exclusive humanism has come to be the order of the day. Exclusive humanism – what Taylor means by this is an orientation whereby there is no need to look beyond the purely human for the answers to our existence.

Morality, purpose, meaning … all of these can be found – it is now claimed – by looking exclusively and purely within the human being and there is no need to posit God, Grace, Mercy, Angels, the Holy Sacraments or anything else, which would look beyond the purely or exclusively human.

This is not the only kind of humanism. Taylor for example, contrasts exclusive humanism with what he calls the devout humanism of Saint Francois de Sales, a Doctor of the Church and a genius of the Catholic Counter-Reformation.

Reading Valentin Tomberg, I imagine he would agree with much of Taylor’s analysis of exclusive humanism. And I imagine that in Saint Francois de Sales, Valentin Tomberg would see a devout Catholic figure living in the sixteenth century and poised on the edge of modernity – who pointed the way to an authentic Christian humanism …

And I believe Valentin Tomberg would say it is tragic that we did not do more to follow in the way of the devout humanism of Saint Francois de Sales. For writing in an unusual symbolic language, Tomberg goes onto say:

“A purely humanistic art, science and magic had its development under the sign of the pentagram of hope in man [This] impulse of … hope in emancipated man has built up and demolished a great deal. It has created a materialistic civilisation without parallel, but at the same time it has destroyed the hierarchical order…

“Now new hierarchical orders are beginning to be established, replacing obedience by tyranny and dictatorship. For he who sows the wind shall reap the whirlwind (cf. Hosea ix.7) – this is a truth that we are learning with so much suffering today. The pentagram of hope in emancipated man has in former times sown the wind – and we and our contemporaries are now reaping the whirlwind.”

We no longer erect the Cross above our society. Indeed we try to abolish it. Has not the EU recently made moves to eliminate crucifixes in public spaces – because they are seen as “imposing” upon people?

And what do we erect above our society now? A double bow of golden arches, perhaps?

And if the CEO of McDonald´s – whoever he may be, I do not know – wants to erect enormous mighty monuments everywhere (in real space or virtual space, it matters not) to cajole and manipulate us, including our young, we do not complain of imposition

And if the CEO of Coca-Cola – whoever he may be, I do not know – wants to erect enormous mighty monuments (in real space or virtual space, it matters not) to convince us that Coke adds life! we do not bat an eyelid …

Yes it seems to me that we have what Valentin Tomberg called “new hierarchical orders” devoted to the Goddess Economy. And false hierarchies of invisible CEO’s and boards are allowed willy-nilly to impose their manipulative agenda and the world becomes ever more consumerist and materialist.

And the world quite literally, may begin to burn …

All this, I think Valentin Tomberg would say has flown from eliminating a hierarchy devoted to the Virgin …

Is there any other answer to our crisis, that does not involve thinking of law and hierarchy in a new way …?

A very pregnant, potent, weighty and for many downright disturbing question!

And on that note, I pause for a personal confession. Originally I had hoped to write this series of Unfinished Personal/Global Musings continuously – one installment after the next. I am finding however that its content demands an significant intensity on my part of philosophical and I hope, moral reflexion. This is tough stuff to think about, demanding a lot of me internally.

I therefore want to say that this series will continue. But not necessarily in consecutive installments. It may well be that blog entries on other topics – as well as further reviews and I hope a long article – appears first.

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Another Christmas Story

The Guest

by Nikolai Leskov

This story tells of a true event which took place in Siberia on Christmas Day: Christ himself came to one of the exiles as his guest and revealed his commandment to him. I heard this story from an old Siberian who was present when this happened, and I will relate it in his own words.

We live in Siberia in a colony of exiles but our district is not poor as a good deal of trade is carried on there. My father came from our village at the time when there were still serfs in Russia. I myself was born in Siberia. Our family had some property, enough to enable us to live in the way we had been used to. Even now we are not poor.

We share the simple faith of the Russian people. My father was well-read and from him I learnt to love books. I always considered a man who loved knowledge as the most valued of friends from whom I would be ready to go through fire and water. Now the Lord in his goodness once gave me such a friend: Timofei Ossipovich, the same who was graced to witness the miracle which I am going to describe.

Timofei Ossipovich came to us when he was still a young man. I myself was then eighteen years old and Timofei in his early twenties. He live the best of lives and nobody knew why he had been condemned to live in exile. In our situation one avoids being inquisitive but there was a rumour that a relative had brought about his ruin. This uncle had been the guardian of the young orphan and he had partly squandered and partly embezzled nearly all the property of his ward. When till very young Timofei Ossipovich had once lost his temper and stabbed his uncle in a quarrel. Thanks to God’s mercy the man had not been killed but had only had his hand pierced through. Because of this and because of his youth Timofei had not been fined too heavily. Being a member of a rich tradesmen’s guild he was sentenced to exile in our district.

Although he had lost nine-tenths of his wealth Timofei could still live on the remaining tenth. He built himself a house in our colony and live there quietly, but his heart was burning with anger and indignation. He could not forget the wrong he had suffered and he did not want to see anyone except his two servants, a manservant and his wife. Day after day he would sit at home, always reading books and by preference the more pious ones.

At last we came to know each other just because of the books. I started to visit him and he readily accepted me, so that soon we realized that we had become very attached to each other.

At first my parents were not pleased with this new acquaintance of mine. They did not know what to think of him. “No one knows who he is or why he hides from everyone. May you never learn evil from him!” they said

I listened to my father and mother but I could answer in all truth that an evil word was never to be heard from Timofei and that we met simply to read books to each other and to talk about the faith. We were seeking together to find the will of God and to learn how man could live with disgracing and disfiguring the image of his Creator. So my parents soon agreed that I could visit Timofei as often as I like. My father even went to see him himself, and after this Timofei also came to us.

My parents soon recognized Timofei’s nobility of soul. They took a liking to him and they grew more and more concerned about his frequent spells of depression. For it was so that whenever he was led to think about the past, about the wrong which he had suffered, or when his uncle happened to be mentioned with but a single word, he would turn pale and his hands would become limp. At once his mind seemed disturbed, and his heart downcast and all his courage and strength gone. Then he could not face reading anymore and anger would burn in his eyes in place of their customary kind expression. He was a man of absolute integrity and keen intelligence, yet because of his gloomy state of soul he was unable to undertake any sort of enterprise.

But soon the Lord cured Timofei’s melancholy. He fell in love with my sister and married her and from then on ceased to lament the past. He started to take an active interest in life; he began to make money and within ten years he had become a wealthy man. He built a spacious house which he furnished well. There was enough of everything and he came to enjoy the respect of all those around him. He had a good wife and healthy children. What more could he wish for? One might well imagine that every past grievance had been forgotten once and for all. Yet still Timofei brooded over the great wrong he had suffered.

One day when riding together in a small carriage we had a heart-to-heart talk.

“Brother Timofei, are you really contented now?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked in reply.

“I mean, have you regained all that you lost in your old home country?”

At once Timofei turned pale, answered not a word and kept the reins in his hands in utter silence.

I had not wanted to hurt him. “Oh brother Timofei,” I pleaded, “please forgive me for asking, but I thought that you had suffered that wrong so long ago that it was over and done with and quite forgotten.”

That it happened so long ago,” he answered, “makes no difference: I simply cannot forget it.”

I was worried about my friend, not because he had lost a fortune but because of the darkness in his soul. How could it be that he knew the Gospel so well and spoke about the faith with pious words and yet persisted in resenting the wrong he had once suffered? It meant quite clearly that the word of God held no true blessing for him. I had to ponder deeply about this. I had always considered him much further than I in faith and wisdom, and I had conversed with him in order to help my own spiritual development. But now I saw that he still could not overcome his old bitterness of heart about that great wrong he had once suffered.

Timofei noticed that I was deep in thought and he suddenly asked me what I was thinking about.

“Oh, whatever happens to cross my mind,” I answered.

“No, you are thinking about me.”

“Yes, that as well.”

  “And what are you thinking about me?:

“Please, brother, don’t be angry with me if I do tell you my thoughts. I was thinking that although you know the Gospel your heart is not a peace but full of anger instead, rejecting the will of God. As matters stand I cannot see what good you derive from Holy Scripture.”

Timofei was not angry but the expression on his face became sad and withdrawn. “You do not know the Bible well enough,” he said, “to appeal to its authority.”

Of course you are right,” I said. “I am not deeply enough versed in Holy Scripture.”

“You are also not experienced enough,” he continued,  “to know how great and manifold are the wrongs in the world.”

I agreed with him in this too, and then he pointed out that there were wrongs which no one could possibly forgive. He explained that he did not reproach his uncle so bitterly about the money but about another matter he would never be able to forget.

“I thought my lips would be sealed about this for all eternity,” he said, “but now I will tell it to you as my friend.”

“Tell me if you feel that it will help you,” I answered. Timofei then revealed to me that already as a child he had heard his uncle insult his father and that his mother’s death had been brought about by all the sorrow his uncle had caused her. Finally, his uncle had slandered Timofei and, old as he was, had succeeded in persuading certain people by flattery and threats to give him for his wife the very girl whom Timofei had loved since childhood and whom he had always wanted to marry.

“Can anyone forgive all this?” demanded Timofei. “I will certainly not do so as long as I live.” “There is no doubt that you had to suffer grievous wrongs,” I replied, “but it is still true that Holy Scripture is of no help to you.”

Again he started to explain to me that I did not know the Bible as well as he and that I should remember the holy men in the Old Testament who knew no pity towards evil doers, even slaughtering them with their own hands. This was how my poor friend tried to justify his inability to forgive. But I replied to him in my simple way.

“Timofei, I said, “you are a clever man, well read and very knowledgeable. I cannot refute your words about Holy Scripture. I must confess that I have not grasped all that I have read, for I am but a sinful man. But I must tell you that I find much that is written in the Old Testament ancient and obscure, whereas the message of the Gospels is much clearer. There shines a light, a leading star: ‘Love and forgive!’ This light is more precious than any other. It throws its rays into every darkness; it lights the way we ought to go. But what are the offences which we must forgive? Only the small ones? Or could it be rather the most grievous wounds our enemy has inflicted on us?”

He remained silent and I prayed: “O Lord, may it be your will that through my mouth your word can reach into my brother’s soul.”

Then I tried to put before my friend the image of the Christ. He who had neither hearth nor home was persecuted all his life and even in the end was beaten, abused and spat upon. Yet hanging on the cross he still had forgiveness for his enemies.

“Timofei,” I pleaded, “you would do better to follow Christ’s example than the old laws of revenge.”

But once again he sought to justify his attitude by lengthy explanations of the Scriptures. He argued that by forgiving certain misdeeds one would multiply the evil in the world.

I could not refute this but could only say simply: “You Timofei, be watchful and direct the sword against yourself. While you persist in thinking of the evil you have suffered this evil remains alive. I you could let it die, your soul would begin to live in peace.”

Timofei listened to the end, he pressed my hand and stopped justifying his hatred with clever words. He simply said, “I cannot do this. Please do not mention it again. It weighs too heavily on my heart.”

From that day on I held my peace for I realized that he was still suffering. It was still only one finger that showed itself but I was full of confidence that one day we would see the whole hand. I firmly believed that the Lord could redeem my friend from the sin of wrath and from his thirst for revenge. And then it really happened and in a most miraculous way…

Timofei had now been living with us in exile for sixteen years. He was about thirty-seven or thirty-eight years old. He had three children and lived in comfortable circumstances. He had a special love for flowers and roses in particular; he grew very many of them in his garden, underneath the windows and along the wooden fence. His front garden was filled with roses whose scent wafted into the house.

Now Timofei had a certain custom. As soon as the sun was low he would go out and spend the rest of the day in his garden. He pruned his roses and then sat down on the bench to read. And I feel sure that he often prayed there.

One day he came out with the Bible in his hands. After he had cared for his rose bushes he sat down, opened the holy book and started reading. It chanced that he read how Christ came as a guest into the house of the Pharisee and how he was not even given water to wash his feet. Timofei suddenly felt that this offence done to our Lord was quite unbearable. He felt such a deep compassion and suffered so severely in Christ’s place that he began to weep over the treatment Christ had suffered from his host.

This was the moment when the miracle began that changed Timofei’s heart. Timofei related to me in the following words: “After I had read this story I looked around me and suddenly I thought, ‘I can live so well and have plenty of everything and yet our Lord walked the earth so poor and ill-used.’ Tears filled my eyes and however hard I tried I could not stop weeping. But as I wept everything around me became tinged with rose-coloured light. Even my tears were roses! Nearly fainting I cried, ‘O Lord, if only you would come to me I would serve you, body and soul!’ Then in the rose-coloured light an answer sounded, breathed by a gentle wind: ‘I will come’.

After this Timofei had come in haste to me. Trembling, he asked, “What do you think of it? Is it possible that the Lord will visit me?”

“This brother,” I replied,  “is beyond my understanding. Should we not rather seek the answer in the Holy Bible?”

But Timofei answered, “It is the same Christ, who was and who is and shall be evermore. I dare not doubt his promise.”

“You had better believe it then,” was all I could say.

Timofei continued, “I will see to it that a place is laid for him at every meal.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Don’t ask me anymore. You must find out for yourself what will please him most. But I don’t think he will be offended if you prepare a place for him. One has of course to consider whether it is pride to do so.”

“But it is written: ‘This man accepts sinners and sits down to meals with tax-collectors’.

“But it is also written: ‘Lord, go out from me, for I am a sinful man.’ These words seem also apt.”

“You don’t understand this,” answered Timofei.

“Well, that is quite possible,” I said.

From that day on Timofei made his wife lay an extra place. When they sat down for meals, the five of them – he, his wife and three children – there was always a sixth place laid, the place of honour at the end of the table, and before it was placed a big armchair.

His wife would have like to know whom this chair was waiting for but Timofei kept his secret. To her and to others he only explained that it had to be done like this because of a vow he had made. He only added that the place was kept for “the most important of guests.” But nobody knew who this guest was meant to be – apart, that is, from himself and me.

Timofei hoped that the Lord would come the day after the voice had been heard in his rose garden. Then he expected him on the next day and again on the third. Then he waited for the Sunday. But his hopes were in vain. Nevertheless Timofei kept on waiting month after month. Whenever a Sunday or Holy Day came round he expected the visit of the Lord. He was exhausted and restless but never for a moment did he lose his faith that Christ would keep his promise and come to him.

One day Timofei confessed to me, “I pray every day with the words, ‘Come, O Christ!’ I wait and hope for the answer, ‘Yea, I will come soon.’ But I never hear these words.”

I did not know what to say. Often I thought that pride had possessed my friend and that this temptation had received and confused him. But God’s providence was working otherwise…

Christmas drew near. It was a hard winter. Timofei visited me on Christmas Eve and said, “Dear brother, the Lord is sure to come tomorrow.”

I had given up arguing with him about this matter long ago. I only asked, “How can you be so sure of this?”

“I had hardly finished saying grace today,” my friend replied, “when my heart began to beat with a strong emotion. Then out of its inmost depths an answer sounded like a trumpet call: ‘I will come soon!’ Tomorrow is his holy festival. Will he not wish to see me on this day? Please come to me then, dear brother, and bring your whole family, for otherwise my heart will never stop trembling with fear.”

“Timofei,” I answered, ‘you have seen that I do no know what to make of all this. As for me, sinner that I am, how can I expect to see our Lord? But we have accepted you into our family, you are one of us, so we will come. But for your part, if you are really expecting such a great guest, do not think simply of inviting your own friends but rather bring together such people as he would be pleased to see.”

“I understand,” he replied. “I will send my servants immediately and also my son. They shall go through the whole village and whosoever among the exiles is suffering from need or distress shall be invited to the meal, so that if the Lord will grace me with his presence he shall find everything prepared in accordance with his commandments.”

Even these words did not sound humble enough to me. “Timofei,” I said, “who could possibly prepare everything exactly as the Lord commands? One thing you may not understand, another you may forget, a third may prove impossible to fulfil, but if all this is stirring and sounding in your soul you should simply do whatever seems right to you. For if the Lord should come he will add what is missing and if you have forgotten to invite someone he would wish to see, he is sure to lead him into your house.”

On Christmas Day we went to Timofei with the whole family. We arrived somewhat later than usual for dinner as Timofei had asked us to do so. He waited to begin the meal only after all the expected guests had arrived. We found his spacious house full of our kind of people: exiles in Siberia, men, women, young people and children, people form every walk of life and from different regions and countries, not only Russians but Poles and Estonians. Timofei had invited all those poor settlers who had not yet managed to establish themselves.

The tables were large and furnished with all that was needed. The maids were running to and fro setting down kvass and dishes of meat pie. Outside dusk was deepening and more guests could be expected as all the servants sent out to fetch the invited guests had long since returned. Moreover a snowstorm had blown up and soon grown into a blizzard through which thunder sounded as if the Day of Judgment itself had come. Even Timofei had to admit to himself that no further guest would be able to find his way there.

He walked about and sat down in turns. One could see that he was going through an agony of unrest. All his faith was about to be shattered, for now it seemed certain that the special Guest would not come.

Another minute passed. Timofei uttered a deep sigh, looked at me and said, “Now, my dear brother, I can see that it is either God’s will to make me the laughing stock of all the people or that you are right and that I did not manage to bring together all those whom the Lord wanted to meet here. But God’s will be done. Let us say grace and sit down.”

He walked to the corner and began to pray in front of the Icon. After the Lord’s Prayer he cried out,

“Christ is descending from heaven, praise him!

Christ is coming to earth, proclaim it!

Christ is born at this hour…”

Suddenly as he was uttering these last words a terrible blow struck the wall outside. The house shook and a noise like thunder resounded in the passage. All at once the door sprang wide open by itself.

All the people present shrank back into the corners of the room, many fell down and only the bravest ones dared to look at the door. On the threshold of the open door stood an old man, old as the hills and clothed in poor rags. With trembling hands he gripped the doorpost, to prevent himself from falling down. From the passage behind him which had not been lit before, a miraculous rose-coloured light shone forth, and above the shoulder of the old man a snow-white hand could be seen. This hand stretched forward into the room holding an earthenware oil lamp, oval and ancient such as we know form the pictures of Jesus and Nicodemus. A golden flame burnt quietly on this lamp. Outside, the snowstorm raged, but the flame did not waver or flicker. It shed its calm light right into the face of the old man and on to his hand, which was gripping the doorpost. On this hand an old wound scar caught the eye, for it had become quite white with cold.

Timofei had hardly seen the man before he cried, “O Lord, I recognize him and I will receive him in thy name! But thou, O Lord, do not enter my house for I am an evil and sinful man.” With these words Timofei bent down deeply, his face touching the floor.

And I, too, fell on my knees with him, filled with awe and tremendous gratitude and also with great joy because true Christian humility had touched my brother’s heart. I exclaimed for all to hear, “Let us be aware that Christ is in our midst!”

“So it is in truth!” they all answered.

Light was brought. Timofei and I rose from the floor and looked up. The white hand had disappeared but the old man was still standing in the open doorway. Timofei took him by his hands and led him to the place of honour.

Now you will perhaps be able to guess for yourself who this old man was with the white scar on his hand. He was Timofei’s enemy, the uncle who had completely ruined him. In a few words he related how nothing was left of all his wealth or family. He had been walking through Siberia for a long time seeking his nephew in order to ask his forgiveness, longing to find him but at the same time fearing his anger. That day he had lost his way in the snowstorm and nearly fainting from the cold he had expected nothing but death. He continued, “Suddenly a stranger lit my way and said to me, ‘Go, warm yourself in my place and eat from my bowl.’ He took me by the hand and led me. So I reached this house not knowing what way I came.”

Timofei raised his voice before all the people.

“O uncle,” he exclaimed, “I know who your companion was! It was the Lord, the same Lord who said, ‘If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread. If he thirst, give him to drink. You shall stay with me for the rest of your life. Enjoy to your heart’s content all the Lord through his grace and provided me with.”

From that time on the old man stayed with Timofei, and when the time came for him to die he gave Timofei his blessing. Timofei had found peace of heart at last.

Just as this simple man was taught to prepare his heart for the Christ who came to earth, so can every man’s heart be made ready to receive his Saviour if only he fulfills Christ’s commandment: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you.

Into such a heart Christ will enter as a guest enters the house prepared for him and surely he will live therein.

Yea, come, O Lord, come soon!

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And the Darkness Comprehended It Not

The Candle

by Willem Brandt

No, this is not really a Christmas story. It is not even a story; it is a report, quite an ordinary account of something that happened somewhere. Even so, it lacks the timeliness characteristic of a report, for it happened more than fifty years ago. Who cares about that now? Still, after all, the Christmas story, the real one, was also not just-a-story — it too is old news of some two thousand years! So what do a mere few decades matter? Moreover, there is another curious similarity, though you may, perhaps, think this a bit strained. The old Christmas story had its setting in a stable. That which occurred more than fifty years ago also took place in a stable. Not an actual stable, but it looked very much like one. It was a dismal shack where darkness prevailed almost permanently. But outdoors, the light shone sharply and gloriously, both day and night. For that shack was located in a tropical area, under a blazing, burning sun, and also under a fantastically starlit sky. And a moon that seemed much larger than one ever sees in Europe.

People lived in that shack, though “living” is a slight exaggeration. They were put away there. Outside was the barbed wire on which the sun and moon flashed little sparks wherever it had not grown rusty in the course of the years. Yes, it had been years — or had it been centuries? You did not know offhand — you were too tired, too ill, and too weak even to think about following the hours and the days. You had in the beginning, but that had stopped long ago. You were confronted more with eternity than with days or hours. For so many died, beside you and all around you, from hunger, dysentery, and other tropical diseases — or just because they did not want to live any longer. Their last spark of hope had been extinguished.

We tried to hang on a little even so in that concentration camp. Why — you really did not know. You long ago had given up believing in the end of the war, in liberation. You lived on out of a kind of routine, in a stupor, numb, and with only one passion left that now and then jumped at your throat like a wild animal: eating, eating, whatever it was. But there was nothing there, we were systematically starved. Once in a while somebody would catch a snake or some other creature, perhaps a rat. Just forget that; nobody who survived this cares to talk about it. There was one man in that camp who still possessed something edible. It was a candle, a plain wax candle. Of course, he had not originally taken it along or saved it in order to eat it. A normal human being does not eat tallow, although they say that the Cossacks used to love it. In any case, it is fat, and that you do not underestimate when you see only emaciated skeletons around you — in whom you also recognize yourself.

Whenever he could not stand the torture of hunger any longer he would take out the candle — which he kept well hidden in a beaten-up little suitcase — and nibble on it. But he did not eat it. He considered it his final hope of salvation. Sometime, when everyone else would be mad with hunger (and that would not be too far away now), he would eat that candle. I hope you don’t think this strange or gruesome. I who was his companion thought it very normal at the time. In fact, he had promised me a small piece of the candle. It became my task in life, my constant care, to see that he did not, in the end, eat that candle all by himself. I watched intently and even spied on him and his little suitcase day and night. Having to fulfill such an important task perhaps kept me alive.

Well, one day we learned it was Christmas. Somebody had accidentally discovered this after long calculations with the help of small lines and notches in a beam. He told us all. And then added in a rather flat and expressionless tone, “Next Christmas we will be home.” We nodded or did not react at all. We had heard that for several years now. Still there were a few who clung to the thought — for you never know.

It was a very strange thing to say. It was like a weak, scarcely audible sound from an immense distance, something utterly unreal out of a deep, deep past.

Then someone said — perhaps with no special intent or perhaps with some, I never did find out — “At Christmas, candles burn and bells ring.”

I must confess that the remark passed most of us unnoticed. It was of no concern to us, it spoke of something so completely outside of our existence — and yet, it had the most amazing and unexpected effects.

When it was late in the evening, and everybody was just lying there on the boards, with his own thoughts, or actually without any thoughts at all, my friend became restless. He edged over to his little suitcase and got out the candle. I could see it very well in the dark, that white candle. He is eating it, I thought — if only he remembers me now. And I peered at him through my eyelids. He put the candle on his board, and then disappeared outside where a small fire was smouldering. He returned with a burning sliver of wood. Like a ghost, that little flame wandered through the shack until it reached its place, close to me. Then the strange thing happened: my friend took that piece of wood, that fire, and lighted his candle.

The candle stood on his board and burned.

I do not know how everyone discovered it so immediately, but it was not long before one shadow after another edged closer, half-naked men on whom you could count the ribs, with hollow cheeks and feverish “hunger-eyes.” Silently they formed a circle around the burning candle.

One by one they came closer, those naked men, also the minister and the priest. You could not see that that was what they were, as they too were as emaciated as we, but we happened to know.

The priest said in a hoarse voice: “It is Christmas. The light shineth in darkness.”

And then the minister added: “And the darkness comprehended it not.”

This, if I am correct, is from the Gospel according to John. You can find it in the Bible, but that night, around this candle, it was not a written Word of centuries ago. It was a living reality, a message for this hour and for us, for each one of us.

For the Light was shining in the darkness. And the darkness did not comprehend it. At the time you didn’t reason it out, but that was what we felt, silent around that Christmas light, that white candle, that pointed flame.

There was something extraordinary about it. That candle was whiter and slimmer than I ever have seen since. And that flame — it was a flame that reached to the sky, in which we saw Things that are not of this world. I will never be able to tell about it — none of us will, who is still alive. That was a secret, a secret between the Christ child and ourselves. For at that time we were certain that It existed, that It lived among us and for us. We sang silently, we prayed without a word, and I have heard that bells started pealing and also a choir of angels sang. Yes, I am certain about this, and I have at least a hundred witnesses, though most of them cannot speak any longer. They are not here now; but that does not mean they would not know anymore.

Yonder, deep in the swamps and jungle, thin, angelic voices sang Christmas songs for us, and the bronze of a thousand bells resounded.

Where this all came from also remains a secret. That candle burned higher and higher, its flame growing more and more pointed until it reached the ridgepole of that high, dark shack and then went right through it up to the stars, and everything became white with light. So much light no one has ever seen since. And we felt ourselves free and lifted up, and did not know hunger any more. That candle had fed not only my friend and me, that candle had nourished and strengthened us all.

There was no end to the light. And when someone said softly: “Next Christmas home,” we believed it this time unconditionally. For the light itself had brought us that message; it was written in fiery letters in that Christmas flame; whether you want to believe me or not, I saw it myself.

The candle kept burning all through the night. There is no candle in the whole world that can burn so long and so high. When morning came there were a few who sang, something that had not happened in years. That candle saved the lives of many of us. We then knew it was worthwhile to go on, that somewhere, at the end, for each one of us a Home was waiting.

And that was indeed the case.

Some returned home to Holland before the next Christmas; they think the candles on our Christmas trees are small, much too small. They have seen a larger light that still is burning. Most of the others went home also, before the next Christmas — I myself helped lay them down in the earth behind our camp, in a dry spot between the swamps. But when they died their eyes were less dull than before. That was the light of that strange candle. The Light that the darkness had not comprehended.

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