Guigo II’s Ladder of Monks

Bodleian Library MS Douce 322

HAPPILY, the practice of lectio divina has become more common amongst Catholics in the last 20 years. While lectio divina itself is very ancient, the most popular form consists of the four steps of lectio (reading), meditatio (meditation), oratio (prayer) and contemplatio (contemplation).  This form comes from the writings of the Carthusian, Guigo II (fl. c. 1170), 9th prior of the Grand Chartreuse monastery.

Guigo explains his method in a letter to a friend. The short (a little over 10 pages) letter is a spiritual masterpiece and deserves to be read entirely.  Perhaps due in part to copyright reasons, the excellent English translation of Colledge and Walsh is not freely available on the web.  Instead, people have reposted a few excerpts in various places.

Fortunately there’s another option.  A translation of Guigo’s letter into Middle English was made in the 14th century, the full title of which is A Ladder of Foure Ronges by the Which Men Mowe Clyme to Heven. Not only is it a good translation, but both the spiritual insight and literary skills of the anonymous author are formidable.  He or she also added about 20% new materiel in the form of explanations and quaint analogies that explain Guigo’s points better.  It is a very ‘poetic’ work, just as we find in the writings of other Middle English mystics like Richard Rolle, Walter Hilton and the anonymous Cloud of Unknowing author.

The complete transcription of the Middle English version made by James Hogg is also not freely available.  However on a website dedicated to Julian of Norwich is what appears to be a modernized version of Ladder of Foure Ronges.  It’s not a simple word-for-word modernization (which in this case I would personally prefer), however, and might actually be an amalgam of Guigo’s letter and the Middle English version.  In any case, it appears to include all of Guigo’s original content as well as the new material in Four Ronges.

To demonstrate the style of the Middle English version, here’s a paragraph where the anonymous author likens contemplation to a delicious and intoxicating rare wine and God to a savvy taverner:

So doth God Almyʒty to his loveris in contemplacion as a tauerner that good wyne hath to selle dooth to good drynkeris that wolle drynke wele of his wyne & largely spende. Wele he knowith what they be there he seeth hem in the strete. Pryvely he wendyth and rowndith hem in the eere & seyth to them that he hath a clarete, & that alle fyne for ther owyn mouth. He tollyth hem to howse & ʒevyth hem a taast. Sone whanno they haue tastyd therof and that they thynke the drynke good & gretly to ther plesauns, thann

they drynke dayly & nyʒtly,
and the more they drynke, the more they may.
Suche lykyng they haue of that drynke
that of none other wyne they thynke,
but oonly for to drynke their fylle
and to haue of this drynke alle their wylle.

And so they spende that they haue, and syth they spende or lene [pawn] to wedde surcote [coat] or hode [hood] & alle that they may for to drynke with lykyng whiles that them it good thynkith. Thus it faryth sumtyme by Goddis loveris that from the tyme that they hadde tastyd of this pyment, that is of the swettnesse of God, such lykyng þei founde theryn that as drunkyn men they did spende that they hadde, and ʒafe themself to fastyng and to wakyng & to other penauns [penance] doyng. And whann they hadde no more to spende they leyde their weddys, as apostelys, martyrys, & maydenys ʒounge of ʒeris dyd in their tyme (Source: Hodgson, 1949; p. 466)

In modern English the passage is:

So does God Almighty to his Lovers in contemplation like a taverner, who has good wine to sell, to good drinkers who will drink well of his wine and spend well. He knows them well when he sees them in the street. Quietly he goes to them and whispers in their ear and says to them that he has a claret, and of good taste in the mouth. He entices them to his house and gives them a taste. Soon when they have tasted of it and think the drink good and greatly to their pleasure, then

They drink all night, they drink all day;

And the more they drink, the more they may.

Such liking they have of that drink

That of none other wine they think,

But only for to drink their fill

And to have of this drink all their will.

And so they spend what they have, and then they sell or pawn their coat, their hood and all they may, for to drink with liking while they think it good.

Thus it fares sometimes with God’s lovers that from the time that they had tasted of this potion, that is, of the sweetness of God, such liking they found in it that as drunken men they spent what they had and gave themselves to fasting and to watching and to doing other penance. And when they had not more to spend they pledged their clothes, as apostles, martyrs, and young maidens did in their time.

Hodgson comments:

The Ladder of Four Rungs reads like original prose, expressive of the writer. It is not merely a clear reproduction of a Latin treatise in another tongue, but a distinct piece of creative writing. Sentence by sentence comparison with the Latin, far from blunting the edge of the translation, throws into more pointed emphasis its verve and originality.

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Bibliography

Anonymous.  The Ladder of Four Rungs, Guigo II on Contemplation.  Ultima website. umilta.net/ladder.html Accessed: 22 Nov. 2022.

Colledge, Edmund; Walsh, James (trs.). Guigo II: The Ladder of Monks and Twelve Meditations. Cistercian Studies 48. Kalamazoo, 1981. (= Image Books, 1978). [free e-borrow at arhive.org]

Hodgson, Phyllis. A Ladder of Foure Ronges by the Whiche Men mowe wele clyme to Heven. A study of the prose style of a Middle English translation. Modern Language Review 44.4, 1949, 465−475.

Hodgson, Phyllis. Deonise Hid Divinite and Other Treatises on Contemplative Prayer. Early English Text Society 231. Oxford University Press, 1955. Appendix B (pp. 100−117) is a transcription of Ladder of Foure Ronges.

Hogg, James (ed.). The Rewyll of Seynt Sauioure and A Ladder of Foure Ronges by the which Men Mowe Clyme to Heven. Edited from the MSS. Cambridge University Library Ff. 6. 33 and London Guildhall 25524, Volume 1. Salzburg, 2003.

Iguchi, Atsushi. Translating grace: the Scala Claustralium and A Ladder of Foure Ronges. Review of English Studies, vol. 59, no. 242, 2008, pp. 659–676.

McCann, Justin. (tr.) A Ladder of Four Rungs. London, 1926. (McCann rearranges the Middle English translation to follow the order of Guigo II’s original.)

McCann, Justin (ed.). A Ladder of Four Rungs, being a treatise on prayer by Dom Guy II, ninth prior of the Grande Chartreuse, in a Middle English Version. Stanforth Abbey, 1953.

Nau, Pascale-Dominique (tr.).  Guigo II: The Ladder of Monks. Lulu Press, 2013.

Wilmart, André. Auteurs spirituels et textes dévots du moyen âge latin: études d’histoire littéraire. Auteurs spirituels et textes devotes de moyen age latin. Paris, 1932.

Latin text

Guigonis Carthusiensis. Scala claustralium (Ladder of Monks). J. P. Migne Patrologia Latina 184 cols 475−484. Paris, 1854.

Manuscripts of Ladder of Foure Ronges

Cambridge, University Library, Ff.6.33

Bodleian Library MS Douce 322

British Museum MS Harley 1706

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St. Augustine: The Utility of Belief

Fra Angelicao, The Conversion of St. Augustine (c. 1430−1435)

DEAR Philonous, 

I had promised to deliver to you this week an explanation of St. Augustine’s lesser-known but valuable work, De utilitate credendi.  I was prepared today to write my summary, but now find my mind agitated by a change in weather (an unseasonably warm, ‘Santa-Ana’ like wind). Rather than abandon my plan completely, though, I’ll attempt to accommodate Fate (a tactic which, when employed, sometimes reveals Fate to be Providence). Thus, while I am no fan of stream-of-consciousness style writing — but ,rather, tend to the oppose extreme of obsessive perfectionism — I will allow myself to experiment with the former this time.

Here, then, are a series of thoughts I had during today’s walk. I will write these directly, without adding substantially to them, however great the temptation may be to do so.  Hopefully posting these brief comments will help motivate a few people to read the work, so that Augustine can explain his points better than I can.

Augustine in this short book addresses those who are at point in their life where they genuinely seek wisdom and true religion.  He is not interested in those for whom these topics are mere curiosities or diversions.

Adapting his thesis to a modern audience, it is: That people — at least those in the West — should not avoid investigating Christianity.  This investigation may be done in an experimental way:  that is, one may test the waters, so to speak, without making any immediate and permanent commitment. However this initial experiment must be done in a sincere and ‘charitable’ way. By charitable, it is meant that a person should, in case of questionable teachings or, say, puzzling passages of the Bible, be inclined to give the ‘benefit of the doubt.’

Central to his argument is the premise that a person sincerely seeking wisdom and religion recognizes that they are subject to the delusions, follies and vanities of life, and that their own reasoning is subject to corruption by egoism, bias, self-love, and the like.  Not only does this make it difficult to understand true religion without help, but it means one has little ability to distinguish true from false teachers. Therefore it is both prudent and reasonable to seek first sources with good reputations.  Augustine speaks in terms of ‘authoritative sources’ here — but he does not mean by authority that of a policeman or dictator, but rather authority in the sense of having genuine expertise.

What are the signs of a such an authoritative source. He lists several that apply to the Christian Church (broadly defined):

• It’s longevity.
• It’s wide respect and admiration.
• The benevolent actions and intentions of its saints and doctors.
• The courage and determination of its martyrs.

He also lists as potentially relevant evidence miracles.  Modern readers may not accept that part of his argument, but it isn’t really necessary.

Augustine notes that the objection that most Christians themselves lack wisdom and virtue does not affect this argument. In any field of respectable endeavor, only a few gain mastery, yet all respect the field and admire those who do gain mastery. That the ideals of Christianity appeal to the masses, even if they are seldom achieved, is what matters here. It is evidence that Christianity genuinely responds to deep needs of the human condition and resonates with our highest innate ideals.

He also invites us to consider the parallels with authors like Virgil. All people respect these authors and those who study them.  Yet only a minority of people actually read them, and fewer still are able to grasp the fine points of their writings.

In this connection Augustine mentions another interesting and revealing point. If someone were to summarily dismiss Virgil or Homer, or read them with the specific intention of finding fault with them, we would consider that person worthy of blame.  That is, some instinct we have to honor trust sources of antiquity would be outraged.  Augustine does not pursue this point as far as he could, but it is anticipated at some length in the writings of Cicero (one of Augustine’s influences).  Ultimately this argument has roots before Cicero in Stoic philosophy. Human beings are social, communal creatures.  We are designed by nature, as it were, to honor valid traditions.  Those who do not do so — at least not without some good reason — are instinctively disapproved of; and, while perhaps not all instincts are trustworthy or constructive, this one may well be so.

Hence his argument might be succinctly framed as follows:

1. If we are sincerely, urgently, fervently seeking wisdom and religion, we must know that our reasoning and judgment are prone to bias and error.
2. Therefore we cannot attain wisdom and religion by our own reasoning alone.
3. We cannot find a good teacher by relying only on our reasoning.
4. We have little choice, then, but to experiment by investigating the teachings of a trusted, reputable source.
5. To profit from this source, we must approach the teachings charitably — that is, in an experimental way that basically says, “Okay, I’ll go along for now and see where this leads. If insight soon follows, the experiment will be successful. If not, then I will withhold further belief.”
6. That is what we might call experimental credence. It is very different from credulousness or gullibility, things Augustine in no way endorses or advocates.
7. To approach things this way is eminently reasonable. This is what he meant by faith (credence) seeking understanding. This is, in fact, far more reasonable than insisting on radical rationalism at the outset — that is requiring that each article of religion be given a fully rational argument before it is taken seriously.

Augustine is in no way here suggesting that we should just bow down to authoritarian dogma.  That would be insincere and affected.  He does not ask us to be insincere.  Rather, this is about adopting a kind of provisional belief.  Just as when we cross a street, we do not know a car will not come from around a corner and hit us.  We proceed with the ‘faith’ that crossing will be safe.  However we do not commit ourselves to this fixed belief, but remain attentive and ready to change our belief if circumstances so dictate. What he is calling credence is, then, somewhat like a “working hypothesis.”

While he does not say so explicitly, the implication is that we have a natural impulse to believe Christianity (or comparable trusted sources.)  Hence here we are not imposing on ourselves an arbitrary and artificial belief, but rather are permitting ourselves to accede to a natural impulse to provisionally believe.

Finally, although it may be difficult to find a reliable contemporary person to teach Christianity, we have access to the Bible.  We should apply ourselves to its study in the aforementioned spirit of trust and charity, asking such questions as how might this passage apply to my life? or how might I interpret these words in a useful, meaningful and wise way?— and not how may I ridicule or find fault with it? Augustine took it as axiomatic that much of the Bible’s message (especially in the Old Testament) is conveyed by means of allegory.  Passages which seem morally objectionable if taken literally assist us by forcing us to look for symbolic meanings. Having sometimes to struggle to find deeper meanings is consistent with the role of religion in helping us to reform and improve our thinking.

Augustine also places great emphasis on the fact that Christian teaching is open, public, and available to all without charge.  This contrasts with the secrecy of esoteric texts and elite ‘schools’ which promise to deliver subtle wisdom for the right price. Why seek religion at all if we do not believe God is both generous and actively seeks to assist our endeavors?  What could be more evidence of such benevolence and wisdom than by entrusting the teaching of divine truths to an institution like the Christian Church?

Then what are the messages the seeker may hope to find from the Bible?  I would propose to classify these under three headings. (These are my view, that is, and not anything Augustine says directly in the work.)

The first is moral reformation and purification, and the gaining of intellectual and moral virtue.  (This is similar to Stoicism.)

The second is instruction in contemplative ascent of the mind (anagogy; this is similar to Platonism).

Third (this goes beyond Stoicism and Platonism) is achievement of loving union with God and the theological virtues of Faith, Hope, and, above all, Charity.

Of course nothing I’ve said here should be understood to dissuade the study of other traditional religions, including Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism and Islam — or, for that matter, ancient religious and philosophical traditions like Neoplatonism and Hermeticism. At least one source I’ve seen claimed that Augustine himself continued to read Plotinus all his life. Augustine’s main objection to the Manicheans was not so much their wrong doctrines, but that (1) they maligned Christianity and (2) they insisted that rationalism alone is sufficient in religion.

John

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Bibliography

English translations

Burleigh, J. H. S. (tr.). St. Augustine: The Usefulness of Belief (De Utitlitate Credendi). In: J. H. S. Burleigh (ed.), Augustine: Earlier Writings, SCM Press, 1953 (repr. Knox, 2006); pp. 284−323.

Cornish, C. L. (tr). St. Augustine: On the Profit of Believing.  In: Philip Schaff (ed.), Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, Vol. 3, Buffalo, 1887.

Kearney, Ray (tr.). Saint Augustine: The Advantage of Believing (De utilitate credendi). In: Boniface Ramsey (ed.), The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, vol. I/8, (On Christian Belief), New City Press, 2005; pp. 116−150.

Meagher, Luanne (tr.). St.Augustine: The Advantage of Believing (De utilitate credendi). In: Ludwig Schopp (ed.), Fathers of the Church, Vol. 4 (Writings of St. Augustine, Vol. 2), New York, 1947; pp. 385−442.

Marriott, Charles (tr.). On the Profit of Believing. In: John Henry Parker (ed.), Seventeen Short Treatises of S. Augustine, Oxford, 1847/1869/1885; pp. 577−618.

Latin editions

Migne J. P. (ed.). Augustinus Hipponensis: De utilitate credendi. Patrologia Latina 42, 65−92. Paris, 1841

Pegon, J. (ed. & tr.). De utilitate credendi. In: Oeuvres de Saint Augustin, 1re série, Opuscules, volume VIII. Bibliothèque Augustinienne (BA) 17, Paris, Desclée de Brouwer, 1951.

Zycha, Joseph (ed.).  S. Aureli Augustini: De utilitate credendi. Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (CSEL) 25.1. Vienna, 1866.

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Active Imagination and the Mysteries of the Rosary

Artist unkown: The Annunciation

LET’S continue the topic of experimenting with meditation on the Rosary Mysteries as tools for personal growth — spiritual, psychological and philosophical. To repeat in brief what I’ve said before, the guiding premise is that the ‘author’ of the Rosary Mysteries is the collective unconscious. They represent a cumulative attempt, crafted and refined by countless inspired individuals, to express in symbolic form stages or components of ones spiritual self-realization.  They are therefore of universal value.  One need not be a practicing Roman Catholic to benefit from them.  They concern universal and (what a follower of Jungian psychology would call) archetypal principles of the human psyche.

There is a standard formula by which Roman Catholics consider these mysteries while praying the Rosary.  However one is entirely free to experiment and improvise, and there are advantages with this. In particular, one might apply the Jungian technique of active imagination to this task — for example, by looking at artistic portrayals of these Gospel events — and creatively ‘engaging’ with them.  Almost the whole point of active imagination is spontaneity.  Nevertheless, another element of Jungian psychology can be used profitably here, namely his well-known distinction between four kinds of cognitive activity: sensing, thinking, feeling and intuiting.  (These of course are the four personality dimension of the Meyers-Briggs inventory).

Elsewhere I’ve related what was explained to me by a retreat director years ago — how these four cognitive activities can be used in connection with the traditional practice of lectio divina (holy reading) for interpreting Scripture. As understanding the complex messages of art is much like interpreting Scripture, it’s plausible to apply this approach to the former.

Accordingly, this works as follows.  Quiet your mind, and arrange time to devote to studying some work of art that portrays one of the Sorrowful, Joyful, Glorious or Luminous Rosary Mysteries.  In succession, spend some amount of time considering it exclusively by each cognitive function:

Sensing.  Examine the literal details without analyzing them.  Notice every important object and detail.  Scan the entire image so nothing is missed.  Notice shapes, colors, shadings, arrangement of figures, foreground and background, etc.

Thinking.  Now think about the objects in the painting.  Don’t force things or be overly analytical; in fact, more of a playful approach might be most appropriate.  For example, applying this process to interpret Scripture, one technique is to make puns or find alternative, varied meanings — however implausible — in the actual words.  Something similar might be done here.  The idea is not to form any definite conclusions, but rather to activate and exercise the rational faculty.

Feeling.  Here again, one should feel free to experiment. How does the art make you feel? One possibility is to cycle through the characters portrayed, and to imagine what that figure is feeling towards each of the others — or try to have the same feeling yourself.

Intuiting. Pause, take a breath, close your eyes.  Put yourself in the loving ‘shalom’ of God’s presence.  Now open your eyes and let the picture speak to you.  Imagine, if you like, it speaking directly to your heart, without specific words, giving intuitions and insights.

This is enough to say.  Of necessity this should be a completely personal method, and each person will need to discover what works best for them.  I would just encourage you to make the experiment.  Regardless of ones religious affiliation, these Mysteries and their associated art are a great cultural resource available to help your process of self-realization.

As for the picture above, I don’t know it’s source, but it is a rather unusual representation of the Annunciation.  What I like about it is that it –somewhat uniquely — focuses on Mary experiencing an ecstasy.  As such, it can be interpreted as an allegory for deep religious contemplation — as, perhaps, do the other Joyful Mysteries (and Sorrowful, Glorious and Luminous Mysteries).

 

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Adam of St. Victor − Sequences

The Forerunners of Christ with Saints and Martyrs, Fra Angelico, 1423-1424, National Gallery, London

THE Abbey of St. Victor outside of Paris during the 12th and 13th centuries produced several noteworthy figures in the history of Christian spirituality, including Hugh and Richard of St. Victor and Thomas Gallus.  The high achievements of the Victorines in the area of contemplation did not occur in isolation, but rather in an integral context that included such things as regular participation in the Mass and Catholic sacramental life.  A lesser known figure, Adam of St. Victor, a contemporary of Hugh, left us many examples of Latin Sequences that were sung during daily masses there.  Studying these helps give us some insight into the spiritual milieu of the Abbey.  The poetic quality of Adam’s Sequences is somewhat variable, but here are two gems: the first for All Saints Day, and the second for the commemoration day of St. Augustine.  The English translations of Wrangham are shown; newer translations have recently been made by Mousseau.

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All Saints Day

November 1

CIII

THE Church on earth those joys pourtrays,
Which heavenly Mother-Church displays;
Keeping her annual holydays,
For endless ones she sighs and prays.

SUPERNAE matris gaudia
Repraesentat Ecclesia:
Dum festa colit annua,
Suspirat ad perpetua.

In this dark vale of woe to-day, 5
That Mother must her daughter stay;
Here Angel-guardians’ bright array
Must stand beside us in the fray.

In hac valle miseriae 5
Mater succurrat filiae;
Hie coelestes excubiae
Nobiscum stent in acie.

The world, the flesh, the devil’s spite
By different methods wars excite: 10
Such countless phantoms’ rush destroys
The sabbath that the heart enjoys.

Mundus, caro, daemonia
Diversa movent praelia: l0
Incursu tot phantasmatum
Turbatur cordis sabbatum.

This evil kindred hate displays
Alike against all holydays.
As, one and all, they fight and strive 15
Peace from the face of earth to drive.

Dies festos cognatio
Simul haec habet odio
Certatque pari foedere 15
Pacem de terra tollere.

Things strangely mingle here below,
Hope, terror, happiness, and pain;
While scarce for half an hour, we know.
Is silence kept in heaven’s domain. 20

Confusa sunt hie omnia,
Spes, metus, moeror, gaudium:
Vix hora vel dimidia
Fit in coelo silentium. 20

How blest that city is, wherein
Unceasing feast-days still begin!
How happy that assembly, where
Is utter ignorance of care!

Quam felix illa civitas
In qua jugis solemnitas!
Et quam jocunda curia,
Quae curae prorsus nescia!

Nor languor here, nor age, they know, 25
Nor fraud, nor terror of a foe:
But with one voice their joy they show;
One ardour makes all hearts to glow.

Nec languor hic, nec senium, 25
Nec fraus, nec terror hostium,
Sed una vox laetantium,
Et unus ardor cordium.

The angel-citizens on high
There, ‘neath a triple hierarchy, 30
The Trinity in Unity
Serve and obey rejoicingly.

Illic cives angelici
Sub hierarchia triplici 30
Trinae gaudent et simplici
Se Monarchiae subjici.

With wonder, — never giving o’er! —
They, seeing Him whom they adore,
Enjoy what, craving as before, 35
They thirst but to enjoy the more.

Mirantur, nec deficiunt,
In ilium quem prospiciunt;
Fruuntur, nec fastidiunt, 35
Quo frui magis sitiunt.

There all the Fathers stand around,
Ranking as worthy they are found;
The darkness now removed of night,
In light they look upon the light. 40

Illic patres dispositi
Pro qualitate meriti,
Semota jam caligine,
Lumen vident in lumine. 40

These Saints, whose feast to-day we grace
With solemn service as of old,
The King, unveiled and face to face,
In all His glory now behold.

Hi sancti quorum hodie
Recensentur solemnia,
Nunc, revelata facie,
Regem cernunt in gloria.

There may the virgins’ queen, in light 45
Transcending far heaven’s orders bright,
Plead our excuses in God’s sight
For all our failures to do right.

Illic regina virginum, 45
Transcendens culmen ordinum,
Excuset apud Dominum
Nostrorum lapsus criminum.

When this life’s troubles all are past,
Through prayer by them to God addressed. 50
May Christ’s grace bring us at the last
To where the Saints in glory rest! Amen.

Nos ad sanctorum gloriam,
Per ipsorum suffragia, 50
Post praesentem miseriam
Christi perducat gratia! Amen.

Source: Wrangham, vol. 3, pp. 170−175.

St. Augustine

Scenes from the Life of Saint Augustine of Hippo, ca. 1490, Master of Saint Augustine, Netherlandish, Metropolitan Museum of Art

August 28

LXVIII

OUR tuneful strains let us upraise
That endless feast’s delights to praise,
When, since thereon no trouble weighs,
The heart observes true sabbath days;

AETERNI festi gaudia
Nostra sonet harmonia,
Quo mens in se pacifica
Vera frequentat sabbata;

The rapture of a conscience clear, 5
That perfumes all those joys sincere,
By which it hath rich foretaste here
Of saints’ unending glory there,

Mundi cordis laetitia 5
Odorans vera gaudia,
Quibus praegustat avida
Quae sit sanctorum gloria,

Where the celestial company
Joys in its home exultingly; 10
And, giving crowns, their King they see
In all his glorious majesty.

Qua laetatur in patria
Coelicolarum curia, 10
Regem donantem praemia
Sua cernens in gloria.

O happy land! how great its bliss,
That knoweth nought but happiness!
For all the dwellers on that shore 15
One ceaseless song of praise outpour;

Beata illa patria
Quae nescit nisi gaudia!
Nam cives hujus patriae 15
Non cessant laudes canere.

Who those delights’ full sweetness feel,
Which not a trace of grief conceal;
‘Gainst whom no foeman draws the steel,
And who beneath no tempest reel: 20

Quos ille dulcor afficit
Quern nullus moeror inficit;
Quos nullus hostit impetit
Nullusque turbo concutit; 20

Where one day, clear from cloudlet’s haze,
Is better than a thousand days;
Bright with true light’s transcendent rays;
Filled with that knowledge of God’s ways,

Ubi dies clarissima
Melior est quam millia,
Luce lucens praefulgida,
Plena Dei notitia;

To grasp which human reason fails, 25
Nor human tongue to tell avails.
Till this mortality shall be
Absorbed in that life’s victory;

Quam mens humana capere, 25
Nec lingua valet promere,
Donec vitae victoria
Commutet haec mortalia.

When God shall all in all appear,
Life, righteousness, and knowledge clear; 30
Victuals and vesture and whate’er
The pious mind would wish to share!

Quando Deus est omnia:
Vita, virtus, scientia, 30
Victus, vestis et caetera,
Quae velle potest mens pia!

This in this vale of misery
The sober mind’s chief thought should be;
This should it feel, while rest it takes, 35
This should be with it when it wakes;

Hoc in hac valle misera
Meditetur mens sobria;
Hoc per soporem sentiat, 35
Hoc attendat dum vigilat;

How it will in that home, — its days
Of earthly exile past, — fond lays
For ever, crowned, the King to praise
In all His glorious beauty, raise. 40

Quo mundi post exilia
Coronetur iu patria,
Ac in decoris gloria
Regem laudet per saecula. 40

These praises, sounding loud and clear,
The Church now imitateth here;
As, in due order, year by year,
The birthdays of her saints appear;

Harum laudum praeconia
Imitatur Ecclesia,
Dum recensentur annua
Sanctorum natalitia;

When, after they have fought their fight, 45
With worth-won honours they are dight;
The martyr crowned with roses bright;
The virgin clad in robes of white.

Cum post peracta praelia 45
Digna redduntur praemia
Pro passione rosea,
Pro castitate candida.

They too receive a golden chain,
Who doctrines Catholic maintain: 50
In which Augustine now doth reign.
One of the great King’s shining train;

Datur et torques aurea
Pro doctrina catholica: 50
Qua praefulget Augustinus
In summi regis curia.

Whose written volumes’ full array
Are now the one Faith’s strength and stay:
Hence Mother Church avoids the way 55
Where errors lead mankind astray.

Cujus librorum copia
Fides firmatur unica;
Hinc et mater Ecclesia 55
Vitat errorum devia.

To follow where his steps precede,
And preach the truths He taught indeed.
Mother! may grace thy servants lead,
And grant the pure warm faith we need! Amen. 60

Hujus sequi vestigia
Ac praedicare dogmata
Fide recta ac fervida,
Det nobis mater gratia! Amen. 60

Source: Wrangham, vol. 2, pp. 186−191.

Readings

Blune, Clemens; Dreves, Guido Maria; Bannister, Henry K. Thesauri Hymnologici Prosarium.(Analecta Hymnica LIII, LIV, and LV), Leipzig, 1911, 1915, 1922. Latin text critical editions.

Fassler, Margot E. Who was Adam of Saint Victor? The evidence of the Sequence manuscripts. Journal of the American Musicological Society 37, 1984, 233−269.

Fassler, Margot E. The Victorines and the medieval liturgy. In: Eds. Hugh Feiss & Juliet Mousseau, A Companion to the Abbey of Saint Victor in Paris. Brill, 2018; 389-421.

Grosfillier, Jean. Les séquences d’Adam de Saint-Victor: étude littéraire (poétique et rhétorique), textes et traductions, commentaries. Bibliotheca Victorina 20. Turnhout: Brepols, 2008; 773−784.

Mousseau, Juliet. Adam of St Victor: Sequences. Introduction. In: Eds. Boyd Taylor Coolman & Dale M. Coulter, Trinity and Creation: a selection of works of Hugh, Richard and Adam of St Victor (VTT 1), New City Press, 2011; pp. 181−184.  Latin text and English translations.

Mousseau, Juliet. Adam of St Victor: Sequences. Peeters, 2013.

Neale, John Mason (ed.). Mediæval Hymns and Sequences. 3rd ed. London, 1867; pp.128−130 (Supernæ Matris Gaudia).

Shigo, Marie B. Study of the sequences ascribed to Adam of St. Victor. Dissertation. Loyola University Chicago, 1954.

Wrangham,Digby S. (ed.). The liturgical poetry of Adam of St. Victor. 3 vols. London, 1881. Latin and English. vol. 1, vol. 2, vol. 3.

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Evelyn Underhill on the Profound Mystical Meaning of Christian Liturgy

IN the following excerpt from Evelyn Underhill’s book, The Mystic Way, she makes some insightful and important observations concerning the Christian Liturgy.  Three points in particular are: (1) the Christian Liturgy is a supreme work of art; (2) it has evolved and adapted itself over the centuries as a marvelous accumulation of contributions by countless individuals (and hence, by implication, expresses the great spiritual truths of human nature more than anything designed by a few human beings); and (3) in it one may find a profound symbol for the mystic’s quest for union with God.

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ALITURGY, says Dom Cabrol, is “the external and official manifestation of a religion”: and the Mass, the typical liturgic rite of the Catholic world, is “the synthesis of Christianity.”[1] If, then, our discovery of the mystic life at the heart of the Christian religion be a discovery indeed and not a fantasy, it is here that we may expect to find its corroboration. Here, in that most characteristic of the art-products of Christendom, the ceremonial with which the love and intuition of centuries have gradually adorned the primitive sacrament of the Eucharist, we may find the test which shall confirm or discredit our conclusions as to the character of that life which descends from Jesus of Nazareth. … [I]n the ceremony of the Mass, we have a work of art designed and adapted by the racial consciousness of Christendom for the keeping and revealing of somethings claiming descent from that same source, which lives: lives, not in the arid security of liturgical museums, but in the thick of diurnal existence — in the cathedral and the mission hut, in the city and the cloister, in the slums and lonely places of our little twisting earth. This “something is still the true focus of that Christian consciousness which has not broken away from tradition. The great dramatic poem of the liturgy is still for that consciousness the shrine in which the primal secret of transcendence is preserved. …

The Christian Church has often been likened, and not without reason, to a ship: a ship, launched nineteen hundred years ago upon that great stream of Becoming which sets towards the “Sea Pacific” of Reality. Though she goes upon inland waters, yet hints of the ocean magic, the romance of wide horizons, mysterious tides and undiscovered countries, hang about her. In the course of her long voyage, carried upon the current of the river, she has sometimes taken fresh and strange cargo on board; sometimes discharged that which she brought with her from the past. She has changed the trim of her sails to meet new conditions, as the river ran now between hard and narrow banks and now spread itself to flow through fields. But through all these changes and developments, she kept safe the one treasure which she was built to preserve: the mystical secret of deification, of the ever-renewed and ever-fruitful interweaving of two orders of reality, the emergence of the Eternal into the temporal, the perpetually repeated “wonder of wonders, the human made divine.” She kept this secret and handed it on, as all life’s secrets have ever been preserved and imparted, by giving it supreme artistic form. In the Christian liturgy, the deepest intuitions, the rich personal experiences, not only of the primitive but of the patristic and mediaeval epochs, have found their perfect expression. Herein has been distilled, age by age, drop by drop, the very essence of the mystical consciousness.

“The rites and symbols of the external Christian church,” says Eckartshausen [2], “were formed after the pattern of the great, unchangeable, and fundamental truths, announcing things of a strength and of an importance impossible to describe, and revealed only to those who knew the innermost sanctuary.” Each fresh addition made to this living work of art has but elaborated and enriched the one central idea that runs through the whole. Here it is that Life’s instinct for recapitulation is found at work: here she has dramatised her methods, told in little the story of her supreme ascent. The fact that the framework of the Mass is essentially a mystical drama, the Christian equivalent of those Mysteries which enacted before the Pagan neophyte the necessary adventures of his soul, was implicitly if not directly recognised in very early times. It was the “theatre of the pious,” said Tertullian (De Spectaculis 29, 30; see Hirn, The Sacred Shrine, p. 493) in the second century; and the steady set of its development from the Pauline sacrament of feeding on the Spiritual Order, the Fractio Panis of the catacombs, to the solemn drama of the Greek or Roman liturgy, was always in the direction of more and more symbolic action, of perpetual elaborations of the ritual and theatrical element. To the sacramental meal of apostolic times, understood as a foretaste and assurance of the “Messianic banquet” in the coming Parousia, there was soon prefixed a religious exercise — modelled perhaps on the common worship of the Synagogue — which implied just those preparatory acts of penance, purification and desirous stretching out towards the Infinite, which precede in the experience of the growing soul the establishment of communion with the Spiritual World. Further, the classic exhibition of such communion — the earthly life of Jesus — naturally suggested the form taken by this “initiation of initiations” when its ritual development once began; the allegory under which the facts of the Christian mystery should be exhibited before men. The Mass therefore became for devout imagination during the succeeding centuries, not only the supreme medium through which the Christian consciousness could stretch out to, and lay hold on, the Eternal Order, not only the story of the soul’s regeneration and growth, but also the story of the actual career of Jesus, told, as it were, in holy pantomime: indirect evidence that the intuitive mind of the Church saw these as two aspects of one truth.  Hence every development of the original rite was made by minds attuned to these ideas; with the result that psychological and historical meanings run in parallel strands through the developed ceremony, of which many a manual act and ritual gesture, meaningless for us, had for earlier minds a poignant appeal as being the direct commemoration of some detail in the Passion of Christ.

As Europe now has it, then, in the Divine Liturgy of the Orthodox and the Mass of the Catholic Church, this ceremony is the great living witness to — the great artistic expression of — those organic facts which we call mystical Christianity: the “transplanting of man into a new world over against the nearest-at-hand world,” the “fundamental inner renewal,” the “union of the human and the divine.” All the thoughts that gather about this select series of acts — apparently so simple, sometimes almost fortuitous, yet charged with immense meanings for the brooding soul — all the elaborate, even fantastic symbolic interpretations placed upon these acts in mediaeval times, have arisen at one time or another within the collective consciousness of Christendom. Sometimes true organic developments, sometimes the result of abrupt intuitions, the reward of that receptivity which great rituals help to produce, they owe their place in or about the ceremony to the fact that they help it in the performance of its function, the stimulation of man’s spiritual sense; emphasising or enriching some aspect of its central and fundamentally mystical idea.

1. Les Origines Liturgiques, pp. 17, 140.
2. The Cloud upon the Sanctuary, Letter II.

Readings

Cabrol, Fernand (Domr). Les Origines Liturgiques. Letouzey et Ané, 1905.

Eckartshausen, Karl. The Cloud upon the Sanctuary. London, 1909.

Hirn, Yrjö. The Sacred Shrine a Study of the Poetry and Art of the Catholic Church. Macmillan, 1912.

Underhill, Evelyn. The Witness of the Liturgy. In: The Mystic Way: A Psychological Study in Christian Origins. London: Dent, 1913; ch. 6, pp. 331−371.

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The Thirty Seraphic Virtues of the Middle Ages

British Library, MS Arundel 83-1, The Howard Psalter, fol. 5v, ca. 1310–20; for other versions of the figure, see here.

THE short work, On the Six Wings of the Cherubim (De sex alis cherubim) enjoyed great popularity in monastic communities during the 12th and 13th centuries. Its authorship is a little confusing. The first part seems to be an edited excerpt from Hugh of St. Victor’s (c. 1096−1141) work, On the Moral Ark of Noah (De arca Noe morali). The second part is by an anonymous author. An earlier attribution of the entire work to Alan of Lille (d. 1203) is incorrect. Marie-Therese d’Alverny (1980) suggested the Cistercian, Clement of Llanthony, as a possible source, but this is highly speculative.

The second part is what interests us. It discusses not cherubim, but the six wings of the seraphim in Isaiah 6:2. Each wing corresponds to a higher-order virtue, and each wing has five feathers, corresponding to specific virtues. The aim is to summarize in a simple form the life of Christian perfection. The work is interesting in its own right, but also in that it set the stage, so to speak, for major philosophical and devotional works by Richard of St. Victor (d. 1173; The Mystical Ark or Benjamin Major) and St. Bonaventure (1221–1274; The Soul’s Journey into God), both of whom use the image of a six winged seraphim as a vehicle of examining contemplative ascent to God.

Many medieval manuscripts of On the Six Wings include annotated diagrams of the six-winged angel. Sometimes the figure appears without the accompanying text. In the latter case, artists varied considerably in the virtues named.

A summary of the wings and feathers from On the Six Wings is supplied below. Readers are referred to the English translations of Bridget Balint and of Steven Chase.  The Latin text is found Migne PL 210:267A−280C.

CONFESSION (confessio)

Mournful avowal of one’s own weakness, ignorance, and malice

1. Truth (veritas); sincerity of confession.
2. Wholeness (integritas); a confession should be complete, not shortened or divided
3. Steadfastness (furmitas); a confession should be steadfast and firm
4. Humility (humilitas); a person making confession should have a humble mind, humble tongue, and humble aspect
5. Simplicity (simplicitas); one should reproach ones weakness, ignorance, and wickedness, defending nothing, excusing nothing, minimizing nothing.

REPARATION (satisfaccio)

1. Renunciation of sin (peccati abrenuntiatio)
2. Outpouring of tears (lacrymarum effusio)
3. Mortification of the flesh (carnis maceratio)
4. Almsgiving (eleemosynarum largiti)
5. Devotion of prayer (orationis devotio)

III. PURIFICATION OF THE FLESH (munditia or purita carnis)

1. Modesty of gaze (visus pudicitia); shuts out wantonness, lest the eye look desiring on another person
2. Chastity of hearing (auditus castimonia); do not listen to an insulting voice, words of those who curse and blaspheme, false accusations, lies or provocations
3. Decorousness of scent (olfactus modestia); seeks the aroma of goodness by works of mercy.
4. Temperance in eating (gustus temperantia)
5. Sanctity of touch (tactus sanctimonia)

PURITY OF MIND (puritas mentis)

1. Decorous and proper emotion (affectus sinceri rectitudo)
2. Delight of the mind in the Lord (mentis in Domino delectati); Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. (Psalm 37:4); contemplation engenders and shapes this feather.
3. Pure and well-ordered thought (munda etordinata cogitatio)
4. Holiness of will (voluntatis sanctitudo)
5. Sound and pure intention (simplex et pura intentio)

LOVE OF NEIGHBOR (dilectio proximi)

1. Avoid injury to others by word or deed (nulli nocere verbo vel opere)
2. Do good in every word and deed (omnibus prodesse, verbo et opere)
3. Liberality (verae liberalitatis fortitudine); be magnanimous and generous, not niggardly.
4. Lay aside soul for brethren (animam profratre ponere); Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. (John 15: 13)
5. Persevere in fraternal love (in his perseverare)

LOVE OF GOD (dilectio Dei)

1. Long for and strive after nothing other than God (aliud quam Deum non concupiscit)
2. Distributes this love actively among brothers, sisters, and the world for the sake of God (propter Deum sua distribuit)
3. Reserve nothing for themselves but relinquish all things in God’s name (propter Deum nihil sibi reservat,sed omnia relinquit)
4. Deny self for God alone (propter Deum se ipsum abnegat)
5. Persevere in love of God (in his perseverat)

Readings

Anonymous. De sex alis cherubim. Attr. Alan of Lille. PL 210:265A−280C. Paris: J. P. Migne, 1855. Latin text.

Balint, Bridget (tr.). The Seraph’s Six Wings. In: Mary Carruthers and Jan M. Ziolkowski, The Medieval Craft of Memory, University of Pennsylvania, 2002, pp. 83−102.

Carruthers, Mary J. Ars oblivionalis, ars inveniendi: the cherub figure and the arts of memory. Gesta, vol. 48, no. 2, 2009, pp. 99–117.

Carruthers, Mary J. Clan Carruthers — clan crest — seraph or cherub. Clan Carruthers International website. 27 May 2020.

Chase, Steven (tr.). De sex alis cherubim (On the Six Wings of the Cherubim). In: Steven Chase (ed.), Angelic Spirituality: Medieval Perspectives on the Ways of Angels, Paulist Press, 2002; pp. 121−145.

Cousins, Ewert H. (ed.). Bonaventure: The Soul’s Journey into God. Paulist Press, 1978.

d’Alverny, M-T. Alain de Lille: problèmes d’attribution. In: eds. H. Roussel and F. Suard, Alain de Lille, Gautier de Châtillon, Jakemart Giélée et leur temps, Lille, 1980, pp. 27–46.

Zinn, Grover A. (ed.). Richard of St. Victor: The Twelve Patriarchs, The Mystical Ark and Book Three of The Trinity. Paulist Press, 1979.

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On the Praying for Others’ Forgiveness in the Catholic Mass

Why the Confiteor is one of the most beautiful and important parts of the Mass

The section of the Roman Catholic Mass called the Penitential Rite is insufficiently appreciated. This part contains, among other things, the prayer known as the Confiteor. Its name comes from the first line, which, in Latin, is Confiteor Deo omnipotente…, in English translated as “I confess to Almighty God….” The Confiteor is the source of the phrase, mea culpa (mea culpa, mea culpa, me maxima culpa — i.e., one confesses that one has sinned “through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.”

A special virtue of this section of the Liturgy is that it is an opportunity for members of the Church to pray for one another. When I was younger, I understood the Confiteor, along with the Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison (Lord have mercy! Christ have mercy!) which comes later, as being mainly concerned with seeking forgiveness for ones own sins. But with age comes a growth in instinctive concern for others; you look around and see what difficulties and burdens others bear, and, if you have a heart, you naturally want them to be helped. As this charitable concern develops, the Mass takes on new meaning and importance.

Whose soever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them; and whose soever sins ye retain, they are retained. (John 20:23)

Just think of what the verse above implies. Look at the suffering and the burdens others bear — whether those be their sins, or the consequences of those sins, or the guilt and shame their sins produce. And then consider the possibility that you may be an agent in removing those burdens and effecting their healing. Have you never noticed how real benefits may come to others as the result of your prayers? What if no-one else on the entire the planet is praying for these individuals? That may easily be the case! Can you not bring yourself — indeed, can you not resist the compassionate urge — to pray for them?

To give a personal example, suppose I’m at Mass and I see people in the congregation with serious obesity problems; these days, I’m afraid, that’s an all too common experience. Now God has given me the gift of physical fitness and a strong personal motivation to exercise. This is a grace not everyone has. It is a blessing, and I’m extremely grateful for it. But I have been overweight before, and therefore know that these people suffer very much because of obesity. It’s perfectly natural, then, for me to pray for them.

Now it might be objected, “Aren’t you being judgmental here? On what basis are you apparently equating their health issues with sin?” The answer is that I’m taking a very broad view of sin; it might be better to call the issue here moral imperfection, or even an insufficiency of moral strength. We need to strip ‘sin’ of its judgmental connotations in any case. The original Greek word for sin is hamartia, which means ‘missing the mark.’ It’s appropriate, then, to see the alleviation of obesity, depression, substance abuse, or many other things people suffer from as subjects of prayer in the Penitential Rite.

It is of some interest to note changes in the liturgy apropos of this. Before the reforms of the 1960’s and 70’s, the Mass was, of course, still said in Latin. People may not remember this detail, but in the traditional Tridentine Mass the Confiteor was actually prayed twice. First the priest recited it to the assistant(s) or altar servers, confessing his sinfulness and pleading for the intercession of “Mary ever Virgin, blessed Michael the Archangel, blessed John the Baptist, the holy Apostles Peter and Paul” and “all the Saints.” In conclusion he further asked, “you brethren, to pray to the Lord our God for me.”

In response, the assistant(s) — representing the entire congregation — prayed,

May Almighty God have mercy upon you, forgive you your sins, and bring you to life everlasting.

To which the priest said, “Amen.”

Then the assistant(s) recited the Confiteor, changing only the last phrase by asking “you Father, to pray to the Lord our God for me.” The priest then prayed the same response as the assistant(s) had to his Confiteor, to which the latter responded, “Amen.” Then the priest, making the sign of the cross, prayed:

May the Almighty and merciful God grant us pardon, absolution, and remission of our sins.

To which the server(s) replied, “Amen.”

This detail actually signifies something momentous: that the priest and congregation, symbolized by the assistant(s), are praying, interceding with God, for each other’s forgiveness.

The present form of the Roman Catholic Mass includes only one Confiteor, said jointly by the priest and congregation. In theory, nothing has changed spiritually: all are praying both for themselves and for each other. But the present liturgy leaves this more ambiguous. If not instructed in the matter, people may misunderstand, and think they are only praying for their own forgiveness.

At one level, it’s perfectly understandable and ordinary for people to be so intent on confessing their own sins and seeking forgiveness that the reciprocity of the Confiteor escapes attention. Yet Christians in this respect are called on to be more than ordinary. They are called to be priests, a priestly people (1 Peter 2:5–10; cf. Exodus 19:6); and one vital function of a priest is to intercede with God for the welfare of others.

Moreover, an exclusively self-oriented confessional attitude fails to recognize a fundamental principle of the psychology of forgiveness, a detail to which Scripture pointedly calls our attention: that forgiving others and being forgiven ourselves are so integrally related as to literally be two aspects of the same thing. Let us recall some relevant passages:

Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. (James 5:16)

For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you:But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. (Matthew 6: 14–15)

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. (Matthew 5:7)

Note that we are not just called to forgive those who have trespassed against us, but also those sins others commit that might not involve us at all.

Sometimes we might think that the connection between forgiving and forgiveness is merely a kind of reciprocal justice: if we forgive, then we’ve done a good deed, and our reward is to be forgiven in exactly the same degree. But the connection is actually much stronger. In a sense, our holding onto grudges, or even just a ‘stinginess’ in wishing forgiveness for anyone, automatically carries with it a burden of moral imperfection, if not outright sin. Said another way, the moment we earnestly pray for others’ forgiveness — not just those who have harmed us, but those who need forgiveness in any way and for any reason — we ourselves come into right relation to God and with ourselves. And whatever burdens we have imposed on ourselves by being out of right relation are removed.

This shouldn’t be taken to imply that an awareness of our own sinfulness isn’t terribly important. Quite the opposite: the more cognizant we are of our need for forgiveness, the more enthusiastic and willing we are to forgive others, as this is a small price to pay indeed. If we fully understood this principle, we would beg and thank God for the opportunity to forgive others!

Perhaps at this point some will expect me to suggest that we should restore the Tridentine Mass, but that is by no means my point. In fact, I think the liturgical changes have been, in the main, for the better. It seems sufficient for the Confiteor to be said once — provided that people are aware of all that’s going on. I believe it proper to say that the main focus of ones prayer here should be for others’ forgiveness. That is the object of our prayer. The action of our praying for others is itself implicitly the prayer for our own forgiveness — so that both needs are being met at the same time.

I do believe, however, that, with the present liturgy, special attention needs to be given to instruct people about the dual nature of the Penitential Rite. Further, some things I’ve read online seem to suggest that in certain diocese and/or at certain times, the Confiteor is omitted from masses. If so, then it seems to me very important that whatever is used in its place emphasize and encourage the dual aspect of praying for forgiveness.

I wrote at the outset that this is something momentous, but have yet to fully explain why. Consider this principle of each forgiving another — of striving to do this oneself, and of coming to regularly expect that others approach you in the same way — carried to its logical extreme. That is, imagine a society where this principle became conventional, usual, regular. In that case the whole orientation of the individual towards others and society in general would be transformed, and for the better. Inasmuch as the ability to heal by forgiving is natural, and human beings are naturally social and gregarious, then an ambient recognition of this principle would amount to a revolution in human consciousness, individual and social. We would achieve in practice what is yet only latent and dormant in our collective potential.  We would change as a species.

 

Catholicism and Transcendentalism: The Christian Consciousness

The important 1967 encyclical of Pope Paul VI, Populorum progressio (On the development of peoples) called for, among other things, a new transcendental humanism (§16, §20). In May 2011, Pope Benedict XVI, addressing the faculty of the Catholic University of the Sacred Heart, renewed the call for “a new, integral and transcendent humanism.”

Precisely such a transcendental humanism can be found articulated with great depth, insight, and beauty in the literature of the 19th century American Transcendentalists and Unitarians, many of whom were Christian. I believe that modern Roman Catholics would do well to examine this literature.  It is a treasure-trove of ideas and inspiration, and the ‘old religion’ expressed in a form uniquely suited to the American mind.

As an example, below are excerpts from an 1859 discourse by Octavius B. Frothingham, ‘The Christian Consciousness, Its Elements and Expression’.  (O. B. Frothingham, Christian Consciousness. Philadelphia, 1859; pp. 3—33).

* * * *

I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit. (John 15:5a)

“HAVE you ever fairly mastered this thought: That once upon a time, eighteen hundred years ago, what we call Christianity was all gathered up in the person of a single man, who lived and breathed like other men, in the far-off land of Judea, — when Christ was Christianity, and all the Christianity there was on earth? … In that remote corner of the earth, Jesus of Nazareth stands alone, uncomprehended by the few who love him, despised or feared by the few who love him not, unheeded by the many who see in him nothing by which he can be distinguished from common humanity; solitary in person, and solitary in spirit, having little in common with his generation; solitary, with his great Religion folded in the secret place of his own heart. The mighty Truths which the world hail as revelations and build up into confessions, are his private thoughts. The creative forces which have wrought such moral results, and even something like a transformation in the sentiments of the most elevated portion of mankind, are the silent affections of his heart. The regenerating principles which have effected so much towards the growth of a new order of humanity, are the deep convictions of his individual conscience; and profoundly hidden in the experiences of his soul, are the spiritual laws that have since purified the piety and re-constructed the worship of millions of men. In that one peculiar being, as in a seed, [Christendom lies latent.] … The seed fulfils the conditions of all growth. It falls into the ground and dies.

“Ere long the fruit it was to bear, begins to appear. Little clusters of people like grapes on a vine are found in cities both near and remote from the place where he lived. They cling to each other. They grow together as if united by a common life, and attract the notice of all men by the singularity of their worship and behavior…. To them existence is not what it was; the world is not what it was; new thoughts occupy their minds; fresh affections, making old things seem distasteful, are yearning after congenial intercourse; an awakened moral sense abhors the practices in which they had before innocently engaged, and makes another order of the world necessary to their peace and satisfaction; strange hopes have taken hold on their souls; strange aspirations and purposes, which have altered their whole attitude towards their generation. They are one in the sympathy of a common Faith, Hope, and Charity. And what has begotten in these people, this new and singular spirit? They have seen, heard, conversed with, the men to whom this Jesus had communicated himself through some subtle influence which they could neither explain to themselves nor to others. They had no insight into his motives or intentions. Up to the very last hour of his life, they indulged a hope, which all his life long he had been laboring to dispel. His immortal ideas they failed to grasp, while they clung to his less significant words with a tenacity that nothing could loose. Yet, through all their stupidity and prejudice, his spirit had found its way to theirs. His being had bathed them like an atmosphere; had refreshed them like another climate. His character had shed itself like an aroma from his person, and penetrated invisibly to their natures’ roots. The mild radiance of his presence, the beaming of his face, the glance of his eye, the accents of his voice interpreting to their hearts words which their understanding could not apprehend, the indescribable serenity of his mien, so holy and so gracious, all expressed and imparted the spiritual life that was in him, so that when he died, that life was in various forms reproduced in those that knew him, according to their degree of susceptibility. And these, again, borne like seeds on the breath of the Spirit, spread the divine contagion even to distant lands, and made the attributes of the inward Christ visible in multitudes of communions, some of which knew him not, even by name.

“You will understand now what I mean by saying that Christianity was LIVED into the world. It was not built up by any skill in organizing establishments. It was not planted by sheer force of authoritative teaching. Men were not drilled into it, nor indoctrinated into it; they were BORN into it. It came to them as inspiration comes, and the effect of its coming was a new CONSCIOUSNESS, a new motive force, an original stamp of mind, and style of character. In a word, there was another life in the race….

“Christianity, let me repeat, was LIVED into the world. As a life, it reproduced and extended itself.   Its tendency, at least, nowhere completely fulfilled, it is true, but everywhere pushing against the obstacles in its path, was to re-animate and re-construct human relations….

“We have heard much lately about the Christian ‘CONSCIOUSNESS,’ as distinct from particular forms of belief or modes of thought; a general state of mind and affection that belongs to all genuine Christians alike, the partaking of which makes one a Christian, the lack of which makes one to be not a Christian; a prevailing and determining spirit, which, having the hidings of its power far down among the roots of human nature, distributes a secret but vital and quickening influence all through the substance of the moral and spiritual being, and diffuses abroad an aroma too delicate to be caught and imprisoned in symbolical books and sacred confessions, yet powerful enough to impress every spiritual sense and stimulate every spiritual desire. I believe there is such a spiritual Consciousness, common to all Christians, and distinguishing them from all who are not Christians more clearly than divines have ever succeeded in doing, while, at the same time, it prevents Christians, however artificially divided among themselves, from falling out finally with one another; a spiritual Consciousness which is nothing more or less than the mind of Jesus organizing itself in humanity….

“These are thoughts, vast, deep, shadowy. They are not dogmas; they are not opinions. They are spoiled and clipped by logical definition. They are spiritual truths, addressing themselves to the higher reason, which each may define for himself who can, or may innocently leave in the indistinctness which the soul best loves. They are inferences from what the Christian regards not as a notion but as a fact, a fact of inward assurance, a great conviction, that abides as a cornerstone, immovable in the deep soil of his heart. They are his translation into thought of a feeling that is deeper than all thought and runs before it.”

* * * *

One must read this material selectively. Along with sublime thoughts are a few prejudices and errors – many American Transcendentalists and Unitarians rejected, along with the harsh doctrines of Calvinism (from whence these movements evolved), many fine and noble elements of traditional Christianity.  For example, Frothingham writes,

“Put the intervening centuries by. Let your imaginations brush away, like so much dust on a window-pane, the vast Church that stands between you and him. Disappear, pope, cardinal, and priest; cathedral, chapel, shrine, altar, vestments, symbol, cross and goblet, keys and dove; vanish, creeds of every complexion, sects of every name.”

That is, in his appeal to  readers that they consult directly their Reason, Conscience, and intuitions for direct evidences of God, he goes further to question the validity of certain external forms of religion.  But remember that if we demand perfection of our saints, we shall have no saints. Despite certain prejudices, many of which are understandable if one considers the historical context, there is much that is saintly in these writings.

This caveat notwithstanding, there are times reading this literature that I am struck with a conviction that, in it, the prisca theologia, the ancient and venerable religion, reached its highest level of literary expression, before the radical materialism of the 20th century eclipsed the spiritual senses.  It remains there, providential, evidence of the action of the Holy Spirit in history, for us to consult and build upon.

This Old World religion, brought by the Puritans to New England and developed in the rich soil of village life in colonial America, I recognize as the same spiritual tradition in essence and fundamentals that was transmitted to me by Catholic sisters and priests at the parochial schools I attended as a child.

I should certainly try to follow up this post with more detail about the 19th century American Christian Transcendentalists and Unitarians.  One note of general interest to add here is that there is a direct literary and ideological connection between these writers and the Cambridge Platonists of the 17th century.  Besides Frothingham, some names of particular interest are William Ellery Channing, James Freeman Clarke, Francis Henry Hedge, and Abiel A. Livermore; but there are dozens more.

Additional Readings

Frothingham, Octavius B. Transcendentalism in New England. New York: Putnam, 1876.

Gardiner, Harold C. (Ed.). American Classics Reconsidered: A Christian Appraisal. New York: Scribner, 1958.

Howe, Daniel Walker. The Cambridge Platonists of Old and New England. Church History, 57, No. 4 (Dec., 1988), pp. 470-485. Reprinted as Ch. 7, ‘The Platonic Quest in New England’ in: Daniel Walker Howe, Making the American Self, 189-211. Oxford University Press, 2009 (orig. 1997).

Livermore, Abiel A. Discourses. Boston: Crosby, Nichols & Co., 1854.

Wells, Ronald V. Three Christian Transcendentalists: James Marsh, Caleb Sprague Henry, Frederic Henry Hedge. Columbia University Press, 1943.

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